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23  WIST  MAIN  STRKT 
vWIRSTM.N.Y.  14580 
(716)  •72-4503 


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CIHM 
Microfiche 
Series 
(l\/lonographs) 


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ICIWIH 

Collection^  de 
microfiches 
(monographies) 


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Canadian  Institute  for  Historical  Microreproductions  /  Institut  Canadian  da  microraproductions  historiques 

/ 


Ttchnieal  and  Bibliographic  Notat  /  Notas  tachniquas  at  bibliographiquaa 


Tha  initituta  hai  attamptad  to  obtain  tha  bast  original 
copy  availabia  for  filming.  Fafturat  of  this  copy  which 
may  ba  bibliographically  uniqua.  which  may  altar  any 
of  tha  imagat  in  tha  rapro«|iiction,  or  which  may 
significantly  changa  tha  usual  mathod  of  filming,  ara 
chackad  balow. 


D 
D 
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Coloured  covers/ 
Couverture  da  couhur 

Covers  damaged/ 
Couverture  endommagia 

Covers  restored  and/or  laminated/ 
Couverture  restaurM  et/ou  pelliculia 


□  OS^itle  missfng/ 
J.e  titre  de  coui^ture  manqu» 

■  I.  *  '  '' 

□  Coloured  maps/ 
Cartas  giographiquas  eii  couleur 

□  Coloured  ink  (i.e.  other  than  blue  or  black)// 
Encre  da  couleur  (i.e.  autre  qua  bleue  ou  noire) 


n 


Coloured  plates  and/or  illustrations/ 
Planches  et/ou  illustrations  en  couleur 


Bound  with  other  material/ 
Reli*  avec  d'autras  documents 


1^1  Tight  binding  may  cause  shadows  or  distortion 


n 


along  interior  margin/ 

La  reliure  serrte  peut  causer  de  I'ombre  ou  de  la 

distorsion  la  long  da  la  marge  int^ieura 

Blank  leaves  added  during  restoration  may  appear 
within  tha  text.  Whenever  possible,  these  have 
been  omitted  from  filming/ 
f  h  se  peut  que  certaines  pages  blanches  ajoutias 
lors  d'una  ra^tauration  apparaissant  dans  la  taxta, 
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pas  M  filmM. 


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L'Institut  a  mkmfilmt  la  mailleur  exemplaira  qu'il 
lui  a  M  possible  de  sa  procurer.  Las  details  da  cet 
exemplaifrqtfl  sont  paut-itra  uniques  du  point  da  vue 
bibliographiqua,  qui  pauvant  modifier  una  image 
reproduite.  ou  qui  peuvant  exigar  una  modification 
dam  la  mAthoda  normale  da  f  ilmaga  sont  indiqufa 
ei-dessous. 

En  Coloured  pages/ 
J,  (%ges  da  couleur 

rrn  Pages  damaged/ 
I       I  Pages  endommagtos 


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to  tl 


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□  Pages  restored  and/or  laminated/ 
Pages  restaurtes  at/6u  pallicultes 

0  Pages  discoloured,  stained  or  foxed/ 
Pages  dicolorias,  tachaties  ou  piquies 

□  Pages  detached/ 
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r7~V5howthrough/ 
l__i  Transparence    - 

□  Quality  of  print  varies/ 
Qualiti  in^le  de  I'impression 

□  Continuous  pagination/ 
Pagination  continue 

□  Includes  index  (es)/ 
Comprend  un  (des)  index 

Title  on  header  taken  from:  / 
Le  iitr^da  I'en-tAte  orovient: 

•■'  -•■.  i        ,:^- 

□  Title  page  of  issue/ 
Page  de  titre  drfa  livraison 

Caption  of  issue/ 

Titre  de  depart  de  la  livraison 

Masthead/ 

Ginirkiua  (piriodiques)  da  la  livraison 


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Additional  comments:/ 
Commentairas  suppltmantairas: 


Pages  wholly  or  partially  obscured  by  errata  slips,  tissues,  etc,  have  been  refilmed  to  ensui 
tha  bast  possiile  image.    Various  paglngs.  ..     , 


This  item  is  filmed  at  tha  reduction  ratio  checked  below/ 
Ca  document  est  film*  au  taux  de  rMuetion  indiqu4  ci-deuous. 
^OX  UX  18X 


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The  copy  filmed  here  has  been  reproduced  thanks 
to  the  {fenerosjty  of: 

Harold  Campbell  Vaughan  Memorial  Library 
Acadia  Univenlty 


The  images  appearing  here  are  the  best  quality 
possible  considering  the  conditioa  and  legibility 
of  the  original  copy  and  in  keeping  with  the 
filming  contract  specifications. 


Original  copies  in  printed  paper  covers  are  filmed 
beginning  with  the  front  cover  and  ending  on 
the  last  page  With  a  printed  or  illustrated  impres- 
sion, or  the  back  cover  when  appropriate.  AH 
other  original  copies  are  filmed  beginning  tin  the 
first  page  with  a  printed  or  iltustrated  impres- 
sion, and  ending  on  the  last  page  with  a  printed 
or  illustrated  impression. 


>/^ 


The  last  recorded  frame  on  each  microfiche 
shall  contain  the  symbol  — »-  (meaning  "CON- 
TINUED"), or  the  symbol  V  (meaning  "END"), 
whichever  applies. 

Maps,  plates,  charts,  efc,  may  be  filmed  at 
different  reduction  ratios.  Those  too  large  to  be 
entirely  included  in  one  exposure  are  filmed 
beginning  in  the  upper  left  hand  corner,  left  to 
right  and  top  tojbottom,  as  many  frames  as 
required.  The  following  diagrams  illustrate  the 
method: 


.  1 

2 

'    3 

L'exemplaire  filmA  fut  reproduit  grAce  A  la 
g6n«ro%it«  de: 

Harold  Campbell  Vaughan  Memorial  Library 
Acadia  University 


Les  imager  suivantes  ont  «t«  reproduitds  avec  le 
4>lus  grand  soin,  compte  tenu  de  la  condition  et 
de  la  nettet«  de  I'exemplaire  film«.  et  en 
conformity  avea  les  conditions  du  contrat  de 
fiima^e. 

Les  exemplaires.originaux  dont  la  couverture  en 
papier  est  imprimte  sont  f  ilmte  en  commenpant 
par  le  premier  plat  et  en  terminant  soit  par  la 
derniAre  page  qui  comporte  une  empreihte 
d'impression  ou  d'illustration.  soit  par  le  second 
plat,  selon  le  cas.  Tpus  les  autres  exemplaires 
origlnaux  sont  filmte  en  commenpant  par  la 
premidre  page  qui  comporte  une  empreinte 
d'impression  ou  d'illustration  et  en  terminant  par 
la  derniire  page  qui  comporte  une  telle 
empreinte. 

'  ■  ■  ■ 

Un  des  symboles  suivants  apparaftra  sur  la 
dernidre  image  de  cheque  microfiche,  selon  le 
cas:  le  symbole  — ►signifje  "A  SUIVRE",  le 
symbole  V  signifie  "FIN". 

Les  cartes,  planches,  tableaux,  etc.,  peuvent  Atre 
filmAs  d  des  taux  de  reduction  diffArents. 
Lorsque  le  document  est  trop  grand  pour  Atre 
reproduit  en  un  seul  clichA,  11  est  fiimA  A  partir 
de  Tangle  supArieur  gauche,  de  gauche  A.droite, 
et  de  haut  en  bas,  en  prenant  le  nombre   ' 
d'images  nAcessaire.  Les  diagrammes  suivants 
illustrent  la  mAthode. 


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1872. 


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THE 


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1/ 


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cryptogrXm. 


l.vC    „ 


*•'    I 


^  Noocl. 


By  JAMES  DE  MILLE, 


AUTHOR  OP 


^  ^   ,     'THE  DODGE  CLUB...  "CORD  AND  CREESE.'.  "THE  AMERICAN  BARON."  Ac 

\  ■  ■  ■     ^'      -. 


f 


WYTZr  ILLUSTRATIONS. 


—    N  E  W   YtTR Kr 

HARJ>ER   A.  ^TWi^THERS,    PUBLIS 

FRANKLIN    SQUARE. 
I  8  7  2. 


HERS, 


..•^.  „  / 


^* 


-  /-"''jl^Siltf 


1 


y- 


Entered,  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1870,  by 

HARPER  &  BROTHERS, 

In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  United  States  for  the  Southern 

Dis^ict  of  New  York. 

A 


I 


r: 


THE  CRYPTOGRAM. 


s  for  the  Southern 


>\  CHAPTER  I. 

^  TWO    OLD    VKIBICDS. 

Chktwthdb  Castlb  was  a  Iai::ge  baronial 
'Vdansion,  belonging  to  the  Plantagenet  period, 
andgitnatedinMonmonthihire.  It  was  a  grand 
old  place,  with  dark  towers,  and  tarrets,  and 
gloomy  walls  silrmoanted  with  battlements,  half 
of  whUh  had  long  since  tombled  down,  while 
the  other  half  seemed  tottering  to  min.  That 
menacing  rain  was  on  onjp  side  of  the  structure 
concealed  beneath  a  growth  of  ivy,  which  con- 
trasted the  dark  green  of  its  leaves  with  the 
sombre  hue  of  the  ancient  stones.  Time  widk 
its  defacing  fingers  had  only  lent  additional 
grandeur  to  this  Tenarable  t^  At  it  rose 
there—"  standing  with  half  its  battlemenU  alone, 
TBid  with  flve^hindred'yMH  6f  ivy  grown"--itt 
picturesque  magnificence  and  iu  ahr  of  hoar  an- 
tiquity made  it  one  of  the  noblest  monuments  of 
the  past  which  England  could  show. 

All  iu  surroundings  were  in  keeping  with  the' 
central  object.  Here  were  no  neat  paths,  no 
well<kept  aranues,  no  trim  lawns.    On  the  con- 


sV-tarfl^siA^i^^fc     iS*^ 


traty,  erety  thing  bore  the  unmistakable  marks 
bf  neglect  and  decay ;  the  walks  were  ovei^grown, 
the  terraces  dilapidated,  and  the  rose  pleasaunce 
had  degenerated  into  a  tangled  mass  of  bushes 
and  briers.  It  seemed  as  though  the  whole  do- 
main were  about  to  revert  into  its  original  state 
of  nature ;  and  every  thing  spoke  either  of  the 
absence  of  a  master,  or  elM  of  something  more 
important  still— the  aMence  of  money. 

The  cat\tle  stood  on  slightly  elevated  ground ; 
and  from  its  gray  stone  ivy -covered  portal  so 
magnificent  was  the  view  that  the  moat  careless 
observer  wonid  be  attracted  by  it,  and  stand 
wonder-struck  at  the  beapty  of  the  scene,  till  he 
forgot  in  th^  glories  of  nature  the  deficiencies  of 
art.  '  Below,  and  not  far  away,  flowed  the  sil- 
very WyiB,  most  charming  of  English  streams, 
winding  tortuouslv  through  fertile  m«tdows  and 
4vodded  copses ;  iarther  off  lay  fretful  vales  and 
rolling  hills ;  while  in  the  distance  die  prospect 
was  bcmnded  by  the  giant  forms  of  the  Webb 
moqntains. 

At  the  moment  when  this  story  opens  these 
beauties  were  but  faintly  visible  through  the 
fast-fading  twilight  of  a  summer  evening ;  :^ 
shadows  were  rapidly  deepening ;  and  the  ^  ~' 
signs  of  life  about  the  place  appMrad  when 
some  of  the  windows  at  the  eastern  end' 
rays  of  light  stole  out  into  the  gloon^ 

The  interior  of  the  castle  corresponded  with 
the  extetjipr  in  magnificence  an4  in  ruin — in  fts 
picturesque  cotnniingUng  of  splendor  and  decay. 
The  hall  was  hung  with  anns^and  armor  of  past 
generations,  and  ornamented 'with  stags'  heads, 
antlers,  and  other  trophies  of  the  chase;  but 
rust,  and  mould,  and  dust  covered  them  all. 
Throughout  the  house  a  laige  number  of  rooms 
were  empty,  and  the  whole  westvn  end  was  un- 
furnished. In  4he  furnished  rooms  at  the  east- 
em  #nd  ever^thihig  belonged  to  a  past  genera- 
tion, and  all  the  massive  and  antiquated  furni- 
ture bore  painful  marks  of  poverty  and  n^ect. 
Time  was  every  where  asserting  ms  power,  and 
nowhere  was  any  Assistance  made  to  his  ravages. 

Some  comfort,  however,  was  still  to  be  found 
in  the  old  place.  There  were  ro<Hns  which  were 
as  yet  free  from  th4  general  touch  of  desolation. 
Among  these  was  the  dining-room,  where  at  this 
time  ^^vy  curtains  were  drawn,  the  lamps 
shone  out  cheerilyl  Mid,^early  Jane  thou|^  it 
was,  a  bngfat  wooctnre  biased  on  ttn  ampio 
hearth,  lighting  up  With  a  md^y  i^ow  the  heavy 
panelings  and  the  time-wom  tapestries. 

Dinner  was  Just  lover,  the  ^MMrt  was  on  the 
table,  and  two  mntlemeQ  wen,  sitting  over  their 
wine— though  this  is  to  be^taked  ratker  in  a  fig- 
urative sense,  for  their  coovenftfoairM  lo  ea< 


i\. 


-Hi»« 


8 


THE  CRYPTOGRAM. 


grosBing  as  to  moke  them  oblivious  of  even  the 
cliarms  of  the  old  ancestral  |>ort  of,rare  vintage 
which  Lord  Chetwynde  had  produced  to  do  hon- 
or to  his  gnest  Nor  is  this  to  be  wondered  ati 
Friends  of  boyhood  and  early  manhood,  gh'arers 
long  ago  in  ei^  other's  hopes  and  aspirations, 
they  had  parteS  last  when  youth  and  ambition 
were  both  at  their  height  Now,  after  the  lapse 
of  years,  H^ywom  and  weary  from  the  strife, 
they  hod  met  again  to  recount  how  thline  hopes 
had  been  fulfilled.  /     • 

The  two  men  were  of  distinguished  appear- 
ance. Lord  Chetwynde  was  of  about  the  me- 
dium size,  with  slight  figure,  and  pole,  aristo- 
cratic bee.  His  hair  was  silver-white,  his  feat- 
ures were  deUcately  chiseled,  but  wore  habittially 
a  sad  and  anxious  expressioi).  His  whole  p^y- 
siqae  betokened  a  nature'of  extreme  refinement 
and  senaibilitT,  rather  than  force  or  strength  of 
chuacter.  Bis  companion.  General  Pomeroy, 
waa  a  man  of  different  stamp.  He  was  tall,  with 
a  high  receding  brow,  hair  longer  than  is  common\ 
with  soldiers ;  thin  lipe,  which  spoke  of  resolu- 
tion, aronnd  which,  however,  there  always  dwelt 
«8  he  spoke  a  smile  of  inexpressible  sweetness. 
He  had  a  long  nose,  and  large  eyes  that  lighted 
up  with  every  varying  feeling.  There  was  in  his 
fobe  both  resolution  and  kindOness,  each  in  ex- 
treme, as  though  he  could  remorselessly  take 
vengeance  on  an  enemy  or  lay  down  his  life  for 
a  friend.    ' 

As  long  AS  the  servants  were  present  the  con- 
versation, animated  thongh  it  was,  referred  to 
topics  of  a  general  character;  but  as  soon  as 
they  had  left  the  room  the  two  friends  began  to 
*refor  more  confidentially  to  the  past 

' "  You  have  lived  so  very  secluded  a  life,"  said 
General  Pomeror,  "  that  it  is  only  at  rare  inter- 
nals that  I  have  heard  any  thing  of  yon,  and  that 
was  hardly  more  than  the  fact  that  you  were 
alive.  You  were  always  rather  reserved  and  se- 
cluded, you  know  ^  you  hated,  like  Horace,  the 
prq/iinum  vulgus,  ond  held  yourself  aloof  from 
them,  and  so  I  suppose  yon  would  not  go  into 
political  life.  Well,  I  don't  know  but  that,  after 
all,  you  were  right." 

"  My  dear  Pomeroy,"  said  Lord  Chetwyndi 
leaning  back  in  his  chair,  "my  circumstanci 
have  been  sach  that  ientmnce  into  political  li: 
has  scarcely  ever  depended  on  my  own  choici. 
My  position  has  been  so  peculiar  that  it  has  hardly 
ever  been  possible  for  me  to  obtain  advancement 
in  the  common  ways,  even  if  I  had  desired  it 
■  I  dare  say,  if  I  had  been  inordinately  ambitions, 
I  might  have  done  something ;  but,  as  it  was,  I 
have  done  npthing.  You  see  me  just  about  where 
I  was  when  we  parted,  Indon't  know  how  many 
yean  ago."  ^ 

"Well,  at  any  rate,"  said  the  General,  "yon 
haw  been  spared  the  trouble  of  a  career  of  am- 
bition. Yon  have  Ured  here  qnietlv  on  your  own 
(tlaoe,  and  I  ^are  aay  you  have  had  far  more 
real  httpiliwn  than  you  would  otherwise  have 
had." 

"^ipfAxMfiV'  rapwted  Lord  Chetwynde,  in 
—m  HMHinM  WS6.  H*  leaned  his  head  on  hfi 
hand  for  a  fbw- moments,  and  said  nothing.  At 
last  he  looked  up  and  said,  with  a  bitter  smile : 
"  The  Btonr  of  nty  life  is  soon  told.  Two  words 
will  embody  it  all — disappointment  and  fiiil- 
■re." 

Geoeral  Pomeroy  regarded  his  friend  earnestly 


for  a  few  moments,  and  Jhen  looked  away  with< 
out  speaking. 

"  My  troubles  began  from  the  very  first,"  coti- 
tinued  Lord  Chetwynde,  in  a  musing  tone,  which 
seemed  more  like  a  soliloqu v  than  any  thing^lse. 
"  There  was  the  estate,  saddled  with  debt  hand- 
ed down  from  my  grandfather  to  my  father.  It 
would  have  required  years  of  economy  and  good 
management  to  free  it  firom  encumbrance.  But 
my  bther's  motto  was  always  Dum  vivinnu  viva- 
tHus,  and  his  only  idea  was  to  get  what  ihoney 
he  could  for  himself,  atid  let  his  heirs  look  out 
for  themselves.  In  consequence,  heavier  mort- 
gages were  added.  He  lived  in  Paris,  enjoying 
himself,  and  left  Chetwynde  in  charge  of  a  fac- 
tor, whose  chief  idea  was  to  feather  his  own  nest 
So  he  let  every  thing  go  to  decay,  and' oppressed 
the  tenants  in  order  to  collect  money  for  my  fa- 
ther, an4  prevent  his  coming  home  to,  see  tb*- 
ruin  that  was  going  on.  Yon  may  not  have 
known  this  l>efore.  I  did  noi  until  after  our 
separation,  when  it  all  came  upon  me  at  once. 
My  father  wanted  me  to  join  him  in  breaking 
the  entail.  Overwhelmed  by  such  a  calamity, 
nd  indignant  wiUi  him,  I  refused  to  compiv 

ith  his  wishes.    We  quarreled.    He  went  back 

Paris,  and  I  nbver 'saw  him  again. 
'  After  his  death  my  only  idea  was  to  clear 
a^ay  the  debt,  improve  the  condition  of  the 

lants,  and  restpre  Chetwynde  to  its  former 

ndition.  How  that  hope  has  been  realized 
yin  have  only  to  look  aronnd  you  and  see.  But 
a^  that  time  my  hope  was  strong.     I  went  np  to 

indon,  Where  my  name  and  the  influence  of 
my  friends  enabled  m^to  enter  into  public  life. 
Y^u  were  somewhere  in  England  then,  and  I 
used  to  wonder  why  I  never  saw  you. 
Ybu  must  have  been  in  London.  I  once  saw 
yAur  name  in  an  army  list  among  the  ofllcem 
qf  a  regiment  stationed  there.  At  any  rate  I 
i|i-orked  hard,  and  at  first  all  my  prospects  were 
bright,  and  I  felt  confident  in  n{y  future. 
;  "Well,  about  that  time  I  got  married,  trust-  . 
ing  to  my  prospects.  She  was  of  aa  good  a  film- 
ily  as  mine,  but  had  no  money." 

Lord  Chetwynde's  tone  as  he  spoke  about  his 
marriage  had  suddenly  changed.  It  seemed  as 
though  he  spoke  with  an  effort  He  stopped  for 
a  time,  and  slowly  drank  a  glass  of  wine. 

"  She  married  me,"  he  eontinned,  in  an  icy 
tone,  "  for  my  prospects.  Sometimes  you  know 
it  is  veiy  safe  to  many  on  prospects.  A  rising 
young  statesman  is  often  a  for  better  match  than 
a  dissipated  man  of  fortune.  Some  mothers  know 
this ;  my  wife's  mother  thought  me  a  (|ood  mutch, 
and  my  wife  thought  so  too.  I  loved  her  very 
dearly,  or  I  would  not  have  married — though 
I  don't  know,  either :  people  often  marry  in  a 
whim." 

General  Pomeroy  had  thus  far  been  gazing 
fixedly  at  the  opposite  wlall,  but  now  ho  looked 
earnestly  at  his  friend,  whose  met  were  down- 
cast whOe  he  spoke,  and  shoVed  a  deeper  atten- 
tion. 

"My  ofllce,"  said  Lord  Clytwynde,  "was  a 
lucrative  one,  so  that  I  was  aMo  to  surround  iny^ ' 
bride  with  every  comfort ;  and  the  bright  pros- 
pects which  lay  before  me  made  me  certain 
about  my  future.  After  a  time,  however,  dif- 
ficulties aroM.  Yon  are  aware  that  the  chief  . 
point  in  my  Mij^on  is  Honor.  It-i»  my  nature, 
and  was  taught  me  by  my  mother.    Our  family 


.■.^#64^*i,.V/, 


/V 


o  looked  away  with. 


THE  CRYPTOGRAM. 


sUe  to  mmiastwf 


jnotto  ii,  Nobhu*  obBge,  and  the  full  meaning 
of  this  great  maxim  mr  mother  had  instilled 
into  everjr  fibre  of  mv  being.     Bat  on  g^g 
into  the  world  I  fband  it  ridiculed  among'^y 
own  claM  a«  obeolete  and  exploded.      Every 
where  it  seemed  to  have  given  way  to  the  mean 
doctrine  of  expediency.     My  sentiments  wera 
gayly  ridiuuled,  and  I  soon  (began  to  f^  that 
I  was  not  suited  for  political  tifo. 
"  At  length  a  crisu  arrived.     I  hod  either  to 
,  socriflce  my  conscience  or  resign  my  position. 
I  chose  the  latter  alternative,  and  in  doing  so  I 
gave  up  my  political  life  forever.    I  need  not 
tell  the  bittemesa  of  my  disappointment     But 
the  loss  of  worldly  prospects  and  of  hope  was 
as  nothing  compwed  with  other  things.     The 
worst  of  all  was  the  reception  which  I  met  at 
home.     My  young,  and  as  I  supposed  loving 
wife,  to  whom  I  went  at  once  with  my  story, 
and  from  whom  I  expected  the  wannest  svm- 
ix^hy,  .greeted  me  with  nothing  but  tears  and 
reproaches.    She  could  only  look  npon  my  act 
with  the  world's  eyes.     She  called  it  ridiculous 
Quixotism.    She  charged  me  with  want  of  affec- 
tion ;  denounced  me  for  beguiling' her  to  marry  a 
pauper;  and  after  a  painful  interview  we  parted 
m  coldness."  t  ' 

Lord  Chetwynde,  whose  agitation  was  now 
evident,  here  paused  and  drank  another  ghiss 
of  wine.    Af^r  some  time  he  wen^  on : 

"After  all,  it  was  not  so  ba^  I  soon  found 
employment  I  had  mode  many  powerful  friends, 
who,  though  they  laughed  at  my  scruples,  still 
seemed  to  respect  my  consistency,  and  had  con- 
fidence in  my  ability.  Through  them  I  obtained 
a  new  appointment  where  I  conld  bejnore  inde- 
pendent, though  the  phMpects  were  poor.  Hera 
1  might  jliave  been  happy,  had  it  not  been  for  the 
continued  alienation  between  my  wife  and  me. 
She  had  been  ambitioos.  She  had  relied  on  my 
future.  She  was  now  angry  because  I  had  thrown 
that  future  away.  It  was  a  death-blow  to  her 
hopes,  and  she  could  not  forgive  me.  We  lived 
in  the  same  house,  but  I  knew  nothing  of  her 
occupations  and  (unusements.  Shie  went  much 
into  society,  where  she  was  greotly  admired, 
and  seemed  to  be  n^ectful  of  her  home  and 
of  her  child.  Ibore  my  misery  as  best  I  could 
in  silence,  and  never  so  much  as  dreamed  of  the 
tremendous  catastrq>he  in  whidh  it  was  about  to 
terminate." 

Lord  Chetwynde  panaed,  and  seemed  over- 
come ty  his  recollections.  , 

"  You  have  heard  of  it,  I  snppose  ?"  he  asked 
at  length,  in  a  scarce  audible  voice. 

The  General  looked  at  him,«nd  for  a  moment 
tbeu  eyes  met ;  then  he  looked  away.  Then  he 
shaded  his.eyea  with  his  hand  and  sat  as'thongh 
awaiting  further  revehttions. 

ImA  Chetwynde  did  not  seem  to  notice  him 
«t  aU.  Intent  npon  his  own  thon^ts,  he  welS 
on  in  that  strange  (olUoqnizing  tone  With  which 
he  had  begun. 

"She  ftd-"  he  said,  in  k  ^ice  whisk  was 
little  more  than  a  whisper.      <r 


"MeBTens!"  said  GenenJ^Fomeroy; 
I  There  was  a  long  silence.  "^ 
I  "It  was  aboat  three  years  after  onr  mar- 
riage," continued  Lord  Chetwynde,  with  on  ef- 
fort "She  fled.  Oie  left  no  woid  of  fimwell. 
Mie  fled.  She.  fbrsook  me.  She  forsook  her 
cnild.    My  God  1    Why?"  ^ 


«&^.ii«4  !•"'.;  i"-. 


He  was  silent  again. 

"  Who  was  the  man  ?"  asked  th«rGeneiW,  in 
a  strange  vo^  and  with  aa  effort 

"He  waakdown  as  Hedfleld  Lyttoun.  He 
had  been  devoted  for  a  long  time  to  my  wretched 
wife.  Their  flight  was  so  secret  and  so  skill- 
fully managed  that  I  could  gain  no  clew  what- 
ever to  it— and,  indeed,  it  waa  hetter'so— per- 
haps—yes— better  >o."  Lord  Chetwynde  drew 
a  long  breath.  "  Jes,  batter  so,"  he  continued 
— "  for  if  I  had  ^n  able  to  track  the  scoun- 
drel and  take  his  llf«,  my  vengeance  would  have 
been  gained,  but  my  dishonor  would  have  been 
procjaimed.  To  me  that  dishonor  would  hove 
brought  no  additional  pang.  J  had  suffered  all 
that  I  could.  More  were  impossible ;  but  as  it 
was  my  shame  was  not  made  public— and  so, 
above  all— nimve  all— my  boy  was  saved.  The 
frightful  scandal  did  not  arise  to  chiish  mv  dar- 
ling boy."  •*         ', 

The  a^tation  of  Lord  Chetwtndo  overpowered 
him.  His  face  grew  more  pallid,  his  eyes  were 
fixed,  and  Jus  clenched  hands  testified  to  the 
struggle  that  raged  within  him.  A  long  silence 
followed,  during  which  neither  spoke  a  word. 

At  length  Lord  Chetwynde  went  on.  "  IJeft 
London  forever,"  said  he,  with  a  deep  sigh. , 
"  After  that  my  one  desire  was  to  hide  myself 
from  the  world.  I  wished  that  if  it  were  possi- 
ble my  very  name  might  be  forgotten.  And  so 
I  came  back  to  Chetwynde,  where  I  have  lived 
ever  since,  in  the  utmost  seclusion,  devoting  my- 
self entirely  to  the  education  and  training  of  mr 
boy.  ' 

'5Ah,  my  old  friend,  that  bov  has  proved  the 
one  solace  of  mfr  lif».    Well  h'aa  he  repaid  me 
for  my  care.     Never  was  there  a  nobler  or  a 
mora  devoted  nature  than  hisp  Foigive  a  fiither'a 
emotion,  my  friend.    If  yon  buvlne w  my  noble, 
my  brave,  my  chivalrous  boy,  yon  would  excuse 
°>8-    ^t  boy  would  lay  down  his  life  for  me. 
In  all  his  life  his  one  thought  has  been  to  spare 
meoll  trouble  and  to  brighten  my  dark  life.   Poor 
' '  Be  knows  nothing  df  the  horror  of  shame 
ings  over  him— he  has  found  out  nothinjil 
It    To  him  his  mother  is  a  holy  thought — V 
tne  thought  of  bne  who  died  long  ago,  whose   I 
memory  lie  thinks  so  sacred  to  me  that  I  dare  -  * 
not  speak  of  her.    Poor  Guy  1    Poor  Guy  I"         vi 
Lord  Chetwynde  again  paused,  overcome  by 
•—)  emotion.  , 

God  only  knows,-"  he  resumed,  "  how  I  feel  / 
for  him  and  for  his  future.    It's  a  dark  future/ 
for  him,  my  frieiid.     For  in  addition  to  th^ 
grief  which  I  have  told  you  of  there  is  another 
which  weighs  me  down.    Cheti^de  is  notyet  " 
redeemed.    I  lost  my  life  and  my  chance  to 
save  the  estate.     Chetwynde  is  overwhelmed 
with  debt.    The  time  is  daily  drawing  near    -« 
when  I  will  have  to  give  up  the  inheritanc« 
which  has  come  down  trough  so  long  a  line  of  / 
ancestors.    4J1  is  lost    Hope  itself  has  depart- ' 
ed.    lipw  can  I  bear  to  see  die  place  pass  into 
alien  hands?"  •-        r— 

?*  PASa  iritfl  fllwm  tianiJa^**  tnl.apwiirt»^  «tut  fLm.^ 

mrmao  titw/  wttcmMmuay    imoimptDtt  iMCAiWD*— •— - 

eral,  in  surprise.     "Give  up  Chetwynde?    Im- 
possible !    It  can  not  ^  thought  of.''  "rvr 

"Sad  as  it  isj*  repUed  L6rd  Chetwynde. 
moumftally,  "it  iSnst  be  so.    SixW  thousand 
pounds  are  due  within  two  yean.    Unless  I  cta  ' 
raise  that  amount  all  must  go.      When  Guy 
comes  of  age  he  must  break  the  entail  and  sefi 


..U.-"' 


«i? 


ri 


10 


THE  GRTPDOORAM. 


■1 


f 


I*  '■  jUlribesinninK  to  pay  again, 
e^tfulTv.     "When,  I  came 


negleiite 


the  eatate. 

too,"  he  added,  repetrullv.  "  When,  1  came 
into  it  it  was  Dtterly  impoverished,  and  every 
available  iticli  of  timber  had  been  cat  down: 
but  mv  expenaea  have  been  very  imall,  and  if  I 
have  fulfllied  no  other  hope  of  my  life,  I  hav^-«t 
least  done  something  for  mv  groond-down  ten- 
antry ;  foK  every  penny  which  I  have  saved,  after 
paying  (he  interest,  I  have  spent  on  improving 
their  homes  and  farms,  so  that  the  place  is  now 
in  venr  good  condition,  thoagh  I  have  been 
obliged  to  leave  the  pleaanre'groonds  utterly 

^'  What  are  yoo  goipg  to  do  with  your  son  f" 
asked  the  General. 

"  I  have  just  got  him  a  commission  in  the 
army,"  said  Lord  Chetwyndb.  "Some  old 
fHends,  who  had  actually  renkembered  me  all 
ihese  years,  offered  to  do  something  for  me  in 
the  diplomacv  line ;  but  if  he  enterM  that  life  I 
should  feel  that  all  the  world  was  pointing  Uie 
finger  of  scorn  at  him  for  his  iQothers  sake ;  be- 
sides, Iny  boy  is  too  honest  for  p  diplomat  No 
— he  mast  go  and  make  his  own  fortfnne.  A 
viscount  with  neither  money,  land,  nor  position 
— the  only  place  for  him  is  the  ormr." 

A  long  si}enc<^' followed.  .Lord  Oietwynde 
seemed  to  low  himself  among  thoee  painful  rec- 
ollections, which  he  had  raised,  while  the  Gen- 
enu^  falling  into  a  profound  abstniction,  sot  with 
his  head  on  one  hmd,  while  th<  other  drummed 
mechanically  on  the  table.  As  much  m  half  an 
hour  passed  away  in  this  maimer.  The  General 
was  Arst  to  rouae  himselt 

"  larrived  in  England  only  a  few  months  ago," 
he  began,  in  a  qniet,  thoughtful  ton^  "  My  life 
has  been  one  of  strange  vicissitudes.  My  own 
country  is  almost  like  a  foreign  land  to  me.  As 
soon  as  I  could  get  Pomeroy  Court  in  order  I  de- 
termined tfr  visit  yon.  This  visit  was  partly  for 
the  sake  of  seeing  too,  and  partly  fw  the  sake 
of  asking  a  great  tavor.  Wnat  rou  have  just 
been  paying  has  suggested  a  new  idea,  which  I 
think  may  be  carried  out  for  the  benefit  of  both 
of  us.  You  must  know,  in  the  first  pUce,  I  have 
brought  my  littli;,  daughler  home  with  me.  In 
fiKt,  it  was  for  her  sake  that  I  came  home — " 
*'  You  were  married,  then  ?" 
"  Yes,'in  India.  Yoo  kwt  sight  of  me  early 
in  life,  and  so  perhaps  yoa  do  not  know  that  I 
exchanged'  flmn  the  Queen's  service  to  th^  of 
the  East  India  Ofmfmj.  This  step  I  neve;  re- 
gretted. My  promotion  was  rapid,  and  aftOr'a 
^tr  or  two  I  obtain<9d  a  civil  appointment 
From  this  I  rose  to  a  higher  office;  and  after 
/ten  or  twelve  years  tlie  Company  recommended 
me  as  Governor  in  one.^f  the  provinces  of  the 

'  Bengal  Presidency.  It  was  here  that  I  found 
my  sweet  wife. 

"  It  is  a  strange  stoiy,"  said  the  General,  with 
a  long  sigh..  "She  came  saddanly  upon  me, 
and  changed  all  my'  life.    Thtis  fiur  I  had  so  de- 

.  voted  myself  to  business  that  no  idea  of  love  or 
sentiment,  ever  entered  my  head,  except  when  I 
was  a  boy.  I  had  leached  the  age  of  forty-five 
without  having  hardly  ever  met  with  anv  woman 

~wbo1iaTtoachield  my  beirt,  or  even  my^Iiead,  for 
diat  matter. 

"My  first  sight  of  her  was  most  sudden  and 
most  strange,"  continued  the  Generfl,  in  the 
tone  of  one  wHo  loved  to  linger  upon  eveYi<ii|he 
smallest  details  of  the  story  which  be  was  tellug 


— "  strange  and  sudden.  .  I  had  been  busy  sll  ds^ 
in  the  audience  cljamber,  and  when  at  lengtli  the 
eases  were  all'disposed  of,  I  retired  tboroilgMy  ex- 
hausted, and  gave  orders  that  no  one  should  be 
admitted  on  any  pretext  whaMver.  On  passing 
through  the  halls  to«my  private  apartment  I 
heard  an  altercation  at  the  door.  My  orderly 
was  speaking  in  a  very  decided  tone  to  some  one. 

"  '  It  is  impossible,'  I  heard  him  4ay.  '  His 
ExcellencyMias  given  positive  orders  to  admit  no 
one  to-dav.!     '     '    '■ .  '  ', 

"  I  walked  on,  paying  bnt  little  heed  to  -this. 
Applications  were  common  after  hours,  and  my 
rules  on  this  point  were  stringent  But  sudden- 
ly my  atteiMon  was  arrested  by  the  sonitd  of  a 
woman's  voice..  It  afiected  me  strangely,  Chet- 
wyndfe.  The  tones-were  ^vieet  and  low,  and 
there  was  an  agony  of  supplication  in  them  which 
lent  additional  earnestness  to  her  words. 

"'Uh;  do  not  refuse  me!' the  voiQ^id.  'Thery 
say  the  Resident  is  just  and  merciful.  Let  mie 
see  him,  I  entreat,  if  only  for  one  moment' 

'"  At  these  words  I  tamed,  and  at  onc^Hiast- 
ened  to  the  door.  A  yoang  gtrl  stood  there, 
with  her  hands  chisped,  and  in  an  attitude  of 
earnest  entreaty.  She  had  evidently  come  close- 
Iv  veiled,  but  in  her  excitement  her  veil  hod  been 
thrown  back,  and  her  nf^nied  face  lent  an^n- 
speakkble  earnestness  to  her  pleading.  At  the 
sight  of  heV  I  was  filled  with  the  deepest  ^-m|ia- 
thy. 

"  •  I  am  the  Resident,'  said  L  *  W|iat  can  I 
do  for  you?' 

"  She  looked  at  me  earnestly,  and  for  a  time 
said  nothing.  A  change  came  over  he^  face.- 
Her  ffoubles  seemed  to  have  overwhelmed  her. 
She  tottered,^  and  would  have  fall^p,:had  I  nM 
supported  her.  I  led  her  into  the  bOuse,  and 
sent  for  some  wine.    This  restored  her. 

"She  was  the  most  beaij^tiful  creature  that  I 
ever  beheld,"  continued  the  General,  in  a  pen-  ' 
sive  tone,  after  some  silence.     "She  was  tatfand 
slight,  with  all  that  litheness  and^^ce  of  miove- 
ment  which  is  peculiar  to  Indian  women,  and 
yet  she  seemed^more  European  than  Indian. 
Hex  face  was  sdudl  and  oval,  her  hair  iiung 
round  it  in  rich  masses,  and  her  eyea  were  hwge,- 
deep,  and  liquid,  and,  in  addition  to  their  natn- , 
riU  beauty,  they.bore  that  sad  expression  which, 
it  is  said,  is  t^e  sure  preciirMr  of  an  ewly  death. 
Thank  God!"  continued  the  General,  in  a  mus- 
ing tone,  "  I  aV^least  did  s6mething  to  bri^^ten  ^ 
that  short  life  of  hers.    . 

"As  soon  OS  she  waa  tufflciently  recovered 
she  told  her  story.  -It  was  a  strange  one.  She  ' 
wis  the  daughter  of  an  English  officer,  who  hav- 
ing fallen  in  love  with  an  Indian  Begum  gave 
up  Bome,  con«tiv,  and  friendf,  and  manied  . 
her.  Their  daughter  Aranna  hod  been  brought 
up  in  the  European  manner,  and  to  the  warm, 
piissionate,  Indian  nature  she  added  the  re- 
fined intelligence  of  the  English  ladv.  When 
she  was  fourteen  her  fl^her  died.  Her  mother 
followed  in  a  few  years.  Of  her  father's  fHendi 
she  knew  nothing,  and  her  mother's  brother, 
whn  y—  ^  ^^jnh  of  »  distant  province,  mml 
the  only  one  on  whom  she  oonM  rdy.  Her  mo- 
ther while  dying  chargiri  ber  always  to  remem- 
ber that  she  was  the  Saoghter  of  a  Britbh  of- 
ficer, and  that  if  she  were  ever  hi  need  of  pro- 
tection she  should  demand  it  of  the  Eni^ish  au- 
thorities.   After  her  mo^Mr'a  death  the  Kajah 


THtl  CRTPTpGRAH 


11 


laid  I.     <  What  can  I 


LUten  now  to  my  bropoaa],"  he  udd,  with 
greater  earaettnea^  "  ThatToa  ihonld  give  nd 
Chrtwynde  U  not  to  be  thoogbt  of  for  one  mrf- 

^T!:...,  .T**'.'**"  ^  "»y  »'»»  patrimony  and 
my  wife's  inheritance  I  have  tmaifed  a  fbrtuiie 
during  my  reddenoe  in  Ii^  and  I  can  thinic 

nd  in  hii  time  df  need." 


IiordChetwyndendMirhtitiuid  deprecatingly. 
Wait— noremonitrance.  Hearmeon£,"Mid 
theG^neraL  "IdonotatltyoatotakethUaaa 
Iowa,  or  any  thing  of  the  Idnd.  I  only  ad[  yon 
to  be  a  protector  to  my  chUd.  looaldMtrest 
:n  my  grave  if  I  tbongh't  that  I  had  Mt  her  un- 
protected." 


togh  Her  away,  and  aai^med  the  c<Wtrol  of  all 
ber  inheritance.  At  the  age  of  eighteen  iht-^rfu 
to  come  into  powbuion,  and  al  the  time  -Aew 
near  i]te  B^Jah  inibrmed  her  that  he  withed  her 
to  marryfbla  wn.  But  thii  ton  was  dettetable 
to  her,  and  to  her  Engliih  ideas  the  proposal  was 
abhorrent,  "vhe  rdfosed  to  marnr  hia^  The 
Bajahswece  that  she  shonldr  At  this  she  %^t- 
ened  that  she  would  claim  the  protection  of  IhV 
British)  government  FearAil  of  this,  and  en- 
raged at  her  firmness,  he  confined  her  in  Jier 
rooms  for  several  months,  and  «t  length  threat- 
ened that  if  she  did  not  consent  he  would  osc 
force.  This  threat  rednoed-her  to  despdr.  Sha 
determined  to  escaoe  and  anpM'to  the  British 
authorities)  She  bribed  h^Hutendants,  Mcaped, 
.  and^y  good  fortune  reached  my  Residency, 

"On  bearing  ber  story  I  promised  (hat  fSif 
Justice  should  be  done  her,  and  sn^fteeeded  in 
quieting  her  foars.  I  obtaiped  a  suitable  home 
for  her,  and  found  the  widow  of  an  Engliw  oiBcer 
who  consented  to  live  with  her. 

"  Ah,  Chetwynde,  h(^w  I  loved  ber !  A  year 
passed  away,  and  she  became  my  wife.  Never 
before  had  I  known  each  happiness  as  I  enjoyed 
with  her.  Never  since  haVe  I  known  any  happi- 
ness whatever.  8he  loved  R\e  with  such  devo- 
pon  that  she  would  ha^  Uid  down  her  life  for 
me.  She  looked  on  me  as  her  savior  as  well  as 
her  husband.  My  happiness  was  too  great  to 
hist. 

"I  felt  it— I  knev  it,"  he  continued,  in  a 
broken  voice.  "Two  years  my  darling  Uved 
ii-ith  me,  and  then— she  was  taken  away. 

"  I  was  iU,for  a  long  time,"  continued  the  Gen- 
eral, in  a  gentie  voice.  "I  prayed  for  death, 
but  God  spared  me  for  my  child  s  sake.  I  ra» 
covered  snfllciently  to  attend  to  the  duties  of  my 
office,  but  it  was  ^))Ai  difficulty  that  I  did  so.  I 
never  regained  my  former  strength.  My  child 
grew  elder,  and  at  length  I  detejpmined  to  retnm 
to  Engknd.  I  have  come  he^  to  find  all  my 
rektives  dead,  and  yon,  the  old  friend  of  my  hoy- 
liood,  are  the  only  survivor.  One  thing  then  », 
however,  that  imbittera  my  situation  now."  My 
health  is  still  verjr  precariou,  and .  I  may  at  any 
moment  leave  my  child  nnprotected.  ^e  irthe 
one  concern  of  my  life.  I  said  tha^l  had  come 
here  to  ask  a  &vor  of  yon.  It  was  tHia,  that  yon 
would  allow  me  to  nominate  you  as  her  gnai^an 
in  case  of  my  death,  and  assist Ihealso  hi  finding 
any  other  gnairdhu.to  succeed  yofiTin  case  y^n 
should  past  away  before  she  reached  maturity. 
This  was  my  purpose?  But  after  What  you  have 
told  me  other  things  have  occurrad  to  my  mind. 
I  have  been  thinking  of  a  pUn  which  seems  to 
me  to  be  the  best  tUng  for  both  of  ns. 


"  Wiat  I"  cried  Lord  Chetwynde,  hastily  in- 
termpting  him,  "  can.  you  imagine  that  it  is 
necessary  to  buy  my  good,  office^?" 

"  You  don't  understand  me  yet,  Chetwynde ; 
I  want  more  than  th^t.    1  want  to  secure  a  pro- 
tector'for  her  all  her  life.    Hince  you  have  told 
me  about  your  affairs  1  have  formed  a'strongde- 
^  4tt-aM.b«.b«tcotb«i.  ta^  yoH»  a^ . .  'Xtofi,  I 
bawj  never  seen  him,  but  I  know  very  weA  ue  " 
s'tock  he  comes  from.     I  know  his  father,"  he 
went  on,  laying  his  hand  on  his  friend's  arm ;' 
"and  I  trust  the' son  is  like  the  father.'   Iij  this 
wa|p)roa  see  there  will  t>e  no  gift,  ;io  loan,  no  * 
limation.      The  Chetwynde  debts  will  be  all    ' 
paiQ  off,  bnt  it  is  for  my  daughter;  .and  where 
couU  1  ^t  a  better  dowryJ>" 

"Upt  she  must  b(»  very  young,"  said  Lord 
ChlBtwyn4e,  "  if  yon  were  not  married  utatil  forty- 
five." 

"She  is  only  a  child  yet,"  said  the  General 
"  She  hi  ten  vears  old.    That  need  not  signify, 
however.    The  engagement  can  be  maUe  Just  as 
well    1  free  the  estate  from  all  its  encumbrances ; 
and  as  she  will  eventually  be  a  Chetwynde,  it  will 
be  for  her  sake  ariirell  as  your  son's.    There  is 
no  obligation." 
Lord  "Chetwynde  wmng  hir  friend's  hand: 
"  I  dp  not  know  what  to  say,"  said  he.     " It    i 
would  add  years  to  my4ife  to  know  that  my  son, 
is  not  to  lose  the  inheritance  of  his  ancestors.  • 
But  of  course  I  can  make  no  definite  arrange- 
ments nntil  I  have  seen  him.     He  is  the  one 
chiefly  interested ;  and  besides,"  he  added,  smil- 
higly,  "I  can  %et  expect  yon  to  take  a  father's, 
'estimate  of  an  only  son.    Yon  must  Judge  him 
for  yourself,  and  see  whethei'  my  account  has 
been  to6  p^wtiaL"-" 

"Of  conrsi,  of  coniipe.    I4tiiist  see  him  at 
once,"  broke  in  the  General.     "  Where  is  he  ?" 
"In  Irfland.     I  will  tefegralih  to  him  to- 
night, (ind  he  will  he.  here  in  a  touple  of 
diys.''  ^ 

"  He  could  fipt  come  kooner,  I  suppose?"  siid 
the  General,  anxiously.  '. 
Lord  Chetwvnde  laugfaM. 
"  I  hardly  think  so-^from  Ulster.  Bnt  why 
snch  haste?  It  positively  ahnns  me,  for  I'm  an. 
idle  man,  and  have  Iiad  my  time  on  mv  hands 
for  half  a  lifetime." 

"The  old'Stoiy,  Chetwjmde,"  said  the  (j^n-' 
erol,  with  a  smile  ;«"pettippat  government.,  I 
pibmhwd  my  little  giri  thkt  I  wonld  be.  hack  to-  ' 
morrow.  She  will  be  sadly  dteppointed  -at  • 
day's  dehty.  '\  shaU4>e  ahnoM  afiraid  to  meet 
her.  I  fear  she  has  been  a  little  spoiled,  poor 
child;  bnt  you  can  scarcely  wondw,  nncler  the 
circumstances.  After  all,  she  is  a  good  chUd 
thou^ ;  she  has  the  strongest  possible  affection 
for  me,  and  I  can  guide  her  a»I  '{dease  throngb  .  - 
her  aflections." 

After  some  furthaccotivecsation  \Lord  Chet- 
wynde-sent  off  a  telegram  to  his  ton  to  com* 
home  without  delay. 


"l 


.--' 


CHAPTER  XL 

.  IHB  wsiSD  woiuir.         .  .. 

Thb  morning-room  at  Chetwynde  Cftstle  wa( 
about  the  pleasantest  one  there,  and  the  air  gf . 
poverty  which  prevailed  elsewhere  was  her^  loet 


,^|ts%»50E.>'^^^i  ykjUi 


.12 


in  the  general  appearance  of  comfort.  It  was  a 
large  apartment,  commensurate  with  the  size  of 
the  castle,  and  the  deep  bay-windows  command- 
ed an  extensive  view.    , 

On  the  morning  following  the  conversation  al- 
ready mentioned  General  Pomeroy  arose  early 
and  It  was  toward  this  room  that  he  turned  his 
steps.  Throughout  the  onstle  tliere  was  that  air 
of  neglect  already  alluded  to,  so"  that  the  mom- 
ing-room  afforded  a  pleasant  contrast.  Here  all 
the  comtort  that  remained  at  Chetwvnde  seemed 
to  have  centred.  It  was  with  a  feeling  of  in- 
tense satisfaction  that  the  General  seated  him- 
self in  an  arm-chair  which  stood  within  the  deep 
recess  of  the  bay-window,  and  surveyed  the  anart- 
,|nent.  "^  '^ 

The  room  was  about  forty  feet  long  and  thirty 
feet  wide.  The  ceiljng  was  covered  with  quaint 
figures  in  fresco,  the  walla  were  paneled  with 
oak,  and  high-backed,  stolid-looking  chairf  stood 
around.  On  one  side  was  the  fire-place,  so  vast 
tad  so  high  that  it  seemed  itself  another  room 
It  was  the  fine  old  fire-place  of  the  Tudor  or 
riantagenet  period— the  unequaled,  the  unsur- 
passed—whose day  has  long  since  been  done, 
and  which  m  departing  from  the  world  has  left 
nothing  to  compeasate  for  it.  Still,  the  fire- 
place lingers  in  a  few  old  mansions;  and  here 
At  Chetwynde  Castle  was  one  witliout  a  peer 
It  was  lofty,  it  was  broad,  it  was  deep,  it  was 
well -paved,  it  was  ornamented  not  carelessly 
but  lovingly,  as  though  the  hearth  was  the  holy 


THE  CRYPTOGRAM. 


place,  the  altar  of  the  cnstle  and  of  the  family 
There  was  room  in  its  wide  expanse  for  the  gath- 
enng  of  a  household  about  the  fire ;  its  embrace 
was  the  embrace  of  love ;  and  it  was  the  type 
and  model  of  those  venerable  and  haUowed  places 
which  have  given  to  the  English  language  a  word 
holier  even  than  "  Home,"  since  that  woid  » 
'Hearth.' 

It  fres  with  some  such  thoughts  as  these  that 
UenerkI  Pomeroy  sat  looking  at  the  fire-place, 
where  a  few  fagots  sent  up  a  ruddy  blaze,  when 
suddenW  his  attention  was  arrested  bv  a  figure 
which  Altered  the  room.    So  qniet  and  noiseless 
WM  the  entrance  that  he  did  not  notice  it  until 
the  figure  stood  between  him  and  the  fire      It 
was  a  woman;  and  certainly,  of  all  the  women 
Whom  he  had  ever  seen,  no  one  had  poss^d  so 
weird  and  mystical  an  aspect.     She  was  a  lit- 
tlejorer  the  middle  height,  but  exceedingly  thin 
nn^  emaciaied.     She  wore  s  cap  and  a  gown  of 
black  serge,  and  looked  more  like  a  Sister  of 
Chanty  than  any  thing  else.     Her  features  were 
thin  and  shrunken,  her  cheeks  hollow,  her  chin 
peaked,  and  her  hair  was  as  white  as  snow.    Yet 
the  hair  was  very  thick,  and  the  Cap  could  not 
^  conceal  its  heavy  wliite  masses.     Her  side-face 
•  yj'"*  "|"»«J  Jpwanl  him,  and  he  could  not  see 
her  fully  at  first,  until  nt  length  she  turned  to- 
ward a  pictu^  which  hung  over  the  fire-phice, 
and  stood  regfirditi«it  fixedly. 

It  was  the  portrait  of  a  young  man  in  the  dress 
Qf«  British  offlcv;^    The  General  knew  that  it 


and  on  her  wan,  thin  cheeks.  Her  hair  was 
111.M  •""*.' ""d  her  complexion  was  of  an 
unearthly  grayish  hue.  It  was  a  memorable  face 
-a  face  which,  once  seen,  might  haunt  one  long 

afterv^ard  In  the  ev&  there  was  tenderness  d"d 
softness,  yet  the  fashion  of  the  mouth  and  cl.  n 
^«1  to  speak  of  resolution  and  force Jn  sp  te 
of  the  ravages  which  age  or  sorrow  had  made. 
She  stood  quite  unconscious  of  the  Generals 
presence,  looking  at  the  portrait  with  a  fixed  and 

^'l»«'"''Zr*'"V  ^u  '''"  l^"^ »'«''  f"""  changed 
in  Its  aspect.  In  the  eyes  there  arose  unuttera- 
ble longing  and  tenderness;  love  so  deep  that 
the  sight  oj  it  thus  unconsciously  expressed  migh 

whir«!!'v'^"^.'*"','''"^'«'  and'ste?nest  naTJre 
while  over  all  her  features  the  same  yearning  exl 
pression  was  spread.     Gradually,  as  she  stood 

them   together,  and  so  stood,  intent  upon  the  ' 
portrait,  as  though  she  found  some  speU  there 
whoso  power  was  overmastering 

At  the  sight  of  so  weird  and  ghostly  a  figure 
the  General  was  strangely  moved.     There  was 
something  startling- in  such  an  apparition.    At 
first  there  cnme  involuntarily  half-superstitious 
thoughts.     He  recalled  all  those  mysterious  be- 
ings of  whom  he  had  ever  heard  whose  occupa- 
tion  was  to  haunt  the  seats  of  old  families.     Ho 
thought  of  the  White  Lady  of  Avonel,  the  Black 
Lady  of  Scarborough,  the  Goblin  Woman  of 
Hurslj  and  the  Bleeding  Nun.     A  second  glance 
served  to  show  him,  liowwer,  that  she  could  by 
no  possibihty  fill  the  important  post  of  Family 
Ghost,  but  was  real  flesh  and  blood.     Yet  even 
thus  she  was  scarcely  less  impressive.     Most  of 
all  was  he  moved  by  the  sonow  of  her  fac^  She 
naight  serve  for  Niobe  with  her  children  jlfad  • 
she  might  serve  for  Hecuba  over  the  bo^of 
1  olyxena  and  Polydore.    The  sorrows  of  woman 
have  ever  been  greater  than  those  of  man.     The 
widow  suffers  more  than  the  widower;  the  be- 
reaved mother  than  the  bereaved  father.    The 
Ideals  of  grief  are  found  in  tlie  faces  of  women 
and  reach  their  intensiu  in  the  woe  that  meet  J 
our  eyes  m  the  Mater  bolorosa.     This  woman 
was  one  of  the  great  community  of  sufferers,  and 
angwsh  both  past  and  present  still  left  its  traces 
on  her  &ce. 

Besides  all  this  there  was  something  more; 
and  while  the  General  was  awed  by  the  majesty 
of  sorrow,  he  was  at  the  same  time  perplexwl  by 
an  inexplicable  familiarity  which  he  felt  with  that 

k1f.?„«rrn  ^'"^'t'  '"  ">«/«>".  had  he  seen 
t  before?  Or  had  he  seen  it  before  at  all;  or 
had  he  only  known  it  in  dreams?  In  vain  he 
tried  to  recollect.  Nothing  from  out  his  past 
life  recurred  to  his  mind  which  bore  any  rescm- 
binnoe  to  this  f.we  before  him.    The  endeavor  to 


re- 
idea 


^  ^".""ly  "on  igfiLord  Chetwynde.  for  whonL 
flv^had  written,'  md  whom  he  was  expecting- 
and  now,  as  he  sat  there  with  his  eyes  riveted  on 
this  singular  flgnre,  he  was  amazed  at  the  ex- 
pression of  her  fiice. 

Her  eyes  were  large  and  dark  and  mysterious. 
«er  face  bore  nnmistakable  traces  of  sorrow 
Vtep  lines  were  graven  on  her  pole  forehead^ 


recall  this  past  grew  pinful,  and  at  length  he 
turned  to  himself.  Then  he  dismissed  the  iuoa 
as  fanciful,  and  began  to  feel  uncomfortable,  as 
though  he  were  witnessing  something  which  ho 
had  no  business  to  see.  She  was  evidently  un- 
conscious of  his  presence,  and  to  bo  a  witness  of 
herismotion  under  sueh  circumstances  seemed  tJT 
him  as  bad  as  eaves-dropping.  The  moment, 
tneratore,  that  he  had  overcome  his  surprise  ho 
turned  his  head  away,  looked  out  of  the  window, 
and  coughed  severaf  times.  Then  he  rose  from 
his  chair,  and  after  ftanding  for  a  moment  he 
turned  once  more. 
Aa  he  turned  he  found  himself  face  to  face 


:heeks.     Her  hair  was 
complexion  waa  of  an 
t  was  a  memorable  face 
I,  miglit  haunt  one  long 
liere  waa  tendemeis  and 
of  the  mouth  and  cliin 
ition  and  force,  in  spite 
B  or  sorrow  had  made, 
cious  of  the  Genoijirs 
ortrait  with  a  fixed  and 
gazed  her  face  changed 
18  there  arose  unuttera- 
!ss;  love  80  deep  that 
:iou8ljr  expressed  might 
t  and  sternest  nature ; 
1  the  same  yearning  ex- 
ndually.^as  she  stood, 
te  hands  and  clasped 
tood,  intent  upon  the  " 
)und  some  spell  there 
tering. 

J  and  ghostly  a  figure 
f  moved.  "There  was 
:h  an  apparition.    At 
irily  half-superstitious 
1  those  mysterious  be- 
•  heard  whose  occnpa- 
»  of  old  families.     Ho 
r  of  Avenel,  the  Black 
e  Goblin  Woman  of 
un.    A  second  glance 
rer,  that  she  cowld  by 
•rtant  post  of  Family 
md  blood.     Yet  even 
impressive.     Most  of 
nowofherfac*  She 
h  her  children  iijfend ; 
)a  over  the  bo<8es  of 
["he  sorrows  of  woman 
I  those  of  man.    The 
:he  widower;  the  be- 
sreaved  father.    The 
tlie  foces  of  women, 
I  the  woe  that  meets 
owsa.     This  woman 
inity  of  sufferers,  and 
mt  still  left  its  traces 

OS  something  more; 
awed  by  the  mojesty 
le  time  perplexed  l>y 
hich  he  felt  witli  that 
e  years,  had  he  seen 
it  before  at  ail ;  or 
reams?  In  vain  he 
(  from  out  his  past 
lich  bore  any  resei^- 
a.  The  endeavor  to 
and  at  length  he  re- 
e  dismissed  the  idea 
Jl  uncomfortable,  as 
wmething  which  ho 
e  was  evidently  un- 
d  to  be  a  witness  of 

ng.  The  moment, 
ime  his  surprise  he 
ont  of  the  window, 
Then  he  rose  from 
I  for  a  moment  he 

iiraself  fttca  to  face 


THE  CRYPTOGRA>r. 


^^^TmiSMB  tbWATO  X  nCf^^iCH   SbNO  OV.„   THE   K...K-P.ACE,  ^U  STOOD 

BKOARDINO  IT  PIXKDLY."  . 


With  the  woman.  She  had  heard  him,  and-tnmed 
with  a  start,  and  turning  thus  their  eyes  met 

If  the  General  had  been  surprised  before,  ho 
was  now  still  more  so  at  the  emotion  which  she 
evinced  at  the  dght  of  himieU:   She  atarted  bick 


as  though  recoiling  fW>m  him ;  her  eyea  were  fixed 
and  stanng,  her  lips  moved,  her  hands  clutched 
one  another  convulsively.  Then,  by  a  sudden 
e^rt,  she  seemed  to  recover  hewelf,  and  the 
wjw  stare  of  astonishment  gave  place  to  a  ewifk 


'"» 


u 


IE  CBYPTOGRAM. 


glance  of  keen,  ahaip,  and  eager  scnidnj.  All 
this  was  the  work  of  an  instant,  'ilien  her  eyes 
dropped,  and  with  a  low  courtesy  she  tamed 
away,  and  after  ammging  some  chi^  she  left 
the  room.  j  . 

The  General  drew  a  long  breath,  and  stood 
looking  at  the  doorwav  in  utter  b^ilderment. 
The  whole  incident  had  been  most;  perplexing 
There  was  first  her  stealthy  entry,  And  the  sud- 
denness with  which  she  had  appeared  before 
him;  then  those  mystic  sarrooi^ings  of  her 
strange,  weird  figure  which  had  e^kcited  his  su- 
perstitious &ncie8;  then  the  idjBa  which  had 
arisen,  that  somehow  he  had  known  her  be- 
fore i  and,  fiiiaUy,'«ihe  woman's  own  strong  and 
unconcealed  emotion  at  the  siiht  of  himself. 
What  did  it  aU  mean  ?  Had  heTever  seen  her  ? 
Not  that  he  knew.  Had  she  ever  known  him  ? 
If  so,  when  and  where  ?  If  so,  why  such  emo. 
tjon?  Who  could  this  be  that  thus  recoiled  from 
him  at  encountering  his  j^ahce  ?  Arid  he  found 
all  these  questions  utterly  unanswerable. 

In  the  General's  eventful  life  there  were  many 
things  which  he  could  recaU.    He  had  wandered 
over  m^y  lands  ip  all  parts  of  the  world,  and 
had  known  his  share  of  sorrow  and  <rf  joy.    Seat- 
ing higt^f  once  more  in  jiis  chair  he  tried  to 
■Wflfon  np  befbra.his.mefnorv  the  figures  of 
w  wst,  one  by  one,  and  compare  th^  with 
this  woman  whom  he  had  seen.     Out^  jdie 
S^omn  of  that  past  the  ghostly  figures  oime, 
and  passed  -on,  and  vanished,  till  at  last  Smn 
among  them  all  two  or  three  stood  ibrdi  ds- 
nnctly  and  vividly;  the  fomu  of  those  who  bad 
been  associated  with  him  in  one  event  of  his 
life;  that  life's  first  great  tragedy;  forms  well 
remembered— never  to  be  foigotten.     He  saw 
tte  form  of  one  who  had  be«n  betrayed  and 
forsaken,  bowed  and  crnshed  by  grie^  and  star- 
ing with  white  fiice  and  liaggud  eyes ;  he  saw 
the  form  of  the  false  fHend  and  foid  traitor 
dinking  away  with  averted  fiice;  he  saw  the 
form  of  the  true  friend,  true  as  steel,  standing 
up  solidly  in  his  loyalty  between  those  whom  he 
loved  and  the  Rain  that  was  before  them ;  and, 
ustly,  he  saw  the  central  figure  of  all— a  fair 
young  woman  with  a  fece  of  dauling  beauty ; 
highJwm,  haoghty,  with  an  air  of  Ugh-brad 
grace  and  inborn  delicacT ;  bat  the  beauty  was 
nding,  and  the  charm  of  aU  that  grace  and  dei- 


sane  for  haWng  had  f  och  wild  thouglits  ua  I  hare 
had  this  morning." 

Then  with  a  heavy  sigh  he  looked  out  of  the 
window  abstractedly. 

An  hour  passed  and  Lord  Chetwynde  came 
down,  and  the  two  took  their  seats  at  the  break- 
fkst-table. 

"By -the -way,?  said  the  General  at  length, 
after  some  conversation,  and  with  an  effort  iit 
indifference,  "who  is  that  very  singular-looking 
woman  whom  you  have  here  ?  She  seems  to  bo 
about  sixty,  dresses  in  bUck,  has  veiy  white  hair, 
and  looks  like  a  Sister  of  Charity." 

.<Au"**v'"  •"*   ^"^  Chetwynde,  carelesslv. 
Oh,  that  must   be   the  housekeeper,   Mrs. 
Hart. 

"Mrs.  Hart— the  housekeeper ?"  repeated  the 
General,  thoughtfully. 

"  Yes ;  she  is  an  invaluable  woman  to  one  in 
my  position." 

" I  suppose  she  is  some  <Ad  fiimily  servant." 

"No.  She  came  here  about  ten  years  ago. 
I  wanted  a  housekeeper,  she  heard  of  it,  and  ap- 
plied. She  brought  excellent  recommendations, 
and  I  took  her.    She  has  done  veiy  well." 

-? '  Have  yon  ever  noticed  how  very  singuhtr  her 
wpeoranceis?" 
^*WeU,  no.    Is  it? 


icacy  was  vdled  nnder  a  dead  of  shame  and 
sin.  The  face  bopiaU  that  i«ony  of  woe  wUeh 
looks  at  us  now  fWmi  the  eyes  of  Goido's  Beatrice 
Cend— eyat  which  disdoee  a  grief  demer  dum 
*^i^^  w»»ose  glailee  is  never  ibigotten. 
..u*!?T*Y  *""  CMMfto  the  General  aThboght 
like  lightning,  which  seemed  to  pierce  to  theto- 
most  depths  of  bis  being.  He  started  back  as 
he  sat,  and  for  a  moment  looked  like  one  trans, 
formed  to  stone.  At  the  horror  of  that  Thonght 
Us  bee  changed  to  a  deathly  pallor,  his  itetmea 
grew  rigid,  his  hands  dmched,  his  eyes  fixed  and 
rtMing  with  an  awful  look.    For  a  few  moments 

he  sat  thus,  and  then  with  a  deep  groan  he  sprang 
-igil!*^  "d  paced  the  upartiMnk 


"The  exerdseseoned  to"l>ring  rdief. 
.v."'.'?  •  *■"*•  fool!"  he  matteradl'    "The 
thing's  impossiWe-ves,  abaplntely  irainadble." 
Again  and  again  he  paoefl  the  apurttHat,  and 
gradoaUv  be  recovered  himsdf.  ^ 

'.'  ^ '."  !*  *^  '*  •««*»  ••  •»•  nSuMi  hU 
seat,  "ihas  insuM^  or,  mora probaUy,  /am in- 


I  suppose  it  strikes  you 
so  as  a  stranger.  I  new  noUced  her  particu- 
larly." 

•  She  seems  to  have  had  some  great  sorrow," 
said  the  General,  slowly. 

"  Ym,  I  think  she  most  have  had  some  trou- 
bles. She  has  a  melancholy  way,  I  think.  I 
feel  sorry  for  the  poor  creative,  and  do  what  I 
can  for  her.  As  I  said,  she  is  invaluable  to  me, 
and  I  owe  her  positive  gratitude." 

"Is  she  fond  of  Gny?"  asked  the  General, 
^Unking  of  her  face  as  he  saw  it  upturned  to- 
ward the  portrait 

"Exoeedinglty,"  said  Lord  Chetwynde.  "Gny 
was  aboat  eight  yeare  old  when  fhe  came.  From 
the  veiy  first  she  showed  the  greatest  fondness 
for  him,  and  attached  herself  to  him  with  a  de- 
votion which  surprised  me.  I  accounted  for  it 
on  the  ground  that  she  had  lost  a  son  of  her 
own,  and  periiaps  Gny  reminded  her  in  some 
way  of  him.  At  »ny  rate  she  has  always  been 
exceedingly  fond  of  him.  Yes,"  poisued  Lord 
Chetwynde,  in  a  musing  tone,  "I  owe  every 
thing  to  her,  for  she  once  saved  Gay's  life. " 
"Saved  his  life 7    Howr 

"Once,  when  I  was  away,  the  place  caaght  fire 
in  the  wing  where  Gny  was  sleeping.  Mrs.  Hart 
mshed  throngh  the  flames  and  savwl  him.  She 
neariy  killed  herself  too— poor  old  thing!  In 
addition  to  this  she  has  nursed  him  through 
three  different  attacks  of  disease  that  seemed 
fetal.  Why,  she  seems  to  love  Gny  as  fondly 
M I  do." 

"Anddoes  Gay  love  her?" 

"  Exceedingly.  The  boy  is  most  alfeetionate 
by  natnre,  and  of  conrto  she  is  prominent  in  his 

"""  •••^^"i"'"  tkuw  turBM  away  hnT  wuvvrNi* 
tion  to  other  subjects;  but  flvtn  hia  abitneted 
manner  it  was  eWdent  that  Un,  Hait  was  still 
fomaoat  in  his  ttmBgi|f, 


f 


-,*  -r 


■V- 


leh  wild  thoughts  u  I  hare 

•igfa  he  looked  out  of  the 

id  Lord  Chetwynde  came 
ik  their  teats  at  the  break- 

Ud  the  General  at  length, 
on,  and  with  an  effort  at 
that  very  singular-looking 
e  here  ?  She  seems  to  bo 
bUck,  has  veiy  white  hair, 

of  (Parity. " 
d  Chetwynde,  carelessly. 

the   housekeeper,    Mra. 

Msekeeper?"  repeated  the 

valuable  woman  to  one  in 

me  old  fiimily  servant. " 
ere  about  ten  years  ago. 
r,  she  heard  of  it,  and  ap- 
cellent  reconunendations, 
las  done  very  well." 
ced  how  very  singular  her 


had  some  great  sorrow," 

r. 

lOst  have  had  some  tron- 

ncholy  way,  I  think.    I 

creature,  and  do  what  I 

,  she  is  invaluable  to  me, 

jratitude." 

ly?"  asked  the  General, 

I  he  saw  it  upturned  to- 

LordChptwynde.  "Guy 
1  when  ime  came.  From 
Bd  the  greatest  fondness 
lerseir  to  him  with  a  de- 
me.  I  accounted  for  it 
had  lost  a  son  of  her 
reminded  her  in  some 
ate  she  has  always  been 
u  Yes,"  pursued  Lord 
ig  tone,  "I  owe  eveiy 
e  saved  Guy's  life." 

IW?" 

ray,  the  place  caught  Are 
rat  sleeping  Mrs.  Hart 
Bt  and  iave4  him.  She 
>— poor  old  thing!  In 
It  nnned  him  through 
ot  disease  that  seemed 
to  k>ve  Guy  as  fondly 


THE  CRYPTOGRAM. 


^J 


15 


CHAPTER  IIL 

THE  BABTEB  OF  A  UFB.- 

Two  evenings  afterward  a  carriage  drove  up 
to  the  door  of  Chetwynde  Castle,  and  a  young 
man  alighted.  The  door  was  opened  by  the  old 
butler,  who,  with  a  cty  of  delight,  exclaimed : 

"Master  Guy!  Master  Guy!  It's  welcome 
ye  are.  They've  been  lookin'  for  yon  th«se  two 
hours  back." 

"  Any  thing  wrong  ?"  was  Guy's  first  exchima- 
tion,  ^tttered  with  some  haste  and  anxiety. 

"Lord  love  ve,  there's  naught  amiss;  but 
ye'te  welcome  home,  right  welcome,  Master 
Gtiy,"  said  the  butler, 'who  still  looked  upon 
his  young  roaster  as  the  little  boy  who  used  to 
ride  upon  his  back,  and  whose  tricks  were  at 
once  the  torment  and  delight  of  his  life. 

The  old  bntler  himself  was  one  of  the  heir- 
looms of  the  family,  and  partook  to  the  full  of 
the  air  of  antiquity  which  pervaded  the  pUce. 
He  looked  like  the  relic  of  a  by-gone  generation. 
His  queue,  carefully  powderedf  and  plaited,  stood 
out  stiff  firom  the  teck  of  his  head,  as  if  in  per- 
petual protest  against  any  new-fangled  notions 
of  hair-dressing ;  his  iiverv,  scrupulously  neat 
and  well  brushed,  was  threadbare  and  of  an  ante- 
diluvian cut,  and  his  whole  appearance  was  that 
of  highly  respectable  antediluvianism.  As  he 
stood  there  with  his  antique  and  venerable  fig- 
ure his  whole  face  fairly  beamed  with  deligiit 
at  seeing  his  young  master. 

"I  was  afraid  my  father  might  be  ill,"  laid 
Guy,  "  ftwm  his  sending  for  me  in  such  a  hurry." 
"III?"  said  the  other,  radiant.  "My  lord 
be  better  and  cheerfnler  like  than  ever  I  have 
teen  him  since  he  canie  back  from  Lunnon— the 
time  as  you  was  a  small  chap,  MasterGuy.  There 
be  a  gentleman  stopping  here.  He  and  my  lord 
iMve  been  sittin'  up  half  the  night  »-talkin'.  I 
think  there  be  summut  up.  Master  Guy,  and<hat 
be  be  connected  with  it ;  for  when  my  lord  told 
me  to  send  you  the  telegram  he  said  as  it  were 
on  business  he  wanted  you^  but,"  he  added,  look- 
ing perplexed,  "  it's  t|ie  first  time  as  ever  I  heard 
M  business  makin'  a  man  look  cheerful" 

Guy  made  a  jocuhw  pbaon-atien  and  hurried 
post  him  into  the  halL  At  he  entered  he  saw  a 
figure  sunding  at  the  foot  of  the  great  stainsase. 
It  was  Mra.  Hart  She  wat  trembling  from  head 
to  foot  and  clinging  io  the  railing  for  support 
Her  face  was  pale  at  usual ;  on  each  cheek  there 
was  a  hectic  flush,  and  her  eyet  were  fastened  on 
him. 

"My  darling  nurse !"  cried  Guy  with  the  warm 
enthusiastic  tone  of  a  boy,  and  hurrying  towaid 
her  he  embraced  her  and  kissed  her. 

The  poor  old  creature  trembled  and  did  not 
aay  a  single  word. 

"Now  you  didn't  know  I  wat  coming,  did 
you,  you  dear  old  thing  ?»  «akl  Guy.  "  But  what 
U  the  matter?  yQtj  do  yoa  tramble  so?  Of 
conneyouregUdtoteeyonrboy.  Aravonnot?" 
Mra.  H»rt  Cnffced  yp  tp  fcjm  Wuh an  ArniiHlo ii 
of  mute  afl««tlon,  deepi,  (ervent,  nntpeakable; 
and  then  teiiing  hit  wann  young  hand  in  her 
own  wan  and  tremulont  onet,  A»  praited  it  to 
her  thin  white  lipt  and  covered  it  with  kittei. 

"Ohj  come  now,"  taid  Guy,  "you  alwaya 
break  down  tbit  way  when  I  come  home;  but 
yen  mutt  not— yoa  really  mutt  not  If  yon  do 
^|Ki(il  cone  home  at  all  my  mora.    Iradly 


won't    Come,  cheer  up.    I  don't  want  to  make 
you  cry  when  I  come  home." 

"  But  I'm  ciying  for  joy,"  »aid  Mrt.  Hart,  in 
a  faint  voice.     " Don't  be  angry." 

"  You  dear  old  thing !  Angry  ?"  exclaimed 
G«y,  affectionately.  "Angry  with  my  dariing 
old  nurse?  Have  you  lost  your  senses,  old  wo- 
man? But  where  is  my  fitther?  Why  has  lie 
sent  for  me?  There's  no  bad  news,  I  hear,  so 
that  I  suppose  all  is  right" 

"Yes,  all  is  well,"  said  Mrs.  Hart,  in  a  low 
voice.     "I  don't  know  why  you  were  sent  for,, 
but  there  is  nothing  bad.     I  think  your  father 
sent  for  you  to  see  an  old  friend  of  his." 
"  An  old  friend  ?" 

"Yes.  General  Pomeroy,"  replied  Mrs.  Hurt, 
in  a  constrained  voice.  "  Ho  has  been  here  two 
or  three  days." 

"General  Pomeroy!  Is  it  possible?"  said 
Guy.  "Hat  he  come  to  England?  I  didn't 
know  that  he  had  left  India.  I  must  hurry  up. 
Good-by,  old  woman,"  he  added,  afifectionatelv, 
and  kissing  her  again  he  hurried  np  stain  to  l^ 
fiuher's  room. 

Lord  Chetwynde  was  there,  and  General  Pom- 
eroy also.  The  greeting  between  father  and  son 
was  affectionate  and  tender,  and  after  a  few  lov- 
ing words  Guy  wat  introduced  to  the  General. 
He  shook  him  heartily  by  the  hs«d. 

"I'm  tnre,"  taid  he,  "the  tight  of  you  hat 
done  my  fiuher  a  world  of  good.  He  lookt  ten 
^art  younger  than  he^d  when  I  hist  taw  him. 
You  really  ought  to  take  up  your  abode  here,  or 
live  tomewhere  near  him.  He  mopet  drvadfdlv, 
and  needt  nothing  to  much  at  the  tociety  of  an 
old  mend.  You  could  route  him  from  hit  blue 
flu  and  ennui,  and  give  him  new  life." 

Guy  then  went  on  in  a  ratding  way  to  narrate 
tome  eventa  which  had  befidlen  him  on  the  road. 
At  he  tpoke  in  hit  animated  and. enthusiastic 
wav  General  Pomeroy  scanned  him  eamesdy 
and  narrowly.  To  the  mott  catiiql  obaerver 
Guy  Molynenx  mntt  have  been  tingulariy  pre- 
potsetdng.  Tall  and  tlight,  wUh  a  remarkably 
well-thaped  head  covered  with  darit  ending  hair, 
haael  eyet,  and  regular  featurea,  hit  whole  ap- 
pearance wat  eminently  patridan,  and  bora  die 
marka  of  high -breeding  and  refinement;  bat 
thera  wat  tomething  mora  than  thit.  Thoae 
eyet  looked  fordi  finankly  and  fjaarleasly;  thera 
was  a  joyous  light  in  them  which  awidcened  sym- 
pathy ;  while  the  open  expreation  of  hit  fiice,  an4' ' 
the  clear  and  ringing  accent  of  hit  freth  young- 
voice,  all  tended  to  intpira  confidence  and  tnitt 
General  Pomwoy  noted  all  thit  with  delight,  for 
in  hit  anxiety  for  hit  danghter't  fntura  he  taw 
that  Guy  wat  one  to  whom  he  might  tafely  in* 
trust  the  dearest  idol  of  his  heart 

"Come,  Guy,"  taid  Lord  Cheti^nde  at  lat^ 
after  hb  ton  had  rattled  on  for  hatf  an  hour  or 
more,  "if  yon  ara  above  all  oontiderationa  of 
dinner,  we  ara  not  I  hara  already  had  it  pot 
oif  two  hourt  for  yoa,  and  we  thoold  like  to  tea 

etigwt  of  prapwriegmFyeHraet"  "      -= 

AU  right,  Sir.    I  thaU  be  on  hand  bv  dte 

■'"  tifilT  have  to  compkin  of  me  in  that 

.  I  think." 
-  Jjring,  Ony  nodded  gavly  to  diem  and  left 
the  room,  and  dieypretent^  heard  him  whitding 
throogh  die  pattagaa  genu  from  the  hut  new 
opera.  . 


,''iW  ■iitl-i^lskiv'iv;^  ...V ' 


,./ 


16 


THE  CRYPTOGRAM. 


"A  oplendid  fellawr,"  sata  fhe  GenenI,  as  the 
door  dosed,  in  a  tone  of  hearty  admiration.  "  I 
»ee  his  father  over  again  in  him.  I  only  hope  he 
will  come  into  our  view8." 

"  I  can  answer  for  his  being  only  too  ready  to 
do  80,"  said  tord  Chetwynde,  conlidentty. 

"He  exceeds  the  utmost  hopes  thnt"  I  had 
formed  of  him,"  said  the  General.  "I  did  not 
expect  to  see  80  frank  and  open  a  face,  and  such 
freshness  of  innocence  and  purity. " 

Lord  Chetwynde's  face  showed  all  the  delight 
which  a  fond  father  feels  at  hearing  the  praises 
of  an  only  son. 

Dinner  came  and  passed.     The  General  re- 
tired, and  Lord  Chetwynde  tlien  explained  to  his 
son  the  whole  plan  which  had  been  made  about 
him.     It  was  a  plan  which  was  to  aflTect  his  whole 
life  most  profoundly  in  it^  most  tender  part ;  but 
Gny  was  a  thoughtless  boy,  and  received  the  pro- 
posal like  such.     He  sliowed  nothing  but  delight. 
He  never  dreamed  of  objecting  to  any  thing.    He 
declared  that  it  seemed  to  him  too  good  to  be 
true.     His  thoughts  did  not  appear  to  dwell  at  all 
upon  his  own  share  in  this  transaction,  though  sure- 
ly  to  him  that  share  was  of  infinite  importance, 
but  only  on  the  fact  that  Chetwynde  was  saved. 
"And  is  Chetwynde  really  to  be  ours,  after 
oil  ?    he  cried,  at  the  end  of  a  bunt  of  delight, 
repeating  the  words,  boy-like,  over'  tad  over 
again,  as  though  he  could  never  tire  of  hearing 
the  words  repeated.     After  all,  one  can  not 
wonder  at  his  thoughtlessness  and  enthusiasm. 
Around  Chetwynde  all  the  associations  of  his 
life  were  twined.     Until  he  had  joined  the  regi- 
ment he  had  known  no  other  home ;  and  beyond 
this,  to  this  high-spirited  youth,  in  whom  pride 
of  birth  and  name  rose  very  high,  there  had  been 
from  his  earliest  childhood  a  bitter  humiliation 
in  the  thought  that  the  inheritance  of  his  ances- 
tors, which  had  never  known  any  other  than  a 
Chetwynde  for  its  master,  must  pass  from  him 
forever  into  alien  hands.     Hitherto  his  love  for 
h|»  fiither  had  compelled  him  to  refrain  from  all 
expression  of  his  feelings  about  this,  for  he  well 
knew  that,  bitter  as  it  would  be  for  him  to  give 
np  Chetwynde,  to  his  father  it  would  be  sfill 
worse— It  would  be  like  rending  his  very  heart- 
strings.   Often  had  he  feared  that  this  sacrifice 
to  honor  on  his  father's  part  would  be  more  than 
could  be  endared.    He  had,  for  his  father's  soke, 
pot  a  restraint  npon  himself;  .but  this  conceal- 
ment of  his  feelings  hod  only  increased  the  in- 
tensitr  of  those  feelings  j  the  shadow  had  been 
gradually  deepening  over  his  whole  life,  throw- 
ing gloom  over  the  sunlight  of  his  joyous  youth ; 
and  now,  for  the  first  time  in  many  years,  that 
shadow  seemed  to  be  dispelled.   Surely  theiv  is  no 
wonder  that  a  mtt«  boy  should  be  reckless  of  the 
ratare  in  the  sanahine  of  such  a  golden  present 
When  General  Pomeroy  appeared  again,  Guy 
seized  bis  hand  in  a  barst  or  generous  emotion, 
with  his  eyes  glistening  with  tears  of  joy. 

"How  can  I  ever  thank  yon," he  cried,  im- 
petuously, "  for  what  yoa  hava  done  for  us  I  As 
""Thftve-* — *■ ...  .  •    . 


tw^to  my  life's  end— 10  help  me  God  I" 
-  And  all  this  time  did  it  never  suggest  itself  to 
the  Toang  num  that  there  raight  be  a  ravane  to 
the  brilliant  pjctnre  which  hie  Cuct  was  so  busily 
sketching— that  there  waa  nqoired  from  him 
■omathing  mora  than  money  or  estate;  some- 
fting,^  indeed,  in  oompariioa  with  which  aroa 


Chetwynde  itself  was  as  nothing?  No.  In  Us 
inexperience  and  thoughtlessness  he  would  h0H 
looked  with  amazement  npon  any  one  who  would 
have  suggested  that  there  might  be  a  drawback 
to  the  happiness  which  he  wa«  portraying  before 
his  mind.  Yet  surely  this  thing  came  most  se- 
verely upon  him.  He  gave  up  the  niost,  for  he 
gave  himself.  To  save  Chetwynde,  he  was  un- 
consciously selling  his  own  souL  He  was  bar- 
tering his  life.  All  his  future  depended  upon 
this  hasty  act  of  a  mpment.  The  happiness  of 
the  mature  man  was  risked  by  the  thoughtless 
act  of  a  boy.  If  m  after-life  this  truth  came 
homo  to  him,  it  was  only  that  he  might  see  that 
the  act  was  irrevocable,  and  that  he  must  bear 
the  consequences.  'But  so  it  is  in  life. 

That  evening  after  the  Gener^il  had  retired. 
Ouy  and  his  father  sat  up  far  into  the  night,  dia- 
cussing  the  future  which  lay  before  them.  To 
each  of  them  the  future  marriage  seemed  but  a 
Mcondary  event,  an  accident,  an  episode.  The 
ftrst  thing,  and  almost  the  only  thing,  was  the 
sa^y*tion  of  Chetwynde.  Those  day-dreams 
which  they  had  cherished  for  so  many  years 
seemed  now  about  to  be  realized,  and  Chetwynde 
would  be  restored  to  all  its  former  glory.  No* 
for  the  first  time,  each  let  the  other  see,  to  the  foil' 
how  grievous  the  loss  would  have  been  to  him. 

It  was  not  nntil  after  all  the  future  of  Chet- 
wynde had  been  discussed,  that  the  thoughts  of 
Ouy  8  engagement  occurred  to  his  father. 

'But,  Guy,"  said  ho,  "you  are  forgetting 
one  thmg.  You  must  not  in  your  joy  lose  sight 
of  the  important  pledge  which  has  been  de- 
manded of  you.  You  haw  entered  upon  a  very 
solemn  obligation,  which  we  both  are  incUned  to 
treat  rather  lightly." 

"Of  course  I  remember  it.  Sir;  and  I  only 
wish  It  were  something  twenty  times  as  hard 
that  I  could  do  for  the  dear  old  General,"  an- 
swered Guy,  enthusiastically. 

"But,  my  boy,  this  may  prove  a  severe  sacri- 
fice m  the  future, "  said  Lord  Chetwynde,  thought- 

"What?  To  marry,  father?  Of  course  I 
shall  marry  some  time;; and  as  to  the  question 
of  whom,  why,  so  long  as  she  is  a  hidv  (and 
General  Pomeroy's  daughter  must  be  this'),  and 
IS  not  a  fright  (I  own  I  hate  ugly  women),  I 
don  t  care  who  she  is.  But  the  daughter  of  such 
a  man  as  that  ought  to  be  a  little  an^  and  aa 
beautiful  as  I  could  desire,  I  am  all  impatience 
to  see  her.  By-the-way,  how  old  is  she  i" 
"Ten  years  old." 

"Ten  years!"  echoed  Guy,  hiu^ing  boister- 
ously. "  I  need  not  distress  myself,  then,  about 
her  personnel  for  a  good  many  years  at  any  rate. 
But,  I  say,  father,  isn't  the  General  a  little  pre- 
mature in  getting  his  daughter  settled  ?  Talk  of 
match-making  mothers  after  this ! " 

The  young  man's  flippant  tone  jarred  npon  his 
fether.  "  He  had  good  reasons  for  the  haste  to 
which  yon  object,  Gny,"  said  Lord  Chetwynde. 
"Qpa  was  Uie  friapdlassnass  of  his  daaghtw  in 
*•  tnmt-otmrttmg  tm^^msg  to  him  ridj 
the  other,  and  a  stronger  motiTe  (for  under  any 
circnmslances  I  should  have  bera  her  guanlian). 
was  to  assist  your  fether  upon  the  only  t«rmi 
npon  which  he  oonld  hava.ak^pted  aasistancft 
with  honor.  By  this  amuigei^t  his  danshtei'' ' 
reaps  the  fell  benefit  of  his  m^,  and  he  hat 
his  own  iiiind  at  eiM.    And,  nS^nber,  Gny,* 


•  THE  CRYPTOGAM. 

continned  Lord  Chetwrnae,  solemnly,  "from 
this  time  you  must  consider  yoarself  an  a  mar- 
ried man ;  for,  oltliough  no  altar  tow  or  priestly 
benediction  binds  yon,  yet  by  every  law  of  that 
Honor  by  which  yoa  profess  to  be  guided,  you 
are  bound  irrevocably. " 

"I  know  that,"  answered  Guy,  lightly.  "I 
think  yoa  will  never  find  me  unmindful  of  that 
tie." 

"  I  trust  you,  itay  boy,"8aid  Lord  Chetwynde, 
"as  I  would  trust  myself." 


y- 


CHAPTER  IV. 

A  STARTLING  TI8IT0B.      ' 

After  dinner  the  General,  had  retired  to  his 
room,  supposing  that  Guy  and  the  Earl  would 
wish  to  be  together.     He  had  much  to  think  of. 
First  of  all  there  was  his  daughter  Zillah,  in 
whom  all  his  being  was  bound  up.     Her  minia- 
ture was  on  the  mantle-piece  of  the  room,  and 
t»  this  he  went  first,  and  taking  it  up  in  his 
hands  he  sat  down  in  an  arm-chair  by  the  win- 
dow, and  feasted  his  eyes  upon  It.     His  face 
bore  an  exjlression  of  the  same  delight  which  a 
lover  shows  when  looking  at  the  likeness  of  his 
mistress.    At  times  a  smile  lighted  it  up,  and  sa 
wrapt  up  was  he  in  this  that  more  thon  on  hour 
passed  before  he  put  the  picture  away.     Then 
he  resumed  his  seat  by  the  window  and  looked 
out.    It  was  dusk ;  but  the  moon  was  shining 
brightly,  and   threw  a  silvery  gleam  over  the 
dark  trees  of  Chetwynde,  over  the  grassy  slopes, 
and  over  the  distant  hills.     That  scene  turned 
his  attention  in  a  new  direction.    TTie  shadows 
of  the  trees  seemed  to  suggest  the  shadows  of 
tlio  past.     Back  over  that  past  his  mind  went 
wandering,  encountering  the  scenes,  the  forms, 
and  the  faces  of  long  ago— the  lost,  the  never- 
to-be-forgotten.     It  was  not  that  more  recent 
past  of  which  he'fcad  spoken  to  the  Eari,  but  one 
more  distant— one  which  intermingled  with  the 
Earl's  past,  and  which  the  Eari's  story  had  sug- 
gested.    It  brought  back  old  loves  and  old  hates ; 
It  suggested  memories  which  had  lain  dormant 
for  years,  but  now  rose  before  him  clothed  in 
fresh  power,  as  vi\-id  as  the  events  from  which 
they  flowed.     There  was  trouble  in  these  memo- 
ries, and  the  General's  mind  Was  agitated,'and 
in  his  agitation  he  left  the  chair  and  paced  the 
room.    He  rang  for  lights,  and  after  they  came  he 
seated  himself  at  the  table,  took  paper  and  pens, 
and  began  to  lose  himself  in  calculations. 

Some  time  passed,  when  at  length  ten  o'clock 
came,  and  the  General  heard  a  faint  tap  at  the 
door.  It  was  so  faint  that  he  could  barely  hear 
It,  and  at  first  supposed  it  to  be  either  his  fancy 
or  else  one  of  the  death-watches  making  a  some- 
what louder  noise  than  osnal.  He  took  no  fur- 
ther notice  of  it,  but  went  on  with  his  occupa- 
tion, whejii  he  was  agidn  intermpted  by  a  louder 
knock.  This  time  there  was  no  mistake.  He 
rose  and  opeyd  riw  door.  ihhAiiig  ttotit  ym 
the  I<.arl  who  had  brought  him  some  informatior 
as  to  his  son's  views. 

Opening  the  door,  he  saw  a  slight,  ftnil  figure, 
dressed  in  a  non-like  garb,  and  recognized  the 
honsekeeper.  If  possible  she  seemed  paler  than 
usual,  and  her  eyes  were  fixed  upon  him  with 
a  itrango  wistful  earnestness.    Her  appaanmoa  i 


17 

was:*»  unexpected,  and  her  expression  so  pecnl- 
\M,  that  the  General  involuntarily  started  back, 
i  or  a  qioment  he  stood  fooking  at  her,  and  then, 
«^o\e"ng  with  an  effort  hi»  self-powession,,  be 

"Md  you  wish  to  see  me  about  any  thing. 
Mrs.  Hart?" 

"If  I  could  speak-B  few  words  to  yon  I  should 
be  grateful, '  was  the  answer,  in  a  low,  supplica- 
tmgtone.  ' 

1 .  "  ^on't  you  walk  in,  then  ?"  said  the  General, 
•in  a  kindly  voice,  feeling  a  str»nge  commisera- 
tion  for  the  poor  creature,  whose  face,  manner, 
and  voice  eJcliibited  so  much  wretchedness. 

The  General  held  thff  door  open,  and  waited 
tor  her  to  enter.  Then  closing  the  door  he  of- 
ftred  her  a  chair,  and  resumed  his  former  seat. 
But  the  housekeeper  declined  sitting.  She  stood 
looking  strangely  confused  and  troubled,  and  for 
some  time  did  not  speak  a  word.  The  General 
waited  patiently,  and  regarded  her  earnestly.  In 
spite  of  himself  he  found  that  feeling  arising  with- 
in him  which  had  occurred  in  the  morning-room 
—a  feeling  as  if  he  had  somewhere  known  this 
woman  before.  Who  was  she?  What  did  it 
mean  ?  Was  he  a  precious  old  fool,  or  was  there 
really  some  important  mystery  connected  with 
Mrs.  Hart  ?    Such  were  his  thoughts. 

Perhaps  if  he  tad  seen  nothing  more  of  Mrs. 
Hart  the  Eari's  account  of  her  would  hare  I)een 
accepted  by  him,  and  no  thoughts  of  her  would, 
have  perplexed  his  brain.  But  her  arrival  now, 
her  entrance  into  his  room,  and  her  whole  man- 
ner, brought  back  the  thoughts  which  he  had  be- 
fore with  tenfold  force,  in  such  a  way  that  it  was 
useless  to  struggle  against  them.  'Ha  felt  that 
there  was  a  mysterv,  and  that  the  Earl  himself 
not  only  know  nothing  about  it,  but  could  not 
e\-en  suspect  it.  But  what  was  the  mystery? 
That  he  could  not,  or  perhaps  dared  not,  con- 
jecture. The  vague  thought  which  darted  across 
his  mind  was  one  which  was  madness  tO(«nter- 
tain.  He  dismissed  it  and  waited. 
At  last  Mrs.  Hart  spoke. 
"Pardon  me,  Sir,''  she  said,  in  a  feint,  low 
voice,  "  for  troubling  yon.  I  wished  to  apologize 
for  intruding  upon  you  in  the  morning-room.  I 
did  not  know  you  were  tfiere. " 

She  spoke  abstractedly  and  wearily.  OTie  Gen- 
eral felt  that  it  was  not  for  this  that  she  had 
thus  visited  him,  but  that  something  more  lay 
behind.  Still  he  answered  her  tviMk.  as  if  he  ' 
took  it  in  good  faith.  He  hastened  to  reassni* 
her.  It  wai  no  intrusion.  Was  she  not  the 
housekeeper,  and  was  it  not  her  duty  to  go 
there?    What  could  she  mean ? 

At  this  she  looked  at  him,  with  a  kind  of  soU 
emn  yet  eager  scrutiny.  "  T  was  aAvid,"  sh* 
said,  after  some  hesita'tion,  speaking  still  in  m 
dull  monotone,  whose  strangely  sorrowful  ac- 
cenu  were  marked  and  impressive,  and  in  a  yoice 
whose  toae  was  constrained  and  stiflF,  but  yet  had 
something  in  it  which  deepened  the  General's  per- 
plexity— "I  was  aftnid  that  r*rh^p«  ynn  mfghlL 
^ave  witnessed  some  marks  of  agitation  in  me. 
Pardon  me  for  supposing  that  you  could  ha™ 
troubled  yourself  so  fitr  as  to  notice  one  like  me> 
but- but— I— that  is,  I  am  a  little— eccentrics 
and  when  I  suppose  that  I  am  alone  that  eccen- 
tricity is  marked.  I  did  not  know  that  yoa  were 
in  the  room,  and  so  I  was  thrown  off  my  gwud." 
Every  word  of  this  singular  being  thrilled 


m 


L.M^V.  vii&Ub<>»-.^(.^^H»<^..b<A<^  'k 


\      JVI  Vf'\  -  r 


18 


THE  CRYPTCkJRAMt- 


^  through  the  General.  lie  looked  nt  her  steadily 
without-8i)eaking  for  some  time.  He  tried  to 
force  his  memory  to  reveul  what  it  Was  that  this 
woman  suggested  to  liim,  or  who  it  was  that  she 
lind  been  associated  with  in  that  dim  and  shad- 
owy past  which  but  lately  ho  hod  been  calling 
up.  Her  voice,  too — what  was  it  that  it  sug- 
gested ?  That  voice,  in  spite  of  its  constraint, 
was  woeful  and  sad  beyond  all  description.  It 
was  the  voice  of  suffering  and  sorrow  too  deep 
for  tears— that  changeless  monotone  which  makes 
one  think  that  the  words  which  are  spoken  are 
uttered  by  some  machine. 

Her  manner  also  by  thistimc  evinced  n  greater 
and  a  deeper  agitation.  Her  hands  mechanical- 
ly clasjjcd  each  other  in  a  tight,  convulsive  gr^sp, 
and  her  slight  frame  trembled  with  irrepressible 
emotion.  Thei-e  was  something  in  her  appear- 
ance, her  attitude,  her  manner,  and  her  ijoice, 
which  enchained  the  General's  attention,  and 
was  nothing  less  than  fascination.  There  was 
something  yet  to  come,  to  tell  which  had  led  her 
there,  and  these  were  only  preliminaries.  This 
the  Genei-al  felt.  Every  word  that  she  spoke 
seemed  to  be  a  mere  formality,  the  precursor  of 
the  real  words  which  she  wished  to  utter.  What 
was  it?  Was  it  her  affection  for  Guy?  Had 
she  come  to  ask  about  the  betrothal?  "Had  she 
come  to  look  at  Zillah's  portrait?  Had  she 
come  to  remonstrate  with  him  for  anitnging  a 
n^rriage  between  those  who  were  as  yet  little 
more  than  children  ?  But  what  reason  had  she 
for  interfering  in  such  an  affair  ?  It  was  utterly 
Out  of  place  in  one  like  her.  No ;  thire  was 
something  else,  he  could  not  conjecture  whjit. 

All  these  thoughts  swept  with  lightning  Speed 
through  his  mind,  and  still  the  jKwr  stricken  creat- 
ure stood  before  him  with  her  eyes  lowered  and 
her  hands  clasped,  waiting  for  his  artswer.  He 
roused  himself,  and  sought  once  more  to  reassure 
w  her.  He  told  her  that  ho  had  noticed  nothing, 
that  he  had  been  looking  out  of  the  window,  and 
that  in  any  case,  if  he  had,  he  should  have  thought 
nothing  about  it.  This  ho  said  in  as  careless  a 
tone  as  possible,  willfully  misstating  facts,  fi-om 
a  generous  desire  to  spare  her  uneasiness  and 
,  set  her  mind  at  rest 

"Will  you  pardon  me,  .Sir,  if  I  intrude  npon 
your  kindness  so  far  as  to  ask  one  more  question  ?" 
said  the  housekeeper,  after  listening  drenmilv  to 
the  General's  words.  "  You  are  going  away,  and 
I  shall  not  have  another  opportunity. " 

"Certainly,"  said  the  General,  looking  at  her 
with  nnfeighed  sympathy.  "If  there  is  any  thing 
that  I  can  tell  you  I  shall  be  happy  to  do  so. 
Ask  me,  by  all  means,  any  thing  you  wish." 

"  You  had  a  private  inteniew  with  the  Earl," 
said  she,  with  more  animation  than  she  had  jet 
shown. 
"Yes." 

"  I'ardon  me,  but  will  you  consider  it  imper- 
tmence  if  I  ask  you  whether  it  was  about  your 
past  life?  I  know  it  is  impertinent;  but  oh.  Sir,  I 
have  my  reasons. "  Her  voice  changed  suddenly 
to  the  humblest  and  most  apologetic  accent. 
-The  General's  iiiterest  was,  if- possible,  in- 
creased i  and,  if  there  wore  im|)ertinence  in  such 
n  question  from  a  housekeeper,  he  was  too  ex- 
cited to  be  conscious  of  it.  To  him  this  woman 
seemed  more  than  this. 

"Wo  were  talking  about  the  jiast,"  said  he, 
kindly.     "  Wo  are  very  old  friends.    We  weie  \ 


telling  each  other  the  events  of  our  lives.  We 
parted  early  in  life,-  and  have  not  seen  one  an- 
other for  many  years.  Wa  also  were  arranging 
some  business  matters." 

Mrs.  Hart  listened  eagerty,  and  then  remained 
silent  for  a  long  time. 

"  His  old  friend,"she  murmured  at  last ;  "bis 
old  friend !     Did  you  find  him  much  altered  ?  ' 

"Not  more  than  I  expected,"  replied  the  Gen- 
eral, wonderingly.  "His  secluded  life  here  has- 
kejit  hinj  from  the  wear  and  tear  of  th«i  worid. 
It  has  not  mode  him  at  all  misanthropical  or 
even  cynical.  His  hfeart  is  as  warm  as  ever.  Ho 
spoke  very  kindly  of  you." 

Mrs.  Hart  started,  and  her  hands  involuntarily 
clutched  each  other  more  convulsively.  Her 
head  fell  forward  and  htfr  eyes  dropped." 

"What  did  he  say  of  me?"  she  asked,  in  a 
scarce  audible  voice,  and  trembling  visibly  as 
she  spoke. 

The  General  noticed  her  agitation,  but  it  caused 
no  surprise,  for  nlreadv  his  whole  power  of  won- 
dering was  exhausted.  He  had  a  vague  idea 
thot  the  poor  old  thing  was  troubled  for  fear  she 
might  from  some  cause  lose  her  place,  and  wished 
to  know  whether  the  Earl  had  made  any  remarks 
which  might  affect  her  position.  So  with  this  feel- 
ing he  answered  in  as  cheering  a  tone  as  possible : 
"Oh,  I  assure  you,  he  spoke  of  you  in  the 
highest  terms.  He  told  me  that  you  were  ex- 
ceedingly kind  to  Guy,  and  that  you  were  quite 
indispensable  to  himself." 

"' Kinfl  to  Guy'— '  indispensable  to  him,'"  she 
repeated  in  low  tones,  while  tears  started  to  her 
eyes.     She  kept  murmuring  the  wiords  abstract- 
edly to  herself,  and  for  a  few  moments  seemed 
quite  unc(fnscious  of  the  Generals  prasence. .  He 
still  watcl^ed  her,  on  his  part,  and  gradualli^  the 
thought  rirose  within  him  that  the  easiest/solu- 
tion for  all  this  was  possible  insanity.     Inahnity, 
he  saw,  would  account  for  every  thing,  andivonld 
also  give  some  reason  for  his  own  strange  feelings 
at  the  sight  of  her.     It  was,  ho  thought,  because 
he  had  seen  this  dread  sign  of  insanity  in  her 
face— that  sign  only  less  terrible  than  that  dread 
mark  which  is  mode  by  the  hand  of  the  King  of 
Terrors.     And  was  she  not  herself  conscious  to 
some  extent]  of  this  ?  he  thought.     She  had  her- 
self alluded!  to  her  eccentricity.    Was;she  not 
disturbed  by  a  fear  that  he  had  noticed  this,  and, 
dreading  a  disclosure,  had  come  to  him'  to  ex- 
plain ?    To  her  a  stranger  would  be  an  object  of 
suspicion,  against  whom  she  would  feel  it  neces- 
sary to  bo  on  her  guard.     The  people  of  the 
house  were  doubtless  accustomed  to  her  wavs, 
and  would  think  nothing  of  any  freak,  however 
whimsical ;  but  a  stranger  would  look  with  dif- 
ferent eyes:     Few,  indeed,  were  the  strangers  or 
visitors  who  ever  came  to  Chetwynde  Castle ;  but 
when  one  did  come  he  would  naturally  be  an  ob- 
ject of  suspicion  to  thisi^r  soul,  conscious  of 
her  infirmity,  and  strugghng  desperately  against 
it.     Such  thoughts  as  these  succc^cd  to  the  oth- 
ers which  had  been  passing  through  the  Gener- 
al's mind,  and  he  was  just  beginning  to  think  of 
Bome  plAn  by  which  lie  conld  soothe  ttdi  poor  ~^ 
creature,  when  he  was  aware  of  a  movement  on 
her  part  which  made  him  look  up  hastily.     Her 
eyes  were  fastened  on  his.     They  were  large,  lu- 
minous, and  earnest  in  their  gaze,  though  dimmed 
by  the  grief  of  years.    Tears  were  in  them,  and 
the  look  which  they  threw  toward  him  was  full 


vents  of  our  lives.  We 
1  have  not  seen  one  an- 
Wa  also  were  arranging 

^t]y,  and  then  remained 

mnrraured  at  lost ;  "his 
Jd  him  much  aftered  ?" 
pected,"  replied  the  Gen- 
lis  secluded  life  here  has 
r  and  tear  of  Ihii  world. 
It  all  misanthropical  or 
;  is  as  warm  as  ever.  1 1  e 
I." 

1  her  hands  involuntarily 
ore  convulsively.      Her 
!r  eyes  dropped." 
f  me  ?"  she  asked,  in  a 
id  trembling  visibly  as 


ciated  face,  that  anew- white  hair,  that  brow 
marked  by  the  lineo  of  suffering,  that  slight 
figure  \vith  iu  sombre  vestments,  all  formed  a 
sight  which  would  have  impressed  any  man. 
The  General  was  so  astonished  that  he  sat  mo- 
tionless, wondering  what  it  was  now  that  the  dis- 
•aaed  fancjr  of  one  whom  he  sUll  beUeved  to  be 


insane  would  snggest.  It  was  to  him  that  d(e 
was  looking;  it  was  to  him  that  her  shriveled 
hands  were  outstretched.  What  could  she  want 
with  him  ? 

She  drew  nearer  to  him  while  he  sat  thus  won- 
dering.  She  stooped  forward  and  downward, 
with  her  eyes  still  fixed  on  his.  He  did  not 
move,  but  watched  her  in  amazement    Again 


20 


THE  CBYPTOGBAM. 


I  thot  thought  which  the  sight  of  her  had  at  fir»t 
suggested  came  to  him.  Agaio  he  thrast  it 
•way.  But  the  woman,  with  a  low  moan,  sud- 
denly flung  herself  on  the  floor  before  him,  ond 
reaching  out  her  hands  clasped  his  feet,  and  he 
felt  her  feeble  frame  all  shaken  by  sobs  and  shud- 
ders. He  sat  spell-bound.  He  looked  at  her 
for  a  moment  aghast.  Then  he  reached  forth 
his  hands,  and  Avithout  speaking  a  word  took 
hers,  and  tried  to  lift  her  up.  She  let  herself  be 
raised  till  she  was  on  her  knees,  and  then  raised 
her  head  once  more.  She  gave  him  an  inde- 
scribable look,  and  in  a  low  voice,  which  was  lit- 
tle above  a  whisper,  bat  whic^  penetrated  to  the 
very  depths  of  his  soul,  pronounced  one  single 

solitary  word, . 

The  General  heard  it.  His  face  grew  as  pale 
and  as  rigid  as  the  face  of  a  corpse ;  the  blood 
seemed  to  leave  his  heart;  his  lips  grew  white; 
he  dropped  her  hands,  and  sat  regarding  her  with 
^es  in  which  there  was  nothing  less  than  horror. 
The  woman  saw  it,  and  qnce  more  fell  with  a 
low  moan  to  the  floor. 

"  My  God ! "  groaned  the  |{|eneral  at  last,  and 
said  not  another  word,  but  sat  rigid  and  mate 
while  the  woman  lay  on  the  floor  at  his  feet 
The  horror  which  that  word  had  caused  for  some 
,time  overmastered  him,  and  he  sat  staring  va- 
cantly.    But  the  horror  was  not  against' the  wo- 
man who  hitd  called  it  up,  and  who  lay  prostrate 
before  him. ,.  She  could  not  have  been  personal- 
ly abhorrent,  for  in  a  few  minutes,  with  a  start, 
^e  noticed  her  once  more,  and  his  face  was  over-, 
spread  by  an  anguish  of  pity  and  sympathy.    He 
raised  her  up,  he  Iqd  her  to  a  couch,  and  made 
her  sit  down,  and  then  sat  in  silence  before  her 
ivith  his  face  buried  in  his  hands.     She  recUned 
pn  the  couch  with  her  countenance  turned  to- 
ward him,  trembling  still,  and  panting  for  breath, 
with  her  right  hand  under  her  face,  and  her  left 
pressed  tightly  against  her  heart    At  times  she 
looked  at  the  General  with  monmful  inquiry, 
and  seemed  to  be  patiently  waiting  for  him  to 
speak,    An  hour  passed  in  silence.    The  Gen- 
eial  seemed  to  be  straggling  with  recollections 
that  overwhelmed  him.    At  last  he  raised  his 
head,  and  regarded  her  in  solemn  silence,  and 
still  his  face  and  hia  eyes  bore  that  expression  of 
nnntteiftble  pity  and  sympathy  which  dwelt  there 
when  he  nused  her  from  the  floor. 

After  A  time  he  addressed  her  in  a  low  voice, 
the  tones  of  which  were  tender  and  full  of  sad- 
ness. She  replied,  and  a  conversation  followed 
which  lasted  for  hours.  It  involved  thin^  of 
fearful  moment— crime,  sin,  shame,  the  perfidy 
of  traitors,  the  devotion  of  &ithfal  ones,  the  sharp 
pang  of  injured  love,  the  long  angnish  of  despair, 
the  deathless  fideli^  of  devoted  aflection.  Bat 
the  report  of  this  conversation  and  the  recital  of 
these  things  do  not  belong  to  this  bloce.  It  is 
enough  to  say  that  when  at  hist  Mrs.  Hart  arose  it 
was  with  a  seraner  face  and  a  steadier  step  than 
hod  been  seen  In  Her  for  vears. 

That  night  the  General  did  not  close  his  eyes. 
Hj«  fgend,  his  bnaineM,  even  his  daughter,  all 
ww« -fi»»ij«Uoii,Tr  ihoi^ih  tu  flbnl  11^  over- 
whelmed and  emshed  by  the  weight  of  some 
tremendous  revelation. 


"*\ 


CHAPTER  "v. 

tSb  FniDRE  BBtDE. 


It  had  b?en  arranged  that  Gay  should  accom- 
pany General  Pomeroy  up  to  I^ndon,  partly  for  v 
the  sake  of  arrantging  abont  the  matters  relat- 
mg  to  the  Chetwynde  estates,  and  partly  for 
the  purpose  nf  seeing  the  one  who  was  some  day 
to  be  bis  wife.  Lord  Chetwynde  was  unable 
to  undergo  the  fatigue  of  traveluig,  and  had  to 
leave  every  thing  to  his  lawyers  and  Guy. 

At  the  close  of  a  wearisome  day  in  the  train 
they  reached  London,  and  drove  at  once  to  the 
General's  lodgings  in  Great  James  Street.  The 
door  was  opened  by  a  tall,  swarthy  woman,  whose 
Indian  nationality  was  made  manifest  by  the 
gny-c6lored  turban  which  sannoui)ted  her  head, 
as  well  as  by  her  face  and  figure.  At  the  sight 
of  the  General  she  burst  out  int6  exclamations 
'of  joy. 

"Welcome  home,  .sahib ;  welcome  home!" 
she  cried.  "  Little  missy,  her  fret  much  after 
yon." 

"I  am  sorry  for  that,  nurse,"  said  the  Gen- 
eral, kindly. 

As  he  was  speaking  they  were  startled  by  a 
piercing  scream  ttma.  an  adjoining  apartment, 
followed  by  a  shrill  voice  uttering  some  words 
which  endiBd  in  a  shriek.  The  General  entered 
the  house,  and  hastened  to  the  room  from  which 
the  sounds  proceeded,  and  Gny  followed  him. 
The  nproar  was  speedilr  accounted  for  by  the 
tableau  which  presented  itself  on  opaning  t^a 
door.  It  Vros  a  tableau  extremely  vivant,  and 
represented  a  small  giri,  witU  violent  gesticuU- 
tions,  in  the  act  of  rejecting  a  daintr  little,  meal 
which  a  maid,  who  stood  by  her  with  a  tray,  was 
vainly  endeavoring  to  induce  her  to  acc«pt  The 
young  lady  s  arguments  were  too  foreible  to  ad- 
mit of  gainsaying,  for  the  servant  did  not  dan  to 


,  narse,"  siiid  the  Gen- 


ventnre  within  reach  of  either  the  hands  or  feet 
of  her  small  bat  vigorous  opponent  The  pres- 
ence of  the  trajp  prevented  her  from  defending 
herself  in  any  way,  and  she  waa  about  retiring, 
worsted,  from  the  encounter,  when  the  entrance 
'  of  the  gentlemen  gave  a  new  .turn  to  the  position 
of  affairs.  The  child  saw  them  at  once ;  her 
screams  of  rage  changed  into  a  cry  of  joy,  and 
the  face  wliich  had  been  distorted  with  passion 
suddenly  became  radiant  with  delight. 

"  Papa !  papa  I"  she  cried,  and,  springing  for- 
>rard,  she  darted  to  his  embrace,  and  twined  her 
arms  about  his  neck  with  a  sob  which  her  joy 
had  wrung  from  her. 

"  Dariing  papa  I"  she  cried ;  "  I  thought  you 
were  never  coming  back.  How  could  you  leave 
me  BO  long  alone?"  and,  saying  this,  she  burst 
into  a  passion  of  tears,  while  her  father  in  rain 
tried  to  soothe  her. 

At  this  strange  revelation  of  the  General's 
daughter  Guy  stood  perplexed  and  wondering. 
Certainly  he  had  not  been  prepared  for  thiA  His 
Jiancie  was  undoubtedly  of  a  somewhat  stormy 
nature,  and  in  the  midst  of  his  bewilderment  he 
was  consc^w*  of  feeling  deeply  reconciled  to  her 
ten  years. 

At  length  her  father  snccebded  iji  quieting 
her,  and/  taking  her  arms  from  his  neck,  he 
placed  her  on  his  knee,  and  said : 

"  Mjrdariing,  here  is  a  gentleman  waiting  all 
this  timfewtpspeak  to  yon.  Come,  go  over  to  him 
and  shakje  rtonds  with  him." 

At  tW»  the  child  turned  her  large  black  eyes 
on  Guy,  and  scanned  him  superciliouslv  from 
head  to  foot.  The  result  seemed  to  satis'fy  her, 
for  she  advanced  a  few  steps  to  take  the  hand 
which  he  had  smilingly  held  out;  but  a  thought 
seemed  suddenly  to  strike  her  which  arrested  her 
progress  half-way. 

"  Did  he  keep  yon,  papa?"  she  said,  abruptly, 
while  a  jerk  of  her  head  in  Guy 'sdirection  signified 
the  pro))er  noun  to  which  the  pronoun  referred. 

"  He  had  something  to  do  with  it,"  answered  \ 
her  fiither,  with  a  smile.  | 

"ITien  I  sha'n't  shake  hands  with  him,"  she 
said,  resolutely ;  and,  putting  the  aforesaid  ap- 
pendages behind  her  back  to  prevent  any  forci- 
ble ajipropriation  of  them,  she  hurried  away,  and 
clambered  up  on  her  father's  knee.    The  Gen- 
eral, knowmg  probably  by  painful  experience/ 
the  futility  of  trying  to  combat  any  determina- 
Hwi  pf  this  very  decided  yoftng  lady,  did  not  at- 
tempt to  make  any  remonstrance,  but  allowed  her 
to  establish  herself  in  her  accustomed  position 
During  this  process  Guy  had  Jeisure  to  inspect 
ner.     This  he  did  without  anu  feeling  of  the  im- 
mense importance  of  this  child's  character  to  his 
own  future  life,  without  thinking  that  this  little 
creature  might  be  destined  to  raise  him  up  to 
heaven  or  thrust  him  down  to  hell,  but  only  with 
the  Idle,  critical  view  of  an  uninterested  specta- 
tor.    Guy  was,  in  fact,  too  young  to  estimate  the 
lutnre,  and  things  which  were  connected  with 
that  future,  at  their  right  value.     He  was  little 
more  than  a  boy,  awNwiirlooked  with  a  hoy's 
eyw  upon  this  singular  child.  ' 

She  struck  him  as  the  oddest  little  mortal  that 
he  had  ever  come  acroM.    She  was  very  tiny, 

SJh^  tn  & J?*"i.*T*\:  A",''""  fiP""""!'* looked 
right,  in  fitce  die  looked  fifty.    In  that  fiwe  there 


THE  CRYPTOGRAM. 


was  no  childishness  whatever.  It  was  a. thin 
peaked,  sallow  face,  with  a  discontented  expres- 
sion ;  her  features  were  small  and  pinched ,  her 
hair  which  was  of  inky  blackness,  fell  oii  her 
Shoulders  in  long,  straight  locks,  without  a  riiv 
pie  or  a  wave.ln  them.  She  looked  like  an  efr 
but  still  this  elfish  little  creature  was  rcdeeineli 
from  the  liideonsness  which  else  might  have  been 
her  doom  by  eves  of  the  most  wonderful  brill- 
w!?T  A^  luminous,  iwtent  eyes-intenselr 
Wack  and  deep  as  the  depths  of  ocean,  they 
seemed  to  fill  her  whole  face;  and  in  memento 
of  excitement  they  could  light  up  with  volcanic 
l.TlT'"*!"''^  i*"*  '"'^"''''y  °f  ""»'  ""'nre  which 
hZ  ^„T  i  /"„"'P«^  'hey  were  unfathoma- 
ble, and  defied  all  conjecture  as  to  what  their 
possessor  might  develop  into. 

All  this  Guy  noticed,  as  far  as  was  iMwsible  to 
one  so  young  and  inexperienced;  and  the  gen- 
eral  result  of  this  survey  was  a  state  of  bewilder- 
ment and  perplexity.  He  could  not  make  her 
out.  She  was  a  puzzle  to  him,  and  certainly  not 
a  veiT  attractive  on&  ' 

t  .u  '",.?«  '•»'*  fin«"y  adjusted  herself  on  her 
fathers  kriee,  the  General,  after  the  fashion  of 
parents  from  time  immemorial,  asked : 

"  Has  my  darling  been  a  good  child  since 
papa  has  been  away  ?" 

The  question  may  have  betta  a  stereotyped 
one.  Not  so  the  answer,  which  came  out  foU 
and  decided,  in  a  tone  free  alike  from  penitence 
or  bravado,  but  giving  only  a  simple  statement 
of  facts. 

"No,"  she  said;  "I  have  not  been  a  good 
girl.  I  ve  been  very  naughty  indeed.  I  haven't 
minded  any  thing  that  was  said  to  me  I 
Mratched  the  ayah,  and  kicked  Sarah.  I  bit 
Sarah  too.  Besides,  I  spilt  my  rice  and  mUk, 
and  broke  the  plate^  and  I  was  just  mmtt  to 
starve  myself  to  death."  K^tug  w 

At  this  recital  of  childish  enormities,  with  its 
^gical  ending,  Guy  burst  into  a  lond  laugh. 
The  child  raised  herself  from  her  father's  shoul- 
der, and,  fixing  her  large  eyes  upon  him,  said 
slowly,  and  with  set  teeth: 
"I  hate  you!" 

She  looked  so  nncanay  as  she  said  this,  .and 
th§  expression  of  her  eyes  was  so  intense  in  ito 
malignity,  that  Guy  absolutely  gtarted.*^ 

"  Hush,"  exclaimed  her  father,  more  poremp 
tonly  than  nsnal ;  "you  must  not  be  so  rude.''' 
As  he  spoke  she  again  looked  at  Gov,  with  a 
vindictive  expression,  but  did  not  deign  to  speak. 
The  face  seemed  to  him  to  be  utterly  diaboKcal 
and  detestable.  She  looked  at  him  for  a  mo- 
ment,  and  then  her  head  sank  down  upon  her 
father's  shoulder. 

The  General  now  made  an  effort  to  turn  tho 
conversation  to  where  it  had  left  off,  and  nrwt- 
Mg  to  ZiUah'g  confe8sian<  he  said : 

"  I  thon^t  my  little  girl  never  broke  her  wort, 
and  that  whqiTlrtobniised  to  be  good  while  I     " 
was  away,  I  cogld  depend  upon  her  being  go." 
This  reproach  seaned  to-tonch  Jiet. JSht 


__^.^ .,„       "VWUUUA      lAJ Wlllllll  —MPT. aflS 

sprang  up  instantly  and  exclaimed,  in  vehement 
tones :      ^^ 

"It  '^4^^  who  broke  yonr  pronise  to  me. 
>ou  said^Bionld  come  back  in  (liABTk  and 
you  staid  four.  1  did  keep  my  word.  I  wat 
good  the  first  two  days.  Ask  the  ayah.  When 
I  found  that  you  had  deceived  me.  tlMo  I  did 
not  care."  <  ( 


tl 


.■^^^i>dmi^*^i£)Arj'i^&ii^/k  ^^i.-iMi^,^^Li^i>^- 


vi*i*' 


33 


THE  CRYPTOGRAM. 


"  Brit  you  BhoaI4  hove  trusted  me,  my  child," 
■aid  the  General,  in  a 'tone  of  mild 'rebuke. 
"You  Bhould  have  known  that  I  must  hove  had 
some  good  reason  for  disappointing  you.  I  had 
Terv  important  business  to  attend  to — business, 
darling,  which  very  nearly  affects  your  hJappi- 
1  ness.     Some  day,  you  shall  hear  about  it." 

"But  I  don't  ^ant  to  hear  about  any  thing 
that  will  keep  you  away  from  me,"  said  Zillah, 
peevishly.  "Promise  never  to  leave  me  egain. " 
"Not  if  I  can  help  it,  my  (ihildJ'  said  the 
General,  kissing  her  fondly.  ■ 
_  "  No ;  but  promise  that  you  won't  at  all,"  per- 
sisted Zillah.  "Promise  never  to  leave  me  at 
all.  Promise,  promise,  'papa ;  promise — prom- 
ise." 

"Well,"  said  the  General,  "I'll  promise  to 
take  you  with  me  the  next  time.    That  will  do, 
-^on'tit?" 

"  But  I  don't  want  to'go  away,^'  said  this  sweet 
child ;  ",and  I  won't  go  away.    " 

The  General  gave  a  despairing  glance  at  Guy, 
who  he  knew  was  a  spectator  of  this  scene.  He 
felt  a  vague  desire  to  get  Guy  alone  so  as  to  ex- 
plain to  him  that  this  was  only  oocasional  and 
accidental,  and  that  Zillah  was  really  one  of  the 
sweetest  and  most  angelic  children  that  ever 
were  bom.  Nor  would  this  good  Uencyal  have 
consciously  violated  the  truth  in  saying  so ;  for 
in  his  heart  of  hearts  he  believed  all  this  of  his 
loved  but  sadly  spoiled  child.  He  opportunity 
for  such  explanations  did  not  Occur,  however, 
And  the  General  had  the  painful  consciousness 
that  Gupr  was  seeing  his  future  bride  under  some' 
what  disadvantageous  circumstances.  Still  he 
trusted  that  the  affectionate  nature  of  Zillah 
would  reveal  itself  to  Guy,  and  make  a  deep  im- 
pression upon  him.  ' 

While  ftuch  thoughts  as  these^^were  passing 
through  his  mind,  and  others 'of  a  very  varied 
nature  were  occurring  to  Guy,  the  maid  Sarah 
Arrived  to  take  her  young  charge  to  bed.  The 
attempt  to  do  so  roused  Zillah  to  the  most  act- 
ive resistance.  She  had  made  up  her  mind  not 
to  yield.  "  I  won't,"  she  cried— "  I  won't  go 
to  bed.  I  will  never  go  away  from  papa  a  single 
instant  until  that  horrid  man  is  gone.  I  know 
he  will  take  you  away  again,  and  I  hate  him. 
Why  don't  you  make  him  go,  papa?" 

At  this  remark,  which  was  so  flattering  tk 
Guy,  the  General  made  a  Aiesh  effort  to  appease 
his  daughter,  but  with  no  better  success  than 
before.  Children  and  fools,  says  the  proverb, 
speak  the  truth ;  and  the  truth  which  was  spoken 
in  this  iutance  was  not  very  agreeable  to  the 
visitor  at  whom  it  was  flung.  But  Guy  looked 
on  with  a  smile,  and  nothing  inliis  face  gave  any 
sign  of  the  feelings  that  he  might  have.  He  cer- 
tainly had  not  been  prepared  for  any  approach 
to  any  thing  of  this  sort.  On  the  journey  the 
G«aeral  had  alluded  so  often  to  that  daughter, 
who  was  alway*  uppermost  in  his  mind,  that 
Guy  had  expected  an  outburst  of  rapturous  af- 
fection from  her.  Had  he  been  passed  by  un- 
noticed, he  ^uld  have  thought  nothing  of  it ; 
~  but  the  malignancy jof  her  Iodic,  and  the  ^-enom 
of  her  words,  startled  him,  yet  he  was  toagood- 
hearted  and  considerate  to  exhibit  any  feeling 
whiHover. 

Sarah's  efliort  to  take  Zillah  away  had  resnlt- 
e<l  in  su<!h  a  complete  fiiilure  that  she  retired  . 
difcomfited,  and  there  was  rather  an  awkwaid  , 


period,  in  which  the  General  made  a  faint  effort 
to  induce  his  daughter  to  say  something  civil  to 
Guy.  This,  however,  was  another  failure,  and 
in  a  sort  of  mild  despair  he  resigned  himself  to 
her  wayward  humor. 

At  kst  dintaei^  was  announced.  Zilkh  still  rei 
fused  to  leave  her  father,  so  that  he  was  obliged, 
greater  to  his  own  discomfort,  to  keep  her  on 
his  knee  during  the  meal.  When  the  soup  and 
flsh  were  going  on  she  was  comparatively  quiet ; 
but  at  the  first  symptoms  of  entrdes  she  became 
restive,  and  popping  up  her  quaint  little  head  to 
a  level  mth  the  table,  shevyed  the  edibles  with  the 
air  of  an  habitud  at  the  Lord  Mayor's  banquet 
Kaviole  was  handed  round.  This  brought  mat- 
ters to  a  crisis. 

"A  plate  and  a  fork  for  me,  Thomas,"  she 
ordered,  imperiously. 

"But,  my  (Jarling,"  remonstrated  her  fo- 
ther,  "  this  is  miich  too  rich  for  you  so  late  at 
night." 

"I  like  kaviole/'  was  her  simple  reply,  given 
with  the  nip.  of  one  who  is  presenting  an  unan- 
swerable argument,  and  so  indeed  it  proved  to 
be.         ' 

"This  latter  scene  was  re-enacted,  with  but  small 
variations,  whenever  any  thing  appeared  which 
met  with  her  ladyship's  approval;  and  Guy  found 
that  in  spite  of  her  youth  Shis  was  a  decided  con- 
noisseur in  thu/delicacies  of  the  table.'     Now,  to 
tell  the  truth,  he  was  not  at  all  fond  of  chil- 
dren ;  but  this  one  excited  in  him  a  pocitive  hor- 
ror.    There  seemed   to  be  something  in  her 
weird  and  uncanny;  and  he  found  himself  con- 
stantly speculating  as  to  how  he  could  ever  be- 
coiqe  reconciled  to  her;  or  what  changies  fu- 
ture'years  could  make  in  her;    and  whether 
the  lapse  of  time  could  by  any  possibility  devel- 
op this  impish  being  into  any  sort  of  a  present- 
able woman.     From  the  moment  that  he  saw 
her  he  felt  that  the  question  of  beauty  must  be 
abandoned  forever ;  it  would  be  enough  if  she 
could  prove  to  be  one  with  whom  a  ronn  might 
live  with  any  degree  of  domestic  comfort.     But 
the  prospect  of  taking  her  at  some  period  in  the 
fijbre  to  preside  over  Chetwjnde  Castle  filled 
hiiiKwith  complete  dismay.    He  now  Lvgan  to 
reolizb  what  his  father  had  faintly  suggested — 
n&menr,  that  his  part  of  the  agreement  might 
hereafter  prove  a  sacrifice.    The  prospect  cer- 
toiuly  looked  dark,  and  for  a  short  time  he  felt 
somewhat  downcast;   but  he  wa»  young  and 
hopeful,  and  in  the  end  he  put  all  these  thoughts 
from  him  as  in  some  sort  treacherous  tajais  kind 
old  friend,  and  made  a  resolute  detirminntiQu, 
in  spite  of  fate,  to  keep  his  vow  with  himf       j 
Aftdr  anticipating  the  dessert,  and  preventing 
her  father  from  taking  cheese,  on  the  gix>und 
that  she  did  not  like  it,  nature  at  last  took  pity 
on  that  much  enduring  and  long  suffering  man, 
and  threw  over  the  daughter  the  mantle  of  sweet 
nnco^onsness.    Miss  Pomeroy  fell  asleep.    In 
that  URpless  condition  she  was  quietly  conveyed 
fhim  her  father's  arms  to  bed,  to  the  unspeak- 
able relief  of  Guy,  who  felt,  a»  the  door  c" 
as  if  a  fearful  Incubas  had  bopn  removed. 

On  the  following  mdfning  he  started  by  an 
early  train  for  Dublin,  so  that  on  this  occasion 
he  had  no  further  opportunity  of  improving  his 
acquaintance  with  bis  lovely  bride.  Need  it  be 
said  that  the  loss  yru  not  netted  by  the  fatui« 
husband?  « 


-.r^ 


i  it    ^- .Wi 


THE  OBTirrOGBAH. 


for  me,  Thomas,"  she 


CHAPTEB  Vj; 

TWO^  lUI-ORTANT  CHABACTER8. 


About  five  years  passed  away  since  the 
eresits  narrated  in  the  last  chapter. ,  The  Gen- 
eral's hons^bld  had  leil  their  iMHim  lodgings 
not  long  after  Gdy's  visit,  and  had  removed  to 
the  family  seat  at  Pomeroy  Court,  where  tbey 
had  remained  ever  Aince.  'During  these  years 
Gay  had  been  living'the  life  common  with  yonng 
ofiRcers,  moving  about  from  place  to  place,  going 
sometin^  on  a  visit  to  his  father,  and,  on  the 
whole,  extracting  an  nncommonly  large  amount 
of  enjoyment  out  of  life.  The  memory  tof  his 
betrothal  never  troubled^  him ;  he  fbrtnnately  es- 
o^»d  my  affair  of  the  heart  mors  aerions  than 
an  idle  flirtation  in  a  garrison  town: .  the  odd 
scene  of  his  visit  to  General  Pomeroys  lodgings 
soon  faded  into  the 'remote  jwst;  and  the  pro- 
4ectod;marriage  was  banished  Jn  his  mind  to  the 
dim  shades  of  a  remote  future.  As  for  the  two 
old  men,,  they  only  met  once  or  twice  in  all 
these  years.  General  Pomeroy  could  not  man- 
age very  well  to  leave  his  daughter,  and  Lord 
thetwyndes  health  did  not  aUow  him  to  visit 

ii«l"S"'^V  ?.®  "^^  ^"^  *e  General  to  bring 
ZUlah  with  hmi  to  Chetwynde  Castle,  bnt  this 
Oje  young  Udy  positively  refused  to  consent  ta 
Nor  did  the  General  himself  care  particularlr 
about  takiflg  her  ihere.  '    ■  ^ 

;3!!f    M  u'**K«~"^«"'  *•«  «»»  of  that^af^     "Have^^ 
comtort  which  charatnenzes  so  many  coantrr 
hQpsM  of  England.     It  was  irreguhir  in  shap/ 

building  being  Elixabelhan,  fh>m  which  there 


weU-timbersd  park  surrounded  It,  beyond  which 
Uy  the  village  of  Pomeroy. 
One  morning  in/ June,  isifl,  a  man  ^ame  up 
•  avenue  and  entered  the  hall.     He  was  of 
lediura  size,  with  short  light  hair,  low  br«w, 
light  eyes,  and  thin  face,  and  he  carried  a  scroll 
of  music  m  his  hand.     He  entered  the  hall  witUT' 
the  air  of  an  habitutf,  and  proceeded  to  the  south 
parlor.     Here  his  attention  was  at  once  arrested 
by  a.iigure  standing  by  one  of  the  windows.    It 
was  a  youpg  giri,  slender  and  graceful  in  form, 
dressed  in  black,  with  masses  of  heavy  bhick 
hair  coiled  up  behind  her  ||ead.     Her  back  was  " 
turned  toward  him,  and  he  stood  in  sIleQoe  for 
some  time  looking  towanl  her. 
At  last  he  spoke :  "MissKrieff— " 
The  one  called  Miss  Krieff  turned  and  said,  in 
an  indifferent  monotone:  " Good-momins.  Mr 
Gnaltier."  ~W^ 

Turning  thus  she  showe4»  fiuse  whl|h  had  in 
it  nothing  whatever  of  the  fiigliah  type— a  dark 
oUve  complexion,  ahnost  swarthy,  in  fcct ;  thick,  • 
luxuriant  black  hidr,  eyes  intensely  bkck  and 
piercingly  lustrous,  retreating  chin,  and  retreat- 
ing narrow  forehead.  In  that  face,  with  iu  in- 
tense eyes,  there  was  the  possibility  of  rare  charm 
and  fascination,  and  beauty  of  a  very  nnusoal ' 
kind;  but  at  the  preseafi  moment,  as  she  looked 
carelessly  and  almost  sullenly  at  her  visitor,  there 
was  something  repellent. 

"here  is  Miss  Pomeroy  ?"  asked  Gnaltier. 
jout,  somewhere,".answerod  Miss  Krieff.t 
shortly.  X 
"Will  sWe  not  play  to-day  i" 
"IthinkSiot.- 
"Why?" 

"The  usual  cause." 
"What?" 

"Tantrums,"  said  Miss  Krieff. 
"  It  is  a  pity,"  said  Gualtier,  dryly,  "  that  she 
"  w>jn^Ku'«f jin  her  lesMns.    She  wiU  never 

"  '^^pWeaijir  her  ever  pretending  to  take  les- 
sons  ofimy  body  in  any  thing  is  absurd,"  said 
Miss  Krieff.  "  Besides,  it  is  aa  mnch  as  a  teach- 
er's life  is  worth.  You  will  certainly  leave  the 
house  some  day  with  a  brokeahaacC'' 

Gnaltibr  smiled,  showing  a' set  of  huge  yellow 
teeth,  and  his  sniall  light  eyes  twinkled. 

"It  is  nothing  foFme,  bnt  I  sometimee  think 
it  milst  be  hard  for  you.  Miss  Krieff,"  said  he, 
insinuatingly. 

"  Hard  I'  she  repeated,  and  her  eyes  flashed 
as  she  glanced  at  Gnaltier;  bnt  in  an  instant  it 
passed,  and  she  answered  in  a  soft,  stealthy 
voice :  "  Oh  yes,  it  is  hard  sometimes ;  but  then 
dependents  have  no  right  to  complain  of  the 
whims  of  their  superiors  and  beneGicton,  yon 
know." 

Gnaltier  said  nothing,  bnt  seemed  to  wait  Air. 
ther  diidosores.  Atftn  a  time  MissKrieff  look- 
ed np,  and  surveyed  him  with  h^  penetrating, 
gace. 

"  Yon  ninsthaTea  great  deal  to  bear,  I  think," 


)  you  observed  it  ?"  she  asked. 
"Am  1  not  Miss  Pomeroy's  tutor?     How 
can  I  help  observing  it?"  was  the  reply. 
^    "Have  I  ever  acted  as  though  I  was  dissatis- 
ntnWt^  Vn~»AMViZir~iriu\'''"'!irZi"'''l  *"*"  **^  "'■  discontented,  or  did  you  ever  see  anv 
SrlSwilSLiId  jS^ltlH'*''L^"'^''  stvle  thing  in  me  which  would  teid  you  to  tq,,^ 
wiiitn  wimam  and  Maty  Introduced.    A  wide,  I  that  I  >|ras  otherwise  than  contented  ?"        ^ 


II 


i* 


THE  CBTFTOORAM. 


"V-  M 


Yon  we  generally  regarded  ••  a  model  ot 

natore,"  loid  Qualtier,  in  •  cautioua,  (lon- 

jittid  tone.     "  Why  should  I  think  otr«i*<-- 

r     ^^y  My  that  no  one  but  you  oould  i"  "- 

^Uimfcm»toj." 

MiM  KfUff  looked  away,  and  a  itealthy  Bmile 
crept  orer  her  feature*.  « 

"Qood-natnret"  ibe  murmured.     A  laugh 


%^ 


that  Munded  almo«t  like  a.  fob  escaped  her.    81 
lence  fulluwod,  and  Gualtier  sat  looking  abstract- 
edly at  his  sheet  of  miisic.  , 

"How.(io  yon  like  the  General?"  he  asked, 
aliruptly. 

"Hoar  could  I  help  loving  Miss  Pomerov  s 
fitther  ?"  replied  Miss  lUeff,  with  the  old  stealthy 
smile  reappearing. 

'*  Is  he  not  just  and  honorable  ?" 
"  Both — more  too — heis  generous  and  tender. 
-    He  is  above  all  a  fond  father ;  so  fond,"  she  add- 
ed, with  something  like  a  sneer,  "that  all  his 
justice,  his  tenderness,  and  his  generosity  are  ex- 
.  erted-  for  the  exclusive  benefit  of  that,  darling 
diOd  on  whom  he  dotes.    I  assure  yon,  von  can 
■  have  no  idea  how  touching  it  is  to  see  them  to- 
gether." 

"Do  you  often  feel  this  tendemesa  toward 
them  r"  asked  Gualtier,  turqing  bia  thin  sallow 
face  towaM  her. 

"Always,"  said  Miss  Krieff,  slowly.     She 
rose  frotn  her  chAir,  where  she  had  tokeil  her- 
•eat,  and  looked  fixedly  at  him  for  soi>ie 
without  .one  word.  .j^,. 

"You  appear  to  be  interested  Iri  this  family," 
said  she  at  length.    Gualtier  looked  at  her  for 
a  moment — then  his  eyes  fcU. 
'         "How  can  I  be  otiierwise  than  interested  in 
one  like  yon?"  he  murmured. 

"Tlie  General  befriended  yon.     He  found 
you  in  London,  and  ofiiared  you  a  large  salary 
to  teach  his  daughter." 
"The  General  w'as  rery  kind,  and  is  so  still." 
Miss  Krieff  paused,  and  looked  at  him  with 
^,  ^^  k«i;n  and  vigilant  scrutiny. 
\^  "Would  you   be   shocked,"  she  asked  at 
^^ength,  ,"if  you  were  to  hear  that  tUa  General 
had  an  enemy?"  r 

'    "  That  would  altogether  depend  npoawho  the 
enemy  might  be."  -,    ,m' 

"An  enemy,"  continued  Miss  Kriefi,.«ip|)! 
intense  bitterness  of  tone — "in  his  owq  faih- 
ily?"  I 

'  "JThat  would  be  strange,  "said  Gualtier;  ."but 
I  can  imagine  an  enemy  with  whom  I  wonld  not 
'    ,1tpo{l<NMle4." 

^\'1l^hat  wonld  yon  think,"  asked  Miss- Krieff, 
her  pause,  during  which   her  keen 
»was  fixed  on  Gualtier,  "if  that 
(n  An  the  watch,  aiid  un- 
are  hdd|iConcealeil  the 
-___^       What  would  you  sny 
if  ^KBtSKtWBl^'i'^  ao  "'WjSB^^  'hat  only 
.  thatJWtorttr^o  86me 
|ty  to  GeneralllWneroy?" 
rmnWfell  me  more,"  said  Gualtier,  "  be- 
-ibrfrl  anMTetr  -1  ^»n  fully  capable  of  under- 
standing all  that  hate  may  desire  or  accomplish. 
But  has  this  enemy  of  whom  you  speak  done 
anything?   Ha»  she  foun4  out  any  thing?   Has 
aha  ever  discovered  any  way  in  which  her  bate 
may  be  gratified?" 

"  Yon  seem  to  take  it  for  granted  that  his  en- 
«my.  isa  womanl" 


"Of  course." 

"WeU,  then,  I  will  answer  yon.  8h»  h(U. 
found  out  something— or,  rather,  'he  is  !»  the 
way  toward  finding  out  something— which  ^nny 
yet  enable  her  to  gratify  her  desirea." 

"  Have  you  any  objections  to  tell  wha(  that 
may  be?"  asked  Gualuer. 

Miss  Krieff  said  nothing  for  some  time,  dur- 
ing which  each  looked  eameatly  at  the  other. 

"No,"  said  she  at  last. 

"What  is  it?" 

"  It  is  something  that  I  have  fonnd  atnpng 
the  General's  papers,"  said  she,  in  a  low  vojce. 

"Xou  have  examined  the  General's  papers, 
then?"  (ft 

"What  I  said  implied  that  much,  I  bellorc.'* 
said  Miss  Krieff,  coolly. 

"  And  what  U  it?" 

"A  certain  mvsterioAs  document." 

' '  Mysterious  document  ?"  repeated  G  uoltier.  ^ 

"Yes." 

"\^hnt?" 

"  It  is  a  writing  in  cipher." 

"And  you  have  made  it  out  ?"  ' 

"No, /have  not." 

"Of  whot  use  is  it,  then ?" 
. "  I  think  it  may  bfrof  some  importance,  or  it 
Would  not  have  been  kept  where  it  wos,  and  it 
would  not  have  been  written  in  cipher." 

What  can  you  do  with  it?"-a8ked  Gualtier, 
liter  some  silence. 

'  I  do  not  yet  see  what  I  can  do  with  it,  but 
others  mdy." 

"What  others?" 

"I  hope  to  find  some  friend  who  may  have 
more  skill  in  cryptography  thon  I  have,  and  mny 
be  able  to  decipher  it.' 

"  Can  yon  not  decipher  it  nt  nil  ?" 

"Only  in  part" 

"  Arid  what  is  it  that  yon  have  fonnd  out?" 
'    "  I  will  tell  you  some  other  time,  perhaps." 

"  You  object  to  tell  me  now  ?" 

"Yes."  ■  ,-x 

"When  will  yoU  tell  me ?"       \ 

"When  we  are  better  acquaintjed." 

'  "Are  we  not  pretty  well  acquainted  now?" 
"  Not  so  wdl  as  I  ^ofafc  vi^^iall  be  here- 

"  i  shall  wait  most  pM^jW^HBteid  Gual- 
tier, earnestly,  "  till  oa|MiBiPMHI'=y  b^^^ 
give  me  some  jnore  mUK^Ssi^^^^^Vv^'^'  ^''' 
might  yon  not  give  m^rorae^neral  idea  of  thnt 
which  yon  think,  you  have  discovered  ?" 

Miss  Krieff  hesitated. 

"  Do  not  let  me  force  myself  into  yonr  confi- 
dence," said*  Gualtier. 

"  No,"  sud  Miss  Krieff,  in  that  cold,  i;epel- 
lent  manner  which  she  Could  so  easily  assume. 
"  'There  is  no  danger  of  that.  But  I  h^ve  no 
objection  to  tell  you  what  seems  to  me  to  be 
the  eenoral  meamng  of  that  which  I  have  deci- 


the  general  meamng  i 
phered," 

"What is  it?" 

"  As  far  a*  I  can  see,"  said  Miss  Krieff,  "  it 
^;>inir£<»«  ft^rmrnl  Pnmarny  with  atrocious  crimes, 
and  implicates  him  in  one  in  particnlar,  the  knowl- 
edge ftf  which,  if  it  be  really  so,  can  be  used  against 
him  with  terrible— yea,  fiual  effect  I  now  caa 
understand  very  easily' why  he  was  so  strangely 
and  franticallT  eager  to' betroth  his  child  to  the 
son  of  Lord  Chetwynde— why  he  trampled  on  all 
decency,  and  boima  his  own  dangfater,  little  more 


^t^^  4 


*•];.: 


i  that  much,  I  bellere, 


hat  i  can  do  with  it,  but 


deritatnU?" 


ave  diBcovored  ?" 

L 

ce  myself  into  your  confl- 

Moff,  in  th»t  cold,  |;epel- 
e  Could  so  easily  assume, 
of  that.  But  I  h^ve  no 
what  seems  to  me  to  be 
tf  that  vhich  I  bare  deci- 


ee,"  said  Miss  Krieff,  "it 
)rr>j  with  atrocious  crimes, 
ine  in  particular,  'thekiiowl- 
eally  so,  can  be  used  against 
I,  fiaal  effect.  I  now  caa 
?  why  he  wag  so  strangely 
to  betroth  his  diild  to  the 
le-^why  be  trampled  on  oU 
is  6wn  Oanghter,  little  mure 


Ufcn  a  baby,  to  a  stiaiiMr— ^hy  he  purchased 
Qay  Molyneox,  body  and  soul,  for  money.  All 
is  plain  (bm  this.  Bat,  after  all,  it  is  a  pusde. 
He  makes  so  high  a  profession  of  honor  thy t  if 
his  profession  were  real  he  would  have  thought 
df  a  betrothal  any  where  except  there.  Oh,  if 
Lord  Chetw\l|de  Aply  had  the  faintest  concep- 
Uonofthkl*'-   T  ■ 

' Tilt JCwied  Gnaltier,  with  eager 
Mtnulated  to  the  utmost  by 
md  tones. 

^M»  a.^J''  '°''  "'''"  tiifte,"  said  Miss 

KdK  iMiMnK  ber  repellent  tone — ''not  now. 
,  If  rflnJWeti  worthy  of  my  confidence,  I  will 
[ive  it  to  yoo,"'  ,  "^ 

"I  will  fry  to  show  myself  worthy  of  it, "  said 
i  .Gualtior,  and,  after  k  time,  took  his  departure, 
leaving  Miss  Krioff  to  her  thoughts. 

Now,  who  was  this  Miss  Krieff  ?  6he  was  an 
important  member  of  the  numerous  household 
whicJj  the  General  had  brought  with  him  from 
India.  She  had  beep  undet  his  guardianship 
since  her  infancy;  who  she  yfaa  no  one  knew 
but  the  General  himself.  Ilor  position  Wits  an 
honorable  one,  and  the  General  alwayn  tjceated 
her  with  a  resgect  and  affection  tliat  were  olraost 
■patonial,  'Mfus  her  life  had  been  passed,  first 
as  playiiiate  to  Zillah,  whom  she  exceeded  in 
ago  by  about  four  years,  and  afterward  as  com- 
panion, frie«l,  almost  sister,  to  the  spoiled  child 
ond  wayward  heiress.  . 

.  Hilda  Krieff  was  a  person  of  no  common  char- 
acter.    Even  in  India  her  nature  had  exhibited 
remarkable  traits.     Child  as  she  then  was,  her 
astuteness  and  self-control  were  snch  os  might 
have  excited  the  admiration  of  Macchiavelfi  him- 
self.   By  jwrsistent  flattery,  by  the  indulgence 
of  every  whim,  tad,  above  all,  by  the  roost  e.i- 
aggerated  protestations  of  devotion,  she  had  ob- 
tained a  powerful  influence  orer  Zilkh's  nncon- 
tro  led  but  loving  noture ;  and  thus  she  hod  grud- 
I  S"i/i '""''°  herself  so  indispensable  to  her  that 
I  ZilLih  could  never  bear  to  be  separated  from  one 
I  who  so  humored  oil  her  Whims,  and  bore  her 
Imost  ungovernable  fiu  of  passion  with  snch  un- 
I  varying  sweetness.     Hilda  had  evidently  taken 
Ihec  lesson  from  the  General  himself;  and  thus 
"Zillah  waft  treated  with  equal  servility  bv  her  fa- 
ther arid  tfer  friend.    "  '    • 
Peraonally,  there  Was  some  general  resemblance 
■between  the  two  girUj  though  in  Hilda  the  sal-' 
»ow  hue  of  Ul  health  was  replaced  by  a  clear  olive 
fcompexion;  and  her  eves,  w«ch  yie  seldom 
^ised,  had  a  somewhat  fortiTft  manner  at  times. 
Much  was  altogether  absent  fiW^ ZiUah's  clw 
Ht}i.  gaze.     Hilda's  voice  was  W  and  me- 
UiOMs,  never  even  in  the  abandon  of  childish 
l>lay,  or  in  any  excitement,  had  she  been  known 
lo  raise  its  tones ;  her  step  was  wft  «nd  noiseless. 
>nd  one  htfd  no  idea  that  she  was  in  the  «wi 
■till  she  was  found  standing  by  one's  side, 
l.i.r  i    *  "'"<>. San*  described  in  her  own  way 
Ithe  charactenstics  of  HUda  Krieff.  ^ 

.rt!"  Fo"?  her**' rt  !?"  •tiil!!?'™^  «*"  •»«' 


THE  CBYnB§BAlt 


« 


la  turn.    For  he 


l^riS  •^'"™'"  *?  ""wapvwas  always  ttjadyio 
l^ake  It  np,  ajd  say  as  she  had  been  naucbtvO 
iFor  my  part,"  concluded  Sarah,  "I*m  fl|2  to 
I  confess  T  have  often  giv  Missy  a  sly  shake  when 
I  she  was  in  one  of  them,  tantrims,  and  I  goTtho 
[chance,  and  however  that  girfcaS  be^UJS 


meek  spoken  oven  when  she  has  books  a^sUed 
at  her  head  is  more  than  I  ean  tell,  and  1  ^laa't 
like  it  neither.  I  see  a  look  In  tUitm  eyes  of  hats 
sometimes  as  I  don't  like. '^ 

Thus  we  see  that  Hilda's  Christian-like  for- 
giveness of  iiyuries  met  with  bnt  littln  xpprecia. 
tion  in  some  quarters.  But  this  matter«»dlittle. 
since  with  the  U<Keral  and  ZiUah  she  was  alwars 
iri  the  highest  favor. 

vyimt  hud  these  years  that  liad  passed  dona 
for  /ilkh?    In  |iersonar  appearance  not  verr 
much.  -  The  plain  sickly  child  h«d  developed  into 
u  tall  ungainly  girl,  whose  legs  and  arms  ap- 
peared incessantly  to  present  to  their  owner  the 
msolublo  Voblem— What  is  to  l)e  done  with 
us  r*  Her  face  was  suU  thin  and  sallow,  although 
it  wag   redeemed  by   its  nuignificent  eyes  and 
wealth  of  lustrous,  jet-black  hair.     As  to  bar 
hair,  to  tell  the  truth,  she  managed  its  luxuriant 
folds  in  a  manner  as  little  ornamental  as  pos- 
sible.    She  would  never  consent  to  allow  it  to#- 
be  dregged,.  affirming  that  it  would  drive  her' 
mad  to  sit  still  so  long,  and  ft  Was  accordingly 
tricked  up  with  more  regard  to  expedition  than  '■ 
to  neatness;  and  long  untidy  Iqcks  might  geo.' 
?™y'  *>o  ae«a  straggling  over  her  shouldeM. 
Nefertheles8«  mind  possessedu^f  lively  imagina- 
tion and  grout  faith  might  l^e  traced  in  thia 
girl  the  possibility  of  better  things. 

In  mental  acquirements  she  was  lamentably, 
deficient.      Her  mind  was  a  garden  goim  ttf  * 
waste;  the  weeds  flourished,  but  the  good  seed 
refused  to  take  root.     It  had  been  found  almost  ,  ' 
impossible  to  give  her  even  tho  rudiments  of  a 
good  education.     Governess  after  governess  had 
come  to  l^omeroy  Court ;  governess  after  govern- 
ess after  a  short  trial  had  left,  each  one  telling 
the  same  story  s  Miss  Pomeroy'g  abilities  were 
good,  even  above  the  average,  but  her  disincli- 
nation,.to  learning  was  so  great— snch  was  the   -^ 
delicately  expressed  formula  in  which  they  made 
known  to  the  General  Zillah'*utter  idleness  and 
selfishness— that  she  (the  governess)  felt  that  she 
was  unable  to  do  her  justice;  that  Jiossibly  the 
fault  lay  m  her  own  method  of  imparting  in- 
struction, and  that  she  therefore  ha^ed  to  re- 
sign  the  position  of  Miss  Pomeioy'sTnstnicttesa. 
Now,  as  each  new  teacher  had  begun  a  system 
of  hejj^own  wliich  she  had  not  had  time  to.  de- 
velop, It  may  be  easily  seen  that  the  little  knowl- 
edge whidj  Zillah  posaessed  was  of  the  most   * 
desultory  character.    Yet  after  all  she  had  some- 
thing in  her  fav6r.    She  had  a  taste  for  read- 
ing, and  this  led  her  to  a  familiarity  with  the 
best  authors.     More  than  this,  her  fatltier  had 
instilled  into  her  mind  a  chivalrous  sense  of  hon- 
or; and  from  natural  instinct,  as  wdl  as  fVom     ' 
his  teachings,  she  loved  all  that  wag  noble  and      - 
pore.    Medieval  romance  was  most  congenial  to 
her  taste ;  and  of  all  the  heroes  who  figure  there 
she,  loved  best  the  pure,  t))e  high-souled,  the 
heavenly  Sir  Gakhad.     AH  the  heroes  of  the 
Arthnrian  or  of  the  CarlpvinKinn  ejwpee  were' 
adowd  by  this  waywardbnt  itwietong  pr  1.    Hha 


^miisy,  HiUw) -  nvudu  sii  fui  'liuim~"i!niM[^ 


_c^-  -" —  -- — -  ■>.-.»~  -r  dtt  a  window-sill 
of  the  hbraiy,  reading  tales  of  Arthur  and  the 
kn]«ht8  of  thrHonnd  Table,  or  of  Charlonagne 
and  hu  Paladins.  Fairy  lore,  and  whatever  else 
our  medieval  ancestors  have  loved,  thus  became 
most  familiar  to  her,  and  all  he/ soul  became  im- 
bued with  these  bright  and  radiant  fancies.  And 
tbr^ugh  it  all  she  learned  tlie  one  grent  lesaoa 


(i  .*.y 


V. 


] 


•>  X 


.0 


26 


TOB  CliTFTOOHAM. 


which  these  romRnMs  teach — that  the  grandest 
and  most  heroic  of  all  virtues  is  self-abnegation 
at  the  call  of  honor  and  loyalty. 

The  only  trouble  was,  Zilkh  took  too  grand 
a  view  of  this  virtue  to  make  it  practically  useful 
in  daily  life.  If  she  had  thus  taken  it  to  her 
heart,  it  might  have  made  her  practice  it  by  giv- 
ing up  her  will  to  those  around  her,  and  by 
showing  from  day  to  day  the  beauty  of  gentle- 
ness and  courtesy.  This,  however,  she  never 
thought  of;  or,  if  it  came  to  her  mind,  she  con- 
sidered it  quite  beneath/her  notice.  Hers  was 
sinaply  a  grand  theory,  to  carry  out  which  she 
never  dreamed  of  any  sacrifice  but  one  of  the 
grandest  character. 

The  General  certainly  did  all  in  his  power  to 
induce  her  to  learn ;  and  if  she  did  not,  it  woS 
scarcely  his  fault.  But,  while  Zillah  thus  grew 
np  in  igQorance,  there  was  one  who  did  profit  by 
the  instructions  which  she  had  despised,  and,  in 
spite  of  the  constant  change  of  teachers  which 
Zillah's  impracticable  character  had  rendered 
necessary,  was  now,  at  the  age  of  nineteen,  a 
refined,  well-educated,  and  highly-accomplished 
voung  lady.  This  was  Hilda  Krieff.  General 
romeroy  was  anxious  that  she  should  have  evei7 
possible  advantage,  and  Zillah  was  ghid  «^ugn 
to  have  a  companion  in  her  studies.  The  ^ult 
is  easily  stated.  Zillah  was  idle,  HildiL  wsjl  stu- 
dious, and  all  that  the  teachers  could  impm  was 
diligently  mastered  by  her. 


CHAFFER  VII. 

THE  SECRET  CirHEB.         / 

Soke  time  passed  away,  and  Guitltier*  made 
his  usuaPVj/iits.  Zillah's  moods  were  variable 
and  capricious.  Sometimes  she  would  languidly 
declare  that  she  copld  not  take  her  lesson ;  at 
other  times  she  would  take  it  for  about  ten  min- 
ntes ;  and  then,  rising  hastily  from  the  piano,  she 
would  insist  that  she  was  tired,  and  refuse  to 
study  any  more  for  that  day.  Once  or  twice, 
"By  aii|^extit;nu>  eifort,  she  managed  to  devote  a 
whole  liaJf  hour,  and  then,  as  though  such  ex- 
ertion was  superhuman,  she  would  retire,  and 
for  several  weeks  afterward  plead  that  half  hour 
as  an  excuse  for  her  negligence.  All  this  Gnal- 
der  bore  vrith  perfect  equanimity.  Hilda  said 
nothing;  and  generally,  after  Zillah's  retirement, 
she  would  go  to  the  piano  herself  and  take  a 
lesson. 

These  lessons  were  diversifled  by  general  con- 
versation. Often  they  spoke  about  Zillah,  but 
very  seldom  was  it  that  they  went  beyond  this. 
Miss  Kriefl'  showed  no  desire  to  speak  of  the 
subject  which  they  once  hod  touched  upon,  and 
Gualtier  was  too  cunning  to  be  obtrusive.  So 
the  weeks  passed  by  without  any  renewal  of  that 
confidential  conversation  in  which  they  had  once 
indulged. 

While  Zillah  was  present,  Hilda  never  in  any 
instance  show'ed  an^  sign  whatever  of  anger  or 
^Impatience.  She  seemed  not  to  notice  her-be- 
havior,  or  if  she  did  notice  it  she  seemed  to  think 
it  a  very  ordinary  matter.  On  Zillah's  retiring 
she  generally  took  her  place  at  the  piano  with- 
out a  word,  and  Gualtier  Iwgan  his  instructions. 
It  was  during  these  instnictions  that  their  con- 
versation generally  tookpbica.. 


One  doy  Gualtier  cafne  and /band  Hilda  alone. 
She  was  somewhat  distrait,  but  showed  pleasure 
at  seeing  him,  at  which  he  felt  both  gratified  and 
flattered.  "  Where  is  Miss  Pomeroy  y"  he  asked, 
after  the  usual  greetings  had  been  exchanged. 

*'  You  will  not  have  the  pleasure  of  seeing  her 
to-day,"  answered  Hilda,  dryly. 

'•jU  she  ill?" 

y^IU?    She  is  never  ill.    No.    She  has  gone 

''Ah?" 

"The  General  was  going  to  take  n  drive  to 
visit  a  friend,  and  she  took  it  into  her  hand  to 
accompany  him.  Of  course  he'liad  to  take  her. 
It  wos  very  inconvenient— and  very  ridiculous- 
hut  the  moment  she  proposed  it  he  assented,  with 
only  a  very  faint  effort  at  dissuasion.  So  they 
have  gone,  and  will  not  be  back.for  some  hour?.''' 

"  I  hope  yon  will  allow  me  to  sny,"  remarked 
Gualtier,  in  a  low  voice,  "that  I 'consider  her 
absence  rather  an  advantage  than  otherwise." 

"You  could  hardly  feel  otherwise," said  Hil- 
da. "You  Imve  not  yet  got  a  broken-  head,  it 
is  true ;  but  it  is  coming.  Some  dny  you  will  not 
wolk  out  of  the  house.    Yon  will  be  Jjarried  out. " 

"You  speak  bitterly." 

*«  I  feel  bitterly." 

''Has  any  thing  new  happened?"  he  asked, 
folh)wing  up  the  advantage  which  her  confession 
gave  him. 

"  No ;  ■  it  is  the  old  story.  Interminable  trou- 
bles,  which  have  to  be  borne  with  interminable 
patience." 

There  was  a  long  silence.  "  You  spoke  once," 
said  Gualtier  at  last,  in  a  low  tone,  "  of  some- 
thing which  you  promised  one  day  to  tell  me — 
some  papers.  You  said  tha.t  you  would  show 
them  some  day  when  we  were  better  acquainted. 
Are  we  not  better  acquainted  ?  You  have  seen 
me  now  for  many  weeks  since  that  time,  and 
ought  to  know  whether  I  am  worthy  to  be  trust- 
ed or  not." 

' '  Mr.  Gualtier," said  Hilda,  fVankly.  and  with- 
out hesitation,  "from  my  point  of  view  I  have 
concluded  that  you  are  worthy  to  bo  trusted.  I 
have  decided  to  show  you  the  paper." 

Gualtier  began  to  murmur  his  thanks.  Hilda 
waved  her  hand.  "  There  is  no  need  oC  that,"' 
said  she.  "  It  may  not  amount  to  any/ihing, 
and  then  your  thanks  will  be  thrown  otaiCy.  If 
it  does  amount  to  something  you  \vil^8hare  the 
benefit  of  it  with  me — though  you  can  not  share 
the  revenge,"  she  muttered,  m  a  lower  fone. 
"  Out,  after  all," she  continued,  "  I  do  not  know 
that  any  thing  can  bo  gained  by  it.  The  con- 
jectures which  I  have  formed  may  all  be  un- 
founded." 

"  At  any  rate,  I  shall  be  able  to  see  what  the 
foundation  is,"Bnid  Gualtier. 

"True,"  returned  Hilda,  rising;  "and  so  I 
will  go  at  once  and  get  the  paper." 

"Have  you  kept  it  ever  since  f"  he  asked. 

"What!  the  paper?    Oh,  you  must  not  im- 
agine that  I  have  kept  the  original !    No,  no.    I 
kept  it  long  enough  to  mokft  ft  copy,  and«tumed- 
the  original  to  its  phico." 

"Where  did  you  find  it?" 

"In  the  General's  private  desk." 

"Itt^  it  teem  to  be  a  paper  of  any  import- 
ance?' 

"  Yes ;  it  was  kept  by  itself  in  a  secret  drawer. 
That  showed  its  importance." 


fne  and /band  Hilda  alone. 
itrait,  but  showed  pleasure 
h  he  felt  both  grntiKed  and 
Miss  Pomeroy?"  he  aslied, 
gs  had  been  exchanged. 
1  the  pleasure  of  seeing  her 
Ida,  dryly. 

r  ill.    No.    She  has  gone 


going  to  take  a  drive  to 
)  took  it  into  her  hend  to 
course  he-fiad  to  take  her. 
int— and  very  ridiculous— ' 
oposed  it  he  "assented,  with 
t  at  dissuasion.  So  they 
t  be  back.for  some  hour?. 
How  me  to  say,"  remarked 
ice,  "that  I 'consider  her 
intage  than  otherwise." 

feel  otherwise,"  said  Hit- 

yet  got  a  broken;  hend,  it 

ig.    JSome  day  you  will  not 

You  will  be  iirried  out." 


iw  happened?"  he  asked, 
itage  which  her  confession 

itory.  Interminable  tron- 
e  borne  with  interminable 

snce.  "  Yon  spoke  once," 
in  a  low  tone,  "of  some- 
lised  one  day  to  tell  me — 
ud  that  you  would  show 
ve  were  better  acquainted, 
[uainted?  You  have  seen 
ieks  since  that  time,  and 
r  I  am  worthy  to  be  trust- 

1  Hilda,  frankly,  and  with- 
my  point  of  view  I  have 
3  worthy  to  bo  trusted.  I 
you  the  paper." 
urmur  his  thanks.  Hilda 
["here  is  no  need  oR  that, ' 
lot  amount  to  aoWihing, 
will  be  thrown  awliy.  If 
lething  you  wil^share  the 
-though  you  can  not  share 
ittered,  in  a  lower  tone. 
ontinued,  "  I  do  not  know 
I  gained  by  it.  The  con- 
9  formed  may  all  be  un- 
it be  able  to  see  what  the 
laltier. 

lilda,  rising;  "and  so  I 
t  the  paper." 
9ver  lince  ?"  he  asked. 
?    Oh,  you  must  not  !m- 
the  original !    No,  no.    I 

ffiiilrfl  n  /*/iTtV-  rnifl  rotiiiTiflfl  - 
ttsnno  n  %\Myj  f  nuu  Asvtuuuu 

s." 

idit?" 

iriVate  desk." 

a  a  paper  of  any  import- 

ly  itaelf  in  a  secret  drawer, 
tance." 


floc-c^fr  ^  R 


•» 


-5/  THE  CRYPTOGRAJL 

Hilda  then  left  the  room,  and 
in  a  short  time  returned  with  a 
paper  in  her  hand. 

"  Here  it  is,"  she  said,  and  she 
gave  it  to  Guattier.  Gualtier  took 
it,  and  unfolding  it,  he  saw  this : 
Gualtier  took  this  singular  pa- 
per, and  examined  it  lons^nd 
earnestly.    Hild|a.  hod  eopiwrout 
the  characters  With  painful  mi- 
nuteness and  beautiful  accuracy ; 
but  nothipg  in  it  suggested  to 
him  any  revehition  of  its  dark 
meaning,  and  he  put  it  down  with 
a  strange,  bewildered  air. 
"What  is  it  aU?"  he  asked. 
,  "  It  seems  to  contain  some  mys- 
'  tery,  beyond  a  doubt.      I  can 
gather  nothing  from  the  charac- 
ters. >  They  are  all  astronomical 
signs ;  and,  so  far  as  I  can  see, 
are  the  signs  of  the  zodiac  and 
of  the  planets.     Here,  said  he^ 
pointing  to  the  character  ©,  is 
the  sign  of  the  Sun;  and  liere, 
pointing  to '^,  is  Libra;  and  here 
is  Aries,  pointing  to  the  sign  r. 
"Yc!i,"  said  Hilda;  "and  that 
ocelli's  most  frequently." 
"What  is  it  all?" 
vl  take  it  to  be  a  secret  ci- 

'     t"How?" 

"Why,  this— that  these  signs  ' 
I  are  only  used  to  represent  letters 
I  of  the  alphabet.  If  such  a  sim- 
I  pie  mode  of  concealment  has  been 
used  the  solution  is  an  easy 
lone."  ' 

"  Can  you  solve  cipher  alpha- 
jbets?"  ^         ^ 

'  Yes,  where  there  is  nothing 
I  more  than  a  concealment  of  the 
j  letters.  Where  there  is  any  ap- 
I  pronch  to  hieroglyphic  writing,  or 
I  syllabic  ciphers,  I  am  baffled." 
"And  have  yon  solved  this  ?" 
"No." 

"I  thought  you  laid  that  yon 
■had,  and  that  it  contained  charg- 
"  against  General  Pomeroy." 

"  Thati^mydiiBenlty.   I  have 

Iried  the  usual  t^ta,  and  have 

Tiade  out  several  lines';  but  there 

s    something   about   it    which 

puzzles  me ;  and  thouglj-I  have 

Worked  at  it  for  nearly  a'^ear,  I 

lliave  not  been  able  to  get  to  the 

fbottom  of  it'» 

"Are  you  sure  that  your  de- 
I  ciphering  is  correct?" 
"No.". 
"  Why  not?" 
J' Because  it  ongfat  tOUj^ffyfo"  |;.'\t  ^-i' .    .,   "^  : "■   .  '        •    ."  ^  °'  7     '  "    "^ 
ajt,  wid  it  does  not.    It  only  kb.  *  '»-♦  '^\t>iao»ti'?  -^XiSa  Q^CTrfa  f\\T^<r 

phes  to  a  quarter  of  it."  _..- '^*.*  '^       WV^ 

•'Perhaps  it  is  all  hieroglyph^ 
ic,  or  syllabic  writins." 
';Perhap.«)," 
"  In  that  case  can  you  solve 

It  I 

'■  No  J  and  that  is  one  reason 


«r 


"^  li"  cc  i ..  QC--^ ^.^  *5^  ^x^  tj  J  ^  i  J.  tj 


cell  ^«»-l3cSfx,Q'?>eO|^^,{(|g^U>4(<3 
,5>  J^;^- -f  .,  ^;jj|{»  P  Q^.f^.31  l;}  ^  .^  4  4^  ^ 


\Jimik,i,m 


\ 


28 


THE  CBYFIOSHAM, 


WHAT  18  IT  AM,?'  HE  A8KKD." 


"iriiylliSTeflidnghtofjTra.    fl 
any  thing  of  the  kind  ?"    * 
*' No;  never.    And  I  don't 


SoxtildVWvfWa 


i  gee  how  you  have 

iMrned  anv  thing  aboat  it,  or  how  yon  have  been 
able  to  arrive  at  any  principle  of  action." 

"Oh,  as  to  that,''  returned  Hilda,  "the  prin- 
ciple vpon  which  I  work  la  very  limple  j  but  I 


IvSH  yon  to  tiy  die  aotation  with  your  oWB  nn- 
oided  ingenuity.  So,  aimple  jm  my  pbm  is,  I  will 
not  tell  yon  any  thing  about  h  just  now." 

Gnnltier  looked  again  at  the  paper  with  an  ex- 
pression of  deep  perplexity. 

"  How  am  I  even  to  b^n  ?"  said  he.  "  What 
am  I  to  do  7  You  might  as  well  ask  ma  to  trans- 


THE  CBYPTOGBAM. 


Iftte  the  Feschito  reraioii  of  the  Sjriac  gospels, 
or  the  Rig- Veda." 

.  "I  think,"  said  Hilda,  coolly,  "  that  you  have 
lofficient  ingennitr. " 

"I  have,"8aid  Gualtier;  "but,  nnfortnnately, 
my  ingennity  does  not  lie  at  all  in  this  direction. 
This  is  something  different  from  any  thing  that 
has  ever  come  in  my  way  before.  See, "  he  said, 
pointing  to  the  paper,  "  this  solid  mass  of  letters. 
It  is  a  perfect  block,  an  exact  rectangle.  How 
do  you  know  where  to  begin  ?.  Nothing  on  the 
letters  shows  this.  How  do  you  know  whether 
you  are  to  read  from  left  to  right,  or  from  right 
to  left,  like  Hebrew  and  Arabic ;  or  both  ways, 
like  the  old  Greek  Boustrephedon  ;  or  vertically, 
like  the  Chinese;  or,  for  that  matter,  diagonally? 
Why,  one  doesn't  know  even  how  to  begin ! " 

"That  must  all  be  carefully  considered,"  said 
Hilda.  "  I  have  weighed  it  all,  and  know  everv 
letter  by  heart ;  its  shape,  its  position,  and  ail 
about  it." 

A^«'Well,"  said  Gualtier,  "yon  must  not  be  at 

Ctt4i»1>"^^'l  if  I  ''^1  utterly. 

>fW'  At  least  you  will  try  r  '^ 

,'^"Try?    I  shall  be  only  too  happy.     I  shall 

'  devote  to  this  all  the  time  that  I  have.     I  will 

■^give  up  all  ray  mind  and  all  my  soul  to  it.     I 

will  not  only  examine  it  while  I  am  by  myself, 

but  I  will  carry  this  paper  with  me  wherever  I 

go,  and  occupy  every  spare  moment  in  studying 

it.    ni  learn  every  character  by  heart,  and  think 

over  them  all  day,  and  dream  about  them  all 

night.    Do  not  be  afraid  that  I  shall  neglect  it. 

It  is  enough  for  me  that  you  have  given  this  for 

me  to  attempt  its  solution." 

Gualtier  spoke  with  earnestness  and  impetuos- 
ity, but  Hilda  did  not  seem  to  notice  it  at  oil. 

"Recollect, "she  said,  in  her  usual  cool  man- 
ner, ''it  is  as  much  for  your  interest  as  for  mine. 
If  my  coiyectnre  is  right,  it  may  be  of  the  utmost 
value.  If  I  am  wrong,  then  I  do  not  know  what 
to  do." 

"You  think  that  this  implicates  General  Pome-- 
roy  in  some  crime  ?" 

' '  That  is  my  impression,  from  my  own  attempt 

at  solving  it.    But,  as  I  said,  my  solutiop  is  only 

a  partial  oift.     I  can  not  fathom  the  rest  of  it, 

i  and  do  not  know  how  to  begin  to  do  so.     That 

I  is  the  reason  why  I  want  your  help." 


29 


CHAPTER  Vlir. 

DECIFHEBINO. 

Many  weeks  passed  away  before  Gualtier  had 

fanother  opportunity  of  having  a  confidential  con- 

f  versation  with  Miss  Krieff.    Zillah  seemed  to  be 

I  perverse.     She  was  as  capricious  as  ever  as  to 

f  her  music :  some  days  attending  to  it  for  five 

mivutes,  other  days  half  an  hour ;  but  now  she  did 

not  choose  to  leave  the  room.     She  would  quit 

the  piano,  and,  flinging  herself  into  a  chair,  de- 

dare  that  ^j^^  w»ye'l  to  see  how  Hilda  stood  it 

Aa  iiiiua  BOfttfiu  hcrsclf^utd^  wroughl  oirt  daho' 

rate  combinations  from  the  instrument,  she  would 

listen  attentively,  and  when  it  was  over  she  would 

give  expression  to  some  despairing  words  as  to 

her  own  stnpldity. 

Yet  Gualtier  had  opportunities,  and  he  was  not 
slow  to  avail  him*elf  of  them.  Confldenthil  in- 
tercourse bod  ariseo  between  himself  and  MIm 

i 


Krieff,  and  he  was  determined  to  avail  hnnself 
of  the  great  advantage  which  this  gave  him. 
They  had  a  secret  in  common — she  had  admittSJ. 
him  to  her  intimacy.  There  was  an  understand-" 
mg  between  them.  Each  felt  an  interest  in  the 
other.  Gualtier  knew  that  he  was  more  than  an 
ordinary  music-teacher  to  her. 

During  those  days  when  Zillah  persistently 
staid  in  the  room  he  mad^  opportunities  for  him- 
self. Standing  behind  her  at  the  piano  he  had 
chances  of  speaking  words  which  Zilkh  could 
not  hear. 

„.'^'*!J?l  "y^J""  finfeering  there  is  not  correct. 
Miss  Kneff,  he  would  say  in  a  low  tone.  "  You 
must  put  the  second  finger  on  G.  I  have  not  yet 
deciphered  it." 

"But  the  book  indicotes  the  third  finger  on 
G.     Have  you  tried  ?" 

"It  is  a  blunder  of  the  printer.  Yes,  every 
day— almost  every  hour  of  every  day." 

"Yet  it  seems  to  me  to  be  natural  to  put  the 
third  finger  there,.  Are  you  discouraged?" 

"Try  the  second  finger  once  or  twice,  this 
way ;"  and  hp  played  a  few  notes.  "  Discour- 
aged  ?  no ;  I  am  willing  to  keep  at  it  for  an  in- 
definite period." 

"Ye*.  I  see  that  it  is  better.  You  must  suc- 
ceed. I  was  three  months  at  it  before  I  dis- 
covered any  thing." 

"  That  passage  is  alkgro,  and  you  played  it 
andante.  I  wish  you  would  give  me  a  faint  hint 
as  to  the  way  in  which  you  deciphered  it." 
"I  did  not  notice  the  directions,"  responded 
Miss  Krieff,  playing  the  passage  over  again. 
'  Will  that  do  ?  No,  I  wiU  give  no  hint.  You 
would  only  imitate  me  then,  and  I  wish  you  to 
find  out  for  yourself  on  your  own  principle." 

"Yes,  that  is  much  better.  But  I  have  no 
pnnciple  to  start  on,  and  have  not  yet  found  out 
even  how  to  begin." 

"I  must  pay  more  attention  to  'expression,' 
I  see.  Yod,,say  my  'time'  is  correct  enough. 
If  you  ore  not  discouraged,  yon  will  find  it  out 
yet." 

_.,'.'!*'"'■  ''*"'®'  '*  perfect  If  it  is  possible,  I 
wlU  find  It  out.     I  am  not  discouraged." 

•?WeU,  I  will  hope  for  something  better  the 
next  time,  and  now  don't  speak  about  it  any 
mor%.     The 'brat' is  listening." 

"■Allegro,  allegro;  remember.  Miss  Krieff. 
You  always  confound  andante  with  allegro." 

"  So  I  do.    They  have  the  same  initials." 

Such  was  the  nature  of  Gualtier's  musical  in- 
stmctions.  These  communications,  however, 
were  brief  and  hurried,  and  only  served  to  deepen 
the  intimacy  between  them.  Tfhey  had  now  mu- 
tually recognized  themselves  as  two  conspirators, 
and  had  thus  become  already  indispensable  to 
one  another. 

They  waited  patiently,  however,  and  at  length 
their  patient  waiting  was  rewarded.  One  day 
Gualtier  came  and  found  that  Zillah  was  unwell, 
and  confined  to  her  room.  It  was  tho  slightest 
t|»"gi"  the  world,  but  the  General  was  anxioua 


ana  imgity,  and  was  staying  in  the  room  with 
her  ttying  to  amuse  her.  This  Miss  Krieff  told 
him  with  her  usual  bitterness. 

"Andnow,"said  she,  "  we  will  have  an  hour. 
I  want  to  know  what  you  have  done." 

"Done  I    Nothing." 

"Nothing?" 

"No,  nothing.     My  genins  does  not  lie  in 


i|ll«^i8U..-fc<'j,>ui 


.'i-i<M^^As.t^ 


80 


THE  CRYPTOGRAM. 


that  direction.  Yon  might  m  well  hare  expected 
me  to  decipher  a  Ninevite  inscription.  I  can  do 
nothing." 

"Have  yon  tried P'*- 

"  Tried !  I  ossure  von  that  for  the  last  month 
the  only  thing  that  I  nave  thought  of  has  been 
this.  Many  reasons  have  nrged  me  to  decipher 
it,  but  the  chief  motive  was' the  hope  of  bringing 
to  you  a  complete  explanation." 
''  Have  you  not  made  out  at  least  a  part  of  it  ?" 

"Not  a  part — not  a  single  word — if  there  are 
words  in  it — which  I  very  much  doubt." 

"Why  should  you  doubt  it ?" 

"It  seems  to  me  that  it  must  consist  of  hiero- 
glyphics. You  yourself  say  that  you  have  only 
made  out  ft  part  of  it,  and  that  you  doubt  whether 
it  is  a  valid  interpretation.  After  all,  then,  your 
interpretation  is  only  partial — only  a  conjectui-e. 
Now  I  have  not  begun  to  make  even  a  conjecture. 
For  see— what  is  this?"  and  Gualtier  drew  the 
well-thumbed  paper  from  his  pocket.  "I  have 
counted  up  all  the  ditferent  characters  here,  and 
find  that  they  are  forty  in  number.  They  are 
composed  chiefly  of  astronomical  signs ;  but  six- 
teen of  them  are  the  ordinary  punctuation  marl^s, 
sach  as  one  sees  every  day.  If  it  were  merely  a 
secret  tiJphabet,  there  would  be  twenty-six  signs 
only,  nfet  fody.  What  can  one  do  with  forty 
signs? 

"I  haT6  examined  different  grammars  of  for- 
eign languages  to  see  if  any  of  them  hod  forty 
letters,  but  among  the  few  books  at  my  command 
Icpn  (ixii  hone ;  ond  even  if  it  were  so,  what 
tlSen?  '^Vhftt  would  be  the  use  of  trying  to  de- 
cipher aj|i  inscription  in  Arabic  ?  I  thought  at 
one  timOhat  perhaps  the  writer  might  have 
adopted. iHe  short-hand  alphabet,  but  changed 
the  signd.  Yet  even  when  I  go  from  this  prin- 
ciple I  can  do  nothing." 

"Then  you  give  it  np  altogether?" 

"  Yes,  altogether  and  utterly,  so  far  as  I  am 
concerned ;  but  I  still  am  anxious  to  know  what 
yon  have  deciphered,  and  how  you  have  deci- 

Shered  it.     I  have  a  hope  that  I  may  gain  some 
ght  fVom  yoar  discovery,  and  thus  be  able  to  do 
something  myself." 

"  Well," said  Miss  Krieff;  "I  will  tell  yon,  since 
jon  have  failed  so  completely.  My  principle  is 
a  simple  one ;  and  my  deciphering,  thoQgh  only 
partial,  seems  to  me  to  be  so  true,  as  far  as  it 
goes,  that  I  con  not  imagine  how  any  other  re- 
sult can  be  found. 

"  I  am  aware, "  she  continued,  "  that  there  are 
forty  difl«rent  characters  in  the  inscription.  I 
counted  them  all  out,  and  wrote  them  out  most 
carefully.  I  went  on  the  simple  principle  that 
the  writer  had  written  in  English,  and  that  the 
number  of  the  letters  might  be  disregarded  on  a 
first  examination. 

"Then  I  examined  the  number ,of  times  ifi 

which  each  letter  occurred.     I  ibund  that,  the 

sign  r  occurred  most  frequently.    Next  was  n  ; 

/next  H  ;  and  then  o,  and  n,  and  a,  and  t, 

and  i."    Miss  Krieff  marked  these  signs  down 


-M«hesp^cer 
Gualtier  nodded. 

"  There  was  this  peculiarity  abont  the8ft,signs, " 
■aid  Miss  Krieff;  "  that  they  occurred  all  through 
the  writing,  while  the  pthera  occurred  some  in 
the  first  half  and  some  in  the  second.  For  this 
inscription  is  very  peculiar  in  this  respect  It  is 
oi47  in  the  seoma  naif  that  the  sigiu  of  ponctna- 


tion  occnr.    Tlie  signs  of  the  first  half  are  all 
astronomical. 

"  Yon  must  remember, "  continued  Miss  Krieff', 
"  that  I  did  not  think  of  any  other  language  than 
the  English.  The  idea  of  its  being  any  dialect 
of  the  Iflndustani  never  entered  my  head.  So  I 
went  on  this  foundation,  and  naturally  the  first 
thought  that  came  to  ibe  was,  what  letters  are 
there  in  English  which  occur  most  frequently  ? 
It  seemed  to  me  if  I  could  find  this  out  rmiglit 
obtain  some  key,  partially,  at  any  rate,  to  the 
letters  which  occuired  so  frequently  in  this  writ- 
ing. 

"I  had  plenty  of  timeand  unlimited  patience. 
I  took  a  large  iimjilmi  Bl  ililli  ii  iil  books,  written 
by  standard„»«(nor8,  and  counted  the  letters  on 
several  Vf^  of  each  as  they  occurred.  I  think 
I  countjp  more  than  two  hundred  pages  in  this 
way.  /began  with  the  Vowels,  and  counted  np 
the  number  of  times  each  one  occurred.  Then 
I  counted  the  consonants." 

"  That  never  occurred  to  me,"  said  Gualtier. 
"  Why  did  you  not  tell  me  ?" 

"Because  I  wanted  you  to  decipher  it  your- 
self on  yoQr  own  principle.  Of  what  use  would 
it  be  if  you  only  followed  over  my  track  ?  You 
would  theii  have  come  only  to  my  result.  ■  But 
I  must  teU  you  the  result  of  my  examination. 
After  counUng  up  the  recurrence  of  all  the  letters 
on  more  than  two  hundred  pages  of  standard 
authors,  I  made  out  an  average  of  the  times  of 
their  recurrence,  and  I  have  the  paper  here  on. 
which  I  wrote  the  average  down." 

And  Miss  Krieff^  drew  froin  her  pocket  a  paper 
which  she  unfolded  and  showed  to  Gualtier. 

On  it  was  the  following : 

AVISASC  or  LETTUS. 


T.... 

..162 

ti 

•■» 

L.... 

..82 

A.... 

..120 

•  1 

•I 

D.... 

..40 

II... 

..110 

II 

II 

C... 

.42 

I.  J.. 

..109 

II 

It 

U.  V. 

..86 

8.... 

..104 

u 

u 

B.... 

..80 

O.... 

..100 

«t 

II 

W... 

.80 

R.... 

..100 

ti 

II 

«• 

Q.... 

..80 

"The  rest,"  said  Miss  Krieff,  "occnr  on  the 
average  less  than  thirty  times  on  a  page,  and  so 
I  did  not  mark  them.  'F,'  'P,'  and  'K'  may 
be  supposed  to  occur  more  frequently  than  some 
others ;  but  they  do  not. 

" '  E,'  then,"  she  continued,  "  is  the  letter  of 
first  importance  in  the  English  language.  '  A,' 
and  '  T,  and  '  H,'  are  the  next  ones.  Now  there 
are  some  little  words  which  include  these  letters, 
such  as  '  the. '  '  And'  is  another  word  which  may 
be  discovered  and  deciphered,  it  is  of  such  fre- 
quent occurrence.  If  these  words  only  can  be 
found,  it  is  a  sign  at  least  that  one  is  on  the  right 
track.  There  are  also  terminations  which  seem 
to  me  peculiar  to  the  English  language ;  such  as 
'  ng,'  *  ing,'  ' ed,' ' Iv,'  and  so  on.  At  any  rate, 
from  my  studies  of  the  Italian,  French,  and  Ger- 
man, and  from  my  knowledge  of  Hindustani,  I 
know  that  there  are  no  snch  terminations  in  anv 
of  the  words  of  those  languages.  So  you  see, 
eonelnded  Miss  KrirfP,  wiUi*  quiet  Maa«»r=t^^ir^ 
simple  principle  on  which  I  acted." 

"Your  gaiios  is  manrelonsly  acute  1"  ex- 
claimed Gualtier,  in  undisguised  admiration. 
"You  speak  of  your  principle  as  a  ritNpU  one, 
bnt  it  is  more  than  I  have  been  able  to  arrive 
at" 

"Man,"  said  Miss  Krieff,  " reason  too  moch. 


%^if, 


/'*. 


*.%" 


■t/> 


8  of  the  first  Imlf  are  all 

3r, "  continued  Miss  KriefT, 
>f  any  other  lanjgiiage  than 
a  of  its  being  any  dialect 
ir  entered  my  head.  So  I 
in,  and  natnrallv  the  firKt 
ibe  was,  what  letters  are 
h  occur  most  frequently  ? 
>uld  find  this  out  Xnaglit 
ially,  at  any  rate,  to  the 
so  frequently  in  this  writ- 

leand  unlimited  patience. 
Bfdifferent  books,  written 
nd  counted  the  letters  on 
s  they  occurred.  I  think 
wo  hundred  pages  in  this 
e  Vowels,  and  counted  np 
Bch  one  occurred.  Then 
Its." 

ed  to  me,"  said  Gualtier. 
Ime?" 

you  to  decipher  it  your- 
iple.  Of  what  use  would 
ed  over  my  track  ?  You 
I  only,  to  my  result.  ■  But 
esult  of  my  examination, 
ecurrence  of  all  the  letters 
ndred  pages  of  standard 
I  avercige  of  the  -times  of 
[  have  the  paper  hero  on. 
BgjB  down." 

N  froin  her  pocket  a  paper 
1  showed  to  Gualtier. 
ing: 

or  LETTKBS. 

s.  N 90  times  per  pago. 

L 68 

D 40  "        "       " 

C 42  "        "       " 

U.  V...86  "        "       " 

B 80  "        "       " 

W 80  "        "       " 

G 80  "        "       " 

iss  Krieff,  "occur  on  the 
f  times  on  a  page,  and  so 
'F,'  'P.'and'K'moy 
tore  frequently  than  some 
t. 
Dtinned,  "  is  the  letter  of 

English  language.    '  A,' 
he  next  ones.    Now  there 
hich  include  these  letters,  ' 
s  another  word  which  may 
phered,  it  is  of  such  fre- 

these  words  only  can  be 
aat  that  one  is  on  the  right 

terminations  which  seem 
English  language ;  such  as 
and  to  on.  At  any  rate, 
Italian,  French,  and  Ger- 
owledge  of  Hindustani,  I 

Bach  terminations  in  anr 
langnages.    So  you  see, 

WlUl  M  4|IUM  ■BtWf  *-UM 

ich  I  acted." 
■lArveloiuIy  acntel"  ex- 
nndisgoised  admiration, 
trinciple  a*  a  rimpU  one, 
h»re  been  able  to  airire 

Ltieff,  "  tmaon  too  much. 


Ton  hare  been  imagining  all  sorts  of  langnages 
in  which  this  may  have  been  written.  Now, 
women  go  by  intuitions.  I  acted  ib  that  way." 
"Intuitions!"  exclaimed  Gualtier.  "Yon 
have  reasoned  out  this  thing  in  a  way  which 
might  have-  done  honor  to  Uacon.  You  have 
laid  down  a  great  principle  as  a  foundation,  and 
have  gone  earnestly  to  Work  bfiilding  up  your 
theon'.  Champollion  himself  did  not  surpass 
you."  » 

Gunltier's  tone  expressed  profound  admiration. 
It  was  not  idle  compliment.  It  was  sincere.  Me 
looked  upon  her  at  that  moment  as  a  superior 
genius.  His  intellect  bowed  before  hers.  Miss 
Krictf  saw  the  ascendency  which  she  had  gained 
over  him;  and  his  expressions  of  admiration 
were  not  unwelcome.  Admiration  !  Karo,  in- 
deed, was  it  that  she  had  heard  any  expressions 
of  that  kind,  and  when  they  came  they  were  as 
welcome  as  is  the  water  to  the  parched  and  thirsty 
ground.  Her  whole  manner  softened  toward 
him,  ond  her  eyes,  which  were  usually  so  bright 
and  hard,  now  grew  softer,  though  none  the  less 
bright. 

"You  overestimate  what  I  have  done,"  said 
she,  "and  you  forget  that  it  is  only  partially  ef- 
fected." "^ 

"Whether  partially  or  not,"  replied  Gualtier, 
"  I  have  the  most  intense  curiosity  to  see  what 
you  have  done.  Have  you  any  objections  to 
show  it  to  me  ?  Now  that  I  have  failed  by  my- 
self, the  only  hope  that  I  have  is  to  be  able  to 
succeed  through  your  assistance.  You  cai\  show 
rour  superiority  to  me  here;  perhaps,  in  atlier 
hings,  I  may  be  of  service  to  you. "    ' 

"I  have  no  objections,  "said  MissKrieflF.    "In- 
leed  I  would  rather  show  you  my  results  than 
lot,  so  as  to  hear  what  yon  have  to  say  about 
•lem.    I  am  not  at  all  satisfied,  for  it  is  only 
irtial.    I  know  what  you  will  say.    You  wiu 
le  several  reasons,  all  of  which  are  very  good, 
tor  doubting  my  interpretation  of  this  writ- 
ing." 
"  I  can  assure  you  that  I  shall  donht  nothing, 
.fter  my  own  disgraceful  failure  any  interpretal 
ion  will  seem  to  me  to  be  a  work  of  genius.    Be- 
lieve me  any  interpretation  of  yours  will  only 
yi  me  with  a  sense  of  mv  own  weakness." 
"Well,"  said  Miss  Knefl;  after  a  pause,  "I 
ill  show  you  what  I  have  done.    My  papers  am 
1  my  room.     Go  and  play  on  the  piano  till  I 
>me  back." 

Saying  this  she  departed^and  was  absent  for 
lout  a  quarter  of  an  hour  or  twenty  minutes 
Id  then  returned. 

"How  is  Miss  Pomeroy?"  asked  Gualtier, 
rnmg  round  on  the  piano-stool  and  rising. 

About  the  same,"  said  Miss  Krieff".     "The 
lenerol  is  reading  Puss  in  Boots  to  her,  I  be- 
leve.    Perhaps  it  is  Jack  and  the  Bean  Stalk, 
>r  Beauty  and  theHeast.     It  U  one  of  them^ 
lowever.     I  am  not  certain  which." 
Wie  walked  up  to  a  centre-table  and  opened  a 
'per  which  she  held  in  her  hand.    GualSer  fol- 
ded her,  and  took*  seat  by^lwuae.  ^ 
l««,i,„..1.- ""■""'  remember,"  said  Miss  Krieflf, 
I    Uiat  this  interpretation  of  mine  is  only  a  pari 
hM  one,  and  mav  be  altogether  >viong.     Yet 
*e  reveUtions  which  it  seemed  to  convey  wens 
0  itarUlng  that  they  have  produced  a  verj  S 
BrnpHMsion  on  my  mind.    I  hoped  that  you  would 
|l>av«  done  something.    If  you  bad  arrived  «*  a 


THE  CRYPTOGRAM. 


81 

solttjion  similar  to  mine,  even  if  it  had  been  a 
partial  one,  I  ^should  have  been  satisfied  that  I 
had  amvod  at  a  part  of  the  truth  at  least.  As 
you  have  not  done  so,  hothidg  remains  but  to 
show  you  what  I  have  done." 

Saying  this,  she  opened  the  paper  which  she 
neld  and  displayed  it  to  Gualtier : 


«£  'tip  -^-tQ  [/^ 


'sb 


> 


to 


o 


]>.  5»  trt  In  n  a  j^ 


>  rri  >'^  i>>i  r^.^  Uj- 


<^  o.-< 


> 

o 
•i 


. 


•  t^':^-^i=i^b>> 


A 

*s^ 


"SuailBt  ^-ix  *i8f 


*.  '^^ 


THE  CRYPTOGRAM. 


,  "In  that  writing,"  said  she,  "  tliere  are  twen- 
ty lines.  I  have  been  able  to  do  any  thing  with 
ten  of  them  only,  and  that  partially.  The  rest 
is  beyond  my  conjecture." 

The  pa|Mtf  was  written  so  as  to  show  ntider 
each  charncrer  the  corresponding' letter,  or  what 
Miss  Krieff  supposed  to  be  the  corresponding  la- 
ter, to  each  sign. 

"This,"  said  Miss  Krieff,  "is  about  half  of 
the  signs.  Yon  see  if  my  key  is  applied  it  makes 
intelligible  English  out  of  most  of  the  signs  in 
this  first  half.  There  seems  *o  me  to  be  a  block 
of  letters  set  into  a  mass  of  characters!  Those 
triangular  portions  of  signs  at  each  end,  and  all 
the  lower  part,  seem  to  me  to  be  merely  a  Inass 
of  characters  that  mean  nothing,  but  add^  to 
conceal  and  distract." 

"It  is  possible,"  saio,  Gualtier,  carefully  ex- 
amining the  paper. 

^  "It  must  mean  something,"  said  Miss  Krieff, 
'  and  it  can  mean  nothing  dse  than  what  I  have 
written.  That  is  what  it. was  intended  to  ex- 
press. ThosQ  letters  could  not  have  tumbled 
into  that  position  by  accident,  so  as  to  make  up 
these  word*.  See,"  she  continued,  "here  a,te 
these  sentences  written  out  Separately,  and  you 
can  read  them  more  conveniently." 

She  handed  Gualtier  a  piece  of  paper,  on 
which  was  the  following : 

'  9!*^^  '^^  *""*  mercj  on  my  wretched  emil  .  Amen 
O  Pbrnaroy  foriied  a  hundred  thtmmnd  dollars 
OS Pomeroy  eloped^with  poor  Lady  Chetwynda 
Bht  acted  out  of  a  mad  impulitg  in  jlyina 
She  littpned  to  mt  Vind  ran  off  with  mt 
She  uxu  pioued  at  W  hunband^i  act 
Fell  in  with  Lady  il(inj  Chetwynd 
Bxpelled  the  army  /ot  gavtiug  i 

X  Pomeroy  t^  Pomeroy  Berka 
0  I  am  a  miaerable  vtilain  ' 

Gualtier  read  it  long  and  thoughtfully. 
"  What  are  the  initials  '  O.  N.  ?' " 
"  Oteo  Neville.    It  is  the  Genorol's  name." 
Silence   followed.      "Here   ho   is   called  O 
Pomeroy,  O  N  Pomeroy,  and  N  Pomerov." 

"  Yes ;  the  name  by  which  he  is  called  is  Ne- 
ville." 

"  Your  idea  is  that  it'  is  a  confession  of  guilt ' 
written  by  this  O./N.  Pomeroy  himself?" 
"It  reads  so." 

"I  don't  want  to  inquire  into  the  probability 
of  the  General's  writing  out  this  and  leaving  it 
in  his  drawer,  even  in  cipher,  but  I  look  only  at 
tlie  paper  itself" 

"  What  do  you  think  of  it  ?" 
"In  the  first  place  your  interpretation  is  very 
mgenious."  ' 

"But— r  i 

"But  it  seems  partial." 
"So  it  does  to  me.  That  is  the  reason  why 
I  want  your  help.  Yon  see  that  there  are  sev- 
eral things  about  it  which  give  it  an  incomplete 
character.  First,  the  mixture  of  initials ;  th6n, 
the  mterehange  of  the  first  and  third  persons.  I 
At  one  moment  the  writer  speaking  of  Pomeroy 
as  a  third  perton,  running  off  with  Lady  Chet- 
wynde,  and  again  saying  he  himself  fell  in  with 
=»«.  ^hmi  there  are  incomplete  sentences,  tech 
as,*  Fell  in  with  Lady  Mary  Chetwynde— ' " 

'I  know  all  that,  but  I  have  two  ways  of  ac- 
counting for  it" 
|*What?"       • 

"Fitst,  that  the  writer  became  confused  in  writ- 
ing the  cipher  charactelv  and  made  mistakes."     | 


"That  is  probabl^"si»/dGnaW»r..  "What 
18  another  way?" 

"That  he  wrote  it  this  way  on  purpose  to 
baffle."  1  ^'+  . 

"I  think  the  flht  idea  is  the  best:  |f  he  hnd 
wished  to  baflSe  he  neVer  would  have  written  it 
at  all." 

"  No ;  but  somebody  else  might  hare  written 
it  in  his  name  thus  secretly  and  guardedly. 
Some  one  who  vri^hed  for  vengetince,  and  tried 
this  way."  . 

Gualtier  said  iiothing  in  reply,  but  looked 
earnestly  at  Miss  Krieff. 


A    BEBIOns    ACCIDKNT. 


About  this  time  an  event  took  piece  which 
caused  a  total  change  in  the  lives  of  all  at  Pome- 
roy Coim.     One  day,  when  out  hunting,  General 
Pomero^met  witlv  an  accident  of  a  very  serious 
nature.  •While  leaping  over  a  hedge  the  horse 
slipped  and  threw  his  rider,  falling  heavily  on 
him  at  the  same  time.    He  was  picked  up  bleed- 
ing and  senseless,  and  in  that  condition  carried 
home.     On  seeing  her  father  thus  brought  back, 
Zillah  gave  way  to  a  perfect  frensv  of  grief    She 
threw  herself  npon  his  unconscious  form,  uttering 
wild  ejacuUtions,  and  it  was  with  extreme  diffi- 
culty that  she  coqld  be  taken  away  long  enough 
to  aHow-thsGenWKl  to  be  widraned  and  Idd  ra 
his  bed.    She  th«n  took  he?  place  by  her  lather's 
bedside,  where  she  remained  without  food  or  sleep 
for  two  or  three  days,  refusing  all  entreaties  to 
leafB  him.     A  doctor  had  been  sent  for  with  all 
sneed,  ahd  on  his  arrival  did  what  he  coufe  for 
le  senseless  sufferer.   It  was  a  reiy  serious  oasst 


nJi-iriifeij-ii,  ii.i.. 


T 


,*-VA  f^'i-ji'  ' 


iblej"  s^id  Giuilti»r..    "  What 

e  it  this  vaj  on  purpose  to 

V  #'^  • 

8t  idea  is  the  best:  jf  he  hn4 
1  never  would  have  written  it 

body  else  might  have  written 
ins  secretly  and  guardedly, 
^ed  for  vengatmce,  and  tried 

othing  in  reply,  but  looked 
Lrieff. 


THE  CRYPTOGRAM. 


[78    ACCIDKNT. 

in  event  took  place  which 
in  the  lives  of  all  at  Fonie- 
when  out  hunting,  General 
I  accident  of  a  very  serious 
ng  over  a  hedge  the  horse 
8  rider,  falling  heavily  on 
He  was  picked  up  blecd- 
I  in  that  condition  carried 
r  father  thus  brought  back, 
erfect  frenzy  of  grief.    She 
unconscious  form,  uttering 
it  waa  with  extreme  diffi- 
B  taken  away  long  enongh 
>1«  nnclrened  and  laid  on 
k  her  place  by  her  father's 
lained  without  food  or  sleep 
refusing  all  entreaties  to 
had  been  sent  for  with  all 
ral  did  what  he  could  for 
It  was  a  reiy  serious  case^ 


and  it  was  not  till  the  third  day  that  the  General 
opened  his  eyes;  llie  first  sight  that  he  saw  was 
the  pale  and  haggard  face  of  his  daughter. 

"What  is  thisP"  he  murmured,  confusedly, 
and  in  d  faint  voice.  "Whiit.nre  you  doing 
here,  my  darling?" 

At  the  sight  of  this  recognition,  and  the  sound 
of  his  voice,  Zillnh  uttered  a  loud  cry  of  joy,  and 
.twined  her  arms  about  liim  in  an  eager  hunger 
of  affection. 

"Oh,  papa!  papa!"  she  moaned,  "yon  ate 
getting  better !  You  will  not  leave  me — ^you  will 
not — you  will  notl" 

All  that  day  the  Rector  had  been  in  the  Hbuse, 
and  at  this  moraerit  had  been  waiting  in  an  ad- 
joining apartment.  The  cry  of  Zillah  startled 
him,  and  be  hurried  into  the  room.  He  saw  her 
prostrate  on  the  bed,  with  her  arms  around  her 
father,  uttering  low,  half-hysterical  words  of,  fond- 
ness, intermingled  with  laughter  and  weeping. 

"Miss  Pomcroy,"  he  said,  with  some  stem- 
Bess,  "are  you  mad  ?  Did  I  not  warn  you  above 
all  things  to  restrain  your  feelings  ?" 

Instantly  Zillah  started  up.  The  reproof  of 
the  doctor  had  so  stung  her  that  for  a  moment 
she  forgot  her  father,  and  regarded  her  ro]>rover 
with  a  face  full  of  astonishment  and  anger. 

"HoAv  dure  yo^  speak  so  to. me?"  she  cried, 
savagely. 

'The  doctor  looked  fixedly  at  her  for  a  few  mo- 
ments, Qnd  then  answered,  quietly : 

"  This  is  no  place  for  discussion.  I  will  ex- 
plain afterward.  He  then  went  to  the  General's 
bedside,  and  Buj;%'eyed  his  patient  in  thoughtful 
silence.  Already  the  feeble  beginnings  of  re- 
turning consciousness  had  faded  awav,  and  the 
sick  man's  eyes  Were  closed  wearily.  "The  doctor 
administered  some  medicine,  and  afler  waiting 
for  nearly  an  hour  in  silence,  he  saw  the  General 
sink  off*  into  a  peaceful  sleep. 

"  Now."  said  he,  in  a  low  voice,  "  Miss  Pome- 
rqjr,  I  wish  to  soy  something  to  you.  Oome  with 
me."  He  led  the  wav  to  the  room  where  he  had 
been  waiting,  while  ^illuh,  for  the  first  time  in 
her  hfe,  obeyed  an  order.  She  followed  in  si- 
lence. 

"  Miss  Pomeroy,"  said  the  doctor,  verv  grave- 
ly, "your  father's  case  is  very  serious 'indeed, 
and  I  want  to  have  a  perfect  understanding  with 
you.  If  yoji  have  not  thorough  confidence  in 
me,  yon  have  only  to  say  so,  and  I  will  give  you 
a  list  of  physicians  of  good  standing,  into  whose 
ihands  you  may  safely  confide  the  General.  But 
%  on  the  contrarr,  yon  wish  me  to  oontinae  my 
'tharge,  I  wiU'only  do  so  on  the  conditioii  that  I 
"m  to  be  the  sole  master  in  that  room,  and  that 
ly  injunctions  are  to  be  implicitly  attended  to. 
fow,  choose  for  yourself." 
This  grave,  stem  address,  and  the  idea  that  he 
might  leave  her,  frightened  Zillah  altogether  out 
of  her  passion.  She  looked  piteonsly  at  him,  ond 
grasped  his  hand  as  if  in  fear  that  he  would  in- 
stantly cany  out  his  threat. 
"Oh,  doctor!"  she  cried,  "prav  forgive  me; 
nnet  ^vft  me  whendewr  papa  is  ao  jllT  Tf 
shall  be  all  as  you  say,  only  you  will  not  send  me 
away  from  him,  wiU  you  ?   Oh,  say  that  you  will 

The  doctor  retained  her  ha^d,and  answered 

very  kmdly :  «•  My  dear  child,  I  should  be  most 

Sony  to  do  so.     Now  that  yonr  father  has  come 

back  to  consciousness,  you  may  be  the  greatest 

C 


sa 


possible  comfort  to  him  if  you  will.  But,  to  do 
this,  you  really  must  try  to  control  yourself.  ITj* 
excitement  which  you  have  just  caused  him  has 
overcome  him,  ond  if  I  had  liot  been  here  I  do 
not  know  what  miglit  have  happened.  Ucm$m- 
ber,  my  child,  that  love  is  shown  not  by  words 
hut  bv  deeds ;  and  it  would  be  but  a  poor  return 
tor  oil  your  father's  affection  to  give  woy  selflshir 
toyour  own  grief." 

"Oh,  what  have  I  done?"  cried  Zillah,  in 
terror. 

"I  do  not  suppose  that  yon  have  done  him 
very  senous  injury,"  said  the  doctor,  reassuring, 
ly;  '  but  you  ought  to  take  warning  bv  this. 
You  will  i^nmiise  now,  wont  you,  that  there  shall 
be  no  repetition  of  this  (conduct  ?" 
"Oh,  I;  will!  I  will!" 

"I  will  trust  you,  then," said  the  doctor, look- 
ing with  pitjr  upon  her  sad  face.  "  You  are  his 
best  nurse,  if  you  only  keep  your  promise.  So 
now,  my  dear,  go  back  to  your  place  by  bis  side." 
And  Zillah,  with  a  faint  murmur  of  thanks,  went 
back  again. 

On  the  following  day  General  Pomeroy  seemed 
to  have  regained  his  full  consciousness.  Zillah 
exercised  a  strong  control  over  herself,  and  wo.i 
true  to  her  promise.  When  the  doctor  colled 
he  seemed  pleased  at  the  favorable  change.  But 
there  was  evidently  something  on  tlie  General'M 
mind.  Finally,  he  made  the  doctor  understand 
that  he  wished  to  see  him  alone.  The  doctor 
whispered  a  few  words  to  Zillah,  who  instantly 
left -the  room. 

"  Doctor;"  said  the  General,  in  a  feeble  voice, 
as  soon  as  they  were  alone,  "I  must  know  the 
whole  truth.     Will  you  tell  it  to  me  frankly  ?" 
"  I  never  deceive  my  patiehts,"  was  the  answer. 
"Am  I  dangerously  ill?" 
"You  are." 

"  How  long  have  I  to  live?" 
"My  dear  Sir,  God  alone  can  answer  that 
question.    You  have  a  chance  for  life  yet.    Yonr 
sickness  may  take  a  favorable  turn,  and  we  may 
be  able  to  brine  you  around  again." 

"  Bnt  the  clionces  are  against  me,  yon  think?" 
"We  must  be  prepared  for  the  worst,"  said 
the  doctor,  solemnly.    "  At  the  same  time,  thei« 
is  a  chance." 

"Well,  suppose  that  the  turn  should  be  unfa- 
vorable, how  long  would  it  be,  do  yon  think,  be- 
fore the  end  ?  I  have  much  to  attend  to,  and  it 
is  of  the  greatest  importance  that  I  should  know 
this." 

"  Probably'a  month— possibly  lesa,"  answered 
the  doctor,  gravely,  after  a  moment's  thought ; 
"  that  is,  if  the  worst  should  take  place.  '  But  it 
is  impossible  to  speak  with  certaintr  nntil  your 
symptoms  ara  more  fully  derefeped. 

"  Thank  you,  doctor,  for  yonr  frankness ;  and 
now,  will  you  kindly  seai^y  daughter  to  mo?" 
"Remember,"  said  the  doctor,  doubtfully, 
"  that  it  is  of  the  greatest  possible  moment  that 
yon  should  be  kept  ftva  ftom  all  excitement. 
Any  agitation  of  mind  will  snrdjr  deatroy  jaar 


Taitcminco.  ^  - 

"  But  I  mnst  see  herT  answered  the  General, 
excitedly.  "  I  have  to  attend  to  something  which 
coiuwros  her.  It  is  her  future.  I  could  not  di«. 
easily,  or  rest  in  my  grave,  if  this  were  nefljected. " 
Thus  far  the  General  had  been  calm,  bnt  the 
thought  of  Zilloh  hod  roused  him  into  a  danger- 
oas  asitation.    The  doctor  saw  that  discussioa 


84 


THE  CRYPTOGRAM. 


A 


would  on1}r  aggravate  this,  and  that  his  only 
chance  was  to  liiimur  his  fancies.  iSo  he  went 
ont,  and  found  ^^illah  pacing  the  passage  in  a 
state  of  ancontrollable  agitation.  He  reminded 
her  of  her  promise,  impressed  on  her  the  necessi- 
ty of  caution,  and  sent  her  to  him.  She  crept 
softly  to  the  bedside,  and,  taking  her  accustomed 
seat,  covered  his  hand  with  kisses. 

•'Sit  a  little  lower,  my  darling,"  said  the 
GeneraJ,  "where  I  moy  see  your  face."    She 
-   obeyedj  still  holding  his  hand',  which  returned 
with  warmth  her  caressing  pressure. 

The  agitation  which  the  General  had  felt  at 
the  doctor's  information  had  now  grown  visibly 
stronger.  There  was  a  kind  of  feverish  excite- 
ment in  his  manner  which  seemed  to  indicate 
that  his  brain  was  aflfected.  One  idea  only  filled 
that  half-delirious  brain,  and  this,  without  the 
slightest  warning,  he  abruptly  began  to  commu- 
nicate to  his  daughter. 

"  You  know,  Zillah,"gaid  he,  in  a  rapid,  eager 
tone  which  alarmed  her,  "the  dearest  wish  of 
my  heart  is  to  see  you  the  wife  of  Guy  Molyneux, 
the  son  of  my  old  friend.  I  betrothed  you  to 
him  five  years  ago.  You  remember  all  about  it, 
of  course.  He  visited  ns  at  London.  The  time 
for  the  accomplishment  of  my  desire  has  now  ar- 
rived. I  received  a  letter  from  Ix)rd  Chetwynde 
on  the  day  of  my  accident,  telling  mq  that  his 
son's  regiment  was  shortly  to  sail  for  India.  I 
intended  writing  to  ask  him  to  par  us  a  visit  be- 
fore be  left;  but  now,"  he  added,  in  a  dreamy 
voice,  "  of  course  he  must  come,  and — he  must 
marry  yon  before  he  goes." 

Any  thing  more  horrible,  more  abhorrent,  to 
Zillah  than  such  language,  at  such  a  time,  could 
not  bo  conceived.  She  thought  he  was  raving. 
A  wild  exclamation  of  fear  and  remonstrance 
started  to  her  lips ;  but  she  remembered  the  doc- 
tor's warning,  and  by  a  mighty  effort  repressed 
it.  It  then  seemed  to  her  that  this  raving  delir- 
ium, if  resisted,  might  turn  to  madness  and  en- 
danger his  last  chance.  In  her  despair  she  found 
only  one  answer,  and  thdt  was  something  which 
might  soothe  him. 

"Yes,  dear  papo,"  she  said,  quietly;  "yes, 
we  will  ask  him  to  come  and  see  us." 

"No,  no," cried  theiieneral,  with  feverish  im- 
patience. ' '  That  wiifnot  do.  You  must  marry 
him  at  once — to-day — to-morrow — do  you  hear  ? 
There  is  no  time  to  lose." 

"  But  I  must  stay  with  you,  dearest  papa,  you 
know,"  said  Zillah,  still  striving  to  soothe  liim. 
"  What  would  you  do  without  your  little  girl  ? 
I  am  sure  you  can  not  waiit  me  to  leave 
yon." 

"Ah,  my  child!"  said  the  General,  mourn- 
fully, "I  am  going  to  leave  you.  The  doctor 
tells  me  that  I  have  but  a  short  time  jko  live ;  and 
I  feel  that  what  he  says  is  true.  If  I  must  leave 
yon,  my  darling,  I  can  not  leave  you  without  a 
protector." 

At  this  Zillah's  nnaccnstomed^f-control  gave 
way  utteriy.  Overcome  by  the  hSqior  of  that 
reveUition  and  the  anguish  of  that  discover}',  she 
fting  hersnnmoimd  him  a^^clung  to  Bm  piis- 
donately. 

'You  shall  not  go!"  she  moaned.     "You 


■hall  not  go ;  or  if  vou  do  you  r 
you.    I  can  not  live  without 


1  must  take  me  with 

you.     You  know 

♦haf  I  can  not.     Oh,  papa!  papa!" 


in  a  wild,  despairing  cry,  reached  the  ears  of  the 
doctor,  who  at  once  hurried  in. 

"  What  is  this?"  he  said,  sharply  apd  sternly, 
to  Zillah.     "  Is  this  keeping  your  promise  ?" 

"Oh,  doctor!"  said  Zillah,  imploringly,  "I 
did  not  mean  to — I  could  not  help  it — but  tell  me 
— it  is  not  true,  is  it  ?    Tell  me  that  my  father^ 
is  not  going  to  leave  me !" 

"I  will  tell  you  thi8,"8aid  he,  gravely.  "You 
are  destroying  every  chance  of  his  recovery  by 
your  vehemence." 

Zillah  laoked  up  at  him  with  an  expression  of 
agony  on  her  face  such  as,  occustomcd  as  he  was 
to  scenes  of  sufi'ering,  he  had  but  seldom  cn- 
countei'ed. 

"  I've  killed  him,  then!"  she  faltered. 
The  doctor  put  his  hand  kindly  on  her  shoul- 
der.     "I  trust  not,  my  poor  child,"  said  he; 
"but  it  is  my  duty, to  warn  you  of  the  conse^ 
quences  of  giving  way  to  excessive  grief. " 

"Oh,  doctor!  you  are  quite  right,  and  I  will 
try  very  hard  not  to  give  way  again. " 

Dunng  this  conversation,  which  was  low  and 
hurried.  General  Pomeroy  lay  without  hearing 
any  thing  of  what  they  were  saying.  His  lips 
moved,  and  his  hands  picked  at  the  bed-clothes 
convulsively.  Only  one  idea  was  in  his  mind— 
the  accomplishment  of  his  wishes.  His  daugh- 
ter's grief  seemed  to  have  no  effect  on  him  what- 
ever.    Indeed,  he  diq  -(tot  appear  to  notice  it. 

"  Speak  to  her,  doctor,"  said  he,  feebly,  as  he 
heard  their  voices.  '^  Tell  her  I  can  not  die  hap- 
py unless  she  is  married — I  con  not  leave  her 
done  in  the  world." 

The  doctor  looked  surprised.     "What  does     ^ 
he  mean  ?"  he  said,  taking  Zillah  aside.    "  What 
is  this  fatrfey  ?    Is  there  any  thing  in  it  ?" 

' '  I'm^sutte  I  don't  know, "  said  Zillah.  "  It  is 
certainly  on  his  mind,  and  he  can't  be  argued  or 
humored  out  of  it.  It  is  an  arrangement  made 
some  years  ago  between  him  and  Lord  Chetwynde 
that  when  I  grew  up  I  should  marry  his  sdn,  and 
he  has  just  heen  telling  me  that  hotwishes  it  car- 
ried out  n<Mv.  Oh!  what — what  shall  I  do?" 
she  added,  despairingly.  "  Can't  you  do  some- 
thing, doctor?" 

"I  will  speak  to  him,"  said  the  latter;  and, 
approaching  the  bed,  he  bent  over  the  General, 
and  said,  in  n  low  voice : 
'  "  General  Pomeroy,  you  know  that  the  family 
physician  is  often  a  kind  of  father-confessor  as 
well.  Now  I  do  not  wish  to  intrude  upon  your 
private  affairs;  bufefrom  what  you  have  said  I 
perceive  that  there  is  something  on  your  mind, 
and  if  I  can  be  of  any  assistance  to  you  I  shall 
be  only  too  happy.  Have  you  any  objection  to 
tell  me  what  it  is  that  is  troubling  yon  ?" 

While  the  doctor  spoke  the  General's  eyes 
were  fixed  upon  Zillah  with  feverish  anxiety. 
"Tell  her,"  he  murmured,  "that  she  must  con- 
sent at  once — at  once,"  he  repeated,  in  a  more 
excited  tone. 

"  Consent  to  what  ?" 

"  To  this  marriage  that  I  have  planned  for  her. 
She  knows.  It  is  with  the  son  of  my  old  friend^ 
Lprd  Chetwynde.  H()  is  a  fine  lad,  and  comes 
of  a  good  stock.     I  knew  his  father  before  lum. 


The  tones  of  her  voice,  which  were  wailed  out  |  he  is  going — to  India." 
(. 


1  have  watched  him  closely  for  the  last  five  years. 
He  will  take  care  of  her.  He  will  make  her  a 
good  husband.  And  I — shall  be  able  to  die— in 
|«nce.     But  it  must  be  done — immediately— for 


ciy,  reached  the  ean  of  the 

hurried  in. 

lie  Raid,  sharply  aqd  sternly, 

keeping  your  proraise  ?" 

lid  Zillah,  imploringly,  "I 

>uld  not  help  it — but  tell  me 

?    Tell  me  that  my  fathery 

me !" 

), "  said  he,  gravely.     "You 

chance  of  bis  recovery  by 

;  him  with  an  expression  of 
:h  as,  accustomed  as  he  was 
g,  he  had  but  seldom  en- 

hen !"  she  faltered. 

hand  kindly  on  her  shouU 
my  poor  child,"  said  he  j 
to  warn  you  of  the  conse- 
r  to  excessive  grief." 
•re  quite  right,  and  I  will 
;ive  way  again. " 
sation,  which  was  low  and 
aeroy  lay  without  hearing 
ley  were  saying.  His  lips 
I  picked  at  the  bed-clothes 
'Oe  idea  was  in  his  mind — 
f  his  wishes.  His  daugh- 
ave  no  effect  on  him  what- 

l|ot  appear  to  notice  it. 
;t6r,"  said  he,  feebly,  as  he 

Tell  her  I  can  not  die  hap- 
Iried — I  can  not  leave  her 

surprised.  "What  does 
ung  Zillah  aside.  "  What 
n  any  thing  in  it?" 
now,"  said  Zillah.  "  It  is 
and  he  can't  be  argued  or 
t  is  an  arrangement  made 
n  him  and  Lord  Chetwynde 
should  marry  his  son,  and 
I  me  that  hetwishes  it  car- 
what— what  thall  I  do?" 
y.     "  Can't  you  do  some- 

im,"  said  the  hitter ;  and, 
he  bent  over  the  General, 
;e: 

,  you  know  that  the  family 
ind  of  father-confessor  as 
wish  to  intrude  upon  your 
om  what  you  have  said  I 
something  on  your  mind, 
f  assistance  to  you  I  shall 
lave  you  any  objection  to 
is  tronblingyoa?" 
ipoke  the  General's  eyes 
th  with  feverish  anxiety, 
ired,  "that  she  must  con- 
,"  he  repeated,  in  a  more 


liat  I  have  planned  for  her. 
I  the  son  of  my  old  friend, 
3  is  a  flne  lad,  and  comes 
lew  his  father  before  Jum. 
isely  for  the  last  five  years, 
ler.  He  will  make  her  a 
[ — shall  be  able'  to  die— in 
9  done — immediately— f(« 


The  GMeral  spoke  in  »  reij  feeble  tone,  and 
I  with  frequent  pauses. 

"  And  do  yon  wish  your  daughter  to  go  with 
him?    She  is  too  young  to  be  exposed  to  the 
I  dangers  of  Indian  life." 

I  This  idea  seemed  to  strike  the  General  veiy 
forcibly.  For  some  minutes  he  did  not  answer, 
and  it  was  with  difficulty  that  he  could  collect 
I  his  thoughts.    At  last  he  answered,  slowly : 

'  That  is  true — but  she  need  not  accompany 
I  him.  Let  her  stay  with  me — till  all  is  over — then 
I  she  can  go — to  Chetwynde.     It  will  be  her  nat- 

I  ural  home.  She  will  find  in  my  old  friend  a  sec- 
Jond  father.  She  ean  remain  with  him — till  her 
ghusband  returns." 

A  long  pause  followed.     "Besides,"  he  re- 
sumed, in  a  fainter  voice,  "there  are  other  things. 

II  can  not  explain — they  are  private — they  con- 
leem  the  affairs  of  others.  But  if  Zillah  were  to 
Jrefuse  to  marry  him— she  would  lose  one-half  of 
■her  fortune.  So  you  can  understand  my  anx- 
liety.  She  has  not  a  relative  in  the  world— to 
■whom  I  could  leave  her." 
I  Here  the  General  stopped,  utterly  exhausted 
■by  the  fatigue  of  speaking  so  much.  As  for  the 
■doctor,  he  sat  for  a  time  involved  in  deep  thought 
■Zillah  stood  there  pale  and  agitated,  looking  now 

at  her  father  and  now  at  the  doctor,  while  a  new 
and  deeper  angtiish  came  over  her  heart.  After 
a  while  he  rose  and  quietly  motioned  to  Zillah  to 
Bbllow  him  to  the  adjoining  room. 
'  "My  dear  child,"  said  he,  kindly,  when  they 
had  arrived  there,  "yonr  fether  is  excited,  but 
ret  is  quite  sane.  His  pUn  seems  to  be  one 
which  he  has  been  cherishing  for  years ;  and  he 
bas  so  thoroughly  set  his  heart  upon  it  that  it  now 
M  evidently  his  sole  idea.    I  do  not  see  what  else 

an  he  done  than  to  comply  vrith  his  wbhes." 

"What!"  cried  ZiUah,  aghast. 

*'To  refuse,"  said  the  doctor,  "might  be  fa- 
It  would  throw  him  into  a  paroxysm." 
'Oh,  doctor!"  moaned  Zillah.     "What  do 
on  mean?    Yon  can  not  be  in  earnest.    What 
-to  do  such  a  thing  when  darling  papa  ia— is 
Ring!"  \ 

Sobs  choked  her  nttennce.    She  buried  her 
ace  in  her  hands  and  saniiinto  a  chair. 
\  "  He  is  not  yet  so  bad,"  Jhid  the  doctor,  eam- 
ptly,  "bijt  he  is  certainly  in  a  critical  state; 
nd  unless  it  is  absolutely  impossible— unless  it 

too  abhorrent  to  think'  of— unless  any  calamity 
I  j>e"er  than  this— I  would  advise  yon  to  try 
Id  think  if  yon  can  not  bring  yourself  to— to  in- 
Vgehi8wiBh,wilda8itmayBeemtoyoa.   There, 

H  dear,  I  am  deeply  sorry  for  yon;  but  I  am 

nest,  and  say  what  I  think." 
[For  a. long  time  Zillah  sat  in  silence,  gtmg- 
nng  with  her  emotions.    The  doctor's  words 
npressed  her  deeply ;  but  the  thing  which  he 
dnsed  was  horrible  to  hei--abhorrent  beyond 


t 

THE  CRYPTOGRAM. 


33 


Irords.  But  then  there  was  her  father  lying  i 
pear  to  deaA— whom,  perhaps,  her  self-sacrfflco 
might  save,  and  whom  certainly  her  selfishness 
»:j^jdde8troy.  Shecoiddnothesit^e.  Itjnw 
rtsltter  decision,  but  she  mkde  it.  She  n>ge  to 
ber  feet  paler  than  ever,  but  quite  calm. 

Doctor,"  said  she,  "  I  have  decided.    It  is 

hornble  beyond  words ;  but  I  wiU  do  it,  or  any 

thing,  for  hu  sake.    I  would  die  to  save  Urn; 

nd  this  is  something  worse  than  death. " 

fche  was  calm  and  cold ;  her  voice  seemed  un- 

••"~l;  her  eyes  were  tearless. 


It  seems  very  hard,"  she  murmnred,  after  a 
pause;  "I  never  saw  Captain  Moiyneux  but 
once,  and  I  was  only  ten  ytorsold." 

"How  old  are  you  now?"  lisked  the  doctor, 
who  knew  not  what  to  say  to  this  poor  stricken 
heart. 

"Fifteen." 

I.  l'^***^'",  "''''*^' "   '*'*'    ''*'   compaasionatelv ; 

the  trials  of  life  are  coming  upon  you  early  • 
but,  he  added,  with  a  desperate  effort  at  con. 
dolence,  "do  not  be  so  despairing;  whatever 
m^y  be  the  result,  you  are,  ofter  all,  in  the  path 
of  duty;  and  that  is  the  safest  and  the  best  for 
us  all  in  the  end,  however  hard  it  ma v  seem  to 
be  in  the  present" 

Just  then  the  General's  voice  interrupted  his 
litUe  homily,  sounding  querulously  and  imna- 
tiently:   "Zillah!  Zillah!"  '  *^ 

She  sprang  to  his  bedside :  "  Here  I  am,  dear 
papa. 

W  5^'"/°".  ?<»  "« I ""»'  ?"  h*  Mked,  abmptlr. 
les,  said  Zillah,  with  an  effort  at  firmness 
which  cost  her  dear.  Saying  this,  she  kissed 
him ;  and  the  beam  of  pleasure  which  at  this 
word  lighted  up  the  wan  face  of  the  sick  man 
touched  Zillah  to  the  heart  She  felt  that,  come 
wliat  might,  she  had  received  her  rewai'd 

"My  sweetest,  dutiful  child,"  said  the  Gen- 
eral tenderly;  "you  have  made  me  happv,  my 
darting.  Now  get  your  desk  and  write  for  hiia 
at  once.    You  most  not  lose  time,  my  child." 

This  unremitting  pressure  upon  her  gave  Zil- 
lah  a  new  struggle,  but  the  Genenl  exhibited 
such  feveiish  impatience  that  she  dared  not  re- 
sist.  So  she  went  to  a  Davenport  which  stood 
in  the  comer  of  the  room,  and  saying,  quietlv, 
•  I  virill  write  here,  papa,"  she  seated  herself, 
with  her  hack  toward  him.  .    . 

"  Are  you  ready  ?"  he  asked. 
"Yes,  papa." 

The  General  then  began  to  dictate  to  her  what 
she  was  to  write.    It  was  as  follows : 

"My  dbak  old  Fhibnd,— I  think  it  will 
cause  you  some  grief  to  hear  that  our  long 
fnendship  is  about  to  be  broken  up.  My  days. 
I  fear,  are  numbered."  '  . 

Zillah  stifled  the  sobs  that  choked  her,  and 
wrote  bravely  on :         -y 

"You  know  the  sorrow  which  has  hUghted  my 
life;  and  I  feel  that  I  could  go  joyfully  to  my 
beloved,  my  deeply  mourned  wife,  if  I  could  feel 
that  I  was  leaving  my  child— herchild  and  mine—  . 
happily  provided  for.  For  this  pupose  I  should 
hke  Guy,  before  he  leaves  for  India,  to  fulfill  his 
promise,  and,  by  marryiqgj|iy  danghter,  give  me 
the  comfort  of  knowing  tfcW^JLtoav^  lutr  in  the 
hands  of  a  husband  upon  whom  Ici|i  emifident- 
lyrely." 

But  at  this  point  ZiUah's  self-control  gave  war. 
She  broke  down  utterly,  and,  bowing  her  head      ' 
in  her  hands  on  the  desk,  burst  forth  into  a  pas- 
sion of  sobs. 

The  poor  child  could  surely  not,  be  blamed. 
Her  nature  was  imp»y^i^vm)4-titt^^B)i[ig(.ipiimdT- 
from  her  birth  every  whim  bad  been  humoi«d, 
and  her  wildest  fancies  indulged  to  the  utmost: 
and  now  suddenly  upon  this  petted  idoLwhohad 
been  always  guarded  so  carefully  fW>m  the  slight- 
est disappointment,  there  descended  the  storm- 
cloud  of  sorrow,  and  that  too  not  gradually,  but 
almost  in  one  moment.  Her  love  for  her  fether 
waa  a  passion ;  and  he  was  to  be  taken  from  ber, 


7 


the  hands  of  entire 
imness,  almost  indif- 

ther  made  these  ar- 
quick.    8ho  was  toa 

of  this  eagerness  was 
se.'    He  appeared  to 

wn  wishes,  and  sbow- 

iver  for  her  owij,  c;rush 


8G 

and  she  was  to  Im  given  inj 
strangers.     The  apparent 
ference,  with  which  her 
rangem^ts,  cot  her  to  thi 
yonng  to  know  how  mnci 
attribatable  entirely  to  dL 
her  as  thinking  of  only  his 
ing  no  consideration  whai 
ing  grief,  and  no  appreciation  qf  the'  strengtii  of 
her  affecdon  for  him.    friie''8clf-«acri<icing  fa- 
ther had  changed  into  the'  most  selfish  of  men, 
who  had  not  one  thp^iyt  for  her  feelings. 

"Ob,  ZilUhl"  «i)ed  fier  father,  reproachfully, 
in  answer  to  her  last  oi^thnrst  of  grief.  8he  roiie 
and  went  to^iiilJ?edside(,  struggling  violently  with 
her  emotion.  / 

"  I  can  not  write'tnis,  dearest  papa,"  she  said, 
in  a  tremulous  voice;  "I  have  promised  to  do 
just  as  you  wish,  and  X  will  keep  my  word ;  but 
indeed,  indeed,  I  can  not  write  this  letter.  Will 
it  not  do  as  well  if  Hilda  writes  it?" 

"To  bo  sure,  to  Im  sure,"  said  the  General, 
who  took  no  notice  of  her  distress.  ' '  Hilda  Will 
d6  it,  and  then  my  little  girl  can  come  and  sit 
beside  her  father. 

Hilda  was  accordinglv  sent  for.  She  glided 
noiselessly  in  and  took  her  place  at  the  Daven- 
port ;  while  Zillah,  sitting  by  her  f^tl^er,  buried 
ner  liend  in  the  bed-clothes,  his  feeble  hands  the 
while  pliiying  nervously  with  the  long,  straggling 
locks  of  her  l)air  which  scattered  themselves  over 
the  bed.  The  letter  was  soon  finished,  fu'r  it  con- 
tained little  mot«  tlian  what  has  already  been 
given,  except  the  reiterated  injunction  that  Guy 
should  make  all  haste  to  r^cn  Pomeroy  Court. 
It  was  then  sent  off  to  the  post  to  the  great  de- 
light of  the  General,  whose  mmd>  became  more 
wandering,  now  that  the  strain  which  had  been 
placed  upon  it  was  removed. 

"  Now,"  said  he,  in  a  flighty  way,  and  with  an 
eager  impetuosity  ivhich  showed  that  his  delir- 
ium had  increased,  "we  must  think  of  the 
wedding — my  darling  "jnust  hav«  a  granfl  wed- 
ding," be  mnrmnred  to  himself  in  a  low  whis- 
per. 

A  shndder  ran  through  Zillah  as  she  sat  by  his 
side,  but  not  a  sonnd^Ascaped  her.  She  looked 
up  m  terror.  Had  every  jay  of  reason  lefl;  her 
fitther?  Was  she  to  sacrifice  herself  on  so  hid- 
eottf  an  altar  without  even  the  satisfaction  of 
knowing  that  she  had  given  him  pleasure?  Then 
she  thong^t  that  perha[«  her  father  was  living 
again  in  the  past,  and  confounding  this  fearful 
tiling  which  ha  was  planning  for  her  with  his  own 
joyous  weddfaig.  Tears  flowed  afresh,  bat  si- 
lently, at  the  thought  of  the  contrast  Often  had 
]ier  tmh  delight^  her  childish  imagination  by 
her  powiiig  deseriptions  of  the  magnificence  of 
that  wedding,  where  the  festivities  had  lasted  fon 
a  week,  and  the  arrangements  were  oil  made  on 
a  scale  of  Oriental  splendor.  She  loved  to  des- 
cant upon  the  beauty  of  the  bride,  the  richness 
of  her  atdre,  the  magnificence  of  her  jewels,  the 
indenr  of  the  gnesta,  the  spleidor  of  the  whole 

iplay — liBtU^-SBIlah  had  ins^ibly  learned  to 
think  all  thif  the  necessary  atyoncts  of  a  wed- 
ding, and  hod'  bniit  many  a  day-dream  about  the 
pomp  which  ihonld  surround  her«,  when  the  (Mo- 
rions knight  whom  the  fairy  tales  had  led  her  to 
expect  should  coipe  to  claim  her  hand.  But  at 
this  time  It  was  not  the  sacrifice  of  ail  this  that 
was  wringing  her  heart.    Sl|#  gave  it  not  even  a 


THE  CRYPTOGRAM. 


sigh.  It  was'rather  the  thought  that  this  inan 
riage,' which  now  seemed  inevitable,  was  to  take 
place  here,  while  her  heart  was  wrung  with  opxi- 
ety  on  his  accoiuit — here  in  this  room — by  that 
bedside,  ,^ich  her  fears  told  her  might  be  a  bed 
of  di^U.  \rhere  Uy  her  father,  her  only  friend 
■^Ihe  one  for  whom  she  would  lay  down  her  life, 
wd  to  soothe' whose  delirium  she  had  co^sente^ 
to  this^bhorrent  sacrifice  of  herself.  The  mar- 
iUge  thus  phuined  was  to  take  places  thus ;  it 
Jnp  to  be  a  hideous,  a  ghastly  mockery  —  a 
fillhtful  -violence  to  the  soletniiity  of  sorrow. 
S1|b  was  not  to  be  married — she  was  to  be  sold. 
The  circumstances  of  that  old  betrothal  had 
never  been  explained  to  her;  but  shejfaiei/Uiat 
money  was  in  some  way  connected  witb  it,  and 
that  she  was  %'irtually  bought  an^  sql^vlike  a 
slave,  without  any  will  of  her  own.  0tib  bitter 
thoughts  as  these  filled  her  mind  its  t^O^t  there 
by  her  father's  side.  -  '^'Ci^ 

Presently  her  father  spoke  agoiiL  ^"  Have  yon 
any  dresses,  Zilhth  ?"  ^f 

"Plenty,  papa."  •  „ 

"  Oh,  but  I  mean  a  wedding-dress — a  fine  new . 
dresa;  white  satin  my  darling  wore;  how  beau- 
tiful she  looked  I  and  a  veil  you  must  have,  and 
plenty  of  jewels  —  pearls  and  diamonds.    My 
pet  will  be  a  lovely  bride." 

Every  one  j)f  these  words  was  a  stab,  and  Zil- 
lah was  dumb ;  but  her  &ther  noticed  nothing 
of  this.  It  was  nlijij^ess,  but,  like  many  cases 
of  madness,  it  waii\^  cfiherent 

"Send  for  yoar«yali,  4fBar,"  he  continhed; 
"I  must' talk  to  her'^i^ut  your  wedding- 
dress." 

ZiUah  rang  the  beU.  As  soon  as  the  woman 
appeared  the  General  turned  to  her  with  his 
usual  feveiish  manner.  -  V»  '. 

"Nurse;"  said  he,  "Miss  Pomoroy  is  to  be 
married  at  once.  You  must  see — that  she  ,))as 
every  thing  prepared— suitably— and  of  the  very 
best." 

The  aph  stood  speechless  with  amazement. 
This  feehng  was  increased  when  Zillah  soi^,  in  a 
cold  monotone : 

"  Don't  look  surprised,  nnrsa  It's  quite  true. 
I  am  to  be  married  within  a  day  or  two." 

Her  master's  absurdities  the  ayah  could  ac- 
count for  on  the  ground  of  delirium ;  but  was 
"Little  Missy"  mad  too?  Perhaps  sorrow  had 
turned  her  brain,  she  thought.  At  any  rate,  it 
would  be  best  to  humor  them. 

"  Missy  had  a  white  silk  down  from  London 
la«t  week,  Sir." 

VNot  satin?  A  wedding-dress  shonld  be 
of  satin,"  said  the  General. 

"It  does  not  matter,  so  tha^  it  is  all  white," 
said  the  nurse,  with  decision. 

"Doesn't  it?  Very  well,"  said  the  Geneml. 
\f '  But  she  must  have  a  veil,  nurse,  and  plentv  of 
Jewels.  She  must  look  like  my  darling.  Vou 
reraen\ber,  nurse,  how  the  looked." 

"Indeed  I  do,  sahib,  and  yon  may  leave  nil 
to  me.  I  will  see  that  Missy  is  as  fine  and  grand 
as  any  oftiiea;"^""    •  i- 

The  ayah  tx^n  already  to  hA  excited,  and  to 
fall  in  with  this  wild  proposal.  The  verv  men- 
tion of  dress  had  excited  her  Indhmfove  of 
fiqety. 

"That  is  riglit,"  said  the  General;  "attend 
to  it  all.  Spare  no  expense.  Don't  you  go,  m; 
child,"  he  continued,  as  Zillah  rose  and  wolkea 


[^'•J'tfa/T'.-fi'"- 


the  thought  that  thb  inan 
Died  inevitable,  was  to  take 
heart  woa  wrung  with  igixi. 
here  in  thia  room— by  that 
ar8  told  her  might  be  a  bed 

her  father,  her  only  friend 
he  would  lay  down  her  life, 
lelirium  ihe  had  co^isented 
iflce  of  henelf.  The  mar- 
ras  ta  tale  phuiOv  thus ;  it 
R,  a  ghastly  mockery  —  a 

the  ■olemnity  Of  Mrrow. 
UTie4 — she  waa  to  be  aold. 
of  that  old  betrothal  had 
to  her;  but  ahejkneirlhat 
vay  connected  wit!b  it,  and 
ly  bought  an(|  aol^.-like  a 
II  of  her  own.  0fih  bitter 
i  her  mind  its  ahe'^t  there 

:  apoke  agoiiu  ^"Mkyi  yon 


wedding-droaa — a  fine  new  „ 

f  darling  wore ;  how  be^n- 

a  veil  you  muat  have,  and 

earls  and  diamonds^    My 

ide." 

words  waa  a  atab,  and  Zil- 

isr  father  noticed  nothing 

odas,  but,  like  many  casea 

9jf  cfiherent 

|rah,  4par,"  he  continhed ; 

jr"-r^)out  your  wedding- 

L  As  aoon  aa  the  woman 
1  turned  to  her  vithhis 

"•Miaa  Pomeroy  ia  to  bo 
}a  must  see — that  she  ,|ias 
-auitably — and  ofthe  very 

leechlesa  with  amazement, 
oaed  when  ZiUah  aaid,  in  a 

led,  nursa  It'a  qoite  tm& 
ithin  a  day  or  two." 
ilitiea  the  a^ah  could  ac- 
imd  of  delinum ;  but  was 
:oo?  Perhaps  aorrow  had 
thought.  At  any  rate,  it 
)r  them, 
e  silk  down  from  London 

(redding -dresa  shonld  be 

leral. 

sr,  so  tha^  it  is  all  white," 

iciaion. 

y  well,"  'said  the  Geneml. 

I  veil,  nnrse,  and  plenty  of 

ok  like  my  darling.    Vou 

r  the  lookeid." 

lb,  and  you  may  leave  nil 

:  Missy  is  as  fine  and  grand 

sady  to  ftd  excited,  and  to 
proposaL  The  verr  men- 
cited  her  Indian  fove  of 

tid  the  General;  "attend 
pense.  Don't  you  go.  my 
oi  ZiUfth  rose  and  walked 


"I  think  I  can 
ease.     Stay  by 


ahndderingly  to  the  window, 
sleep,  now  that  my  mind  is  at 
me,  my  da>;ling  child. " 

"Oh,  papa,  do  you  tMpk-I  would|leave  yon?" 
said  Ziliah,  and  she  caifeback  to  the  bed. 

The  doctor,  who  had  been  waiting  until  the 
General  should  become  a  little  calmer,  now  ad- 
ministered an  anodyne,  and^ie  fell /asleep,  his 
hand  clasfieu  in  Zillah's,  while  she/  fearful  of 
making  the  slightest  movement,  wZ  motionless 
«nd  deapaiiing  far  into  the  night.  / 


THE  CBYPTOGBAM. 


CHAPTEli  X. 

A  WBDDINO  IK  EXTREUIS. 

Two  djys  passed,;  on  the  second  Guy  Moly- 

neux  arrived.     Lord  Chetwynde  wos  "ill,  and 

could  not  travel.     He  sent  a  letter,  however, 

full  of  earnest  and  hopeful, sympathy.      He 

^tould  not  believe  thatthmgs  were  as  bad  as  his 

old  friend  feared ;  the  instant  that  he  could  leave 

he  would  come  iip  to  Pomeroy  Court ;  or  if  by 

,  God's  providence  the  worst  'should  take  place,  he 

[  would  instantly  fetch  Zilloh(to  Chetwynde  Ca»- 

j  tie ;  an4\tha  General  might  rely  upon  it  that,  so 

far  as  love  and  tendemesk  could  supply  a  father's 

place,  she  Should  not  feel  her  loss. 

On  Guy's  arrival  he  was  sho\vn  into  the  librarj-. 
Luncheon  was  laid  there,  ond  the  housekeeper 
I  apologized  for  Miss  Pomeroy's  absence.  Guy 
j  took  a^chair  and  waited  for  a  while,  meditating 
J  on  the  time  when  he  had  last  seen  the  girl  who 
I  in  a  short  lime  was  to  be  tied  to  him  for  life. 
I  The  event  wos  excessively  repugnant  to  him, 
I  even  though  he  did  not  at  all  Realize  its  full  im- 
iportance ;  ond  he  would  have  given  ony  thing  to 
Iget  out  of  it;  but  his  father's  command  was 
I  sacred,  and  for  years  he  had  been  bound  bv  his 
I  father's  wofd.  Escape  was  utterly  impossible. 
I  The  entrance  of  the  clei^man,  who  seemed 
I  more  intent  on  th»r  luncheon  than  any  thing 
I  else,  did  not  lessen  Guy's  feelings  of  repug. 
■nance.  He  said  but  little,  and  aank  into-a  fit 
lof  abstraction,  from  which  he  was  roused  by  a 
Imesaage  thot  the  General  would  like  to  see  him, 
lUo  hurried  up  stairs. 

I    The  General  smiled  faintly,  and  greeted  him 
Iwith  as  much  warmth  as  his  weak  and  prostrated 
Condition  would  allow. 
t    "Guy,  my  boy,"  aaid  he,  feebly,  "I  am  very 
plad  to  see  yon. 

To  Guy  the  General  aeemed  like  a  doomed 

pan,  and  the  discovery  gave  him  a  great  shock, 

br  he  hod  scarcely  anticipated  any  thing  so  bad 

s-this.     In  spite  of  thia,  however,  he  expressed 

I  hope  that  the  General  might  yet  recover,  and 

■e  spared  many  years  to  them. 

"No,"  said  the  General,  sodly  nnd  wearily; 

F    no ;  my  days  are  numbered.    I  must  die,  my 

f  Iwy ;  but  I  shall  die  in  peace,  if  I  feel  that  I  do 

not  leave  my  child  nncarod  for." 

Guy,  in  spite  of  his  dislike  and  renngnanco. 

nt  deeply  moved.       r-«-™»,»- 

"You  need  have  no  ftar  of  that,  Sir,"  he 
,  went  on  to  say,  in  aolemn,  menaured  tones.  "I 
solemnly  promise  yon  that  no  unhmpineas  shaU 
ever  reach  her  if  t  can  help  it  To  the  end  of 
my  hfe  I  will  tnr  to  requite  to  her  the  kindness 
r2  yon  •«"'«  Mown  to  us.  My  father  feels  as 
1  do,  and  he  begged  me  to  assute  you,  if  he  ia 


"ot  able  to  see  pu  sgain,  aa  fie  hopes  to  do, 
that  thoinstant  Sour  daughter  needs  fiis  cnro  ho 
VI  hirtself  tuk^  her  to  Ch«*ynde  Oaatle,  and 
wdl  watch  over  ftar  >yith  the  same  &e  nnd  af- 
fection that  you^ur^lf  would  bestoW ;  and  she 
shall  leove  hishi&ie  only  for  mine.", 
'  The  General  prtosed  his  hand  feebly.  "God 
bless  vou  I"  he  salt,  in  a  faint  voice. 

Suddenly  a  low  sob  'broke  the  silence  which 
followed,  lurning  hastily,  Guy  saw  in  the  dim 
twilight  of  the  sick-room  what  he  had  not  before 
observed.  It  wasji  girl's  flguie  crouching  at  the 
foot  of  the  bed,  her  head  buried  in  the  clothes. 
He  looked  at  her— his  heart  told  him  who  it  was 
—but  he  knew  not  what  to  say. 

The  General  also  had  heard  that  sob.    It  raised 
no  pity  and  compassion  in  him ;  it  was  simply  ' 
some  new  stimulus  to  the  one  idea  of  his  distem- 
pered brain. 

"  What,  Ziliah !"  he  said,  in  surprise.  "  You 
here  yet  ?    I  thought  you  had  gone  to  get  ready. " 

Still  the  kneeling  figure  did  not  move. 
^  "Ziliah,"  said  the  General,  querulously,  and 
wUU^nn  excitement  in  his  feeble  voice  which 
showed  how  readily  he  might  lapse  into  com 
plete  deUrium—"  Ziliah,  my  child,  be  quicL 
there  IS  no  time  to  lose.  Go  and  get  ready  fof 
your  wedding.  Don't  you  hear  "me?  Go  and 
dress  yourself." 

"Oh,  popa!'  moaned  Zilloh,  in  a  voice  which 
incrced  to  the  inmost  heart  of  Guy,  "will  it  not 
do  as  I  am  ?  Do  not  ask  me  to  put  on  finery  at 
a  time  lilie  this."  Her  voiS^  waa  one  of  utter 
anguish  and  despoir. 

"A  time  like  this  ?"  said  the  General,  rousing 
himself  somewhat-"  what  do  you  mean,  chiltW 
Does  not  the  Bible  say.  Like  aa  a  bride  ado^- 
eth  herself— for  her  husband— and  ever  shall  bo 
—world  without  end— amen— yea— white  sntin 
and  pearls,  my  child— oh  yea— white  pearls  and 
satm— vye  are«ll  ready-jwhere  are  you,  my  dar- 
ling?"   Another  sob  Was  the  only  reply  to  this 
incoherent  speech.     Guy  stood  as  if  petrified. 
In  his  journey  here  he  had  simply  tried  to  mus- 
ter  up  his  own  resolution,  and  to  fortify  his  own 
heart.     He  had  not  given  one  thought  to  this 
poor  despairing  child.    Her  sorrow,  her  anguish, 
her  despair,  now  went  to  his  heart.    Yet  he 
knew  not -what  to  do.    How  gkdly  he  would  have 
made  hi^  escape  from  thia  horrible  mockery— for 
her  sake  as  well  as  for  hia  own  1     But  for  such 
escape  he  saw  plainly  there  was  no  poaaibility. 
That  delirious  mind,  in  ite  frenzy,  waa  too  in- 
tent upon  its  one  purpose  to  admit  of  this.     He 
himself  also  felt  a  strange  and  painful  sense  of 
guilt.     Waa  not  he  to  a  great  extent  the  cause 
of  this,  though  the  unwilling  cause?    AlilHe 
thought,  remorsefully,  can  wrong  be  right?  and 
can  any  thing  justify  such  a  desecration  as  this 
both  of  marriage  and  of  death?    At  that  mo- 
ment Chetwynde  faded  away,  and  to  have  saved 
it  was  aa  nothing.     Willingly  would  he  have 
given  up  every  thing  if  he  could  now  have  said 
kLihia  poor  child^-rwho  thos  crouched  dowo^r 
crushed  by  a  Roman's  aorraw  before  ahe  had 
known  a  woman'a  years — "FareweU.    You  are 
free,     I  will  give  j'ou  a  brother's  love  and  claim 
nothing  in  return.    I  will  give  back  all,  and  go 
forth  pennileas  into  the  battle  of  life." 

Bnt  the  General  again  interrupted  them,  speak- 
ing impatiently:  "What  are  yoa  waiting  for? 
Is  not  Ziliah  gettipg  ready  ?" 


S&wa.'i 


\-„ 


88 

Guy  scarcely  kmyt  what  ho  wat  doing ;  but, 
obeying  tbe  instinctii  of  liijt  pitv,  ho  bent  down 
and  whi»|)ered  to  Zillah,  "My  poor  child,  I  pity 
you,  and  iiynipathizo  with  vou  more  than  wordi 
can  tell.  It  ia  an  awfiil  thing  for  you.  But  can 
you  not  roiue  yoUftelf  ?  Perhapa  it  woald  calm 
your  father.     Ho  Is  getting  too  excited. "  V. ,  i  ' 

Zillah  ahhmk  awa^  as  thoagh  he  wore  polls- 
•ion,  and  Ony  at  this  resumed  his  former  place 
.    in  sadness  and  in  desperation,  with  no  olHer  idea 
than  to^wait  for  the  end.  \  / 

"ZiUah!  Zillah  I"  cried  the  General,  almost 
fiercely.  , 

At  this-Zillah  sprang  np,  aivl  rushed  out  of 
the  room.  She  hurried  up  stairs,  and  found 
the  ayah  In  her  dressing-room  with  Hilda.  In 
the  next  room  hor  white  silk  was  laid  out,  her 
wreath  and  veil  beside  it. 

"  Here'*  my  jewel  come  to  be  dressed  in  her 
wedding  Jress,''  said  the  ayah,  joyously. 
/»  "Be  quiet  I  "cried  Zillah,  passionately.  "Don't 
dare  to  say  any  thing  like  that  to  me ;  and  you 
may  put  all  that  trash  away,  for  I'm  not  going 
to  be  married  at  all.  I  can  t  do  it,  and  I  won't. 
I  hate  him!  I  hate  himt  I  hate  him!  I  hate 
him !" 

,  These  words  she  tiissed  out  with  the  renom 
"of  a  serpent.  Her  attendants  tried  remonstrance, 
but  in  vain.  HHda  pointed  out  to  her  the  hand- 
some dress,  but  with  no  greater  success.  Vi^in- 
ly  they  tried  to  plead,  to  coax,  and  to  penoa'db. 
All  this  only  seemed  to  strengthen  her  determ- 
ination. At  last  she  threw  herself  upon  the 
floor,  like  a  passionate  child,  in  a  paroxysm  of 
rage  and  grief. 

The  unwonted  self-control  which  for  the  last 
few  days  she  had  imposed  upon  herself  now  told 
upon  her  in  the  violence  of*the  reaction  which 
had  set  in.  When  once  she  hod  allowed  the 
barriers  to  be  broken  down,  all  61se  gave  way  to 
the  onset  of  passion;  and  the  presence  and  re- 
monstrances of  the  ayah  and  Hilda  only  made  it 
'Vprse.  She  foigot  utterly  her  father's  condi- 
tion ;  she  showed  herself  now  as  selfish  in  her 
passion  as  he  had  shown  himself  in  his  delirium., 
Nothing  could  be  done  to  stop  her.  Tile  others, 
femlliar  with  these  outbreaks,  retired  to  the  ad- 
joining room  and  waited. 

Meani^ile  the  others  were  waiting  also  in  the 
room  below.,  Xhe  doctor  was  there,  and  sat  by 
his  patient,  exerting  all  his  art  to  soothe  hijn 
and  curb  his  eagerness.  The  General  refused 
some  medicine  which  he  offered,  and  declared 
with  passion  that  he  would  take  nothing  what- 
ever till  the  wedling  was  over.  To  have  used 
force  would  have  been  fotal ;  and  so  the  doctor 
had  to  humor  his  patient.  The  family  solicitor 
was  there  with  the  marriage  settlements,  which 
had  been  prepared  in  great  haste.  Guy  and  the 
clergyntan  sat  apart  in  thonghtful  silence. 

Half  an  hour  passed,  and  Zillah  did  not  ap- 
pear. On  the  General's  asking  for  her  the  cler- 
gyman hazarded  a  remark  intended  to  be  pleas- 
ant, about  ladies  on  such  occasions  needing  some 
time  to  adorn  themselves^a  little  out  of  place 


Bttder  the  drcnmstances,  but  it  fortunat^y  M 
in  with  the  sick  man's  humor,  ai 


and  satisfied  him 


THE  CKYPTt)GB4M. 

but  she,  fou^d^  the  door  bolted,  and  amidst  Ifie 
outcry  and  confusion  iitth^  room  could  only  dis- 
tinguish that  Miss  I'onieruy  was  not  ready.  This 
message  she  delivered  without  eutwing  into  par- 
ticulara,  •  .  ^ 

•An  hour  passed,  and  another  messenger  went, 
with  the  same  result.  It  then  became  imixwNi- 
ble  to  soothe  the  General  any  longer.  Guy  also 
grew,  impatient,  for  he  had  to  leivo  by  that 
Miening's  train;  and  if  the  thing  had  *o  lie  it 
nmst  be  done  soon.  He  began  to  fa^pe  that  it 
might  bepostpon^— tha^  Zillah  ftiight  not  corao  <" 
—and  then  he  would  have  to  leave  the  thing  un- 
finished. But  then  ho  thought  of  his  father's 
command,  and  the  General's  desire — of  his  own 
promise— ;of  the  fact  that  it  must  be  done— of 
the  danger  to  the  General  if  it  were  not  done. 
Between  these  conflicting  feelings— his  desire  to 
escape,  and  his  desire  to  fulfill  what  he  consid- 
ered  his  obligations — his  bruin  grew  confused, 
and  be  sat  there  impatient  for  the  end— to  see 
what  it  might  turn  out  to  be. 

Another  quarter  of  an  hour  passed.    The  Gen- 
eral's excitement  grew  worse,  and  was  deepening 
into  frenzy.    Dr.  Cowell  looked  mors  and<  more 
anxionsi  and  at  last,  shrewdly  suspecting  the 
cause  of  the  dehiy,/determined  himself  to  go  and 
take  it-in  hand.     He  accordingly  left  his  patient, 
and  was  just  crossing  the  room,  when  his  prog- 
reas  was  arrested  by  the  General's  springing  up 
with  a  kind  of  convulsive  start,  and  jumping  out 
of  beJjNJeclaring  wildly  and  incoherently  that 
something'  must  be  wrong,  and  that  he  himself 
would  go  otid  bHng  Zillah.    The  doctor  had  to 
turn  again  to  his  patient.     The  effort  was  « 
spasmodic  one,  and  the  General  was  soon  put- 
back  again  to  bed,  wjiere'he  lay  gi-oaning  and 
panting ;  while  the  doctor,  finding  that  he  could 
not  leave  him  $ven  for  an  instant,  looked  around 
focsome  Onie  to  send  in  his  place.     Who  could 
it  be  ?  -  Neither  the  lawyer  nor  tlie  clergyman 
seemed  suitable.     There  was  no  one  left  but 
Guv,  who  seemed  t9  the  doctor,  from  his  face 
and  manner,  to  be  capable  of  dealing  with  any 
difficulty.     So  he  called  Gny.to  him,  and  hur- 
riedly  whispered  to  him  the  state  of  thiflgs. 
,'    "  If  the  General  has  to  wait  anv  Ictoiger,  he 
will  die,"  said  the  doctor.     "  You'll  haVe  to  go 
and  bring  her.    You're  the  only  person.   .You 
must.     'Tell  her  that  her  father  has  already  had 
one  fit,  and  that  every  moment  destroys  his  hist 
chance  of  life.     She  must  either  decide  to  come 
at  once,  or  else  sacrifice  hiirk." 

He  then  ranj,the  bell,  and  ordered  the  servant 
to  lead  Captain  Molynenx  to  Miss  Pomeroy. 
Guv  was  thus  forced  to  be  an  actor  where  his 
highest  desire  Yfat  to  be  passive.  There  was  no 
alternative.  In  that  moment  all  his  future  was 
involved.  He  saw  it;  he  knew  it;  but  he  did 
not  shrink.  Honor  bound  him  to  this  marrioge, 
hateful  as  it  was.  The  other  actor  in  the  scene 
detested  it  as  much  as  he  did,  bnt  there  was  no 
help  for  it.  Could  he  dt  passive  and  let  the  Gen- 
oral  die?  The  ma^Hage,  after  all,  he  thought,, 
had  to  come  off;  it  was  terriblelto  have  it  now ; 
but  then  the  lastchauce  pfthe-QbwHffelife  was- 


for  the  moment. 

Three-quarters  of  an  hour  passed.  "  Surely 
she  must  be  ready  how,"  said  the  General,  who 
grew  more  extited  and  irritable  every  moment. 
A  messenger  was  thereupon  dispatched  for  her, 


dependent  upon  this  marriage.^  finiiat  could  ha 
do?  V 

What  ?  A  rapid  surrey  of  his  whole  sitnntion 
decided  him.  He  would  perform  what  he  con- 
sidered his  vow.  He  would  ,dp  his  part  toward 
saving  tbe  General's  life,  though  that  part  was 


;f 


or  bolted,  jind  ainidgt  Aa 
iiLl()9  room  could  onl/  diii- 
ucroy  wiu  not  ready.  This 
withaut  entering  into  par- 

i  another  menenger  went. 
It  then  became  imposHi- 
iral  any  longer.^  Guy  also 
lie  had  to  le^e  by  that 
if  the  thing  had  -to  be  it 
He  began  to  hppe  that  it 
:hii^  ZiUoh  ifnight  not  cumo  < 
lave  to  leave  the  thing  un- 
le  thought  of  hi«  futticr'g 
neral's  desire — of  his  own 
that  it  must  be  done — uf  ' 
leral  if  it  were  not  done, 
ing  feelings — his  desire  to 
to  fulfill  what  he  consid- 
his  bruin  grew  confused, 
tient  for  the  end— 'to  see  ' 
to  be. 

n  honr  passed.    The  Gen- 
worse,  and  was  deepening 
II  looked  morb  andi  more 
shrewdly  suspecting  the 
rmined  himself  to  go  and 
«ordingly  lefl  his  patient, 
he  room,  when  bis  prog- 
le  General's  springing  up 
ve  start,  and  jumping  out 
y  and  incoherently  that 
>ng,  and  that  he  himself 
lah.    The  doctor  had  to 
ent.     The  effort  was  « 
e  General  was  soon  put' 
ere  he  lay  groaning  and 
tor,  finding  that  he  could 
,n  instant,  looked  around 
I  his  place.     \Vhp  could 
iv;rer  nor  the  clergyman 
ro  was  no  one  left  but 
le  doctor,  fram  his  face 
ible  of  dealing  wtth  any 
I  Giiy.to  him,  and  hur- 
the  state  of  things, 
to  wait  anv  Icwiger,  he 
r.     •'  You'll  have  to  go 
the  only  person.    .You 
r  fother  has  already  had 
loment  destroys  his  lust 
St  either  decide  to  come 
hini." 

and  ordered  the  servant 
eax  to  Miss  Pomeroy. 
be  an  actor  where  his 
passive.  There  was  no 
iment  all  his  future  was 
le  knew  it ;  but  he  did 
id  him  to  this  marrioge, 
>ther  actor  in  the  scene 
9  did,  bat  there  was  no 
passive  and  let  the  Gen- 
1,  after  all,  he  thoughj^. 
terribleVo  have  it  now ; 
irtl  8  life  was 
riage.  '^  llfVhat  could  lie 


THE  CBYFTOGRAM. 


•0  hari.  He  was  calm,  therelbre,  and  self-pos- 
sessed, as  the  servant  entered  and  M  the  way  to 
Zillah'g  apartments.  The  servant  on  receiving 
the  order  grinned  in  spite  of  the  solemnity  of  the 
occasion."  He  h»d  a  pretty  clear  idea  of  the 
state  of  tl{iing»;  he  was  well  accustomed  to  what 
was  stylejj,  in  the  servants'  hall,  "Missy's  tauj- 
tniros;"  and  he  wondered  to  himself  how  Guy 
would  ever  manajk  her.  He  was  too  good  a 
servant,  ijowever,  to  let  his  feelings  be  seen,  and 
so  he  led  the  way  demurely,  and  knocking  at  Zil- 
lah's  doorii  announced : 
"Captmh  Molyneux." 

The  xlopr  was  at  once  opened  by  the  'ayah. 
At  that  instant  Zillah  sprang- to  her  feet  and 
looked  at  him  ih  a  fury  of  passion. 

"  Yout"  she  cried,  with  indescribable  malig- 
nancy. "You!  You  herei  How  dare  you 
come  here  ?  Go  down  stairs  this  instant  I  If  it 
is  my  money  you  wan(,  take  i(.all  and  begone. 
I  will  novy,  never,  never,  marry  you !" 

For  a  moment  Guv  was  ovefSome.  The  tount 
was  certainly  horrible.  He  turned  pale,  but 
soon  regained  his  self-poesession. 

" Miss  Pomerov,"said  he,  quietly,  yet  eomost- 
Ir,  "this  is  not  the  time  for  a  scene.     Your  fa- 
ther is'in  the  utmost  danger. '  He  has  waited  for 
an  hour  and  a  ouarter.     He  is  getting  worse  ev- 
ery moment.     He  made  oilb  attempt  to  get  out 
of  bed,  and  come  for  you  himself.     The  doctor 
ordered  me  to  come,'and  that  is  why  I  am  here." 
"I  don't  believe  you!  "screamed  Zillah.   "You 
are  trying  to  frighten  me." 
,      "  I  have!  nothing  t6  say,"  replied  Guy,  moum- 
I  fully.     "Your  father  is  rapidly  getting  into  n 
i  state  of  frenzy.    If  it  lasts  much  longer  he  will 
1  dia^'-T 

Guy's  words  penetrated  to  Zilbdi's  imhost  soul. 
rA  wild  fear  arose,  whi^li  in  a  moment  chased 
owny  the  fiiry  which  had  possessed  her.  Her 
J  face  changed.  She  struck  her  hands  against  her 
I  brow,  and  nttered  on  exclamation  of  terror. 
I  "Tell  him— tell  hiffi— I'm  coming.  Make 
I  haste,"  she  mooned.  "  lH  be  down  immediate- 
[  ly.    Oh,  make  haste !" 

She  hurri^  back,  and  Guv  went  down  stairs 
I  again,  where  he  waited  at  the  bottom  with  his 
I  soul  in  a  strange  tnmnit,  and  his  heart  on  fire; 
I  Why  was  it  thtt^  he  had  be^n  sold  for  all  this— 
I  he  and  thf^t  wretched  child? 
i    But  now  Zilkh  was  all  changed.    KoT4.she 
Iwo*  ns  excited  in  her  haste  to  go  down  stai^as 
^he  had  before  been  anxious  to  avoid  it     She 
tushed  back  to  the  bedroom  where  Hilda  wasi, 
who,  though  unseen,  had  heard  every  thing,  and, 
foreseeing  what  the  end  might  be,  was  now  get- 
long  things  ready, 

r  "  Be  qiyck,  HUda  1"  she  gasped.  '•  Papa  ia 
|dvingl  Oh,  be  quick— be  quick!  Let  me  save 
f  hint! ' 

She  literally  tore  off  the  dress  that  she  had  on, 
Olid  in  less  than  five  minutes  she  tn^  dressed. 
She  would  not  stop  for  Hilda  to  aritoge  her 
wreath,  and-wa*j3ijgiing  down  stairs  withdut  her 
veil,  when  the-ttyah  ran  afterjier  with  it  — % 

"You  are  leaving  your  luck,  Ifiisy  dorlingj" 

"  Ay— that  I  am,"  said  Zillah,  bitteriy. 

„«fc  "'?'2°u7JH.P"'  il**?'  Missy,"  pleaded  the 
*y«h-     "  S^lb  Jw*  talked  so  much  about  it" 

Zillah  stopped.  The  ayah  threw  it  over  het. 
•no  enveloped  her  in  iu  soft  foUs. 


89 


It  was  your  mother'!  veil.  Missy,"  she  add- 
ed. "Give  me  a  kiss  for  her  sake  before  too 
go." 

Zillah  flung  her  arms  around  the  6ld  woman's 
neck. 

"  Hush,  bush !"  she^said.  "  Do  not  inake  me 
give  woy  again,  or  I  can  never  do  it." 

At  tho  foot  of  the  stairs  Guy  was  waiting,  and 
they  entered  the  room  solemnly  together— these 
two  victims— each  summoning  up  all  that  Honor 
ond  Duty  might  supply  to  assist  in  what  each 
felt  to  be  a  sacrifice  of  ajl  Ufe  and  happiness. 
But  to  Zillah  the  sacrifice  was  worse,  the  task 
was  harder,  ond^  the  ordeol  more  dreadful.  For 
it  was  her.father,  not  Guy's,  who  ky  there,  with 
a  face  that  already  seemed  to  have  the  touch  of 
death ;  it  was  she  whrf  felt  to  its  fullest  extent 
the  ghas.tlinejs  of'this  hideous  mockery. 

But  the  General,  whose  eyes  wore  turned  ea- 
gerly toward  the  door,  found  in  this  scene  no- 
thing but  joy.     In  his  fi-en/.y  he  regarded  them 
as  lilfssed  ond  happy,  and  felt  this  to  be  the  full 
liiation  of  bis  highest  hopes. 
rAlh ;"  he  said,  with  n  long  gasp;  "ftlire  she 
Alast     Let  us  begin  at  once."  v 

jnhe  little  group  formed  itself  around  the 
|iihe  ayah  and  llilda  being  present  in  the 
i^l^und. 

oTow  voice  the  clergjman  began  the  mnr- 
I  service.     Far  more  solemn  and  impressive 
did  it  sound  now  than  when  heard  under  circum- 
stnijces  of  gayety  and  splendor ;  and  as  the  words 
sankinto  Guy's  soul,  he  reproached  himself  more    1 
thi^t|«ver  for  never  having  considered  tho  mean-.-. 
ing  bt  the  act  to  which  he  hod  so  thoughtlessly  ; 
pledged  himself.  '  % 

The  General  had  now  grown  calm.     He  hyM 
perfectly   motionless,    gazing   wistfully   at   his 
daughter's  face.     So  quiet  was  he,  and  so  fixed  '  ' 
was  his  gaze,  that  they  thought  he  hod  sunk  into 
some  abstracted  fit ;   but  when  the  clergyman,     :. 
■with  sqme  hesitation,  asked  the  question, 

"Who  giveth  this  woman  to  be  married  to 
this  man ?'  the  General  instantly  responded,  in 
a  firm  voice,  "I  do."  Then  reaching  forth,  he  ■/■' 
took  Zilloh's  hond,  and  instead  of  giving  it  to 
the  clergj-mon,  he  himself  placed  it  within  Guy's, 
and  for  a  moment  held  both  bonds  in  his,  while 
he  seemed  to  be  praying  for  o  blessing  to  rest  on 
their  union. 

The  ^ice  proceeded.  Solemnly  the  priest 
nttered  fll|t^waming:  "Those  whom  God  hath 
joined  together,  let  no  man  put  afiunder."  Sol. 
emnly,  too,  he  pronounced  the  benediction — 
"  May  ye  so  live  together  in  this  life  that  in  the 
world  to  come  ye  shall  have  life  everlasting."         '   • 

And  so,  for  better  or  wprse,  6ny  Molynenx 
and  Zillah  Pomeroy  rose  up — man  and  wife  I 
■  After  the  marriage  ceremony  was  ,over  the 
cleri^man  administered  the  Holy  Communion — 
all  ^o  were  present  partaking  with  the  Gdnend ; 
and  solemn  indeed  was  the  thought  that  filled  the 
mind  of  each,  t\0  ere  long,  perhaps,  one  of  their 
number  imt^t  be— not  fignratively,  but  literally 

igvw  HUuioreuangeis^mra'initliex 
pany  of  heaven."  j 


igZj.,  4* 


Afterj  this  was  all  over  the  doctor  gave  the 
Generol'a  soothing  draught  He  was  quite  calni 
now ;  he  took  it  without  objection  ;  and  it  had 
the  effect  of  throwing  him  soon  into  a  quiet  sleep. 

The  clergyman  and  the  lawyer  now  departed ; 
and  the  doctor,  motioning  to  Gay  and^illah  to 


It 


leave  the  room,  took  hii  ptoce.  with  an  wixt 
wwnteimnce.iiy^tlie^tBMril'llisailde.  Thehoa- 
band  and  wife  went  into  the  adjoining  room,  from 
which  they  conld  hour  the  deep  breathing  of  the 
riclc  man. 

It  waa  an  awkward  moment.  Ony  had  to  de- 
part in  a  short  time.  That  anllen  itolid  girl  who 
now  lat  before  him,  black  and  i^oomy  as  a  tbua- 


pmtipa  tartmr.  He  did  not  know  exactly  how 
to  treat  her ;  whether  with  indiffisrence  as  a  will- 
fill  ch  Id,  or  compassionate  attention  as  one  deep, 
ly  afflicted.  On  the  whole  he  felt  deeply  for  hor, 
in  mita  of  his  own  forebodings  of  his  f&ture ;  and 
so  he  followed  the  more  generons  dictates  of  his 
heart  Her  utter  loneliness,  and  the  tbonght  that 


«v^' 


^'1       *     .  Ul  .Ail 


'.i^i^'*^ 


THE  CRYPTOGRAM. 


her  father  might  soon  be  taken  away,  touched 
him  deeply ;  and  this  feeling  was  evident  in  his 
whole  manner  as  ha  spoke. 

"Zillah/'said  he,  "oar  regiment  sails  for  In- 
4ia  several  days  sooner  than  I  first  expect^],  and 
it  is  necessary  for  me  to  leave  in  a  short  time. 
You,  of  course,  are  to  remain  with  your  father, 
and  I  hope  that  he  may  soon  be  restored  to  you. 
Lot  me  assure  you  that  this  whole  scene  has  been, 
under  the  circumstances,  most  painful,  for  your 
sake,  for  I  have  felt  keenly  that  I  was  the  inno- 
cent cause  of  great  sorrow  to  you. " 

He  spoke  to  her  calmly,  and  as  a  father  would 
to  a  child,  and  at  the  same  time  reached  out  his 
hand  to  take  hers.  She  snatched  it  away  quickly. 
"Coptain  Molyneux,"  said  she,  coldly,  'T 
married  you  solely  to  please  my.  father,  and  h^ 
cause  he  was  not  in  a  state  to  have  his  wishes 
opposed.  It  was  a  sacrifice  ot  myself,  and  a 
bitter  one.  As  to  you,  I  put  no  trust  in  you,  and 
take  no  interest  whatever  in  your , plans.  But 
there  is  one  thi«g  which  I  wish*  you  to  tell  me. 
What  did  papa  mean  by  saying  to  the  doctor, 
that  if  I  did  not  marry  you  I  should  lose  one- 
holf  of  my  fortune?" 

Ziikh's  manner  at  once  chilled  all  the  warm 
feelings  of  pity  and  generosity  which  Guy  had 
begun  to  feel.  Her  question  also  was  an  embar- 
rassing one.  He  hod  hoped  that  the  explanation 
might  come  later,  and  from  his  father.  It  was 
an  awkward'bne  for  hfm  to  make.  But  ZiUah 
was  looking  at  him  impatiently. 
j  "Surely,"  she  continued  in  a  stem  voice  as 
Ishe  noticed  his  hesitation,  "that  is  a  question 
[which  I  have  a  right  to  ask." 

"Of  course,"  said  Guy,  hastily.  "I  will  tell 
,on.  It  was^ecause  more  than  half  your  for- 
tune was  taken  to  pay  off  the  debt  on  Chetwynde 
Castle." 
A  deep,  angry,  crimson  flush  passed  over  Zil- 
ih's  face. 

"So  that  is  the  reason  why  I  have  been  sold ?" 
ihe  cried,  impetuously.  "Well,  Sir,  your  jna- 
loeuvring  has  succeeded  noblv.  Let  me  Icon- 
[ratukte  you.  You  have  taken  in  a  guilUess 
lid  man,  and  a  young  girl." 

Guy  looked  at  her  for  a  moment  in  fierce  <n^ 
lignation.  But  with  a  groat  effort  he  subdu^ 
It,  and  answered,  as  calmlv  as  possible : 
"You  do  not  know  either  my  fether  6r  my- 
slf,  or  you  would  be  convinced  that  sncii  lan- 
[uage  could  not  apply  to  either  of  ns.  The  pro- 
■osal  originaUy  emanated  entirely  fiwm  General 
'omeroy." 

"Ah?"  said  Zilla,  fiercely.     "But  you  were 

ise  enough  to  take  advantage  of  his  geneixMity 

id  his  love  for  his  old  friend.    Oh  I"  she  cried 

luwting  mto  tears,  "  that  is  what  I  feel,  that  he 

louU  sacrifice  me,  who  toved  him  MTfor  your 

«kos.    I  honestly  beheved  once  that  it  was  his 

fanxiety  to  find  me  a  protector  "  * 

Guys  face  had  grown  venr  pale. 
„.  -^"J  •» ''  "^w."  he  said,  in  a  rolce  which4 
was  deep  and  tremiUons  «h>m  his  strong  effnrT.r 


fS:iSuaf„tS..'J!^-'oar.munrH:S! 

n«lf^'"'""!,'':T"'""  •"'•^  Zillah,  her  face 

flushed,  nnd  with  accents  of  inde«ribable  scorn. 

'Good  Heavens !     What  are  yo«  if  yon  aw  n« 

'L'JZr''^'    Oh.howlCeilTo;i 


Guy  looked  at  her,  and  for  a  moment  was  on  the 
point  of  answering  her  in  the  same  fashion,  and 
pouring  out  all  his  scorn  and;  contempt.  But 
again  he  restrained  himself.  ^ 

"  You  are  excited,"  he  said,  co^y.  "One  of 
these  days  you  will  find  out  your  mistake.  Yo« 
will  learn,  as  you  grow  older,  that  the  name  of 
Chetwynde  can  not  be  coupled  with  charges  like 
these.  In  the  mean  time  allow  me  to  advise  you 
not  to  be  quite  so  free  in  your  language  when  you 
are  addressing  honorable  gentlemen ;  and  to  sug- 
gest that  your  father,  who  loved  you  better  than 
any  one  in  the  worid,  may  possibly  have  had  some 
cause  for  the  confidence  which  he  felt  in  us." 

There  was  a  coolness  in  Guy's  tone  which 
showed  that  he  did  not  think  it  iJorth  while  to 
be  angi-y  with  her,  or  to  resent  her  insults.  But 
ZiUah  did  not  notice  this.  She  went  on  ns  before ; 
"There  is  one  thing  which  I  will  nevdf  for- 
give." 

"Indeed?  Well,  your  forgiveness  is  so  very 
important  that  I  should  like  to  know  what  it  is 
that  prevents  me  from  gaining  it." 

"The  way  in  which  I  have  been  deceived!" 
burst  forth  Zillah,  fiercely.  "  If  papa  hod  wished 
to  give  you  half  of  his  money,  or  all  of  it,  I  should- 
not  have  cared  a  bit.  I  do  not  care  for  that  at 
all.  But  why  did  nobody  tell  me  the  truth? 
Why  was  I  told  that  it  was  out  of  regard  to  im 
that  this  horror,  this  frightful  mockery  of  mar- 
riage, was  forced  upon  me,  while  my  heart  was 
breaking  with  anxiety  about  my  father ;  when  to 
you  I  was  only  a  necessary  evil,  without  which 
you  could  not  hope  to  get  my  father's  money  j 
and  the  only  good  I  can  possibly  have  is  the  fu- 
ture privilege  of  living  in  a  place  whose  very  name 
I  loathe,  with  the  man  who  has  cheated  me,  and 
whoin  all  my  life  I  shall  hate  and  abhor?  Now 
go!  and  I  pray  God  I  may  never  see  you 
again."  ' 

With  these  words,  and  without  waiting  for  k 
reply,  she  left  the  room,  leaving  Guy  in  a  state 
of  mind  by  no  means  enviable. 

He  stood  staring  after  her.  "  And  that  thing 
IS  mine  for  life!"  he  thought;  "that  she-devil! 
utterly  destitute  of  sense  and  of  reason !  Ob, 
Chetwynde,  Chetwynde !  you  have  cost  me  dear. 
See  you  again,  my  fiend  of  a  wife !  I  hope  not 
No,  never  while  I  live.  Some  of  these  days  I'll  .1 
give  you  back  your  sixty  thousand  with  interest' 
And  you,  why  you  may  go  to  the  devil  forever  1" 

Half  an  hour  afterward  Guy  was  seated  in  the 
dog-cart  bowling  to  the  station  as  fiut  aa  two 
thorough-breds  could  take  him ;  every  moment  i 
congratulating  himself  on  the  increasing  distance 
which  was  separating  him  from  his  bride  of  an 
hour. 

The  doctor  watched  all  that  night  On  the 
following  morning  the  General  wak  senseless. 
On  the  next  day  he  died.  •> 


-ClIATIim^JHF 


A   nttyr  home. 

Dbarlt  fiad  Zillah  paid  for  that  fVenry  of  her 
dying  father;  and  the  consciousness  that  her 
whole  life  was  now  made  over  irrevocably  to  an- 
other, brought  to  her  n  pang  so  acute' that  it 
counterbalanced  the  grief  which  she  felt  for  her 
father's  death.    Fierce  anger  and  bitter  indtf. 


,  }siM 


48 


'the  cryptogram. 


nation  struggled  with  the  sorrow  of  bereavement, 
and  sometimes,  in  her  blind  rage,  she  even  went 
'  so  far  OS  to  reproach  her  father's  memory.  Uu 
all  who  had  taken  part  in  that-  fateful  ceremony 
she  looked  with  vengeful  feelings.  She  thought, 
and  there  was  reason  in  the  bought,  that  they 
might  have  satisfied  his  mind  without  binding 
her.  They,  could  have  humored  his  delirium 
without  forfeiting  her  liberty.  They  could  have 
had  a  mock  priest,  who  might  have  read  a  serv- 
ice which  would  have  had  no  anthorifV,  and  im- 
posed vows  which  would  not  be  binding.  On 
Guy  she  looked  with  the  deepest  scorn,  for  she 
believed  that  h»  was  the  chief  offender,  and  that 
if  he  had  been  a  man  of  honor  he  might  have 
found  many  ways  to  avoid  this  thing.  Possibly 
Gny  as  he  drove  off  was  thinking  the  same,  and 
cursing  his  dull  wit  for  not  doing  something  to 
delay  the  ceremony  or  moke  it  void.  But  to 
botli  it  was  now  too  late. 

The  General's  death  took  place  too  soon  for 
Zillah.  Had  he  lived  she  might  have  been  spared 
long  sorrows.  Had  it  not  been  for  this,  and  his 
frantic  haste  in  forcing  on  a  marriage,  her  early 
betrothal  might  have  had  different  results.  Guy 
would  have  gone  to  India.  He  would  have  re- 
mained there  for  years,  and  then  have  come 
home.  On  his  return  he  might  possibly  have 
won  her  love,  and  then  they  could  liave  settled 
down  harmoniously  in  the  usnal  fashion.  But 
now  she  found  herself  thrust  upon  him,  and  the 
rety  thought  of  him  was  a  horror.  JS^ever  conld 
the  remembrance  of  that  hideous  mockery  at  the 
bedside  of  one  so  dear,  who  was  passing  away 
forever,  leave  her  mind.  All  the  solemnities  of 
death  had  been  outraged,  and  all  her  menxpries 
of  the  dying  hours  of  her  best  friend  were  for- 
ever ossociated  with  bitterness  and  shame. 

For  some  tune  after  her  father's  death  she 
gave  herself  up  to  the  motions  of  her  wild  and 
ungovernable  temper.  Alternations  of  savage 
ttirj  and  mute  despair  succeeded  to  one  another. 
To  one  like  her  thejs  was  no  relief  from  either 
mood;  and,  in  addition  to  this,  there  was  the 
prospect  of  the  arrival  of  Lord  Chetwynde.  The 
thought  of  this  filled  her  with  such  a  passion  of 
anger  that  she  began  to  meditate  flight.  She 
mentioned  this  to  Hilda,  with  the  idea  that  of 
course  Hilda  would  go  with  her. 

Hilda  listened  in  her  usual  quiet  war,  and  with 
a  great  appearance  of  sympathy.  Slie  assented 
to  it,  and  quite  appreciated  Zillah's  position. 
But  she  suggested  that  it  might  bo  difficult  to 
carry  out  such  a  plan  without  money. 

"Money!"  said  Zillah,  in  astonishment 
"Why,  have  1  not  plenty  of  money?  AQ  is 
mine  now  surely." 

"  Very  likely,"  said  HUda,  coolly ;  "  but  how 
do  yon  propose  to  get  it '  Yon  know  the  lawyer 
has  all  the  papers,  and  every  thing  else  under 
lock  and  key  till  Lord  Chetwynde  comes,  and 
the  will  is  read;  besides,  dear,"  she  added  with 
a  soft  smile,  "you  forget  that  a  married  woman 
can  not  possess  property.  Our  charming  En- 
■■»h  law  gives  her  no  righta.  iA#that  yon  nora- 
inallv  possess  in  reality  belongTto  your  hus- 
band." 

At  this  hated  word  "husband,"  Zillah's  eyes 
flashed.  She  clenched  her  hands,  and  ground 
her  teeth  in  rage. 

"Be  quiet!"  she  cried,  in  a  voice  which  was 
■carce  audible  from  paation.    "  Can  you  not  let 


me  forget  my  shame  and  disgrace  for  one  mo- 
ment ?    Why  must  you  thrust  it  in  my  face  ?"' 

Hilda's  little  suggestion  thus  brought  full  be- 
fore Zillah's  mind  one  galling  yqt  undeniable 
truth,  which  showed  her  an  insurmountable  ob- 
stacle in  the  way  of  her  plan.  To  one  utterly 
unaccustomed  to  control  of  any  kind,  the  thought 
i^ded  ttwh  rage,  and  she  now  sought  refuge  in 
thinking  how  she  could  best  encounter  her  new 
enemy,  Lord  Chetwynde,  and  what  she  might 
say  to  show  how  she  scorned  him  and  his  son. 
She  succeeded  in  arranging  a  very  promising 
plan  of  action,  and  mfide  up  many  very  bitter 
and  insulting  speeches,  out  of  which  she  selected 
one  which  seemed  to  be  the  most  cutting,  gall- 
ing, and  insulting  which  she  could  think  of.  It 
was  v<iry^nearly  the  same  language  which  Ae 
had  used  to  Guy,  and  the  same  taunts  were  re- 
peated in  a  somewhat  more  pointed  manner. 

At  length  Lord  Chetwynde  arrived,  and,  Zil- 
lah, after  refusing  to  see  him  for  two  days,  went 
down.  She  enteied  the  drawing-room,  her  heait 
on  fire,  and  her  brain  seething  with  bitter  words, 
and  looked  up  to  see  her  enemy.  That  enemy, 
however,  was  an  old  man  whose  sight  was  too 
dim  to  see  the  malignant  glance  of  her  dafk 
eyes,  and  the  fierce  passion  of  her  face.  Know- 
ing that  she  was  coming,  he  was  awaiting  her, 
and  Zillah  on  looking  up  saw  him.  That  liist 
sight  at  once  quelled  her  fury.  She  saw  a  nolilo 
and  refined  face,  whereon  there  was  an  expression 
of  tenderest  sympathy.  Before  fbe  could  re- 
cover froih  the  shock  which  the  si^t  of  sucli  a 
face  had  given  to  her  passion  he  had  odvani'ud 
rapidly  toward  her,  took  her  in  his  arms,  aiij 
kissed  her  tenderly. 

"My  poor  child,"  he  said,  in  a  voice  of  in- 
describable sweetness—"  my  poor  orphan  child, 
I  can  not  tell  how  I  feel  for  you ;  but  you  belong 
to  me  now.     I  will  try  to  be  another  father." 

The  tones  of  his  voice  were  so  full  of  affection 
that  Zillah,  who  was  always  sensitive  to  the  pow- 
er of  love  and  kindness,  was  instantly  softened 
and  subdued.  Before  the  touch  of  that  kiss  of 
love  and  those  words  of  tenderness  every  emo- 
tion of  anger  fled  away ;  her  passion  subsided ; 
she  forgot  all  her  vengeance,  and,  taking  his  liniid 
in  both  of  hen,  she  burst  into  tears. 

The  Earl  gently  led  her  to  a  seat  In  a  low 
voioo  full  of  the  same  tender  affection  he  began 
to  talk  of  her  father,  of  their  oM  friendship  in 
the  long-vanished  youth,  of  her  father's  noble 
nature,  and  self-sacrificing  character;  till  his 
fond  eulogies  of  his  dead  friend  awakened  in 
Zillah,  even  amidst  her  grief  for  the  dead,  a  tliuu- 
Mnd  reminiscences  of  his  character  when  alive, 
aiid  she  began  to  feel  that  one  who  so  knew  and 
loved  her  father  must  himself  have  been  most 
worthy  to  be  her  tether's  friend. 

It  waa  thus  that  her  first  interview  with  the 
Earl  dispelled  her  vindictive  paMion.  At  once 
she  began  to  look  upon  him  as  tlie  one  who  was 
best  adapted  to  fill  her  father's  phice,  if  that 
place  could  ever  be  filled.  ITte  more  she  mw 
of  hini,  III*  nifire^wr  inii*buin  Bflisetion  <brhini 
strengthened,  and  during  the  week  which  he 
spent  at  Poiaero«  Court  she  had  become  so 
greatly  changed  that  she  looked  back  to  her  old 
feelings  of  hate  with  monmfiil  wonder. 

In  due  time  the  General's  will  waa  read.  It 
was  venr  iim|de;  Thirty  thousand  pounds  were 
left  to  Zillah.    To  Hilda  three  thousand  poundi 


i. 


<*ii% .  1 


e  and  disgrace  for  one  mo- 
jron  thrust  it  in  my  face  ?' 
estion  thus  brought  full  be- 
one  galling  yqt  undeniable 
i  her  an  insurmountable  ob- 
'  her  plan.     To  one  utterly 
trol  of  any  kind,  the  thought 
d  she  now  sought  refuge  in 
iJd  best  encounter  her  new 
ynde,  and  what  she  miglit 
)  Bconied  him  and  his  son. 
rranging  a  very  promising 
mfide  up  many  very  bitter 
H,  Out  of  which  she  selected 
>/  be  the  most  cutting,  gall- 
lich  she  could  think  of.     It 
same  language  which  ^e 
d  the  same  taunts  were  re- 
t  more  pointed  manner, 
hetwynde  firrived,  and^Zil- 
see  him  for  two  days,  went 
:he  drawing-room,  her  heart 
seething  with  bitter  words, 
her  enemy.     That  enemy, 
man  whose  sight  was  too 
ignant  glance  of  her  dafi; 
nssion  of  her  face.     Knbw- 
ling,  he  was  awaiting  her, 
J  up  saw  him.    That  fiiHt 
her  fury.     She  saw  a  nolilo 
eon  there  was  an  elsprcssiun 
ly.    Before  fbe  could  ic- 
Vrhich  the  sigdt  of  such  a 
r  passion  he  had  advanced 
took  her  in  his  arms,  and 

he  said,  in  a  Toice  of  in- 
— "my  poor  orphan  child, 
sel  for  you ;  but  you  belong 
y  to  be  another  father." 
ice  were  so  full  of  affection 
ilways  sensitive  to  the  pow. 
ess,  was  instantly  sofiencd 
e  the  touch  of  that  kiss  of 
of  tenderness  every  emo- 
ay ;  her  passion  subsided ; 
eance,  and,  taking  his  hand 
iirst  into  tears. 
1  her  to  a  seat  In  a  low 
tender  affection  he  began 
of  their  oM  friendship  in 
ith,  of  her  father's  nulile 
ificing  character;  till  his 
dead  friend  awakened  in 
r  grief  for  the  dead,  a  tliou- 
'  his  character  when  alive, 
that  one  who  so  knew  and 
t  himself  have  been  most 
ir's  friend. 

!r  first  interview  with  the 
dictive  passion.  At  once 
n  him  as  the  one  who  wo* 
ler  father's  place,  if  that 
Ued.  The  more  the  mw 
ww^iNiiii  ftuoisiiun ityr^'hiiiY 
ring  the  week  which  he 
)urt  she  had  become  so 
he  looked  back  to  her  old 
loamflil  wonder, 
nerol'a  will  was  read.  It 
rty  thousand  pounds  were 
dit  thraa  thousand  poundi 


THE  CRYPTOGRAM. 


were  left  as  a  tribate  of  affection  to  one  who  had 
been  to  him,  as  be  said,  "like  a  daughter." 
Hilda  he  recommended  most  earnestly  to  die 
care  and  affection  of  Lord  Chetwynde,  and  de- 
sired that  she  and  Zillah  should  never  be  sepa- 
rated unless  thejr  themsolves  desired  it.  To  that 
last  request  of  his  dying  fHend  Lord  Chetwynde 
proved  fidthfol.  He  addressed  Hilda  with  kind- 
ness and  affection,  expressed  sympathy  with  her 
in  the  loss  of  her  bencfitctor,  and  promised  to  do 
all  in  his  power  to  make  good  tlie  loss  which  she 
had  suffered  in  his  death.  She  and  Zillah,  he 
told  her,  might  live  as  sisters  in  Chetwynde  Cas- 
tle. Perhaps  the  time  might  come  when  %eir ' 
grief  would  be  alleviated,  and  then  they  would 
both  learn  to  look  upon  him  with  something  of 
that  affection  which  they  had  felt  for  Genend 
Poroeroy. 

When  Hilda  and  Zillah  went  with  the  Earl  to 
Chetwynde  Castle  there  was  one  other  who  was 
invited  there,  and  who  afterward  followed.  This 
was  Gualtier.  Hilda  had  tecommended  him.; 
and  08  the  Earl  was  very  anxious  that  Zillah 
should  not  grow  up  to  womanhood  without  further 
education,  he  caught  at  the  idea  which  H^a  had 
thrown  out.  So  before  leaving  he  sought  out 
Gualtier,  9nd  proposed  that  he  should  continue 
his  instructions  at  Chetwynde.^ 

"You  can  live  very  well  in  the  village,"  said 
the  Eari.    ' '  There  are  families  there  with  whom 
you  can  lodge  comfortably.     Mrs.  Molyneux  is 
acquainted  with  you  and  your  style  of  teaching, 
^and  therefore  I  would  prefer  you  to  any  other." 
Gnakier  bowed  so  low  that  the  flash  of  pleas- 
ire  which  came  over  his  sallow  face,  and  his 
imile  of  ill-concealed  triumph,  could  not  be  seen. 
I 'You  are  too  kind,  my  lord,"  he  said,  obse- 
jnionsly.     "  I  have  always  done  my  best  in  my 
Instructions,  and  will  hombly  endeaTor  to  do  so 
'"  the  future." 

^  So  Gualtier  followed  them,  and  arrived  at 
'hetwynde  a  short  time  after  them,  bearing  with 
lim  his  power,  or  pel-haps  his  fote,  to  influence 
lillah's  fortunes  and  Aitnre. 

Chetwynde  Castle  had  experienced  some 
(hanges  during  these  years.  The  old  butler  had 
'Ben  gathered  to  his  fathers,  but  Mrs.  Hart  still 
imained.  The  Castle  itself  and  the  grounds 
lad  changed  wonderfully  for  the  better.  It  had 
"8t  that  air  of  neglect,  decay,  and  roln  which 
id  formerly  been  its  chief  characteristic.  It 
las  no  longer  poverty-stricken.  It  arose,  with 
antique  towers  and  venerable  ivy-grown  walls, 
hibiting  in  its  ontlfaie  all  that  age  possesses  of 
.nity,  withent  any  otthe  meanness  of  neglect, 
seemed  like  one  of  the  noblest  remains  which 
igland  possessed  of/the  monnmentt  of  feudal 
los.  The  first  sight  of  it  elicited  a  crv  of  ad- 
iiration  from  JOIIah;  and  she  found 'not  the 
■"'  »'.>'»  attractions  in  the  fleure  of  the  old 
irl— himself  a  monument  of  the  past— whose 
Igure,  as  he  stood  on  the  stq«  to  welcome  them, 
rormed  a  foreground  which  an  artist  woold  have 
loved  to  portn^r. 


-Arannd_  the  uunie  gn  haTtBiiniiar  "What 
liaa  once  been  little  better  than  a  wilderness  was 
■now  a  wide  and  well-kept  park.  The  roae  pleas- 
Inunce  had  been  restored  to  iu  pristine  glory.  The 
llawns  were  smooth-slfaven  and  glowing  In  their 
Irich  emerald-green.  The  lakes  and  ponds  were 
■no  Irngor  overgrown  with  dank  rushes ;  but  had 
|beon  iwhiimeU  from  bting  little  better  than 


marshes  into  bright  expanses  of  clear  water, 
where  fish  swam  and  swq^s  lored  to  sport  Long 
avenues  and  cool,  shadowrwalka  wound  far  away 
through  the  groves;  and  the  stately  oaks  and 
elms  around  the  Castle  had  lost  that  ghostly  and 
glooinyair  which  had  once  beenspread  about  them. 
Within  the  Castle  eveiy  thing  had  undergone 
n  corresponding  change.  There  was  no  attempt 
at  modem  splendor,  no  effort  to  rival  the  luxu- 
ries of  the  wealthier  lords  of  England.  The 
Earl  had  been  content  with  arrestiiig  the  prog, 
ress  of  decay,  and  adding  to  the  restoration  of 
the  interior  some  general  air  of  modem  comfort. 
Within,  the  scene  corresponded  finely  to  that 
which  lay |*itlioHt;  and.  the  medieval  character 
of  the  interior  made  it  attractive-  to  Zillohs  pe- 
culiar  taste.  '^ 

The  white-faced,  mysterious  -  looking  honsfl. 
keeper,  as  she  looked  sadly  and  wistfully  at  the 
new-comers,  and  asked  in  a  tremulous  voice 
which  wos  Guy's  wife,  formed  for  Zillah  a  strik- 
ing  incident  in  the  arrival     To  her  Zillah  at 
once  took  a  strong  liking,  and  Mrs.  Hart  seemed 
to  form  one  equally  strong  for  her.    From  the 
very  first  her  affection  for  Zilklutvas  very  mani- 
fest, and  as  the  days  passed  it  incieiised.     ^he 
seemed  to  cling  to  the  young  girl  as  though  her 
loving  nature  needed  something  on  wbddk  to  'ex* 
pend  its  love ;  as  though  there  was  a  maternal 
instinct  which  craved  to  be  satisfied,  and  sought 
such  satisfaction  in  her.    Zillah  returned  her  ten- 
der  affection  with  a  fondness  which>wonld  have 
satiiCed  the  most  exigeant  nature.    She  herself 
had  never  known  the  sweetness  of  a  mother's 
care,  and  it  seemed  as  though  she  had  suddenir 
found  out  all  this.    The  discovery  was  delight  fJl 
to  so  affectionate  a  nature  as  bm ;  and  her  en- 
thusiastic disposition  made  her  devotion  to  Mrs. 
Hart  more  marked.    She  often  wondered  to  her- 
self why  Mrs.  Hart  had  "  taken  soch  a  fimcy"  to 
her.    And  so  did  the  other  members  of  the  housB- 
?!n'    ^®*''P*  •'  ^^  because  she  was  the  wife 
of  Guy,  who  was  so  dear  to  the  heart  of  his  af- 
fectionate old  nurse.    Perhaps  it  was  something 
in  Zillah  herself  which  attracted  Mrs.  Hart,  and 
made  her  seek  in  her  oiio  who  might  fill  Guv'k 
place.  ' 

Time  passed  awoj)-,  and  Gualtier  arrived,  in 
occordance  with  the  Eari's  request  Ziliah  had 
supposed  that  she  was  now  treo  forever  from  all 
teachers  and  lessons,  and  it  was  with  some  dis- 
may  that  she  heard  of  Giultier's  arrival.  She 
Mid  nothing,  however,  but  prepared  to  go  throogh 
the  form  of  raking  lessons  in  music  and  drawing 
as  before.  She  had  begun  already  to  have  a  cer. 
tain  instinct  of  obedience  toward  the  Eari,  and 
felt  desirous  to  gratify  his  wishes.  But  whatever 
changes  of  feeling  she  had  experienced  toward 
her  new  guardian,  she  showed  no  change  of  man- 
ner toward  Gualtier.  To  her,  application  to  any 
thing  was  « thing  as  irksome  as  ever.  Perhaps 
her  fitful  efforts  to  advance  wero  more  frequent  • 
but  after  each  effort  she  used  invari^ly  to  n- 
lapse  into  idleneso  and  todium. 


Her  manner  troubled  Gualtier  as  little  as  ever. 
He  let  her  Aave  her  own  way  quite  in  the  old 
style.  Hilda,  as  before,  was  always  present  at 
these  inatructious ;  and  after  the  hour  devoted 
to  Zillah  had  expired  she  had  lessons  of  her  own. 
But  Gnidtier  remarked  that,  for  some  reason  or 
other,  a  great  change  had  come  over  her.  Her 
attitude  toward  him  had  relapsed  into  one  of  rat^ 


u 


\  TtfE  CRYPTOGRAM.       1 


cencemdreienne.  Thempiiw<AMto„,....^„T, 
nURMkamm^  w&IcK  d|e  bid  foh^ojy  inude 
Momed  now  to  be  completdy  fonottan  by  ber. 
Tho  ttaaltby  conTeriadoiu  in  which  they  tued  to 
indoige  were  not  renewed.  Her  manner  wm  inch 
that  he  did  not  venture  to  enter  npon  hi*  former 
footing.  True,  ZilhUi  wu  always  in  the  room 
sow,  and  did  not  leave  lo  often  aa  she  used  to 


alon^:  yet  on  these  ocoationi  Hilda  tbowed  no 
deeire'to  retam  to  that  intimacy  which  they  had 
once  known  in  their  private  interview*.    . 

This  nW  state  of  things  Onaltier  bore  meeldy 
and  pMien%.  He  waa  dther  too  respectful  or 
too  cunningly  make  any  ndynnces  hi^Helf.  I'er- 
haps  he  had  aitoep conviction  that  Hilda'*  chApged 


d^ithtli\\iJ!'A  !,MA*«. "t. 


''^^•^inif      .    ?ili'^ 


.*  M._«,ij.i  iJi^Jt*  -ilSs^tS'^-it  hMM^^ik 


...^»..»i  u^ , 


st-*',*--^' 


X 


THE  CRYPTOGRAM. 


45 


cukms  Hilda  iliowed  i 
intimaojr  which  they  had 
Ivate  interviewi.  . 
ings  Omltier  bore  meekly 
•  either  too  reipectful  or 
rndvnncethi^tielf.  ]'er- 
iction  that  Hilda'*  chapged 


manner  was  bat  temporanr,  and  that  the  purpose 
I  which  she  had  once  revealed  might  still  be  cher- 
I  ished  in  her  heart.  True,  the  General's  death 
had  changed  the  aspect  of  jjiflBirs ;  but  he  had  his 
I  reasons  for  believing  that  it  could  not  altogether 
:  destroy  her  plans.  He  had  a  deep  conviction 
1  that  the  time  woold  couie  one  day  when  he  would 
-know  what  was  on  her  mind.  He  was  patient. 
He  conid  wait.    So  the  time  went  on. 

As  the  time  passed  the  life  at  Chetwynde  Cas- 
tle became  more  and  more  grateful  to  Zillah. 
Naturally  affectionate,  her  heart  had  softened 
under  its  new  trials  and  experiences,  and  there 
I  was  full  chance  for  the  growth  of  tliose  kindly 
[and  generous  emotions  which,  after  all,  were 
I  i)nost  natural  and  congenial  to  her.     In  addition 
'  to  her  own  affection  for  the  Earl  and  for  Mrs. 
Hart,  she  found  a  constraint  on  her  here  which 
she  had  not  known  while  living  the  life  of  a  spoiled 
'  and  indulged  cliiid  in  her  own  former  home. 
The  sorrow  through  which  she  had  passed  had 
made  her  less  childish.    'The  Earl  began  in  re- 
ality to  seem  to  her  like  a  second  father,  one 
whom  she  could  both  r^ere  and  love. 

Very  soon  after  her  Ant  acquaintance  with 
him  ^he  found  out  that  by  no  possibility  could 
he  be  a  party  to  any  thing  dishonorable.    Find- 
ing thus  that  her  first  suspicions  were  ntterly 
unfounded,  she  began  to  think  it  possible  that 
her  miirriage,  though  odious  in  itself,  had  been 
i  planned  with  a  good  intent     To  think  Lord 
I  Chetwynde  mercenary  was  impossible.   His  char- 
acter was  so  high-toned,  and  even  so  pnnctilious 
in  its  regard  to  nice  points  of  honor,  diat  he  was 
not  even  worldly  wise.    With  the  mode  in  which 
[  her  marriage  had  been  finally  parried  dot  he  had 
I  clearly  nothing  whatever  to  do.     Of  all  her  sus- 
[picions,  her  anger  against  an  innocent  and  noble- 
I  minded  man,  and  her  treatment  of  him  on  his 
first  visit  to  Pomeroy  Court,  she  now  felt  thor- 
I  oaghly  ashamed,     bhe  longed  to  tell  him  all 
!  about-it— to  explain  why  it  was  that  she  had  felt 
I  so  and  done  so — and  watted  for  some  favorable 
opportunity  for  making  her  confession. 

At  length  an  opportunity  occttrrtsd.    One  day 
I  the  Earl  was  tipeaking  of  her  lather,  and  he  told 
I  Zillah  abont  his  return  to  England,  and  his  visit 
I  to  Chetwynde  Castle ;  and  Anally  told  how  the 
I  whole  arrangement  had  been  made  between  them 
iby  which  she  had  become  Guy's  wife.    He  spoke 
|with  sofch  deep  affet^on  aboul  General  Pome- 
~oy,  and  so  feelingly  of  his  intense  love 'for  his 
aughter,  that  at  last  Zillah  began  to  nndorstand 
erfectly  the  motives  of  the  actors  in  thU  matter. 
She  saw  that  in  the  whole 'afl'air,  ftom  first  to 
last,  there  was  nothing  bnt  the  fondest  thought 
of  herself,  and  that  the  very  monev  itself,  which 
fshe  used  to  think  hod  "purchased  her,"  was  in 
f  rome  sort  an  investment  ibr  her  own  benefit  in 
the  future.    As  the  whole  truth  flashed  sudden- 
ly into  Zilkh's  mind  she  saw  now  most  clearly 
not  only  how  deeply  she  had  wroAged  Lord  Chet- 
wynde,  but  also— *nd  now  for  the/Arst  time— 
Joyr  foully  she  hail  {n.nU«H  f^^y  ^y  ^^^(^.  mH- 
nant  accusations.     To  •  generena  nature  like 
Hers  the  shock  6f  this  discovery  was  intensely 
painful.    Tear*  started  to  her  eyes,  she  twined 
II  u?"'  ««'nnd  Lord  Chetwynde'*  neck,  and 
tola  him  the  whole  storvf  :not  excepttng  a  lingle 
word  of  all  that  she  had  said  to  Ony. 

'  ■  And  I  told  him,"  she  concluded,  "all  this— 
I  said  that  he  was  a  mean  fortnne-nnnter ;  and 


tliat  you  had  cheated  papa  out  of  his  money ; 
and  that  I  hated  him — and  oh  I  will  you  ever 
forgive  me?" 

This  was  altogether  a  new  and  unexpected 
disclosure  to  the  iiarl,  and  he  listened  to  ZilLili 
in  unfeigned  astonishment.  Guy  had  told  hiin 
nothing.^yond  the  fact  communicated  in  a  let- 
ter—that "whatever  bis  future  wife  migh„  l>o 
remarkable  for,  he  did  not  think  that  amiability 
was  her  forte."  But  all  this  revelatimi,  unex- 
pected though  it  was,  excited  no  feeling  of  re- 
sentment in  his  mind.  ■  ' 

"My  child,"  said  he,  tenderlvj  though  some- 
what sadly,  "you  certaihiy  behaved  very  ill. 
Of  course  j-on  could  not  know  us ;  but  surely 
you  might  have  trusted  your  father's  love  and 
wisdom.  But,  after  all,  there  were  a  good  many 
excuses  for  jrou,  iny  poor  little  girl— so  I  pity  you 
very  much  mdeed— it  was  a  terrible  ordeal  for 
one  so  young.  1  can  understand  more  than  you 
have  cared  to  tell  me." 

"Ah,  how  kind,  how  good  you  are!"  said- 
Zillah,  whovhad  anticipated  some  reproaches. 
"But  I'll  never  forgive  myself ^r  dioing  j-ou 
such  injustice." 

"  Oh,  as  to  that,"  said  Lord  Chetwynde ;  *'  if 
yoa  feel  that  you  have  done  any  injustice,  there 
IS  one  Way  that  I  can  tell  you  of  by  which  you 
can  make  full  reparation.  Will  you  try  to  mak^ 
it,  my  little  girl  ?" 
'  "  Whpt  do  you  want  me  to  do?"  asked' Zil- 
lah, hesitatingly,  not  Wishing  to  compromise  her- 
self. The  first  thought  which  she  bad  was  that 
he  was  going  to  ask  her  to  apologize  to  Guy — a 
thing  wliich  she  would  by  no  means  care  about 
doing,  even  in  her  most  penitent  mood.  Lord 
Chetwynde  was  ony  thing ;  but  Guy  was  quite 
another.  The  former  she  loved  dearly ;  bnt  to- 
ward the  Litter  she  still  felt  resentment— a  feel- 
ing which  was  perhaps  strengthened  and  sus- 
tained by  the  fact  that  every  one  at  Chetwynde 
looked  upon  her  as  a  being  who  had  been  placed 
upon  the  summit  of  human  happiness  by  tha 
mere  fact  of  being  Guy's  wife.  To  her  it  was 
intolerable  to  l>e  valued  merely  for  his  sak& 
Human  nature  is  apt-to  resent  in  any  case  hav- 
ing its  blessings  perpetually  thrust  in<its  face ; 
but  in  this  C4tse  what  they  called  a  Messing,  to 
her  seemed  the  blackest  horror  of  her  life ;  and 
Zillah 's  resentment  was  all  the  stronger;  while 
all  this  resentment  she  naturally  vented  on  the 
head  of  the  one  who  had  become  her  husband. 
She  could  manage  to  tolerate  his  praises  when 
sounded  by  the  Earl,  but  hardly  so  with  the 
others.  Mrs.  Hart  was  most  trying  to  her  pa-  ' 
tience  in  this  respect ;  and  it  needed  all  Zillah'a 
love  for  her  to  sustain  her  while  listening  to  the 
old  nurse  as  she  grew  eloquent  on  her  favorite 
theme.  Ziljah  felt  like  the  Athenian  who  wns 
bored  to  death  by  the  perpetual  praise  of 'Aris- 
tid^.  If  she  had  no  other  complaint  against- 
him,  this  might  of  itself  have  been  enough. 

The  fear,  liowever,  which  was  in  her  mind  as 
to  thefepamtion  whiAr 


dispdled  by  Lord  ChetwvndeTanswer . 

"  I  want  you,  my  child,"  said  he,  "  to  try  and 
impfove  yourself— to  get  on  as  fast  as  you  can 
with  your  masters,  sq  that  w|wn  the  time  comes 
for  you  to  take  your  proper  pbee  in  society  you 
may  be  equal  to  ladies  of  your  own  rank  in  educa- 
tion itnd  accomplishments.  I  want  to  be  proud 
of  my  daughtei^^when  I  show  her  to  the  wor((L" 


N    .: 


i-.f^J^^iA^-iu 


4  11  i^l  ,4*  , 


•."■% 


*9 


"And  «o  yon  shall,"  snid  Zillah,  twining  her 
nrms  again  about  his  neck  and  kissing  him  fond^ 
1 V.  ' '  1  promise  you  th'tft  from  this  time  ftffwaitl 
I  will  tnr  to  study."    -  '  ^ 

He  kissed  heK  lovingly.  "I  am  gnre,"  said 
he,  "that  yon  will  keep  yonr  word,  my  child; 
and  now,"  be  added,  •'one  thing  more:  How 
much  longer  do  you  'intend  to  keep  up  this 
'Lord  Chetwynde?'  I^mnst  be'  called  by  an- 
other name  Ay  you— not  the  name  by  which  yon 
called  yonr  own  dear  father— that  is  too  sacred 
to  be  given  to'iiny  other.  But  have  I  not  sfeme 
claim  to  be  called  '  Pathos,'  daw  ?  (Jr  does  not 
my  little  Zillah  care  enough  for  me /or  that?" 
'  At  this  the  warm-hearted  girl  flung  her  arms 
around  him  once  more  and  kissed  him,  ond  burse 
into  tears. 

"Dear  father!"  she  mnnnnred. 
And  from  that  moment  perfect  confidence  and 
love  exigod  |>etween  these  two. 


THE  CRYPTOGRAM. 

bis  lett^  to  Ua  ftther  were  half  familiar,  half 
filial;  a  mixture  of  love  and  goud-fellowshin 
showing  a  sort  of  union,  so  to  speak,  of  the  son 
with  the  younger  brother.  They  were  full  of 
humor  also,  and  made  up  of  descriptions  of  life 
in  the  East,  with  all.  its  varied  wonders.    Be- 


sides this,  Our  happened  to  be  stationfd'at  thw 
very  pllce  where  General  Pomeroy  had  been 


CHAPTER  Xn 


•  OORRESrONDBNOI. 

Time  sped  mpidly  and  uneventfully  by.  Ghy'g 
letters  from  India  formed  almost  the  only  break 
in  the  monotony  of  the  household.  Zillah  soon 
found  herself,  against  her  will,  sharing  in  the 
general  eagerness  respecting  these  letters.  It 
would  have  been  a  very  strong  mind  indeed,  or 


-•veiyobdmrtrhant,  whleh  weldliave  remain- 
ed unmoved  pt  £(»d  Chetwynde's  delight  when 
he  received  hii  boyW^letters.  Their  advent  was 
iiMo  the  Hegim  from  which  every  thing  in  the 
family  dated.  Apart,  however,  from  the  halo 
which  surrounded  these  letters  they  were  inter- 
Mting  in  (kemielvei.    Our  wrtte  easily  and  well. 


Resident  for  so  muny  years ;  «n4.he  himself  h^ 
command  of  one  of  the  hill  stations  whpre  Zillah 
herself  had  once  Iteen  sent  to  pass  the  summer 
These  places  of  which  Guy's  letters  treated  posl 
sessed  for  her  a  peculiar  interest,  surrounded  as 
they  were  by  some  of  the  pleasantest  associations 
of  her  life ;  and  thus,  from  very,  many  causes,  it 
happened  that  she  gradually  came  to  take  an  in- 
terest in  thes$  letters  which'increased  rather  than 
diminished.  '  .,  ~ 

In  one  of  these  there  hod  once  come  a  note  in- 
closed to  ZiUah,  condoling  with  her  on  her  fa- 
ther's death.     It  was  manly  and  sj-mpathetic 
ond  not  at  all  stiff.     Zillah  had  received  it  when 
her  bitter  feelings  Were  in  the  ascendant,  and  did 
I  not  think  of  answering  it  until  Hilda  «rged  on 
;  her  the  necessity  of  doing  so.    It  is  just  possible 
;  that  if  Hilda  had  made  use  of  different  arguments  ■ 
she  might  have  persuaded  Zillah  to  send  some 
sort  of  an  answer,  if  only  to  pltese  the  EarL 
i  The  arguments,  however,  which  she  did  use  hap- 
pene^^  to  be  singularly  iU  chosen.     The  "hus- 
brfhd '  loomed  largely  in  them,  and  there  were 
very  many  direct  allusions  to  marital  authority. 
i  As  these  were  Zillah's  sorest  points,  such  refer- 
ences only  served  to  ^cite  fresK  repugnance, 
and  strengthen  Zillah's  determination   not  to 
write.    Hilda,  (lowever,  persisted  in  hei»  efforts : 
nnd^the  result  was  that  finally,  at  the  end  of  one 
long  and  rather  stormy  diiicussion,  Zillah  pas- 
sionately threw  the  letter  at  her,  saying: 

'I  If  you  are  so  anxious  to  have  it  answered, 
do  it  yourself.  It  is  a  worid  of  pities  he  is  tiot 
yonr  husband  instead  of  mine,  you  seem  so  iron- 
derfuUy  anxious  about  him." 

"It  js  nnkind  of  vou  to  say  that,"  replied 
Hilda,  in  a  meek  voice,  "when  yon  know  so 
well  that  my  sympathy  and  anxiety  are  all  for 
yon,  and  you  alone.  -'Yon  argue  with  me  as 
though  I  had  tome  interest  in  it;  but  what  pos- 
sible interest  can  it  be  to  me?" 

"  Oh,  well,  dearest  Hilda,"  sold  7au\  Jn- 
stantly  appeased ;  "  I'm  always  pettiih ;  bat  you 
wont  mind,  wiU  you?  You  never  mind  mv 
wavs.  / 

''  I've  a  great  mind  to  take  yon  at  your  woid^" 
Mid  Hilda,  after  a  thougKtful  pinnae,  "and  write 
it  f»r  you.  It  ought  to  be  answered,  and  yoa 
won't ;  BO  why  should  I  not  do  the  part  of  a 
friend,  and  answer  it  for  you  ?" 
Zillah  started,  and  seemed  just  a  little  nettled.  • 
"Oh,  I  don't  oare,"  ahe  laid,  with  assumed 
indifference.  "Ifyoaohoow  to  take  th«  trouble, 
why  I  am  sura  I  ought  toke  under  obligations  to 
yon.  At  any  rate,  I  etoWe  glad  to  get  rid  of  it 
so  long  aa  I  have  nothing  to  do  with  it.  I  sup- 
po»«  it  mart  b»  done. " 


Hilda  made  some  proteirtations  of  her  devo- 
tion to  Zillah,  and  some  (brther  converaatiM 
followed,  all  of  which  nsnlted  in  thia— thaiiriAii 
wrote  the  letter  m  iSiUak'e  name,  and  aigned  that 
name  in  her  ova  hand,  and  under  Zilkh's  town 
eye,  and  with  Zillah's  haU-reluctant,  faa)r.pettish 
concurrence. 


/■ 


^^•^■f^ms' . 


ther  were  half  fnmiliar,  half 
r  love  and  good-fellowship, 
lion,  K)  to  speak,  of  the  ion 
irother.  They  were  full  of 
de  np  of  descriptions  of  life 
II  its  varied  wonders.  Be- 
lened  to  be  stationfd  at  the 
ieneral  Pomeroy  hod  been 
'  years ;  anihe  himself  h^d 
he  hill  stations  whpre  Zillah  • 
n  sent  to  pass  the  summer. 
!h  Guy's  letters  treated  pos- 
iliar  interest,  surrounded  as 
the  pleasantest  associations 
,  from  very,  many  causes,  it 
adiially  came  to  take  an  in- 
wh|ch  increased  rather  than 

re  had  once  come  a  note  in- 
doling  with  her  on  her  fa- 
s  manly  and  .sj-mpnthetic, 
Zillah  had  received  it  when 
«  in  the  ascendant,  and  did 
ng  it  nntil  Hilda  jirg^  on 
oing  so.  It  is  just  piossiblq 
e  use  of  different  arguments '>, 
iiaded  Zillah  to  send  some 
f  only  to  please  the  EarL 
ver,  which  she  did  use  hap- 
ly ill  chosen.  The  "hus- 
'_in  them,  and  there  were 
sions  to  marital  'authority. 
i  so'rest  points,  such  refer- 

epccite  fresh  repugnance, 
hh  determination  not  to 
vr,  persisted  in  hei*  efforts; 
It  finally,  at  the  end  of  one 
ny  diA;ussion,  Zillnh  pas- 
tter  at  her,  saying : 
ciou*  to  have  it  answer^, 
%  world  of  pities  he  is  not 
}f  mine,  ton  seem  so  Won- 
;him." 

^on  to  say  that,"  replied' 
i<»,  "when  yon  kiiow  so 
IT  and  anxiety  are  all  for 

I  Yon  argtte  with  me  as 
ereat  in  it ;  but  what  pos- 
tome?" 

Hilda,"  sold  ZOloh,  in- 
n  always  pettilh ;  hot  yon 
?     You  never  mind  tty 

0  take  yon  at  your  woid," 
ightfnl  ptinse,  "and  write 
to  be  answered,  and  yoa 

I  not  do  the  port  of  a 
jr  yon  ?" 
cmed  jnst  a  little  nettled. ' 

■he  said,  with  assumed 
ihooae  to  take  th«  trouble, 
take  under  obligations  to 
■dm  glad  to  get  rid  of  it 
ng  to  do  with  it.    I  rap- 

xMettotions  of  her  dero- 
me  fhrther  conTertatiOn 
■nited  in  thi»— tha^i£fa 
i'«  name,  and  signed  that 
and  under  Zillah's  own 
alf-relnctant,  faalf'pettbh 


bnt  of  this  beginning  there  flowed  results  of  an 
nportnnt  character,  which  were  soon  perceived 
kvcn  br  Zilhih,jthongh  she  was  forced  to  keep 
her  feelings  to  herself.  Occasional  notes  came 
afterward  from  time  to  time  for  Zillah,  and  were 
Rnswered  in  the  same  way  by  Hilda.  All  this 
%llah  endured  quietly,  but  with  real  repugnance, 
irhich  increased  nntil  the  change  took  place  in 
^r  feelings  which  has  been  mentioned  at  the  be- 
|inning  of  this  chapter,  when'  she'  at,  length  de- 
iermined  to  put  an  eqd  to  such  an  anomalous 
Itate  of  things  and  assert 'herself. '  It  was  diffl- 
|ult  to, do  so.  She  loved  Hilda  dearly,  and 
laced  perfect  confldence  in  her.  She  was  too 
.uileless  to  dream  of  any  sinister  motive  injber 
piend ;  and  ^he  only  difficulty  of  which  she  was 
Vonscious  was  the  fear  that  Hilda  might  suspect 
he  change  in  her  feelings  toward  Guy.  The 
fery  idea  of  Hilda's  finding  this  .out  alarmed  her 
^nsitive  pride,  and  mode  her  defer  for  a  long 
bme  her  intent  At  length,  however,  she  felt 
inable  to  de  sa  any  longer,  and  determined  to 
nn  the  risk  of  discloung  the  state  of  her  feei- 
ng*. 

j  So  one  day,  after  the  receipt^f  a  note  to  her- 
|elf,  a  slight  degree  more  friendly  than  usual, 
^e  hinted  to  Hilda  rather  Aiyly  that  she  would 
pke  to  answer  it  herself. 

"  Oh,  I  am  OS  glad,  darling !"  cried  Hilda,  en- 
hnsiastically.  "It  will  be  so  much  nicer  for 
ou  to  do  it  yourself.  It  will  relieve  me  from 
nbarrassment,  for,  after  all,  my  position  wat 
^Uarrnssing — writing  for  you  always — and  then, 
bu  knew,  you  will  write  Cur  better  letters  than  I 


THE  CBYPTOGRABt 


*f 


I  "It  will  be  a  Heaven-bom  gift,  then,  "returned 
|llah,  laughmg,  "o«  I  never  wrote  a  letter  in 
yiife." 

■"  That  is  nothing,"  said  Hilda.  "  I  write  for 
lother ;  bnt  yon  wjU  be  writing  for  yourself,  and 
hat  makes  ail  the  difference  in  the  world,  you 
now."  .J 

"Well,  perhaps  so.  Yon  see,  Hfldo,  I  have 
pken  a  fancy  to  try  my  hand  at  it,"  said  Zillah, 
hnghingly,  full  of  delight  at  the  ease  with  which 
lie  had  gained  her  desire.  "You  see,"  she 
rent  on,,«ith  unusual  sprightliness  of  manner, 
[I  got  hold  of  a  '  Complete  Letter-Writer"  this 
Dommg;  and  the  beanty,  elegance,  and  even 
lloqnence  of  those  amazing  compositions  have" 
»  excited  me  that  I  want  faf  emulate  them. 
Sow  it  happens  that  Quyls  the  only  correspond- 
■nt  that  I  have,  and  so  he  must  be  my  flrat  vic- 

3?  *,W?«l'  ^'"*''  iMghingly  opened  her  desk, 
irhile  Hilda  s  dark  eyes  regarded  her  with  ihup 
»nd  eager  watchfulness. 
"  You  must  not  make  U  too  eloqiient,  dear," 

Md  she.     "Remember  the  very  commonplace 
fepistles  that  you  have  been  giving  forth  in  your 

"Don't  be  atanned,"  laid  ZiUah.    "If  it  is 
pt  exactly  like  a  child',  first  compodtion  we 
m  all  have  great  cause  for  thankfidaeM." 
po  saying  she  tOAk  .'"*  ^  ^1...^^  ^# 

Uere,  sold  she,  "  is  an  opportunity  of  using 
ome  of  this  eUboratelv  monognunmed  paper 
!.if  iT'  ''"^'nKP'P*  «»t  for  me,  becaml 
sranted  to  see  how  they  could  worit  my  unpitun- 
l«ng  'Z  into  a  respectable  cipher.  They  have 
~-de  It  utterly  illegible,  and  I  beUeve  that  it  the 
-t  point  to  b«  attainod. "  I 


Thus  rattling  on,  she  dated  her  letter,  and  be- 
gan to  write.     She  wrote  as  far  as 

"My  dbab  Got."— Then  she  stopped,  and 
redd  it  aloud.—"  This  is  really  getting  most  ex- 
citing," she  said,  in  high  good-humor.  "Now 
what  comes  next  ?  To  find  a  beginning— there's 
the  rub.  I  must  turn  to  my  '  Complete  Letter- 
♦^nter.'  Lfet  me  see.  'Letter  from  a  Son  at 
Schoor—tbtkt  won't  do.  'From  a  Lady  to  It 
Lover  returning  a  Miniature'— nor  that.  '  Fr<^ 
a  Stii^  requesting  to  be  allowed  to  pay  his  at. ' 
tenUons  to  a  Lady' — worse  and  worse.  '  From 
a  Father  declining  the  application  of  a  Suitor  for 
his  Laughter's  AancT— absurd !  Oh,  here  we 
WKr-i'From  a  Wife  to  a  Husband  who  is  absent 
on  urgent  business.'  Oh,  listen,  Hilda!"  and 
Zillah  read : 

"  '  Beloved  and  honobed  Husband,- 7%* 
grief  which  wrung  my  heart  at  your  dejiarture  has 
been  mitigated  by  the  deBghf  which  I  experienced 
at  the  receipt  of  your  most  welcome  letters. '  Isn't 
that  delightful?  Unluckily  his  departure  didn't 
wring  my  heart,«t  all,  and,  worse  still,  I  haya 
no  grief  at  his  absence  to  be  mitigated  ty  his^etl 
ters.  Alas  I  I'm  afraid  mine  must  be  an  ex- 
ceptional cose,  for  even  my  'Complete  Letter-  ' 
Writer,'  my  vade-mecum,  which  goes  into  such 
charming  details,  can  not  help  me.  After  all  I 
suppose  I  must  use  my  own  poor  brains.'^ 

After  all  this  'nonsense  Zillah  suddenly  grew 
serious.  Hilda  seiemed  to  understand  the  cause 
of  her  extravagant  voktility,  and  watched  her 
closely.  Zillah  began  to  write,  and  went  on 
rapidly,  without  a  moment's  hesitation  ;  without 
any  signs  whatever  of  that  childish  inexperience 
at  which  «he  had  hinted.  Her  pen  flew  over  the 
I»per  with  a  speed  which  «eemed  to  show  that 
she  had  plenty  to  say,  and  knew  perfectly  well 
how  to  siy  It.  go  she  went  on  untU  she  had 
filled  two  pages,  and  was  proceeding  to  the  third. 
Then  an  exclamation  from  Hilda  caused  her  to 
look  up. 

"My  dear  Zillah,"  cried  HUda,  who  was  sit- 
tong  m  a  chair  a  little  behind  her,  "what  in  the 
world  are  you  thinking  of?  From  this  disunoe 
I  can  distinguish  your  somew&t  peculiar  calig^ 
raphy— with  its  bold  down  strokes  and  decided 
'character,'  that  people  talk  about.  Now,  at 
you  know  that  I  write  a  little,  cramped,  German 
han^,  you  will  have  to  imitate  my  humble  hand- 
writing, or  else  I'm  afraid  Captain  Molyneux 
win  be  thoroughly  puzzled— unless,  indeed,  you 
tell  liim  that  you  have  been  employing  an  aroaa- 
nensis.  That  will  require  a  good  deal  of  ex- 
planation, but—"  she  added,  after  a  thoughtftil 
pause,  f'l  dara  say  it  will  be  the- best  in  the 
and." 

At  these  word^  Zilhih  started,  dropped  her 
pen,  and  eat  looking  at  Hilda  perfectly  aghast 
.'    "I  never  thought  of  that,"  she  muinlured, 
and  sat  iri^h  an  expression  of  the  deepest  dejec- 
tion.   At  length  a  long  sigli  eteaped  her> 

"You  are  right,  Hilday"  she  stid.      "Of 
cobne  it  will  need  explanation^  but  how  i«  it 
pjBlbte  to  do  dwtlna  letter?  It  cant  be  dofls;' 
At  least  I  can't  do  it    What  shall  I  do  ?" 

She  was  silent,  and  sot  for  a  long  time,  look- 
ing deeply  vexed  and  disaf^nted. 

'*  Of  course,"  sh«  said  at  last,  " he  will  have 
to  know  all  when  he  comes  back ;  but  that  ia 
nothing.  How  utterly  stupid  it  was  in  me  not 
ta  think  of  the  diffennce  in  car  writing  J    Aiti 


:     I. 

'I 


%• 


48 


THE  CRYPWOBAM. 


novi|  1  snppose  I  mnst  give  np  my  idea  of  writing 
a  letter.  It  is  really  hard— ^I  have  not  a.  single 
correspondent."       ' 

Her  deep  disappointment,  her  vexation,  and 
.  hcf  feeble  attempt  to  conceal  her  emotions,  were 
not  lost  upon  the  watchful  JMMit.  But  the  lat- 
ter showed  no  signs  that  |Hftad  noticed  any 
tflng.  ^  /        ' 

"  Oh,  don't  give  it  up !"  she  answered,  with 
ap|parent  e«gomes8.  "  I  dare  say  yon  fan  copy 
my  hand  accurately  enoug|(.^  avoid  detection. 
Here  is  a  note  I  wrote  yestoday.  See  if  you 
cfln't  imitate  that,  and  make  ydur  writing  as  like 
mine  as  possible." 

iSo  saying  she  drew  a  note 
and  handed  it  to  Ziilah.     The 


gerlv,  and  bpgan  to  tir  to  imilj 
strokes  shoW^d  her  the 


om  her  pocket 
.her  took  it  ea- 

it,  but  a  few 
mpossibility  of 

own  the  pen, 


aean  by  what  you 

reproachfully  that 
At  once  her  disap- 


he  utter 
auch  an  undervaluing.    She  th 
•nd  leaning  her  hdad  upon  her  Hand,  sat  looiung 
upon  the  floor  in  deeper  dejectiqn  than  ever. 

"I  can't  copy  such  horrid  camped  letters," 
«he  said,  pettishly ;  "  why  shoulijl  you  write  such 
a  hand  ?  Besides,  I  feel  as  if  I  vero  really  forg- 
ing, or  doing  something  dreadfiip.  I  suppose," 
■he  added,  with  unconcealed  bittlpmess  of  tone, 
".we  shall  have  to  go  on  as  wo  began,  and  you 
must  be  Ziilah  Molyneux  for  som^  time  longer." 

HildK  laughed.  I 

"Talk  of  forging!"  she  said.^t  "What  is 
forging  if  that  is  not?  But  really,  Ziilah,  dar- 
ling, vou  seem  to  me  to  show  more  feeling  about 
this  than  I  ever  supposed  yoiu  could  possibly  bo 
capable  of.  Are  you-avc&  that  your  tone  is 
somewhat  bitter,  and  that  Qf  I  were  sensitive  I 
might  feel  hurt?  Do  yot 
said  to  lay  any  blame  to  m< 

She  spoke  so  sadly  ani 
Zillah's  heart  smote  her. 
pointment  and  vexation  vanished  at  the  thought 
that  she  had  spoktsn  unkindly  to  her  friend. 

"Hilda!"  she  cried,  "yon  can  not  think  that  I 
am  capable  of  such  ingratitude.  You  have  most 
generously  given  me  your  services  all  this  time. 
You  have  been  right,  from  the  very  first,  and  I 
have  been  wrong.  You  have  taken  a  world  of 
trouble  to  obviate  the  difllcnlties  which  my  own 
obstinacy  and  temper  have  caused.  If  any  ^rou- 
ble could  possibly  ariae,  I  only  could  be  to  blame. 
But,  after  all,  none  can  arise.  I'm  sure  Cap- 
tain Molyrieux  will  very  readily  believe  that  I 
disliked  him  too  much  when  he  first  went  away 
to  dream  of  writing  to  him.  He  certainly  had 
mery  reason  for  thinking  so." 

"Shall  you  tell  him  that?"  said  Hilda,  mild- 
ly, without  referring  to  Zillah's  apologies. 

"Certainly  I  shall,"  said  Ziilah,  "if  the  op- 
portimity  ever  arises.  The  simple  truth  is  al- 
ways the  easiest  and  the  best.  I  think  he  is  al- 
ready as  well  aware  as  he  can  be  of  that  fact ; 
•nd,  after  all,  why  should  I,  or  how  could  I,  have 
liked  him  under  the  circumstances  %  I  knew  no- 
thing of  him  whatever;  and  every  thing— yes, 
.•very  thinfc  was  against  him." 

XouJcnpw,no  more  of  him  now,"i»id  Hil- 
da; "and  yet,  though  you  are  very  reticent  on 
the  subject,  I  have  a  shrewd  suspicion,  my  dar- 
ling, that  you  do  not  dislike  him.^' 

As  she  spoke  she  looked  earnestly  at  Zilhih  as 
if  to  read  her  inmost  sonl. 

Ziilah  was  conscions  of  that  sharp,  close  scm- 
^y,  and  blushed  crimson,  as  this  question  whiph 


thus  concerned  her  most  sacred  feelings  wai 
brought  home  to  her  so  suddenly.  But  she  an- 
swered, as  lightly  as  fllie  could : 

" How  can  you  say  that,  or  even  hint  at  it? 
Ho^  absurd  you  are,  Hilda!  I  know  no  more 
of  hifti  now  than  I  knew  before.  Of  course  I 
hear  very  much  about  him  at  Chetwynde,  but 
what  of  that  ?  He  certainly  pervades  the  whole 
atmosphere  of  the  house.  The  one  idea  of  Lord 
Chetwynde  is  Guy;  and  as  for  Mrs.  Hart,  I  think 
if  ho  wished  to  use  her  for  a  target  she  would  be 
delighted.  ,I)eath  at  such  hands  wohld  be  bliss 
to  her.  She  treasures  up  every  word  he  has  ever 
spoken,  from  his  earliest  infancy  to  the  present 
day. " 

"  And  I  suppose  that  is  enough  to  account  for  M 
the  charm  which  you  seem  to  find  in  her  society," 
rejoined  Hilda.  '  "  It  has  rather  puzzled  me,  I 
confess.  For  my  own  part  I  have  never  been 
able  to  break  through  the  reserve  which  Klie 
chooses  to  throw  around  her.  I  can  not  get' 
beyond  the  barest  civilities  with,  her,  though 
I'm  sure  I've  tried  to  win  her  good-will  more 
than  I  ever  tried  before,  which  is  rather  strange, 
for,  after  all,  there  is  no  reason  whatever  why  I 
should  try  any  thing  of  the  kind.  She  seems  to 
have  a  very  odd  kind  of  feeling  toward  me.  iSiie 
looks  at  me  sometimes  so  strangely  that  she  pos-  : 
itively  gives  me  an  uncomfortable  feeling.  Mie  j 
seems  frightened  to  death  if  my  dress  brushes 
against  hers.  She  shrinks  away.  I  believe  she 
is  not  sane.     In  fact,  I'm  sure  of  it." 

' '  Poor  old  Mrs.  Hart  1 ",  said  Ziilah.     "  I  sup- 
pose she  does  seem  a  little  odd  to  yon ;  hut  I  ; 
know  her  well,  and  I  assure  you  she  is  as  far  re-  i 
moved  from  insanity  as  I  am.     Still  she  is  un-  i 
doubtedly  queer.    Do  you  know,  Hilda,  she  seems  % 
to  me  to  have  had  some  terrible  sorrow  which  hni 
crushed  all  her  spirit  and  almost^,.her  very  lite. 
I  have  no  idea  whatever  of  her  pasflife.    She  ii  j 
very  reticent. ,  She  never  even  so  much  as  hiim  i 
at  it" 

"I  dare  say  she  has  very  good  reasons,"  in- 
terrupted Hilda. 

♦'Don't  talk  that  way  ^bont  her,  dear  Hilila.  I 
You  are  too  ill-natured,  and  I  can't  bear  to  have  { 
ill-natured  things  said  abouHi^e  dear  old  tiling.  ] 
You  don't  know  her.as  I  dof  or  you  would  never 
Ulkso." 

"Oh,  Ziilah— really— yon  feel  my  little  pleas-  j 
antries  t^  much.  It  was  only  a  thoughtless  re- : 
mark."  ' 

"She  seems  to  me,"  said  ZilUh,  mnsinglr, , 
after  a  thoughtful  silence,  "to  be  a  veir — veW  ;| 
mysterious  person.    -Though  I  love  her  dearlr,  I  \ 
see  that  there  is  some  mystety  about  her.    What-  j 
ever  her  histoi;y  may  be  she  is  evidently  far  above 
her  present  position,  for  when  she  does  allow  her- 
self to  talk  she  has  the  manner  and  accent  oft  j 
refined  lady.     Yes,  there  is  a  deep  mystery  abogi 
her,  which  is  ntteriy  beyond  mv  comprehension. 
I  remember  onc«  when  she  had  been  talking  for  | 
a  long  time  about  Guy  and  his  wonderful  quali- 
ties, I  suddenly  happened  to  ask  her  some  trivial  | 

tfUSSBUUIl  nutnlfc  ttCT  UUS  UCIUCO  •QoCMUO  iO  V'MI* 

wynde ;  but  she  looked  at  me  so  wUd  and  fright- 
ened, that  she  really  startled  me.     I  was  so  ter- 
rified that  I  instantly  changed  the  conversation,  I 
and  rattled  on  so  as  to  give  her  time  to  rccorti  I 
herself,  and  prevent  her  from  discovering  nj| 
feelings." 
* '  Why,  how  veiy  romantic !"  said  Hilda,  will  I 


*  .Wi'-.Ais.lt..'' 


T^^fi"i 


r  most  sacred  feelings  wu 
r  10  luddenly.  But  she  un- 
it tllie  could : 

nay  that,  or  even  liint  at  it? 
«,  Hilda  1     I  know  no  more 
knew  before.     Of  course  I 
but  him  at  Chetwynde,  but 
certainly  pervades  the  whole 
ouse.    'rhe  one  idea  of  Lord 
and  OS  for  Mrs.  Hart,  I  think 
ler  for  a  target  she  would  be  ,» 
It  such  bands  wolild  be  bliss  m 
■ea  up  evei7  word  he  has  ever  W 
rliest  infancy  to  the  present 

that  is  enough  to  account  for  ,o 
I  seem  to  find  in  her  society," 
It  has  rather  puzzled  me,  I 
>wn  part  I  have  never  been 
ugh  the  reserve  which  she 
round  her.  I  can  not  get' 
civilities  witl^her,  though 
to  win  her  good-will  more 
bre,  which  is  rather  strange, 
is  no  reason  whatever  why  I 
;  of  the  kind.  She  seems  to 
I  of  feeling  toward  me.  ^^he 
les  so  strangely  that  she  pos- 
uncomfftrtable  feeling,  ^he 
I  death  if  my  dress  brushes 
ihrinks  away.  I  believe  «he 
t,  I'm  sure  of  it." 
lartr'saidZiUah.  "Isnp-^ 
a  little  odd  to  yon ;  but  I 
[  assure  you  she  is  os  far  re- 
y  as  I  am.     Still  she  is  un-  _, 

0  yon  know,  Hilda,  she  seems  M 
me  terrible  sorrow  which  hiu 
it  and  almo8t<t.her  very  life. 
ever  of  her  past  life.     She  ii  i 
never  even  so  much  as  liinti ; 

has  very  good  reasons," 

way  ^bont  her,  dear  Ilildiv  i 
red,  and  I  can't  bear  to  Imve  | 
id  abouH^e  dear  old  iliinj. 
OS  1 4o(  or  you  would  never  I 

lly — you  feel  my  little  picas-  j 
Lt  was  only  a  thoughtless  re- 

le,"  said  Zillah,  musingk, 
ilence,  "to  be  a  veiy — veir 
Though  I  love  her  deorl.v,! : 

1  mystery  about  her.    Wlmt- ' 
be  she  is  evidently  far  above 
for  when  she  does  allow  her 
the  manner  and  accent  of  a 
here  is  a  deep  mystery  abuui  | 
beyond  my  comprehension, 
ten  she  had  been  talking  for 
uy  and  bis  wonderful  quali- 
lened  to  ask  her  some  trivial  | 
20  DCtorawM~€anie  to  Ohet^ 
Bd  at  me  so  wild  and  fright- 
startled  me.    I  was  so  ter- 

r  changed  the  conversation,  I 

to  give  her  time  to  recovei  I 

i  her  from  discovering  njl 

romanUc !"  said  Hilda,  wilt 


1|    y^  THE  CRYPTOGRAM.  49 

a  smile.     «•  Yon  seem,  (l^inlBnch  circumstances,   n6tes  which  went  in  her  name.    And  what  fault 
to  have  brought  your#^lf  to  consider  our  very   ^as  there?    To  Mrs.  Hart,  whose  whole  Ufe  was 


[prosaic  housekeeper  as  aliaost  a  princess  in  dis- 
Iguise.  I,  for  my  port,  look-  upon  her  as  a  very 
I  common  person,  s^  wew-jainded,  to  say  the 
Jleast,  OS  to  be  amsst  hslf-witted.  As  to  her 
■accent,  that  is  notlung.  I  dare  say  she  has  seen 
■better  days.  <1  ha%e  heard  more  than  once  of 
■ladies  in  destitute  or  reduced  circumstances  who 
■have  been  obligad  to'take  to  housekeeping.  Aft- 
lerall,  it  is  not  bod^ '  Ijn  sure  it  must  be  far  bet- 
Iter  than  being.a  governess." 

"Well,  if  I  am  roinantic,  you  are  certkhily 
prosaic  enough.  At  all  events  I  love  Mrs.  Hdrt 
dearly.  But  'come,,  Hilda,  if  you  are  going  to 
vrite  you  most  do  so  at  once,  for  the  letters  are 
'3  be  |K)sted  this  afternoon." 

Hilda  instantly  wept  to  the  desk  and  began 
Jier  tnsk.  Zillqji,  however,  went  away.  Her 
■chagrin  And  disappointment  were  so  great  that 
[she  conld  not  stay,  and  she  even  refused  after- 
HTosd  to  look  at  the  note  which  Hilda  Bhow^« 
her.  In  fact,  after  that  she  would  never  look  at 
Ithem  nt  all. 

Some  time  after  this  Zillah  and  Mrs.  Hart 
irere  together  on  one  of  those  frequent  occasions 
srhich  they  made  use  of  for  confidential  inter- 
iviews.  Somehow  Zillah  had  turned  the  conver- 
ation  froth  Guy  in  person  to  the  subject  of  her 
orrespondence,  and  gradually  told  all  to  Mrs. 
lart.  At  this  she  looked  deeply  shocked  and 
rieved. 

'That  girl,"  she  said,  "has  some  secret  mo- 
..j." 

She  spoke  with  a  bitterness  which  Zillah  had 
pever  before  noticed  in  her. 

"Secret  motive!"  she  repeated,  in  wpnder; 
'  what  in  the  world  do  yon  mean  ?" 

"She  is  bod  and  deceitful,"  said  Mrs.  Hart, 
>ith  energy;  "yon  are  tmsting  your  life  and 
ponor  in  the  hands  of  a  false  friend." 
Zillah  started  back  and  looked  at  Mrs.  Hart 
I  Atter  wonder.  ^ 

"I  know,','  said  she  at  lost,  "that  yon  don't 
Kke  Hilda,  but  I  feel  hurt  when  yon  use  such 
^ngnage  about  her.    She  is  my  oldest  and  dearest 
Hend.    She  is  my  sister  virtually.    I  have  known 
|er  all  my  life,  and  know  her  to  her  heart's  core, 
■he  is  incapable  of  any  dishonorable  action  j  and 
'he  loves  me  like  herself." 
1  All  Ziliah's  enthusiastic  generosity  was  aroiued 
n  defending  against  Mrs.  Hart's  charge  a  friend 
hom  she' so  dearly  loved. 
I  Mrs.  Hart  sadly  shook  her  head. 
I  "My  dear  child,"  said  she,  "yon  know  I 
fould  not  hurt  your  feelings  for  the  world.    I 
im  sorry.     I  will  say  nothing  more  about  ker, 
■nee  you  love  her.    But  don't  yon  feel  that  yon 
re  in  a  very  false  position  ?" 
"But  whot  can  I  do ?    There  is  the dlfflcnlty 
hbout  the  handwriting.    And  then  it  has  oone 
bn  so  long."  " 

i«  "^''.^.'"''••"■^•"'"""^^""JdMn.Hart, 
f  "  and  tell  him  evArv  thing, »  ^ 


boond  up  in  Guy,  it  was  impossible  to  look  at  this 
matter  except  as  to  how  it  affected  hj^.  But 
Zillah  had  Other  feelings— other  memories.  The 
very  proposal  to  write  a  "confession"  fired  her 
heart  with  stem  indignation.  At  once  all  her 
resentment  was  roused.  Memoiy  brought  back 
again  in  vivid  Colon  that  hidisons  mockery  of  k 
marriage  over  the  death-bed  of  her  fiuber,  with 
reference  to  which,  in  spite  of  her  changed  feel-' 
ings,  she  had  never  ceased  to  think  that  it  might 
have  been  avoided,  and  ought  to  have  been.  Could 
she  stoop  to  confess  to  this  man  any  thing  what- 
~ever?    Impossible! 

Mnt  Hart  did  not  know  Ziliah's  thoiights.  She 
supposed  she  was  trying  tp  find  a  way  to  extri- 
cate herself  from  her  difflcolty.  80  she  made 
one  further  suggestion. 

' '  Why  not  teU  all  to  Lord  Caietwynde  ?  Sure-' 
Iv  you  ain  do  that  easUy  enoM^  Ho  will  un- 
derstand all,  and  explun  olL" 

"  I  can  not, ''^  said  ZaSUk,  coUB^,  "  It  would 
be  doubting  my  friend— the  lorin^ friend  who  is 
to  me  the  same  as  a  sister — who  i*  Qsi  only  com- 
panion I  have  ever  had.  She  is  the  one  thot  I 
love  dearest  on  earth,  and, to  do  any  tUng  apart 
from  her  is  impossible.  Yon  do  not  know  heiw 
I  do^-ond  I  love  her.  For  her  I  would  give  n* 
every  other  friend." 

At  this  Mrs.  Hart  looked  sadly  away,  and 
then  the  matter  of  tl;e  letters  ended.  It  woa 
never  again  brought  up-. 


^ ,~  .jvenri 

Zillah  shook  her  IimuL' 

"Well,  then— will  yon  let  mo?" 
I    ,' '  ^°7  c«n  I  ?    No ;  it  must  bo  done  by  my- 
fse  f-if  It  ever  Is  done;  and  aa  to  writing  ft  my- 
I  self— I  can  not."  ' 

Such  a  thought  wos  indeed  abhorrent    After 
I  a  1  It  seemed  to  her  in  itself  nothing.    She  om- 
[ployed  an  amanuensis  to  cotfigMo  those  formal 
D 


CHAPTER  XIIL 

MHEBOT  CO0HT  BBVIglTKD. 

Over  a  year  had  passed  awi^  unce  ZiUah  had 
come  to  live  at  Chetwynde  Castle,  and  slie  had 
como  at  length  to  find  her  new  home  almost  as 
dear  to  her  as  the  old  one.  Still  that  old  home 
was  far  from  l)eing  foigotten.  At  fi^  she  never 
mentionedit;  butatl«ngth,astheyearapproBc1i* 
ed  Its  close,  there  come  over  her  a  great  longing 
to  revisit  the  did  phtce,  so  dear  to  her  heart  and 
so  well  remembered.  She  hinted  to  Lord  Chet- 
wynde what  her  desires  were,  and  the  Earl  show- 
ed unfeigned  deli|^t  at  finding  that  ZiUah's  grief 
had  become  so  &r  mitigated  as  to  allow  her  to 
think  of  such  n  thing.  80  he  ui^  her  by  all 
means  to  go. 

"  But  of  conrso  Ton  can't  go  jnst  yet,"  said  ho. 
' '  You  must  wait  till  May,  when  the  place  will  bo 
at  its  best.  Just  now,  at  the  end  of  March,  it 
will  be  too  edd  and  damp." 

"And  yon  will  go  with  me-^will  yon  not?" 
pleaded  Zaiah.  /      u«r 

"If  I  can,  my  child;  bnt  yoi  know  Tory  well 
that  I  am  not  able  to  stand  the  fetigne  of  trav-  I 
oUng."  > 

"  Oh,  bnt  yon  ranst  make  an  offort  and  tiy  to 
Jtaaditthir  ttmo.— ^qamoi  heortfr  go  awmr  - 
and  leave  von  behind."  1, 

Lord  Ghetwvnde  lookOckofl^tiaiMtely  down 
at  the  fkce  which  was  upturned  so  tovin^^y  to- 
ward hi^  and  prAmised  to  go  if  bo  coold.  So 
the  weeks  passed  away;  bnt  when  May  came  ho 
had  a  severe  attack  of  gout,  and  though  Zillah 
waited  through  «U  the  month,  until  the  severity 
of  the  disease  had  rekixed,  yet  tho  Eail  did  not 


r 


60 


THE  CRyPTOGKAM. 


o 


find  himiQir  aUo  to  undertake  mch  a  jonrney. 
ZUtah  wu  therefore  compelled  either  to  give  up 
the  vi«t  or  elw  to  go  without  him.  She  decided 
to  do  the  latter.  Roberts  accompanied  her,  and 
her  inaid  Mathilde.    Hilda  too,  of  course,  went 

'i-,.?'  ^^  ^  ^'^  •'  *""  "  P^t  »  pleasure  as 
'to  Zillah  to  visit  the  old  pkce,  and  ZiUah  would 
not  have  dreamed  of  going  any  where  without 
her. 

PomeroT  Court  looked  very  much  as  it  had 
looked  while  Zillah  was  living  there.     It  had 
been  well  and  even  scrupulously  cared  for.    ITie 
grounds  around  showed  marks  of  the  closest  at- 
tention.   Inside,  the  old  housekeeper,  who  had 
remained  after  the  General's  death,  with  some 
•ervB^^hadpreserved  every  thing  in  perfect  or- 
oer,  Ad  nr^te  the  same  state  as  when  the 
(^neral  was  living.     This  perfect  preservation 
of  the  past  struck  Zillah  most  painfully.    As  she 
■eijtwed,  the  intermediate  penod  of  her  life  at 
Chetwynde  seemed  to  fade  away.    It  was  to  her 
as  though  she  were  still  living  in  her  old  home. 
She  half  expected  to  see  the  form  of  hir  father 
In  thf  hall.    The  consciousness  of  her  true  posi- 
tion Wa»  Violently  forced  upon  her.     With  the 
sharpness  of  the  impression  which  was  made 
upon  her  bv  the  unchanged  appearance  of  the 
old  home,  there  came  another  none  less  sharp. 
If  Fomeroy  Court  brought  back  to  her  the  recol- 
tection  of  the  happy  days  once  spent  there,  but 
now  gone  forever,  it  also  brought  to  her  mind  the 
raUconscionsnessofherloiw.    To  her  it  was  tn- 
/«!flaiMi  rmoMre  dobmt.  She  walked  in  *  deep 
melancholy  through  the  dear  fiuniliu-  rooms. 
»ne  lingered  in  profound  abstraction  and  in  the 
oeepest  sadness  over  the  mournful  reminders  of 
ttepast.    She  lo(Aed  over  aU  the  old  home  ob- 
J«Ji,  stood  in  the  old  places,  and  sat  in  the  old 
— "     Sh»  walked  in  silence  thna^  aU  the 


house,  and  finally  went  to  her  own  old  room,  so 
loved,  80  well  rernemborcd.     As  she  Crossed  the 
threshold  and  looked  around  she  felt  her  strength 
give  way.    A  great  sob  escaped  her,  and  sinking 
into  a  chair  where  she  once  used  to  sit  in  hai^ 
pier  days,  she  gave  herself  up  to  her  recollections 
For  n,  long  time  she  lost  herself  in  these.     Hilda 
had  loft  her  to  herself,  as  though  her  delicacy 
had  prompted  her  not  to  intrude  upon  her  friend 
at  such  a  moment ;  and  Zillah  thought  of  this 
with  a  feeling  of  grateful  affection.     At  length 
she  resumed  to  some)  degree  her  calmness,  and 
summoning  up  all  her  strength,  she  went  at  last 
to  the  chamber  where  that  dread  scene  had  been 
enacted— that  scene  which  seemed  to  her  a  double 
tragedy— that  scene  which  had  burned  itself  in 
her  memory,  combining 'the  horror  of  the  death 
of  her  dearest  friend  with  the  ghastly  &rce  of  a 
forced  and  unhallowed  marriage.    In  tbatiilace 
a  full  tide  of  misery  rushed  over  her  soul.     She 
broke  down  utterly.   Chetwynde  Castle,  the  EarL 
Mrs.  Hart,  all  were  forgotten.     The  past  faded 
away  utterly.     This  only  was  Aer  true  home— 
this  place  darkened  by  a  cloud  wfflch  might  never 
be  dispelled. 

"Oh,  papal  Oh,  papal"  she  moaned,  and 
flung  herself  upon  the  bed  where  he  had  breath- 
ed his  last 

But  her  sorrow  now,  though  overwhelming 
had  changed  from  its  old  vehemence.  This 
change  had  been  wrought  in  Zilhih— the  old,  un- 
reasoning passion  had  left  her.  A  real  afflic- 
tion had  brought  out,  by  its  gradual  renovating 
aniycreative  force,  all  the  good  that  was  in 
her.  That  .the  uses  of;  adversity  are  sweet,  is  a 
hackneyed  ShakspeareaAism,  but  it  is  forever 
true,  and  nowhere  was  iu  truth  more  fully  dis- 
played than  here.  Formerly  it  happened  that 
an  ordinary  check  in  the  way  of  her  desires  was 
sufficient  to  send  her  almost  into  eonvulsions; 
but  now,  in  the  presence  of  her  great  calamity' 
she  had  learned  to  bear  with  patience  all  the  or- 
dinary ills  of  life.  Her  father  had  spoiled  her ; 
by  his  death  she  had  become  regenerate. 

ITiis  tendency  of  her  nature  toward  a  purer 
and  loftier  standard  was  intensified  by  her  visit 
to  Pomeroy  Court.  Over  her  spirit  there  came 
a  profounder  earnestness,  cau^  from  the  solemn 
scenes  in  the  midst  of  which  shMtand  herself. 
Sorrow  had  subdued  and  qnietec^e  wild  im- 
pulsive motions  of  her  soul  This  renewal  of 
that  sorrow  in  the  very  place  of  itt  birth,  deep- 
ened the  effect  of  ita  first  presence.  Thw  visit 
did  more  for  her  inteUectnal  and  spirltnalgrowth 
than  the  whole  past  year  at  Chetwynde  Castle. 
They  spent  about  a  month  here.  Zillah,  who 
had  formerly  been  so  talkative  and  restiesa,  now 
showed  plainly  the  fhllness  pf  the  change  that 
had  come  over  her.  She  had  grown  into  a  Ufa 
far  more  serious  and  thoughtful  than  any  which 
she  had  known  before.  She  had  ceased  to  be  a 
giddy  and  unreasoning  girl  She  had  become  a 
calm,  grave,  thoughtful  wcnnan.  But  her  calm- 
ness and  gravity  and  thong^tfolness  were  all  un- 
derlaid and  interpenetrated  l^the  fervid  vehe- 


mence of  her  iuteiiie  iMmutiaSISt^  BeneaOi 
the  Enfdish. exterior  lay,  deep  wiUiin  her,  the 
Hioda  blood.  She  was  of  that  sort  which  can 
be  calm  in  ordinary  lifb— so  calm  «a  to  conceal 
utterly  all  ordinary  workings  of  tiie  ft«tfnl  soul; 
but  which,  in  the  face  of  any  great  excitement, 
or  in  the  presence  of  any  great  ymmg,  iriU  be  all 


-Mv 


^  / 1'*'^^   "**      ^  ' 


■ent  to  her  own  old  room,  so 
nborcd.  As  she  Crossed  the 
1  around  she  felt  her  strengtli 
sob  escaped  her,  and  sinking 
■he  once  used  to  sit  in  hop- 
lerself  up  to  her  recollections, 
lost  herself  in  these.  Hilda 
self,  as  though  her  delicacy 
3t  to  intrude  upon  her  friend' 
and  Zillah  thought  of  this 
■ateful  affection.    At  length 

6  degree  her  calmness,  and 
ar  strength,  she  went  at  last 
■e  that  dread  scene  had  been 
irhich  seemed  to  her  a  double 
which  had  burned  itself  in 
ling  the  horror  of  the  death 
I  with  the  ghastly  farce  of  a 
Bd  marriage.  In  tbat^loce 
rushed  over  her  soul.  She 
Chetwynde  Castle,  the  Earl, 
forgotten,  The  past  faded 
ohly  was^r  true  hontie— 
y  a  cloud  wm ch  might  never 

papal"  she  moaned,  and 
B  bed  where  he  had  breath- 

Dw,  thoagh  overwhelming, 
its  old  vehemence.  This 
ight  in  ZilUh— the  old,  nn- 
id  left  her.  A  real  afflic- 
,  by  its  gradual  renovating 
nil  the  good  that  was  in 
of  adversity  are  sweet,  is  a 
reaAism,  but  it  is  forever 
IS  its  truth  more  fully  dis- 
^rmerly  it  happened  that 
the  way  of  her  desires  was 
'  almost  into  Convulsions; 
nee  of  her  great  calamity, 
\r  with  patience  all  the  or- 
er  father  had  spoiled  her; 
become  regenerate, 
ler  nature  toward  a  purer 
vas  intenaified  bv  her  visit 
Dver  her  ■piril  there  came 
M,  caught  from  the  solemn 
f  which  BhApond  herself, 
and  aniete^he  wild  im- 
ir  lOttL    Thia  renewal  of 

7  place  of  iu  birth,  deep- 
first  presence.  This  visit 
Bctual  and  spirituatgrowdi 
lar  at  Chetwynde  Castle, 
month  here.  ZiUah,  who 
talkative  and  restless,  now 
llness  of  the  change  that 
She  had  grown  into  a  life 
houghtful  than  any  which 

She  had  ceased  to  be  a 
;  girL  Bhe  had  become  s 
I  woman.  But  her  calm- 
hong^tfolness  were  all  un- 
mted  by  the  fervid  vehe- 
Mentinuifim.  Beneath 
lay,  deep  within  her,  the 
|s  of  that  sort  which  can 
'e — so  calm  as  to  conceal 
rkings  of  the  fitful  sonl; 
of  any  great  excitement, 
ly  great  wiona^  will  be  aU 


oronvhelmed  and  trai)^fbrmed  into  a  furious  tor- 
nado of  passionate  rckgcL 

ZiUah,  tliuf'filent  and  meditative,  and  so 
changed  6«m  her  old  self;  might  well  hove 
awakened  the^^onder  of  her  friend.  Uut  what- 
ever Hilda  may  have  thought,  and  whatever 
wonder  she  ipy  have  felt^  she  kept  it  all  to  her- 
self; for  she  was  naturally  reticent,  and  so  seci»- 
tive  that  she  never  expressed  in  words  any  feel- 
ings which  she  might  have  about  things  that 
went  on  around  her.  If  Zillah  chose  to  stay  by 
iherself,  or  to  sit  in  her  company  without  speak- 
ing a  word,  it  was  not  in  Hilda  to  question  her 
or  to  remonstrate  with  her.  She  rather  chose 
Ito  accommodate  herself  to  the  temper  of  her 
Ifriend.  She  could  also  be  meditative  and  pro- 
inandlv  silent.  While  Zillah  had  been  taJka- 
Mve,  she  had  talked  with  her;  now,  in  her  si- 
[lence,  she  rivaled  her  as  well.  She  could  follow 
Zilkih  in  all  herteoods. 

At  the  end  of  a  month  they  returned  to  Chet- 
wynde Castle,  and  resumed  the  life  which  they 
-had  been  leading  there.     Zillah's  new  mood 
, seemed  to  Hilda,  and  to  others  also,  to  last  much 
longer  than  any  one  of  those  many  mObds  in 
|which  she  had  indulged  bef^.     But  this  proved 
Ito  be  more  than  a  mood,     jft  was  a  change. 
:    The  promise  which  she  haa  given  to  the  Eari 
she  had  tried  to  fulfill  most  conscientiously.    She 
uneally  had  striven  as  much  a8{X)ssible  to  "study. " 
"?hat  better  understanding,  bom  of  affection, 
rhich  had  arisen  between  them,  had  formed  a 
lew  motive  within  her,  and  rendered  her  capa- 
)le  of  something  like  application.     But  it  was 
lot  until  after  her  visit  to  Pomeroy , Court  that 
he  showed  any  effort  that  was  at  all  adequate  to 
le  purpose  before  her.     The  change  that  then 
ime  over  her  seemed  to  have  given  her  a  new 
(ontrol  over  herself.    And  so  it  was  that,  at  last, 
he  hours  devoted  to  her  studies  were  filled  up 
>y  efforts  that  were  really  earnest,  and  also  really 
iffective.  ' 

Under  these  circumstances,  it  happened  that 
lillah  Ijegan  at  last  to  engross  GuaftJer's  atten- 
ion  altogether,  during  the  whole  of  the  time  al- 
nted  to  her ;  and  if  he  had  sought  ever  so  eam- 
itly,  he  could  not  have  found  any  opportunity 
ir  a  private  interview  with  Hilda.  What  her 
rishes  might  be  was  not  visible ;  for,  whether  she 
rish^  it.or  not,  she  did  not,  in  any  way,  show 
'  She  was  alwavs  the  same-cahn,  cool,  civU, 
her  music-teacher,  and  devoted  to  her  own 
lare  of  the  studies.  Those  little  "asides"  in 
iich  they  had  once  indulged  were  now  out  of 
'  question;  and,  even  if  a  favorable  occasion 
ansen,  Goaltier  would  not  have  ventured 
m  the  undertaking.  He,  for  hU  part,  could 
ot  poMibly  know  her  thoughts:  whether  she 
'as  still  c  lenshing  her  old  designs,  or  had  given 
lem  up  altogether.  He  wnld  only  sUfle  hU  im- 
itience,  and  wait,  and  watch,  and  wait.  But 
low  was  It  with  her?  Was  she,  too,  watchins 
Md  waiting  for  some  opportunity  ?  He  thought 
f«o.  But  with  whayaim,  or  for  what  purpoSi? 
was  ,heita.rf2^lft,rtii»»^^S 


THE  GRXPtoobAM. 


told  him  this  most  plainly.  It  seemed  to  liim 
to  say :  Wait,  wait,  wait ;  whei?  the  time  comes, 
ihave  that  to  say  which  you  will  be  ghtd  to 
learn.  What  it  might  be  he  knew  not,  nor  could 
he  conjecture ;  but  he  thought  that  it  might  stUl 
"rfu^  the  secret  of  that  mysterious  cipher 
which  had  baffled  them  both.  ^ 

Thus  these  two  watched  and  waited.    Months 
passed  away,  but  no  opportunity  for  an  interview 
v*^!*:   .^/  ''°"'^'  '^  ""<•*  •»«d  been  reckless,  or  - 
If  It  had  been  absolutely  necessary  to  have  one, 
she  could  easily  have  arranged  it.     The  park  was 
wide,  full  of  lonely  paths  and  sequestered  re- 
treats, where  meetings  could  have  been  had 
qmte  free  from  aU  danger  of  observation  or  in- 
terruption.   She  needed  only  to  slip  a  note  into 
his  hand- telling  him  to  meet  her  at  some  place 
there,  and  he  would  obey  her  wUls     But  Hilda 
did  not  «*oose  to  do  any  thing  of^the  kind. 
Whatever  hhe  did  could  only  be  done  by  herin 
strict  acoHince  with   U$  convenance:     She 
would  have  waited  for  qionths  before  she  would 
consent  to  cbnipromise  herself  so  far  a»to  solicit 
a  stolen  inteihiew.    It  was  not  the  dread  of  dis- 
covery, howArer,  that  deterred  her;  for,  in  a 
place  like  Chitwvnde,  that  need  not  have  been 
feared,  and  if  she  had  been  so  disposed,  she 
could  have  ha4,an  interview  with  Gualtier  eveir 
week,  which  no  one  woidd  have  found  out.    tH 
thing  which  deterred  her  was  something  very 
different  from  this.     It  was  her  own  priMft.    Site 
could  not  humble  herself  so  far  as  to  do  this:    " 
Such  an  act  would  be  to  descend  from  the  p<Jd- 
tion  which  she  at  present  occupied  in  his  eyes. 
To  compromise  herself,  or  in  any  way  put  herself 
in  his  power,  was  impossible  for  one  likp  her.       " 

It  was  not,  however,  from  any  thing  like  moial 
cowardice  that  she  held  aloof  from  making  an 
interview  with  him;  noy  was  it  from  any  thing 
like  conscientious  scruples «  nor  yet  from  maid- 
enly modesty.  It  arose,  most  of  all,  from  pridei 
and  also  from  a  profound  perception  e^  the  ad- 
vantages enjoyed  by  one  who  fulfiUed^all  that 
might  be  demanded  by  the  proprieties  of  life 
Iier  aim  was  to  see  Gualtier  under  ciieamstancea 
that  were  unimpeachable— in  the  room  where  be  ' 
had  a  right  to  come.  To  do  mora  than  this 
might  lower  herself  in  his  eyes,  and  m.^,^  h\n 
presumptuous.  ' 


*> 


^  on  her  mi^eh  S;:;SK^CJi- 
cate  to  him  he  knew  weU ;  for  it  had  at  Uut  hao- 
pened  that  Hilda  had  chknged  to^SnelS 

I  from  her  cool  and  undemonstratiTe  manfiar^e 
encountered  sometimes-ror  thought  that  he  en- 
conn'ered-an  oirnest  gtance  which  she  thi«w 

I  at  him»  on  greeting  him,  fuU  of  meaning;  wwSh 


CHAPTEB  XIV. 

HBW    DISCOrBBIBS. 


At  last  the  opportunity  came  for  which  ther 
had  waited  so  long. 

For  many  months  ^hdi's  appUcatiim  to  her 
studies  had  beem  incessant,  and  the  Earl  bMan 
to  notice  signs  of  weariOHi  in  heC.  His  con- 
science smote  hinoi,  and  his  anzieQr  was  anrased. 
He  had  recovered  horn  his  gont,lahd  as  lie  iUt 
particubuiy  well  he  determined  totake  aUab  on 
a  long  drive,  thinking  that  thj»^hang»  woald  be 


^BAeffciid  toii^.  ^henitio  (aar  thju he  bad 
brought  too  great  a  preafSre  to  bear  on  her,  and 
that  she  in  her  newi-hishi  seal  for  stody  mUht 
carry  bs^plielf-deyotioii'too fitr,  and  do  tomeb- 
jnry  tr  her  health.  Hilda  declined  going,  ud 
^Uah  and  the  Earl  started  off  An-  the  day. 
\  On  that  day  Gualtier  came  at  his  nsnal  boor. 
On  looking  round  the  room  he  saw  no  signa  of 


83 


THE  CRYPTOOI 


aikh,  and  his  eyes  brightened  u  thev  fell  on 
Uild*.         «  ^ 

"  Mn.  Molynenx,"  laid  ihe,  after  the  niuaL  >- 
civilitiea,  "  haa  gone  out  for  a  drive.  She  will  ~ 
not  take  her  leMoiwto-day." 

"  Ah,  well,  ihalTl  wait  till  yonr  hour  arrives, 
or  wiU.yon  take  your  lesson  now?" 

"  Oh,  you  need  not  wait, "  said  Hilda ;  "  I  will 
take  my  lesson  now.  I  think  I  will  appropriate 
both  hours."  "^ 

There  was  a  glance  of  peculiar  meaning  in 
Hildas  eyes  which  Goaltier  noticed,  but  he  cast 
his  eyes  meekly  upon  the  floor.  11^  had  an  idea 
that  the  long  looked  for  revelation  was  about  to 
be  giv^n,  Jbut  he  did  not  attempt  to  hasten  it  in 
„  any  way.  He  was  afraid  that  any  expression  Of 
eagerness  on  his  part  might  repel  Hilda,  and, 
therefpre,  he  would  not  endanger  his  position  by 
asking  for  anything,  but  rather  lyaited  to  receive 
what  she  might  volantarily  offer. 

Hilda,  however,  was  not  at  all  anxious  to  be 
asked.  Now  that  she  could  converse  with  Gual- 
tier,  and  not  compromise  herself  she  had  made 
up  her  mind  to  give  him  her  confidence.  It  was 
Mfe  to  talk  to  this  nun  in  this  room.  The  serv- 
Bnts  weK  f(»w.  They  were  far  away.  Ncrone 
would  dream  of  trying  to  listen.  They  were  sit- 
ting close  together  near  the  piano.        < 

"I  have  something  to  say  to  yon."  said  Hilda 
•tlast 

Gualtier  looked  at  her  with  earnest  inqnirr. 
bnt  said  nothing.  ^     ^ 

"Yon -remember,  of  course,  what  we  were 
talking  about  the  last  time  we  spoke  to  one  an- 
other?" 

"Of  course,  I  have  never  forgotten  that" 

"It  was  nearly  two  years  ago,"  said  Hilda, 
^  At  one  time  I  did  not  expect  that  such  a  con- 
versation could  eyer  be  renewed.    With  the  Gen- 
.eral's  death  all  need,  for  it  seemed  to  be  de- 
stroyed.    But  now  that  need  seems  to  have 
arisen  again." 

"  Have  yoa  ever  deciphered  the  paper  ?"  asked 
Goaltier.  , 

"Not  mora  than  before,"iMid  Hilda,  "pot 
1  have  made  a  discovery  of  the  Tei7  greatest 
importance',  aometbinis  whiclrseiMirely  ccmfirms 
'  fS  ^*'™"i'  ajuptciois  gathered  fitMn  Uie  cipher. 
Th^  are  additi<Hial  papers  which  I  will  Show 
yon  praaenUy,  and  *en  yoa  will  see  whether  I 
m  right  or  not  I  merer  expected  to  find  any 
thiiig  of  the  kind.  I  tpuad  them  qaite  by  chance 
white  I  was  half  me(thai>icaUy  carrying  ont  my 
M.  idea.  After  the iGeneraTs  death  Iloct  aU 
interest  in  (he  mattoii  for  some  time,  for  tlrara 
•aiBMd  before  me  ao  «a|rtienlar  inducement  to 
*o  OD  with  it  Bnt  this  diaeovenr  has  changed 
tte  whole  oqMct  of  the  a<Ur. " 

"  What  was  it  Oat  7<oa  fonnd  ?"  asked  Onal- 

.  ner,  who  WM  M  or;ciitiaMty.     "Was  it  the 

k^  to  tin  diriiw,  «r  was  it  a  full  explanation,  or 

wasitsoae^diffinMit?*'  ' 

"Thqr  were  certain  bttws  and  bn«ness  por 


seemed  t9  be  set  in  the  other  like  a  wedge,  and 
while  thif  was  decipherable  the  other  Was  not" 

Gualtier  nodded. 

"  Now  I  want  yon  to  read  again  the  part  that 
I  deciphered,"  sdd  Hilda,  and  she  handed  hint 
a  pieco  of  paper  on  which  something  was  written 
Guaitujr  took  it  and  read  the  following,  which 
the  refcder  has  already  seen;  Each  sentence  was 
numbered. 

1.  6k  may  Ood  havt  mmy  on  my  wrtielui  souj 
Amen 

«.  iP^'inennifarnaaXunirtdaimuanddoUaTt 

tlM 


^*Uk  Uiy  Mary  Chebaund 
**ut  tin  army  for  aomino 


then  handed  it 


me,  aU  its  difleriiiea  ore  as  faunhnonntable  as 
•rar,  and  befora  I  show  joa  these  new  papers  I 
wajBt  to  refresh  yoer  tomiarj  about  the  old  ones. 
^  "Yon  remember,  fliyt  of  nil,"  said  she,  "the 
"  P"""  character  of  that  ciphbr  writing,  and  of 
my  interpretotion,     'Om  part  that  I  deciphered 


T.  AHi 

10.  OlamamiiiraiUtmiin 

Gualtier  looked  over  it  and 
back. 

"  Yes,^'  said  he,  "  I  remember,  of  course,  for 
{'happen  to  know  every  word  of  it  by  heart."    i 

"  Ihat  is  very  well,''  said  Hilda,  approvingly 
"^itliow  I  want  to  remind  you  of  the  difficuL: 
tiM  it^  my  interpretation  before  going  on  any  fur- 

"  Joo  remember  that  these  were,  first,  the  con- 
fnsioii  m  the  wa*  of  writing  the  name,  for  her* 
there  is  'O  Pom^roy,'  'O  N  Pomeroy,'  and  'N 
Pomeroy,'  in  so  short  a  document 

"Next,  there  is  the  mixture  of  persons,  the 
writer  sometimes  speaking  in  the  first  person  and 
sometimes  in  the  third,  as,  for  instance,  when  he 
say%  '  O  N  Pomermf  eloped  with  poor  Lady 
Chetwynde;'  and  then  he  says,  'She  listened 
to  MM  and  ran  off  with  me.' 

"  And  then  there  are  the  incomplete  sentences, 
such  as,  'FeU  in  with  Lo^y  Mafy  Chetwynd'— 
'  Expelled  (he  army  for  gaming. ' 

"Lastly,  there  are  two  ways  in  which  th4 
lady's  name  is  speUed,  'Chetwynde,'  and  '  Chet- 
wynd.' 

"  Yon  remember  we  decided  that  these  might 
be  accounted  tot  in  one  of  two  ways.  Either, 
first,  the  wrilw,  in  copying  it  out,  grew  confused 
m  ibtmtng  Ui  ciidier  characters ;  or,  secondly, 
he  framed  the  whole  pqter  with  a  deUbei^e  pur- 
pose to  boflle  and  perplex." 

"I  remember  all  this," said  Gualtier,  quietlv. 
"  I  have  not  forgotten  it " 

"TUe  General's  death  changM  the  aspect  of 
afiUn  so  completely," said  Hilda,  "and  mads 
this  so  aKMuendy  nseless,  that  I  thought  yoa 
mi{^t  have  forgotten  at  least  these  minute  par- 
ti^ilars.  It  is  necessary  tx  you  to  have  these 
things  fresh  in  your  mind,  so  as  to  regard  the 
whole  subject  thoroughly." 

"Bnt  what  good  will  any  discovenr  be  pow  ?" 
asked  Gualtier,  with  unfeigned  surpnse.  "  The 
General  is  dead,  'and  you  can  do  nothing." 

"The  General  is  dead,"  said  Hilda;  "bntthe 
tienml's  daughter  lives."  ■ 

Nothing  could  exceed  the  bitterness  of  tht 
tone  Jin  which  she  uttered  these  Words. 

-danghmrl  OC, what  possible  oonwiwr 
aU  dds  be  to  her?"  odced  Gualtier,  who 
wished  to  ge^  at  the  bott6m  of  Hilda's  purpose. 
"  I  shodd  never  har<e  tried  to  ttrike  at  the  Gen- 
eral, '  said  Hilda,  "  if  |ie  had  not  had  a  daughter. 
It  was  not  him  that  I  wished  to  harm,  ft  was 
htr,"  ^  - 

"And  now,"  said  Gnokiac^  after  a  sitenoe, 


it>i- 


,^#fl"»%  fe^ 


'•e^ 


THE  CRYPTOGRAM. 


he  other  like  a  wedge,  ani] 
tenblt  the  other  #m  not." 

to  read  again  tlie  part  that 
Illda,  and  ihe  lianded  hint 
lith  tomething  wa»  written, 
read  the  following,  which 
y  seen;    Each  lentence  was 

nurey  on  my  ur^hed  nul 

Aunind  Ounuand  doUan 

'■  withpoor  tody  Chetwundt 

ad  iny/mlm  tnfying 

Mtfans/wOAtiM 

ar  h>ubemd'$  aet 

fary  Chetui/nd 

tar  gaming 

rouBirItt 

rtUtSn 

er  it  and  then  handed  it 


rjr  word  of  it  by  heart." 

said  Hilda,  approvinglvj 
remind  you  of  the  difflcuUl 
>n  before  going  on  any  fur^ 

It  these  were,  first,  the  con- 
nriting  the  name,  for  here, 
"ONPomeroy.'and  'N 
a  document 

B  mixture  of  persons,  the 
king  in  the  first  person  and 
,  as,  for  ^tance,  when  he 

eloped  with  poor  Lady 
a  he  says,  'She  listened 

me.' 

I  the  incomplete  sentences. 

Lady  Ma^  Chetwynd'— 
r  gaming.' 

two  ways  in  which  th< 
*  Chetwynde,'  and  '  Che^ 

1  decided  that  these  might 
le  of  two  ways.  Either, 
ling  it  out,  grew  confused 
characters ;  or,  secondly, 
qier  with  a  deliber^e  par- 
lex." 
s,"saidGiudtier,  quietly. 

th  changed  the  aspect  of 
said  Hilda,  "and  made 
less,  that  I  thought  yoa 
t  tout  these  minute  par- 
ty liir  yoa  to  have  these 
uid,  so  OS  to  regard  the 
ly." 

I  any  discoTerr  be  pow  ?" 
fUgned  snrpnse.     "The 
m  can  do  nothing." 
d," said  Hilda 5  "but  the 
I." 

Bd  the  bitterness  of  the 
id  these  words. 

r  wiiM*  *»*i**i>*i»  ^■■■■■■■.— — 

V  Miked  Onaltier,  who 
t6m  of  Hilda's  purpose, 
^ed  to  ttrike  at  the  Gen- 
I  had  not  had  a  daiwfatar. 
rhdwd  to  harm.    f|  wsi 

luaitiet,  after  a  iilenoe, 


"she  is  oat  otjota  reach.  6he  Is  Mrs.  Moly- 
neux.  She  will  be  the  Countess  of  Chetwynde. 
How  can  she  be  harmed  ?' 

As  he  spoke  he  looked  with  a  swift  interroga- 
tlre  glance  at  Hilda,  and  then  turned  away  his 
eyes. 

"Trne,"  said  Hilda,  caatioasly  and  slowly; 
"  she  is  beyond  my  reach.  Besides,  you  will  ob- 
serve that  I  was  speaking  of  the  past."  I  was 
telling  what  I  wished— not  what  I  wish.'^' 

"  lliat  is  precisely  what  I  understood,"  said 
Gnaltier.     "I  only  asked  so  as  to  know  how 
1  your  wishesjlnow  inclined.     I  am  anxious  to 
serve  you  in  an^  war." 

I     "So  you  have  said  before,  and  I  take  yon  at 
I  TOur  word,"  said  Hilda,  calmly.     "I  have  once 
before  reposed  confidence  in  yoa,  and  I  intend  to 
I  do  so  again. " 

Gnaltier  bowed,  and  murmured  some  words  of 
I  grateflil  acknowledgment. 

'My  work  now, '*  said  Hilda,  without  seeming 
I  to  notice  bim| "  is  one  of  investigation.     I  mere- 
ly wish  to  get  to  the  bottom  of  a  secret.    It  is  to 
I  this  that  I  have  concluded  to  invite  your  assist- 
ance." 

"  You  are  assured  of  that  already.  Miss  ECrieflT,*' 

said  Gualtier,  |n  a  tone  of  deep  devotion.    "  Call 

'  it  investigation,  or  call  it  any  thing  you  choose, 

I  if  you  deign  to  ask  my  assistance  I  will  do  any 

I  thing  and  dare  any  thing." 

Hilda  langhed  harshly. 

"In  truth,"  said  she,  dryly,  "  this  doe^  not  re- 
I  qnirei'much  daring,  but  it  may  cause  tronble — it 
I  may  also  take  up  valuable  time.  I  do  hot  ask 
I  for  any  risks,  but  rather  for  the  employment  <Mr 
[the  most  ordinary  qualities.  Patience  aind  per 
[severance  will  do  all  that  I  wish  tio  have 
rdone." 

"  I  am  sonpr.  Miss  KriefF,  diat  there  u  notUag 

li^oro  than  this.    I  should  prefer  to  (o  on  some 

Enterprise  of  danger  for  yoor  sokeb" 

He  laid  a  strong  emphans  on  these  last  words, 

I  but  Hilda  did  not  seem  to  notice  it.    I^e  cqb- 

I  tinned,  in  a  calm  tone : 

'  All  this  is  talkfaigia  the  dark.    Imnstex- 

I  phiin  myself  instead  of  talking  round  about  the 

I  subject.    To  begin,  then.    Since  our'lost  inter- 

Iview  I  could  find  out  nothing  whatevor  that  tend- 

led  to  throw  any  lij^t  on  that  mysterioas  cipher 

■writing.    Why  it  waa'-writtan,  er  why  it  shoald 

|be  so  carefully  prescjrved,  I  could  not  discover. 

xhe  General's  death  seemed  tit  make  It  useless, 

knd  so  for  a  long  dme  I  ceased  to  think  abont  it. 

It  was  only  on  my  last  vWt  to  Pomeioy  Court 

hat  it  come  to  my  mind.    That  was  six  or  eight 

Donths  ago. 

■ 'On  going  there  Mrs.  Molynenxgiive  herself    _ 
np  to  grief,  and  scarcely  ever  spoke  a  word.   8h(8«i, 
I  was  muctt  by  herself  and  brooded  over  her'sor-  ^ 
'  rows.  ShAspent  miieh  time  In  her  fiither's  room, 
and  still  mei«  time  in  solitary  walks  about  the 
groundl.     I  was  much  by  myself.    Left  thus 
alone,  I  rambled  about  the  house,  and  one  day 
happened  to  go  to  the  Genend's  study.    Here 
every  thing  r«^n)ni^  nlmtwit  fiTnftljr  ni 

was  here  that  I  (band  the  eiplier 
in.  the  cireum 


to  be.     It 

writing,  uid,  on  vjsithng  it  -„-..,  „„  wu«hbi- 
stances  of  that  discovery  mrtorally  suggested 
themselves  to  my' mind."  ' 

Hilda  had  vanned  with  her  theme,  and  spoke 
wit.i  something  like  recklessness  as  thoa^  she 
was  prepared  at  hist  to  throw  awayeveiyiornide 


88 

and  make  a  full  confidence.  The  allusion  to  the 
discovery  of  the  cipher  was  a  reminder  to  her- 
self and  to  Gualtier  of  her  former  dishonorable 
conduct.  ^  Having  once  more  touched  u)K)n  this, 
it  was  easier  for  her  to  reveal  new  treachery  upon 
her  part.  Nevertheless  she  paused  for  a  moment, 
and  looked  with  earnest  scrutiny  upon  her  com- 
panion, lie  regarded  her  with  a  look  of  silent 
devotion  which  s^med  to  express  any  degree  of 
subserviency  to  her  interests,  and  diswined  ererj 
suspicion.    Reassured  by  this,  she  contihued : 

"It  happened  that  I  began  to  examine  the 
General  s.  papers.  It  was  quite  accidental,  and 
afbse  merely  from  the  fact  that  I  had  nothing 
else  to  do.  It  was  almost  mechanical  on  my 
part.  At  any  rate  I  opened  the  desk,  and  found 
it  full  of  documenu  of  all  kinds  which  had  been 
wparently  undisturbed  for  an  indefinite  period.  . 
Naturally  enough  I  examined  the  drawer  in  which 
I  had  found  the  cipher  writing,  and  was  able  to 
do  so  quite  at  my  leisure.  On  first  opening  it  I 
found  only  some  business  papers.  The  cipher 
waspo  longer  there.  I  searched  among  all  the 
other  papers  to  find  it,  but  in  vain.  I  then  con- 
cluded that  he  had  destroyed  it.  For  sevwal 
days  I  continued  to  examine  that  desk,  but  with 
no  result.  It  seemed  to  fiiscinate  me.  At  last, 
however,  I  came  to  the  conclnsion  that,  nothing 
more  could  be  discovered.  - 

"  All  this  time  Mrs.  Mdyneox  leik  me  qnita 
to  myself  and  my  search  in  the  desX  and  my 
discouragement  were  altogether  tmknown  to  her. 
After  about  a  week  I  gave  ap  the  dtwk  and  tore 
nyi^  «way.  Still  1  ooald  not  keep  away  ftom 
It,  and  at  the  end  of  another  week  I  retorned  to 
the  search.  This  tin^e  I  went  with  the  intention 
of  exfmining  all  the  dnCWers,  tosee  if  there  waa 
not  some  additional  i4i)ce  of  concealment. 

"  It  is  not  necessary  for  me  to  describe  to  rat 
minutely  the  yarioas  trials  which  I  made.  It  is 
quite  enoagh  for  me  now  to  .say  that  I  at' hut 
nmnd,oat  uat  in  that  verynrivate'drawar  when 
I  had  first  discovered  the  dner  writing  there  waa 
a  fake  bottom  of  venrpecnUarconstnction.  It 
Jay  close  to  the  xeol  hottom,  flttfaig  in  very  vieOf, 
and  left  room  only  for  a  finr  tUn  pApeis.  The 
fohie  bqttom  and  the  real  bottonf  ii«reso  thin  thsit 
no  one  could  suniect  aof  tiling  of  die  Und. 
Something  abbot  flie  poduon  of  tht  dfacawer  led 
me  to  examine  it  minntely,  and  the  idea  (^a  Mss 
bottom  came  to  my  mind.  I  ctadd  not  find  cot 
the  siecret  of  it,  and  it  was  only  by  tiie  very  mde 

{irocess  of  prying  at  it  with  a  kaifo  that  I  at 
ength  made  the  discovexy." 
She  paused.  ,^^'' 

;•  And  did  yon  findiSiy  thing  t"  said'^iSLdticr, 
eagetfy.  ' 

"I  did." 

"Papers?",  • 

i^'Yes.  The  old  cipher  wridn|e  was  thaw— ihat  '• 
iqH-concealed  careintly, Jealously— donUy  con-,  ' 
cealed,  in  fiwt  Waa  not  this  enough  to  show  that 
it  had  importance  in  the  eyes  of  the  roan  vriio  had 
thus  concealed  it  f    ItmnstbesOi    Nothing  hot    ' 


Uy  have  led  to  such'extraordinaiy  pains  in  the 
concealment  ef  it.  This  I  felt,  and  tUs  oonvio. 
tion  only  intensified  myderire  to  get  at  the  b^ 
torn  of  the  mystery  wtddi  it  incloses.  And  this 
much  I  saw  plainly— that  the  dedphering  wUdt 
I  have  made  carrias  in  itself  so  dmad  a  confes- 
sion, that  the  man  whoi  madSlt  woidd^wiBiiiij^ 


M 


THE  Cryptogram:.' 


THK  OLD  CIF 

conced  It  b^  in  cipher  writing  and  in  secret 
drtwerfc" 

"But  of  course,"  said  Gnaltier/^king  ad- 
vantage of  a  pause,  "yon  found  something  else 
?*"•*«  «•?•»«••    With  that  yo«  wtre  already 

*X»j  gad  it  if  this  that  I  ail- going  to  teU 
'  ^T**" .  Th«*»  ^ere  iome  papers  which 
eyidenUy  been  there  for  a  long  time,  kept 
ttere  in  the  salne  phwe  with  the  cipher  writing. 
Wfcen  I  first  found  them  I  merely  looked  hasti- 
ly over  them,  and  then  folded  them  all  np  to- 
gether,  and  took  them  away  so  as  to  examine 
Uiem  in  my  own  room  at  leisure.  On  looking 
orer  them  I  found  the  names  which  I  expected 
occmnng  fhsquenUy.  There  was  the  name  of 
V.  N.  Fomeroir  and  the  name  of  Lady  Chet- 
wynde.  In  addition  to  these  there  was  another 
name,  «jd  a  renr  singular  one.  The  name  U 
««ea  Uhnte,  and  seems, to  me  to  be  an  Amer^ 
^^^^   ^*  "y  rate  the^owner  of  it  lived  ia^ 

"Obed  Chute,"  repeated  Gualtier,  with  the 
air  or  one  who  is  trying  to  fluten  something  on 
his  memoiy.  " 


WKITISO    WAS  TH12RE. 


,  V  y'?"*  '[M  the  nature  of  the  connection 
which  he  had  with  the  others?" 

"I  should  conjecture  that  he  was  a  kind  of 
guide,  philosopher,  and  friend,  with  a  little  of 
the  agent  and  commission-merchant,"  replied 
Hilda,  "But  it  is  impossible  to  find  out  any 
thing  in  particular  about  him  from  M>e  meagre 
letters  which  I  obtained,  I  found  nothing  else 
except  these  nepers,  though  I  searched  diligent- 
ly, Kveiy  thing  is  contained  here.  I  have 
theni,  and  I  intend  to  show  them  to  you  without 
any  further  dehty," 

Saying  this  Hilda  drew  some  papers  from  her 
pocket,  and  handed  them  to  Gualtier. 

On  opening  them  Gualtier  found  first  a  paper 

which  Hilda  had  copied,  and  the  characters  were 
funUiar  to  him  horn  his  former  attempt  to  de- 
cipher thtm.  The  paper  wu  thick  and  coarse,  but 
Hilda  had  copied  the  characters  wy  faithfolly. 
""  »  JT*  W*«««  «o«ipt witwm  Odfbifa 

?Tl  'i^!!; .  ••  "■■  y*"*"'  ^*^  "«^  whUo  the 
ink  had  fiulod  into  a  pale  brown : 


ArJi^^iATiP-  ^!  '""•'oy  the  sum  o7one  boo- 
dfMl  thousand  doUars  In  pajrmsnt  tor  my  cUtm' 

"OtuoCuvm." 


■  Zi. 


ature  of  the  connection 
others?" 

«  that  he  was  a  kind  of 
I  friend,  with  «  little  of 
iuion-mercbant,"  replied 
ipoHible  to  find  out  any 
nt  him  from  ^e  meagre 
d.  I  found  nothing  else 
ough  I  searched  diligent- 
ontained  here.  I  have 
liow  them  to  you  without 

sw  tome  papers  from  her 
m  to  Gualtier. 
laltier  found  first  a  paper 
iting.  It  was  the  same 
,  and  the  characters  were 
la  foimer  attempt  to  de- 
waa  thick  and  coarse,  but 
laracters  twy  faithfuljy. 
:  t'BCBlpt  wrtitsn  out  on  a 
bIIow  with  age,  while  the 
fl  brown: 


It.  was  a  singular  document  in  every  i»spect: 

'""i:^?^"'"'°"  "'^  *^^  •""  of  money  seemed  to 
conflrmTthe  statemeiit  gathered  from  the  cipher 
writinor.  "^ 


THE  CRYPTOGRAM. 


M 


writing. 
Tiie  next  document  was  a  letter : 

tt-n         o  r"  ?'*  ^°"*'  ^'f^  *8,  1840. 

DbabSih,— I  take  great  pleasure  in  inform- 
ing you  that  L.  C.  has  experienced  a  change, 
and  IS  now  slowly  recovering.  I  assure  you  that 
no  pmns  shall  be  Spared  to  hasten  her  cure  The 
bMt  that  Hm  York  can  afford  is  at  her  service 
I  hope  soon  to  acquaint  you  with  her  entire  re- 
covoijr.     Until  then,  believe  me, 

"  Yours  truly,        Oded  CHnrp 
"Capt  O.  N.  PoiiiEov."  "  V^HUTE. 

The  next  paper  was  a  letter  written  in  a  lady's 
band.    It  was  very  short ; 

tiv  11  J     "^"U'YOBK,  &ptem6er20, 1840. 

TareweU,  dearest  fnend  and  more  than  broth- 
er.  After  a  long  sickness  I  have  at  lost  recovered 

M;^'r*h!.t„^w  ""Y  ?/  ^'^  """^  "■«  kindness  of 
Mr.  Chute.  We  sfiall  never  meet  again  on  earth  • 
bju  I  will  pray  for  youf  happiness%ill  my  latest 
"■*""'•  Mary  Chetwynde." 

There  was  only  one  other.    It  was  a  letter 
also,  and  was  as  follows:  »  leiier 

"Dear  «?,»  T "^"^  ^°"'  ^'^  !»•  1840. 
iJEAR  HiB,— I  have  great  pleasure  in  in- 
forming you  that  your  friend  L.  C.  has  at  len«h 
entirely  recovered.  She  is  very  much  bS 
down,  however;  her  hair  is  quit^  gray,  and  she 
ooks  twenty  vears  older.  She  is  d^ply  peni- 
tent and  profeundly  sad.  She  is  toXve  me 
to-mon-o,vand  will  join  the  Sisters  of  Ch.^r 

andV:;"  if  "'^r  '"•'  ^'•'"  "•"  •"  ^'  f°'  Sf 

ana  tor  alB         l  ,emnm  yours,  very  truly, 

"Capt.  0.x  Povnaov."  """"'*  ^'•''^• 

Gualtier  read  these  letters  several  times  m 
deep  and  thoughtful  silence.  Then  he  sat  i^ 
profound  thought  for  some  time. 

JI^C  '*j'*  ""''»  "  ••'ngth,  with  some  im- 
pa  lence,  "what  do  you  think  of  these  ?" 
What  do  ^  think  r  asked  Gualtier, 

^  t  .hint  ""T*^  r","*"*-     "  ^  *»1  'eU  vou  what 
I  thmk;  and  as  I  have  brooded  over  "these  for 

StXh'  """•  '•'=""  ""'-^  ^y  'h«  I »™ 

Z  .W  k'"  *"""■ '"  "y  ""» '""Pressions.  To 
^.&  ;J^  S'P"?  '"*"'  »«  point  out  two 
^\^T^  i?""  •*'"«  'h"  of 'he  forgei^? 
«nd  the*econd  that  of  the  elopement.  BevoTd 
this  I  se^  something  else.    Thrforgery  hasZn 

ttn^TdvPh.^  cjme  toa  misei^ble  termii' 
Id  bV  K^' Wir™' '"  """^ « l^n  desert- 
Se  feU  if  Z;r«?  '•^''«'■P?>■»'»P''  in  New  York. 

reooveij  rte  had  grown  in  appeai-anoe  twenty 
years  older.    Broken-hearted,  shT  did  not  dare 


toeni  kte;*  "fom.  to  me  perXjsT  have 
hhS.  nJ^Ki "'  •**'  ?'^  ^^  'o*'"''  '^ho  employed 

h.  his  ™i'jr  "/  ?*•  -nhapp/ woman  ^hom 

liL.  {^"J"  ^"•J'  *''«  roc^ant  lover  informed 
about  her  £.te.    f„  the  midst  of  these  there  U 


the  last  dMpairing  farewell  of  the  unhappy  creat. 

fZrT^^-     ^V^'^  ••>«  conscien^sS,^ 
over  has  carefuUy  preserved.   ;in  addition  to 
these,  no  doubt  for  the  sake  of  easing  hig  con 
^wnce,  he  wrote  out  a  confession  o^f  Ws  sin 
But  he  was  too  great  a  coward  to  write  it  out 
plainly  and  therefore  wrote  it  in  ciphen    I  b^ 

IrhaH  f'  '"7?"'**  '■r^  dostroyed^hem  all^ 
he  had  found  time;  but  his  accident  came  too 
quickly  for  this,  and  he  has  left  these  pawn^M 
a  legacy  to  the  discoverer."  papera,ns 

fei^e?Jta!''^''*''«-'«'''''---'h  - 
"  You  are  right,"  said  he.  "  Every  word  that 
^u  speak  is  aa  true  as  fate.  Yon  hS^e^„eS- 
ted  to  the  very  bottom  of  this  secret  Ibeheve 
that  this  is  the  true  solution.  Your  genius  hw 
solved  the  mystery. "  ^  ^ 

no'Ziif"'^'"?'^'"  ^''^^  Hi""'  who  showed 
of  GrirJTuT*'  *',  *he_fervent  admimion 
tfon'^as  evi;^    ""'  '^^''''^  »  "  "^  f""-  ^oiu- , 

"  Have  you  not  solved  it  ?" 

"Certainly  not.     Mine,  after  all.  are  merely 

InThTr;    Much  mor^"  remains'to  be  dol^ 

u  'he  firat  place,  I  must  find  out  something 

t°Tj^^  Chetwynde.    For  month,  I  ft 

tried,  but  in  vain.    I  have  ventured  as  far  aS  I 

Si  ?  'Jr"°r"r*''°  P^'P''  »hout  here.  Once  I 
hinted  to  Mrs.  Hart  something  about  tlie  elope- 
ment, and  she  turned  upon  mf  with  that  in  C 
^es  which  would  have  turned  an  ordinary  mor- 
tal into  stone.  Fortunately  for  me.  I  bore  it 
^d  sunived.  But  since  tl^t  unfort^unate Tu^I 
tion  she  shuns  me  more  than  ever.    The  other 

S""*  V  ?r-  ""'^"1' »"'«'  'hey  will  reveal  no. 
,  «iing.  Nothing,  m  fact,  can  be  discovered  here. 
I  The  mystery  ,s  yet  to  be  explained,  and  the  exl 

Ph|?^on  must  be  sought  elsewhere." 

IJI  don't  know." 

"  Have  you  thought  of  any  thing?   Yon  mn.t 
have,  or  you  would  not  have'communic.Kh , 
me.    There  is  some  work  which  you  wish  me  W 
do.     You  have  thoufht  about  it,  and  have  dcT 

Sh1Jrr'.'\^'"'A."J''  iBHtoVtoAmlricS 
Shall  I  hunt  up  Obed  Chute?  Shall  I  search 
through  the  convent,  till  I  find  that  Sistenho 

rsoTvJr^:^'''"^''"^"''  Teume:"''iv;s„" 

erSISjSffinrhercorirn.*""'^''  -•>* 

in!,.  V  ''"T-  ^  '""'•  no  pl«n8-no  def- 
mite  mm,  beyond  a  desire  to  find  out  what  it  «U 
means,  and  what  there  is  in  it.  Wliat  can  I  do? 
What  could  I  do  if  I  found  out  all  ?  I  Zllyt 
Zat^'-  "  ««neral  romorov  were  1^%X 
might  be  possible  to  extort  from  him  aconfes^on 
of  his  cnmes,  and  make  them  known  TlhS 

edG^lH^'V^  Pomeroy  were  aUve,"  interrupt- 

wkhT^  '    ".".'*  f  «»*  'o  confess  all  his  crimas. 

what  good  would  that  do  ?"  ^ 

"What  -     - 


^..  -"'J^^^  Cried  Hilda,-in-a  tow «#«ff= 
greater  vehemence  and  passion  than  any  which 
had  yet  escaped  her.  "Whatgood?  dnmUia- 
tion  soiTow,  shame,  anguish,  for  his  daughter! 
It  IS  not  on  his  head  that  I  wish  thew  to  dL 
•cend,  but  on  hers.  You  look  inipri^  Y^ 
wonder  why?  I  will  not  tell  roa-limrnow  at 
h»ut.  It  .  not  because  she  iipa.,ton,SrMd 
«li«gree.ble ,  that i.  a  trifle, uid CdeSrte hw 


'Aji^, 


jM^^ 


t 


-,  M 


*?"- 


so 


THE  CRYPTOaRAM. 


ciiuiiged  fi'iim  that ;  it  is  not  becanse  she  erer'in- 
jm-eJ  me— she  nevei-  injured  me ;  she  loves  me ; 
but" — and  Hilda's  brow  grew  dark,  and  her  eyes 
flushed  as  she  spoke — "  there  are  other  reasons, 
deeper  than  all  this — reasons  which  I  will  not 
divulap  even  to  yon,  but  which  yet  are  sufficient 
to  iqjke  me  long  and  yearn  and  crave  for  some 
opportunity  to  bring  down  her  proud  head  into 
the  very  dnst." 

"And  that  opportnnity  shall  be  ypnrs,"  cried 
Gualtier,  vehemently.  "To  do  this  it  is  only 
necessaiy  to  And  out  the  whole  truth.  I  will 
find  it  ont  I  will  search  over  all  Enghtnd  and 
nil  America  till  I  dycover  all  that  you  want  to 
know.  General  Pomeroy  is  dead.  What  mat- 
ter ?  He  is  nothing  to  yon.  Bat  she  lives,  and 
is  a  mark  for  your  vengeance." 

•'  I  have  said  more  than  I  intended  to,"  said 
Hilda,  saddenly  resuming  her  coolness.     "At 
any  rate,  I  take  yon  at  your  word.     If  yon  want 
money,  I  can  supply  it.'' 
^^  "Money?"  said  Gnaltier,  with  a  light  laugh. 
"  No,  no.    It  is  something  far  more  than  that 
which  I  want    When  I  have  socceeded  in  my 
search  I  will  tell  yon.    To  tell  it  now  would  be 
premature.     But  when  shall  I  start  ?    Now  ?" ' 
"Oh  no,"  said  Hilda,  who  shon-ed  no  emo- 
tion one  way  or  the  other  at  the  hint  which  he 
had  thrown  oot    "Oh  no,  do  nothing  sudden- 
ly.   Wait  until  your  quarter  is  up.     When  will 
it  be  out?" 
"In  six  weeks.    ShaUIwait?" 
"Yes." 

"  Well,  then,  in  six  weeks  I  will  go." 
"VenrwelL'* 

"  And  if  I  don't  succeed  I  shall  never  come 
back." 
Hilda  was  silent 

"Is  it  arranged,  then?"  said  Gualtier,  after  a 
time." 
"  Yes ;  and  now  I  will  take  my  music  lesson. " 
And  HOda  walked  over  to  the  piano. 
After  this  interview  no  further  opportunity  oc- 
curred.   Gnaltier  came  every  day  as  before.    In 
a  fortnight  he  gave  notice  to  the  Earl  that  press- 
ing private  engagements  wonld  require  his  de- 
parture.   He  begged  leave  to  recommend  a  friend 
of  his,  Mr.  Hilaire.    The  Earl  had  an  interview 
with  Gnaltier,  and  oourteoosly  expressed  his  re- 
gret at  his  departure,  asking  him  at  the  same 
time  to  write  to  Mr.  Hiiaira  and  get  him  to  come. 
This  Gnaltier  promised  to  do. 

Shortly  before  the  time  of  Goaltier's  departure 
BIr.  Hilaire  arrive^.    Gnaltier  took  him  to  the 
Castle,  and  he  was  recognised  as  the  new  teacher. 
In  a  Cbw  days  Gnaltier  took  his  departure. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

mOM  OISLHOOD  TO  WOHAITHOOD. 

ONf  evening  ZilUh  was  sitting  with  Lord 
Chetwynde  in  his  little  sanctum.  His  health 
had  not  been  good  of  late^  and  sometiines  at- 
tacks  of  goat  ware  saperMded.  At  this  lime 
he  was  confined  to  his  room. 

Zillah  waa  dnssed  tor  dinner,  and  had  come 
to  sit  with  him  until  the  second  bdl  rang..  8he 
had  been  with  him  constantly  during  his  confine- 
ment to  his  Voora.  At  this  time  she  wlu  seated 
on  a  low  stool  near  the  fire,  which  tbraw  iu 


glow  over  her  foee,  and  lit  up  the  vast  masses 
of  her  jet-black  hair.  Neither  of  them  had  spok- 
en for  some  time,  when  Lord  Chetifrynde,  who 
had  been  looking  steadily  at  her  for  some  min- 
utes, said,  abruptly : 

"Zillah,  I'm  sure  Guy  will  not  know  you 
when  he  comes  back." 
She  looked  up  laughingly. 
"Why,  father?    I  think  every  lineament  on 
my  face  must  be  stereotyped  on  his  memoiy." 

"That  is  precisely  the  reason  why  I  say  that 
he  will  not  know  yon.  I  could  not  have  im- 
agined that  three  years  could  have  so  thoroughly 
altered  any  one." 

"It's  only  fine  ifeathers,"  said  ZiUah,  shaking 
her  head.  "You  must  allow  that  Mathilde  is 
,  incomparably  I  often  feel  that  were  she  to 
I  have  ^e  le^^ea  of  the  appearance  which  I 
prraented,  yftiw.  first  came  here,  there  would  be 
nothing  left  forlhe  but  suicide.  I  could  not  sur- 
vive her  contemfat  J  was  always  fond  of  finery. 
I  have  Indian  blood  enough  for  that ;  but  when 
I  remember  my  combinations  of  colors,  it  really 
makes  me  shudder;  and  my  hair  was  always 
streaming  over  my  shoulders  in  a  manner  more 
neglige  than  becoming." 

"I  do  Mathilde  full  justice,"  returned  Lord 
Chetwynde.  "Your  toilette  and  coiffure  ara 
now  irreproachable ;  but  even  her  power  has  its 
limits,  and  she  could  scarcely  have  turned  the 
sallow,  awkward  girl  into  a  lovely  and  graceful 
woman." 

Zillah,  who  was  nnnsed  to  flattery,  blushed 
very  red  at  this  tribute  to  her  charms,  and  an- 
swered, quickly : 

"  Whatever  change  there  may  be  is  entirely 
due  to  Monmouthshire.  Devonshire  never  agreed 
with  me.  I  should  have  been  ill  and  dcUcate  to 
this  day  if  I  had  remained  ther^  and  as  to  sal- 
lowness,  I  must  plead  gniltv  to  that  I  remem- 
ber a  lemon-colored  silk  I'had,  in  which  it  was 
impossible  to  tell  where  the  dress  ended  and  my 
neck  began.  Bat,  after  aU,  father,  yon  are  a 
very  pnyudiced  judge.  Except  that  I  am  healthy 
now,  and  well  dressed,  I  think  I  am  vejy  much 
the  same  personally  as  I  was  three  years  ago.  In 
character,  however,  I  feel  that  I  hare  altered." 
"No,"  he  replied;  "I  have  bean  looking  at 
you  for  the  last  few  minutes  with  perfectly  un- 
pr^udiced  eyes,  ttying  to  see  von  at  a  stnnger 
would,  and  as  Guy  will  when  he  returns.  And 
now  '•  he  added,  laughingly,  "yon  shall  be  pun- 
ished for  ^our  audacity  in  doubting  my  power* 
of  discrimination,  by  having  a  Aill  inventory  giv- 
en you.    We  will  begin  with  the  figure— about 


the  middle  height,  perhaps  a  little  under  it,  slight 
and  graceful ;  small  and  beautifully  proportioned 
head ;  well  set  on  the  shoulders;  complexion  no 
longer  sallow  or  lemon-colorad,  but  clear,  bright 
transparent  olive ;  hair,  blacM  m  night,  and  glossy 

But  here  he  was  interrupted  by  Zilkh,  who 
suddenly  flung  her  arms  about  his  neck,  and  the 
close  proximity  of  the  flwe  which  he  was  describ- 
ing impededfui^iN^nt|MuM^ 

«  HUBli,  IWIiw,"  tmmi  "I  wSi't  hear  an- 
other  word,  and  don't  yon  dare  to  talk  about  ever 
looking  at  me  with  nnprq{odioed  eyes.  I  want 
you  to  love  me  without  seeing  my  iaults." 

"  But  would  you  not  nther  that  I  saw  your 
fiiilings,  ZiUah,  than  that  I  ckHhed  you  with  an 
ideal  periltction?" 


and  lit  ap  the  vast  manei 

Neither  of  them  had  ipok. 

rhen  Lord  Cheturynde,  who 

sadily  at  her  for  some  min- 

»  Guy  will  not  koow  yon 


THE  CRYPTOGRAlt 


"No ;  I  don't  eaie  for  the  bve  that  ia  always  I  of  semrihiiSHr  .-j  j,-    •        «,..     ^   , 

ontforfiuiltt,  andhaaa^'bnf  even  au^e  flll^^th  o^^":"  <'^°»:.  .^hey  had  also  been 

..; ^     «n.-.  ...      .   .    .  """we   nuea  with  events  upon  which  the  world  gazed  in 

awe,  which  shook  the  British  empire  to  Us  cei- 
tr^  and  sent  a  thrill  of  horror  to  the  heart  of 
that  empire,  ^followed  by  a  fierce  thirsTfor 
r?*^"l*'-    *^°'-«heIndiinmntinT  had  broken 


Itendei&t  moments.  That  if  not  the  love  I  give. 
Iperbaps  stnngers  might  not  think  dear  papa, 
land  you,  and  Hilda  absolately  perfect ;  bnt  I  can 
Jnot  see  M'osle  flaw,  and  I  should  hate  myself 
lif  I  could."  ' 

I  Lord  Chetimide  kissed  her  fondly,  bnt  sighed 
las  he  answered: 

I  "My  child,  yon  know  nothing  of  the  world 

II  fewr  life  has  some  very  bitter  lessons  in  store 
I  for  yon  before  yon  will  learn  to  read  it  aright, 
land  form  a  just  estimate  of  the  characters  of  the 
■people  among  whom  yon  are  tliivwn." 
I  "But  yoa  surely  would  not  have  me  think 
■people  bad  nntil  I  have  proved  them  to  be  so 
iLifo  woold  not  be  worth  having  if  one  must  live 
'^n  a  constant  state  of  suspicion." 

"No,  nor  would  I  have  you  thiWc  aU  whom 
lyou  love  to  be  perfect    Believe  me,  my  child 
lyou  wiU  meet  with  but  few  friends  in  the  world 
jHonor  is  an  exploded  notion,  belcmgingtp  a  past 
I  generation.  ^  ■    '^ 

I  "You  may  be  right,  &thmJbti,L&  mt  like 
I  the  doctnne ;  so  I  shall  go  onJHIttir  in  mnni<i 
Inntil  I  And  them  to  be  diiflHKi  i^f  t 

I  "I  should  say  to  yon,  do^^^believe  as 
■long  as  you  can,  and  as  much  as  yon  can  ■  bnt 
■tile  danger  of  tiiat  is  when  yon  find  that  those 
■whom  yon  have  trusted  do  not  come  up  to  the 
■standard  which  you  have  formed.  After  two  or 
■three  disappointments  yon  will  fall  into  the  od- 
Iposite  eittreme,  think  every  one  bad,  and  not  be- 
llieve  in  any  thing  or  any  body. " 

I  ."/i*^  ^  '^°'«  I  »'">»W  come  to  that." 
■cried  ?Ulah,  passionately.  "  If  what  yon  say  is 
■true,  lihad  better  not  let  myself  like  any  body  " 
■Then,  |anghing  up  in  his  face,  she  added :  "By. 
■tiie-wajr,  I  wonder  if  you  are  safe.  Yon  see  yon 
■have  iqade  me  so  skeptical  that  I  shaU  begin  by 
Isnsiwcting  my  tutor.  No,  don't  «i»eak,"«he  went 
■on,  inkhitif-earoest,  half-mocking  manner,  and 
Inutherhand  before  his  mouth.  "Thecaaeislioper 
■less,  as  fcr  as  yon  are  concerned.  The  wamiM 
■hui  come  too  kite.  1  love  you  as  I  thought  I 
Ishouldinever  love  any  one  after  dear  papa. " 

n    I«raChetwynde  smiled,  and  pressed  Wfond- 
py  to  hb  breast. 

The  Steady  change  which  had  been  going  on  in 
aUrt,  in  mind  and  in  person,  was  indeed  siifB- 
"-nttojustifyLordChetwynde'sremark.  Enough 
i*r.         ''"^  ■•*"'  **»■  "•'ange  in  per- 

lal  a|)peannce.    Qreat  as  this  wag,  however. 

"^•.IT*"?*  '^''■'  *".*•"*  "O'o  subtle  chang^ 
arhfchltad  come  over  her  soul.  Her  nature  was 
Jltens^  vehement,  passionate;  bnt  iu  develop- 
ment was  of  sach  a  kind  that  she  fas  now  ear^ 
^hJLr.'L  -i'J!Lf22!?''?  impulsive,  and  calm 
H.,Sf  tt^  ^  '^"'y  *•«*•  A  profound 
WJis  nch  nature,  and  the  thoughtftiinewi  of  the 
VWest  w«  added  to  the  fine  emotional  sensibility 
W  the  East  J  forming  by  their  union  a  being  of 
■a^lMMpability  and  «rf7i.lefc  yei  dwp  feel 


the  .tories  of  sepov  atrocity hadbo^tordbV;;;: 
ide,  ""''  "' *  *  -    - 


I'lJ^'.!!*'"  "'"'^  "'"'™'  ""««  feeling,  and 
mother  them,  even  though  the  concealed  pas- 
OT  shonld  coosumo  like  a  fire  within  her. 
nnme  years  had  passed  since  ^er  hasVy  and 
TOojnant  matriage,  and  those  yean  had  been 
fwtW^a  many  ways.    They  hod  matured  the 


rons^  Itself  to  send  forti.  armies  for  vengamce 
and  for  punishment  Dread  stories  were^^ 
IZ  V  A""*'  ""*'«  »*  Chetwynde  Castie-  rot 
*ey  had  been  spared  its  worst  piU^poS;  h^^ 

Se:^"of'th'l''  """■'  "'I'^^J'^  Sndtd  noYlZ 
wmiess  of  the  scenes  of  Cawnpore.  He  had 
been  joined  with  tiiose  soldiem  who  had  b«n 

hTS?r:Si*?'^'^'."'  ""«"»  «>»  UelhUndhS 
had  ftwied  in  the  danger  and  in  the  flnaJ  tri-       / 
ninph  of  that  memorabli  expedition.  ^ 

n«Slf  ""«"."iy  of  desire  and  the  agony  of  im- 

K^*^/*'^"*^*^''"  •««e"werenBtuJ3. 
Lord  Chetwynde  thought  only  of  one  thine  fo^ 

manymonths,«,dthat washdson'slctter  At 

taken  possession  of  him  lest  his  son  might  be  in 
danger  Atfirst  the  lettem  came  regulfrlVriv- 
mg  detail,  of  the  mutiny  as  he^Jllli 'thfl 
Then  there  was  a  long  break,  for  the  army  was 

rBnT^''**'"^'^  Then'alettercTeC 
T^«i  ni.'^iL^P'P,  ^^""^  ^W.  ^hich  roused 
Lord  Chetwynde  from  the  lowest  depths  of  de- 
spair to  joy  and  exultation  and  hope.  Then 
there  was  another  long  interval,  in  which  the 
t*rl,  sick  with  anxiety,  began  to  anticipate  the 

untn^f?^'""/f'  "'"'''"«  »»«  despondency! 
until,  at  last,  a  letter  came,  which  rais^  him  up 

Ind^'S'  »"'?«.»'«•»«'»  Pi'oh  of  exultatioS 
andteinmph.    Delhi  was  takwi.    Guy  had  dis- 

tinguUherfhimself,  and  was  honorably  iK,ntion.S 
hi  the  dispatches.  He  had  been  among  tiiefim 
1  '""^IJ^?  '"^'  *"**  venetnt»  Int^  the  be- 
leaguered c^ty.  AU  had  fiUlen  into  their  hands. 
ITie  gre^  danger  which  had  impetided  had  been 
dissipated,  and  vengeance  had  been  dealt  out  to 
those  whose  hands  were  red  with  English  bhxKL 
?2  'J/1*^'  ^T"  '?««nni"«  to  end,  was  one  long 
noteoftnumph.  It.  enthnslMtic  tone,  coming! 
w  It  did,  after  a  long  period  of  anxiety,  coml 

fhArT*""*  *'*'.^'''-  Though  nittrally 
the  iMst  demonstrative  of  men,  Ee  was  now 
werwhdined  by  the  full  tide  of  hi.  emotions. 
He  burst  into  te^rs,  and  wept  for  some  time  tear. 
?J°l'  t.,*?  .''0  '■o**'  ""o  walking  over  to-2a- 
tah,  be  kissed  her,  and  laid  his  hand  solemU^ 
upon  her  head.  ^ 

"My  daughter,"  said  he,  "thank  God  that 
yonr  htubapd  i.  preserved  to  you  tiirough  the 
penis  of  waiv  and  that  he  is  saved  to  yon.  and 
^'"con*?  to  you  in  safety  and  in  honor." 

rhe  ^ri's  words  sank  deeply  into  Zilkh'e    * 

sikn^  "     ""'*'*"«'  •*"*  """"d  Iw  bead  in 

.i.^I*."?'^'?,*!"  d'd'  *'»^  Qnr'«  letteiu  formed 

jhe  chief  dellyht  of  him  wJumihUoyedttiX- . 

iher,  it  would  have  been  hard  indewl  for  a  gen- 


erous nature  hke  hers  to  refrain  tnm  alwring^ 
feeling..  Sympatiiy  with  his  amdaftrMid  hU 
joy  was  natural,  nay,  inevitable.  In  hi.  lorrow 
she  wa«  forced  to  console  him  by  pointing  out 
all  that  might  be  considered  a.  briiHifinhiiMPKie- 
C;„*-,"„'l?.i*L*!:f.^ '««?^  'o  -^IM"  with 


.^^-onat^unilygiriStoTheToSH^^SI  KuUirtotZc'^lX^rgj'^i" 


.^-I.  ^ 


'v-rWS, 


«8 


THE  CRYPTOGRAM. 


ploits,  n^hig  im^Aation  enlarged  upon  the  more 
meagre  facts  st^gd  in  th^  letters.  This  year  of 
anxiety  and  of  flplmph,. therefore,  compelled  her 
to  think  very  9tich  about  Guy,  and,  whatever 
her  feelings  were,  it  certainly  exalted  him  to  a 
prominent  place  in  her  thoughts. 

And  so  it  happened  that,  as  moi}th  succeeded 
to  month,  she  foupd  herself  more  and  more  com- 
pelled to  identify  herself  with  the  Earl,  to  talk  to 
him  about  the  idol  of  his  heart,  to  share  his  anx- 
iety and  his  joy,  wljile  all  that  aijxioty  and  all 
that  joy  referred  exclusively  to  the;  man  who 
was  her  husband,  but  whom,  as  a  hisband,  she 
had  once  abhoiTed.  '   /     ' 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

THE  AMBRICAlf   EXPEDITION. 

AnouT  three  years  had  passed  away  since 
Zillah  had  first  come  to  Chetwynde,  and  the  life 
which  she  bad  lived  there  had  gradually  come  to 
be  Rrat^^  and  pleasant  and  happy.  Mr.  Hilaire 
was  at^ntive  to  his  duty  and  devoted  to  his  pu- 
pil, and  Zillah  applied  herself  assiduously  to  her 
music  and  drawing.  At  the  end  of  a  year  Mr. 
Hilair6  waited  upon  the  Earl  with  a  request  to 
.  withdraw,  as  he  wanted  to  go  to  the  Continent. 
He  informed  the  Earl,  however,  that  Mr.  Gual- 
tier  was  coming  back,  and  would  like  to  get  his 
old  Situation,  if  possible.  T^  Earl  consented  to 
take  back  the'  old  teachei^and  so,  in  a  few 
months  more,  after  an  absence  of  about  iv  year 
•  and  a  halfi  Gualtier  resumed  his  duties  at  Chet- 
^vynde  Castle,  Wee  Mr.  Hilaire,  resigned. 

On  his  first  visit  after  his  return  Hilda's  face 
expressed  an  eagerness  6C  curiosity  which  even 
her  fine  self-control  could  not  conceal.  No  one 
noticed  it,  however,  but  Gualtier,  and  he  looked 
atirer  with  an  earnest  expression  that  might 
msao  any  thing  or  nothing.  It  mighc  tell  of 
success  or  failure ;  and  so  Hilda  was  left  to  con- 
jectare.  There  was  no  chance  of  a  quiet  con- 
versation, and  she  had  either  to  wait  as  before, 
perhaps  for  months,  until  she  could  see  him 
aloni,  or.  else  tlirow  away  her  scruples  and  ar- 
ranged meeting.  Hilda  was  not  long  in  coming 
to  a  conclusion.  On  Giialtier's  second  visit  she 
slipped  a  piece  of  paper  into  his  hand,  on  which 
ho  read,  after  he  had  left,  the  following : 

"  /  will  be  in  the  Wett  A  t^emte,  near  the  Lake, 
this  i\ftemoon  at  three,  o'clock." 

That  afternoon  she  made  some  excuse  and 
went  out,  as  she  said  to  Zillah,  for  a  walk  through 
the  Rirk.  As  this  was  a  frequent  thing-with  her, 
it  excited  no  comment.  The  West  Avenue  led 
horn  the  door  through  the  Park,  and  finally,  aft- 
er a  long  detour,  ended  at  the  main  gate.  At 
its  farthest  point  there  was  a  lake,  surrounded 
by  a  dense  growth  of  Scotch  larch-trees,  which 
formed  a  very  good  place  for  such  a  tryst— al- 
though, for  that  matter,  in  so  quiet  a  place  as 
Chetwynde  Park,  they  might  have  met  on  the 
Inain  avenue  without  any  fear  of  being  noticed. 
Here,_  then,  at  thret  o'clock,  Hilda  went,  and  on 
^Baching  the  spot  found  Gualtier  waiting  for  her. 

She  walked  under  the  shadow  of  the  trees  be- 
fore she  said  a  word. 

"  You  are  punctual.V  said  she  at  last. 

"  I  have  been  here  ei*r  since  noon." 

"  You  did  not  go  out,  tl^en  ?" 


"No,  I  staid  here  for  yon." 
His  tone  expMJssed  fhe  deepest  devotion,  anj  i 
his  eyes,  as  they  rested  on  her  for  a  moment, ' 
had  the  same  expression. 

Hilda  looked  at  him  benignantly  and  encon^ 
agingly. 

"  You  have  been  gone  long,  and  I  dare  say 
you  hajig  been  gone  far,"  she  said.  "It  is  this 
which  I  wrtnt  to  hear  about  Have  you  found 
out  any  thing,  and  what  have  you  found  out  ?" 
"  Yes,  I  have  been  gone  long,"  said  Gualtier, 
' '  and  have  been  far  away  •  but  all  the  time  I  have 
done  nothing  else  than  seek  after  what  you  wish 
to  know.  Whetliie^  I  have  discovered  any  thing 
of  any  value  will  ,be  for  you  to  judge.  I  can 
only  tell  you  of  the  result.  At  any  rate  you  will 
see  that  I  have  not  spared  myself  for  your  jake." 
"What  have  you  done?'^'  a:sked  Hilda,  who 
saw  that  Gualtier's  devotion  was  irrepressible,' 
and  would  find  vent  in  words  if  she  did  not  re- 
strain him.     "  I  am  eager  to  hear. " 

Gualtier  dropped  his  eyes,  and  beganto  Speak  I 
in  a  cool  business  tone. 

"  I  will  tell  you  every  thing,  then.  Miss  Krieff," 
said  h(5,  "  from  the  beginning.  When  lieft  here 
I  went  first  to  London,  for  the  sake  of  making 
inquiries  about  the  elopements  I  hunted  up  lUl 
whom  I  could  find  whose  memories  embraced 
the  last  twenty  years,  so  as  to  see  if  they  could 
throw^ny  light  on  this  mystery.  One  or  two 
had  some  faint  recollection  of  the  affair,  but  no-  I 
thing  of  any  consequence.  At  length  I  found  | 
out  an  old  sporting  character  who  promised  *t 
first  to  be  what  I  wished.  He  remembered 
Lady  Chetwynde,  described  her  beauty,  and  said 
that  she  was  left  to  herself  very  much  by  her 
husband.  Ho  remembered  well  the  excitement 
that  was  caused  by  her  flight  He  remembered  | 
the  name  of  the  man  with  whom  she  had  fled. 
It  was  Reclfield  Lyttoun. " 

'^Jied/ield  Lyttoun!"  repeated  Hilda,  with i  I 
peculiar  expression. 

■"Yes;  but  he  said  that,  for  his  part,  he  had 
good  reason  for  believing  that  it  was  an  assumed 
name.  The  man  who  bore  the  name  had  figured 
for  a  time  in  sporting  circles,  but  after  this  event 
it  was  generally  stated  that  i<  was  not  his  trot 
nalhe.  I  asked  whether  any  one  knew  his  tme 
name.  He  said  some  people  had  stated  it,  but 
ho  conld  not  tell.  I  asked  what  was  the  name 
He  said  Pomeroy. " 

As  Gualtier  said  this  he  raised  his  eyes,  and 
those  small  gray  orbs  seemed  to  bum  and  fiath 
with  triumph  as  they  encountered  the  gaze  of 
Hilda.     She  said  not  a  woM,  but  held  out  her  L 
hand.     Gualtier  tremblingly  took  it,  and  pressed  J 
it  to  hfs  thin  lips. 

"This  was  all  thot  I  could  discover.  It  i 
vague:  it  was.  only  partially  satisfactdtf ;  but  it  I 
was  oil.  I  soon  perceived  that  it  was  only  t  j 
waste  of  time  to  stay  in  London ;  and  after  think-  [ 
ing  of  many  plans,  I  finally  determined  to  visit  | 
the  family  of  Ladv  Chetwynde  herself.  Of 
course  such  an  undertaking  had  to  be  carried  | 
out  very  cautiously.  T  found  "nt  where  the  f 
ily  lived,  and  went  there.  On  arriving  I  went  to  1 
the  Hall,  and  offered  myself  as  music-teacher.  It 
was  in  an  out-of-the-way  place,  and  Sir  Henry 
Furlong,  Lady  Chetwynde's  brother,  happened 
to  have  two  or  fhree  danghtcrs  who  were  study- 
ing under  a  governess.  When  I  showed  him  • 
certificate  which  the  Earl  here  was  kind  enon^  lo 


'•m^^  :■ 


y^? 


ipe  fop  yon."  , 

ised  the  deepest  (devotion,  anj 
rested  on  her  for  a  moment, ' 
•ession. 
him  benignantly  and  enconr- 

iri  gone  long,  and  I  dare  say 
le  far,"  she  said.  «' It  is  thii 
lear  about     Have  you  found 

what  have  you  founcl  out?" 
!cn  gone  long,"  said  Gunltier, 
r  away ;  But  all  the  time  I  have 
:han  seek  after  what  yon  wish 
si:  I  have  discovered  any  thing 
,be  for  you  to  judge.  I  can 
I  result.  At  any  rate  you  will 
spared  mvself  for  your  §ake." 
)u  done  ?  aSked  Hilda,  who 
s  devotion  was  irrepressible,' 
It  in  words  if  she  did  not  re- 
n  eager  to  hear. " 

his  eyes,  and  began. to  fepeak 
one. 

rery  thing,  then.  Miss  Krieff," 
beginning.  When  Tleft  here 
idon,  for  the  sake  of  making 

elopement.  I  hunted  up  all 
1  whose  memories  embraced 
rs,  so  as  to  see  if  they  could 
1  this  mysteiy.  One  or  two 
lUection  of  the  affair,  but  no-'  { 
quence.  At  length  I  found 
l>  character  who  promised  «t 
[  wished.  He  remembered 
escribed  her  beauty,  and  said 
0  herself  very  much  by  her 
umbered  well  the  excitement 
her  flight.  He  remembered 
an  with  whom  she  had  fled. 
toun." 
m  J"  repeated  Hilda,  with  (  I 

id  that,  for  his  part,  he  had 
eving  that  it  was  an  assumed 
lo  bore  the  name  had  figured 
g  circles,  but  after  this  eveot 
ted  that  i<  was  not  his  true 
ether  any  one  knew  his  tme 
ne  people  had  stated  it,  hot 
[  asked  what  was  the  nane 

this  he  raised  his  eyes,  and 
Im  seemed  to  bum  and  flash 
ey  encountered  the  gaze  of  I 
ot  a  woM,  but  held  out  her  I 
nbllngly  took  it,  and  presMd 'f 

at  I  could  discover.     It  i 
partially  satisfnctdtf ;  but  it  I 
irceived  that  it  was  only  * 
in  London;  and  after  think- 
[  finally  determined  to  visit  { 
r  Chetwyndo   herself     Of  I 
ertaking  had  to  be  carried 
- 1  found  out  where  the  fantJ 
lere.     On  arriving  I  went  to  I 
myself  as  music-teacher.  It 
-way  place,  and  Sir  Ileniy 
wynde's  brother,  happened 
daughters  who  were  stndj- 
■s.     When  I  showed  him  •  I 
ii^rl  here  was  kind  enough  It 


THE  CRYPTOGRAM. 


^48-/ 


•tod  ABE  PDNCrnAL,'  SAID  SHB  AT  LAST." 


''I'lr'' ''°  »** ^"7 ""ch imprcswd  bytfc— Hg 
jsiied  me  all  about  the  Earl  and  Chetwynde 

EjlfT^  f°  ^  '^*"«*"«^  *«  •'«"  about  thesi 
^"    ^  "*"  *^™  certainly  lucky.    He  en- 

0  the  "it^  °"*^  *"**  '°^^  constant  access 

1  "I  had  to  work  caationsly,  of  course.    My 
m  WM  to  get  hold  of  some  of  the  domestic/ 


•iTwreTOre  oiaiendwtKere,  a  kind  of  bm^ 
whom  I  propitiated,  and  gradually  drew  into 
conversations  about  the  family.  My  footing  in 
the  house  inspired  confidence  in  him,  and  he 
graduaUv  became  communicative.  He  was  an 
old  gosdp,  in  hhi  dotag^  and  He  knfiw  «U  about 
the  family,  and  remembered  when  LaAChet- 
wynde  wa«  bom.    He  at  first  avoldSflij^B. 


f  -, 


-     /    -         -i    •-7- 


1BE  dtmOGRAlC. 


non  to  her,  bat  I  told  bimrhmg  ■tories4boat  the 
Earl,  and  w6n  npon  his  sympathies  so  that  he  told 
me  at  last  all  that  the  family  knew  about  Lady 
.    Chetwynde.  >      •       - 

"  His  story  was  this :  Lord  0rttwynde  was 
busy  in  politics,  and  left  his  wife  veiy  mncK  to 
herself.   A  coobess  had  qinmg  up  between  them, 
which  increased  •veiy  day.  Lady  Chetwynde  was 
vain,  and  giddy,  aod  weak.    The  Hedfield  Lyt- 
tonn  of  whom  I  had  heard  in  London  was  mach 
cnier  house,  thon^  her  husband  knew  nothfaig 
about  it.    People  were  talking  about  them  eveiv 
where,  and  he  only  was  in  the  dark.   At  but  they 
ran  away.    It  was  known  that  they  had  fled  to 
America.    That  is  the  hsttBat  was  ever  heaid 
of  her.    She  vanished  out  of  sight,  and  bet  para- 
mour also.    Not  one  word  has  ever  been  heard, 
about  either  of  them  since.    From  which  I  con- 
jecture that  Redfield  Lytttjun,  when  he  had  be- 
come tired  of  his  victim,  threw  her  off,  and  came 
tack  to  resume  his  proper  name,  to  lead  a  life  of 
honor,  and  to  die  in  the  odor  of  sanctity.    What 
do  you  think  of  my  idea?" 
•|  It  seems  just,'^  said  Hilda,  thoughtfully. 
In  the  three  months  which  I  spent  there  I 
found  out  all  that  the  femily  could  tell ;  but  still 
I  was  far  enough  away  from  the  object  of  my 
teaxch.     I  only  had  conjectures,  I  Wetated  cer- 
tainty.   I  thought  it  all  over;  and,  at  Kngth, 
saw  that  the  only  thing  left  to  do  was  to  go  to 
America,  and  try  to  get  upon  their  tracks.    It 
was  a  desperate  undertaking;  America  changea 
so  that  traces  of  fugitives  are  very  quickly  oUiter- 
ated;  and  who  could  datect  or  discover  any  after 
a  bpse  of  nearly  twenty  years  ?    Still,  I  detena- 
ined  to  go.    There  seemed  to  be  a  slwht  chanoe 
that  I  might  find  this  Obed  Chute,  who  figniw 
in  the  correspondence.    There  was  also  a  ctanoe 
of  tracing  Lady  Chetwynde  among  the  lecoids 
of  the  Sisters  of  Charity.    Besides,  then  was  the 
chapter  of  accidents,  in  which  unexpected  things 
often  turn  up.    So  I  went  to  America.    Myflnt 
«earch  was  after  Obed  Chute.    To  my  anuuw- 
ment,  I  found  him  at  once.    He  is  one  of  the 
foremost  banken  of  New  York,  and  is  weU 
known  all  over  the  city.    I  waited  on  hun  with- 
out delay.    I  had  documento  and  certificates 
which  I  presented  to  him.    Among  othen,  I  had 
written  out  a  yery  good  letter  fhnn  Sir  Henry 
Furlong,  commissioning  me  to  find  out  about  his 
beloved  sister,  and  another  from  General  Pome- 
roy.^the  effect  that  I  was  his  friend—" 
♦^That*aa(brgery,"intermptedHada,  sharply. 
Gnaltier  bowed  with  a  deprecatory  air,  and 
nuitg  bi^head  in  deep  abasement. 
"Go on," said  she. 

"You  are  too  harsh,"  said  he,  in  a  plaading 

Ydee.     "  It  was  aU  for  your  uikt—"    "^^ 

"Go  on,"  she  repeated. 

"  Well,  with  these  I  went  to  see  Obed  Chnte. 

.  He  was  a  tall,  broad-shonldered,  square-headed 

man,  with  iron-gray  bair,  and  a  ftco-well,  it 

was  one  of  those  ttcu  thMt  make  you  feel  that 

the  owner  <^  do  aor  thing  he  chooses.    On  en- 

tering  his  private  office  I  introduced  myself,  and 


myself. 
nraptea 


-*^  •  lonrexpnmitlon.  mnht^pted  me 
by  shaking  hands  with  me  vehemently,  and  posh- 
fa*  me  into  a  chah-.  I  «u  down,  ud  weliTon 
with  my  exphmation.  I  told  him  that  I  bad 
come  out  as  representaUve  of  the  Ferkng  fiiml- 
./'  '55'i**  *"""•*  of  General  Pomeroy,  now  dead. 
1  told  him  that  there  were  several  things  wbiehl 


wished  10  And  oni  Krrt,  to  trace  Lady  Chn- 
wynde,  and  find  out  what  had  become  of  her 
and  bring  her  back  to  her  friends,  if  ishe  wen 
alive;  secondly,  to  dear  up  certain  chiufies  rela- 
tive to  a  foigerv ;  and,  finally,  to  find  out  abom 
the  <kte  of  Bedfleld  Lyttpun.  " 

"Mr.  Obed  Chnte  at  first  was  civil  enough 
after  his  rough  way ;  but,  as  I  spoke,  be  looked 
at  me  earnestly,  ejing  me  fh»m  head  to  foot 
with  sharp  scrutiny.  He  did  not  seem  to  believe 
my  stonr. 

'„'.'.'  ^""»'  "*^  •»"«  »•»«  I  ^  ended, « is  thit 
all?  '  . 

"'Yes.'eaidL'^  ^  , 

"  'So  you  want  to  find  cut  alfoat  Lady  Chet- 

wj^de,  and  the  foi^ery,  and  Bedfleld  Lyttounr 

«' « A|id  General  Pomeroy  told  yon  to  apply  to 

" '  Yefc    On  his  dying  bed,'  said  I,  solemnlv, 

his  hst  words  were :  "  Go  to  Obed  Chute,  and 

tellhimtoexpUinalL"'  ~»-™| 

"<ToexpkinaU!' repeated  Obed  Chnte.      , 

"•YeSi'saidL  '"ITie  confession,"  said  tla 
General,  "can  not  be  made  by  me.  He  mut 
make  it"' 

" '  The  confession !'  he  repeated. 

*\*  Yefc    And  1  suppose  that  yon  will  not  hA 
nnmlling  to  grant  a  dying  man's  request '         [ 

'Obed  Chnte  said  nothing  ibnr  some  time,  but 
Mt  steing  at  me,  evidenUy  eogagpd  in  profound 
thooght  At  any  rate,  he  saw  through  and 
through  me.  «         ^ 

"'Young  man,' said  hff  at  last,  'whew  an 
yon  lodging?'  ' 

"  'At  the  Astor  House,'  nid  I,  in  some  snr. 
prise.  I 

*'•  Wdl,  then,  go  back;  to  the  Astor  Houm 
pack  up  yonr  trunk,  pay  your  Mil,  take  your  iS 
in  the  first  steuner,  and  go  right  straight  buk 
home.  When  you  get  there,  give  my  oompK. 
ments  to  Sir  Henry  Furlong,  and  tell  him  if^ 
wantt  hu  sister  he.had  better  hunt  her  up  him- 
aelt  As  to  that  affecting  message  which  tob 
have  brought  horn  Genend  Pomeroy,  I  can  (»It  I 
say,  that,  as  he  evidendy  did  not  expUn  this  biuh 
ness  to  you,  I  certainly  win  not  Iwasonlyhii 
agent  Finally,  if  you  want  to  find  RediReld 
Lyttoun,  yon  may  mareh  stntigfat  out  of  tint 
door,  and  look  about  yon  tiU  yon  find  him.'       f 

'•Saying  this,  he  rose,  opened  the  door,  and, 

with  «  savage  frown,  which  forbade  lemonstrance, 
motioned  me  out 

"I  went  oat   There  was  evidentiy  no  hope  of 
ddng  any  tiling  with  Obed  Chute. " 

"  Then  yoa  fiuled,"  said  Hilda,  in  deep  diMp- 
pointment  ' 

"Failed?   No.    Do  yoa  not  see  how  tiie  reti- 1 
cence  of  tiiis  Obed  Chnte  oonflrms  all  pur  mi- 
pidons  ?    But  wait  tiU  yoa  hear  aU,  and  I  will 
tellyou  my  conclusions.  Yon  vrill  then  see  whetb- 
er  I  n*ve  discovered  any  tiling  d^nite  or  not 

I  confess  I  was  much  disooaraged  at  fint  it 
my  reception  by  Obed  Chute.  I  expected) 
tiling  tnm  this  iBtenriewvand  his  UratalitT  ^ 
fled  me.  I  did  not  venture  back  tiiera  again,  of 
tsourse.  I  thod|g;ht  of  tiyhig  other  things,  and 
went  diligentiy  around  among  the  convents  «ad 
reUgfaMs  orders,  to  see  ifl  could  find  oat  aar 
tidng  about  tiie  fate  of  Lady  CheMvynde.  Mr 
letters  of  introduction  ftxim  Sir  H.  Fnriong  and 
fiwa  Lord  Chetwynde  led  these  simple-ndndid 


,3&li 


9<Ml  > 

lLJ*flJ 


'i^f  »."■<  'i*    ->r    0 


i.  Vint,  to  traee  Ladjr  CfaM- 
>nt  what  had  bocome  of  her 
k  to  her  friends,  if  she  weit 
<  clear  up  certain  charges  relt- 
and,  finally,  to  find  out  abogt 
ILjttonn. 

ite  at  fint  was  civil  enongli,  I 
Y ;  but,  as  I  spoke,  he  looked 
>ying  me  from  hea^  to  foot 
'.    Ue  did  not  seem  to  beliert 

B,  when  I  bad  ended,  'is  tbit 

to  find  out  attrat  Lady  Cb». 
gery,  and  Sedfield  Lyitoonr 

Pomeroy  told  yon  to  apply  to 

dying  bed,'  said  I,  solemnir, 
e:  "GotoObedChnte,aod 

I !' repeated  Obed  Chnte. 
* "  llie  confession,"  kaid  tha 
be  made  by  me.    He  mnit  I 

1 1' he  repeated, 
suppose  that  yon  will  not  bel 
i  dying  man's  request '         | 
d  nothing  for  some  time,  but 
ridently  ttigagipd  in  profound 
rate,  be  saw  through  and 

said  hf  at  last,  'where  an 

Boose,'  nid  I,  in  some  sor.  | 

>  boclt  to  the  Astor  Honie,  1 
pay  year  Mil,  take  your  fin 
and  go  riftht  stnright  back 
get  there,  give  my  oompfi- 
Furlong,  and  tell  him  if  he  I 
lad  bettor  hunt  her  up  hia. 
Fectinr  message  which  yoo  I 
l«nenu  Pomeroy,  I  can  onh  [ 
stly  did  not  expUn  this  but 
ilywiOnot.    I  was  only  hit 
yoa  want  to  find  Redfield 
march  straight  oat  of  thu  I 
t  yoa  tin  yoa  find  him.' 
rose,  opened  the  door,  and, 
irbidi  Forbade  remonstrance, 

re  was  evidently  no  hope  at 

Obed  Chute." 

"said  Hilda,  in  deep  dinp- 

>o  yoa  not  see  how  the  red- 
!%ato  confirms  all  pur  at» 
ill  yoa  hear  all,  and  I  will 
IS.  Yon  will  then  see  whetb- 
any  thing  deflnito  or  not. 
nuch  disooaraged  at  fint  it 
I  Chute.  I  expected  even 
wjaif^-uun  wM  iiniraiiy  os^  i 
mtnra  back  then  again,  of 
>f  trying  other  things,  and 
d  among  the  convents  sad 
as  if  I  conid  find  oat  saj 
of  Lady  Chetwynde.  Mr 
I  from  Sir  H.  Fariong  and 
B  led  these  simple-mindtd 


THE  CBTPTOGRAIC 


"1 


r^ii 


i>*fS 


A 


li 


•with  a  8AVA0K  FBOWN  US  UOnoHBD  MK  OCT. 


IpeopM  to  receive  me  with  confidence.  They 
Ireadilv  seconded  my  efforts,  and  opened  their 
I  records  to  me.  For  some  time  my  search  was 
■in  vafai :  but,  at  Inst,  I  found  what  I  Wantodt 
lOne  of  the  societies  of  the  Sisters  of  Charity  had 
■  the  name  of  Sister  Ursdh^  who  joined  them  in 
IjJievearlWO.  She  was  Lady  Chetwynde.  She 
I  lived  with  them  eight  years,  and  then  disappeared. 
I  Why  she  had  lef^  or  where  she  had  gone,  was 
I  equally  unknown.  She  had  disappeued,  and 
I  that  was  th^  end  of  her.  After  this  I  came 
I  home." 

I    "And  yotfihave  found  out  nothing  more?" 
I  said  Hilda,  IMmp  disappointment. 
I     "NotWng,'*^safd  Onaltier,  dejectedly;  "but 
I  are  you  not  hashr  in  despising  what  I  have  found 
lout?    IsnotthUsomettiingP" 

"  I  do  not  know  that  yon  have  discovered  any 
thing  but  what  I  knew  before,"  said  UMa, 
Aui'idl  »  """^  """  conjortures— 

"Conjectures!— m),  comdusions  fh>m  addi- 
tional facts,"  said  Gualtier,  ea«iriy.  "What 
we  suspected  is  now,  at  least,  more  certain.  The 
reiy  brutality  of  that  beast,  Obed  Chute,  proves 
this.  Let  me  tell  yoa  the  conclusions  that  I 
draw  from  this:  - 

Chetwynde's  teve.  and  r^  a-SrSSTi^f^  ^TOtflUig  m  the  way^ 


Chetwynde's  teve,  and  ran  at^y  widi"hwto 
America. 

1  '*^?".'"l'  •*  *"««d  »  hundred  thousand  dol- 
J»",  wWch  forgery  he  hushed  up  through  this 

Obed  Chute,  paying  him,  no  doubt,  a  UiSe  smn 
tar  hush-money. 


81 

Obed  Chnte.  She  was  ill,  and 
finally,  on  her  recttvery,  joined 
the  Sisters  of  Charity. 

"Fourthly,  after  eight  years 
she  nm  away— perhap  to  fall 
into  evil  courses  and  die  in  in- 
famy. 

"And  lastly,  all  this  must  be 
true,  or  else  Obed  Chnte  would 
not  have  Been  so  close,  and  would 
not  have  fired  up  so' at  the  very 
suggestion  of  an  explanation.  If 
It  were  not  true,  why  should  he  not 
exphun  ?  But  if  it  be  true,  then 
there  18  every  reason  why  he 
should  not  explain." 

A  long  silence  followed.    Hilda 
w-as  evidently  deeply  disappoint- 
__,_-       «<>•     From   what   Gualtier   had 
•^^       said  at  the  beginning  of  the  in-. 
J       terview,  she  had  expected  to  hMr~ 
something    more    definite.     It 
seemed  to  her  as  though  all  his  • 
trouble  had  resulted  in  nothing. 
Still,  she  wa^  not  on#to  give  way 
t«>  disappointment,  "and  she  had 
too  much  good  sense  to  show  her^ 
self  either  ungrateful  or  nngt». 
cions. 

"Your   conclusions    are,   no 

doubt,  ciprrect,"  said  she  at  last, 

in  a  pleasantor  tone  than  she  had 

yet  assumed ;  "  but  they  are  only 

inferences,  and  can  not  be  made  " 

V  1.  T  V       ,  "f  *''^*"  **  practical  way  in 

which  I  hoped  they,  would  be.    We  are  still  in 

the  attitude  of  inqWrers,  yon  see.    The  secret 

which  we  hold  is  of  auch  a  character  that  we  have 

to  keep  It  to  ourselvdis  until  it  be  cc^firmcd." 

Gualtiw-'s  fece  lighipd  up  with  pleasnre  as  Hfl- 
da  thus  Identified  hii^  with  herself,  ond^dasaed 
him  with  her  asthe  sharer  of  the  secret 

"Any  thing,"  said  he,  eagerly— "any  iUng 
that  I  can  do,  I  will  do.  I  hope  yon  know IhS 
yon  have  only  to  say,  the  word—"  \ 

Hilda  wared  her  hand.^  \ 

"Itru8t;you,"said8he.  ^' The  time  will  coA  ' 
when  you  will  have  something  to  do.    But  jnS     . 

now  I  Aust  wait,  and  attend  upon  cirenmstance*. 
There  are  manv  things  in  my  mind  which  I  will 
not  tell  yon— that  is  to  say,  not  yet.    But  when 
the  time  comes,  I  promise  to  tell  yon,     Yom  " 
may  be  interested  in  my  plans— or  you  may  not 
I  will  suppose  that  you  are." 
•  •  Can  yon  doubt  it,  Miss  Krieff  ?" 
"No,  1  do  not  doubt  it,  and  I  promise  yea 
m^  confidmce  when  any  thing  (brther  arises." 

Can  1  be  of  na  assistance  now— in  advisimr. 
or  m  connseling?"  asked  Goaltier,  in  a  heai^ 
ting  vwce. 

"  No— whatever  half-formed  pUns  I  may  have 
relate  to  people  and  to  things  which  are  altfr-   "' 
gother  outside  of  your  sphere,  and  so  you  could 


ing." 

"At  least,  teU  me  this  mach— must  I  look 
upon  all  my  labor  as  wasted  uttoriy?  Will  yon 
at  least  accept  it,  even  if  it  U  uMless,  as  an  offer- 
ing to  von?''  '        ^ 

Ouaftier's  pale  sallow  face  grew  paler  ^d 


.»v-4?r^^%n£i^  £S'3"S5L'S 


ift,' 


V 


>  >ti^im^i^ti^.^'^ 


L.iai.>i^.,i'uj. 


0 


«s 


1 

1 


!-' 


THE  GBTPtOOBAM:. 


them  anxiousi  J  upon  Hilda.  Hilda,  for  her  part, 
regarded  lum  with  her  usaal  calmnen. 

"Accept  it?"  said  she.  "Certainly,  right 
gladlpr  and  gratefully.  My  friend,  if  1  was  di»- 
appointed  at  the  result,  do  nob  sappose  that  I 
fail  to  appreciate  the  labor.  You  have  shown 
rare  perseverance  and  great  acuteness.  The 
next  time  you  will  succeed. " 

This  approval  of  his  labors,  «ligh(  as  it  was, 
and  spoken  as  it  was,  with  the  air  of  a  queen, 
was  eagerly  and  thankfully  accepted  by  Gualtier. 
He  hungered  after  her  approval,  and  in  his  huHr 
ger  he  was  delighted  even  with  crumbs. 


44- 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

A    FRESH    DI8C0VEBT. 

^SOHE  time  passed  away,  and  Hilda  had  no 
more  interviews  with  Gualtier.  The  latter  set- 
tled down  into  a  patient,  painstaking  music- 
teacher  once  more,  who  seemed  not  to  have  an 
Idea  bej-ond  his  art.  Hilda  held  herself  aloofs 
and,  even  when  she  might  have  exchanged  a  f«w 
confidential  words,  she  did  not  choose  to  do  so. 
And  Gualtier  was  content,  and  quiet;  and  na- 
tient  ^         "^ 

Near^y  eighteen  months  had  pa»Sied  away  since 
Zilkh's  visit  to  Pomeroy  Court,  and  she  began  to 
be  anxious  to  pay  another  visit.  She  had  been 
agitating  the  subject  for  some  time  j  but  it  had 
been  postponed  from  time  to  fime,  for  various 
reasons,  the  chief  one  being  the  ill  health  of  the 
,  Earl.  At  length,  however,  his  health  improved 
Mmewhat,  arid  Zillah  determined  to  take  ad^ 
Tantagd'  of  this  to.go. 

This  time,  thelsight  of, the  Court  did  not  pro- 
duce so  strone  an  efifijct  as  before.  She  did  not 
feel  like  sta^ng  alone,  but  preferred  having 
Hilda  with  her,'  and  spoke  freely  about  the  past. 
They  wandered  about  the  rooms,  looked  over  all 
the  well-remembered  places,  rode  or  strolled 
tlirongh  the  grounds,  and  found,  at  every  step, 
inside  of  the  Court,  and  outside  also,  something 
which  called  up  a  whole  world  of  associations. 

Wandering  thus  about  the  Court,  from  one 
room  to  another,  it  was  natural  th|it  Zillah 
should  go  often  to  the  libraiy,  where  her  father 
formerly  passed  the  greater  part  of  his  time. 
Here  they  chiefly  staid,  and  looked  over  the 
books  and  pictures. 

.  One  day  the  conversation  turned  toward  the 
desk,  and  Zillah  casually  remarked  that  her  fa- 
ther used  to  keep  this  place  so  sacred  from  her 
intrusion  that  she  had  acquired  a  kind  of  awe  of 
it,  which  she  had  not  yet  quite  overcome.    This 
led  Hilda  to  propose,  laughingly,  that  she  should 
explore  it  now,  on  the  spot;  and,  taking  the 
keys,  she  opened  it,  and  turned  over  some  of  the 
papers.     At  length  she  opened  a  drawer, 
drew  out  a  miniature.    Zillah  snatched  it  fi 
her,  and,  looking  at  it  for  a  few  moments, 
into  tears. 


"It's  my  Hfother."she  cried^ 
"nrrinoiherr    Oh,  myaaotherl" 

Hilda  said  nothing. 

"  He  showed  it  to  me  once,  when4  was  a  lit- 
tle child,  ami  I  often  have  wondered,  in  a  >-ague 
war,  what  became  of  it.    I  never  thought  of 
looking  here." 
.    "  You  may  find  other  tbinga  here,  also,  if  you 

.  / ' 


l?°'^u"*"^.??^8»"*'^   "No doubt yonr pap, 
k^t  here  all  his  mpat  precious  things,  i* 

The  idea  excited  Zillah.     She  covered  the  por  f 
trait  with  kisses,  put  it  in  her  pocket,  and  then 
sat  down  to  explore  the  desk. 

There  were  bundles  of  papers  there,  lying  on  I 
the  bottom  of  the  desk,  lUl  neatly  wrapped, uj 
and  labd^d  in  a  most  businesvlike^  maniler. 
Outside  there  was  a  number  of  drawer!,  all  of 
which  were  filled  with  papers.  These  were  nil 
wrapped  in  bundles,  and  were  kbeled,  so  as  to 
•how  at  the  first  ghince  that  they  referred  lo  the 
biwaess  oMhe  estate.  Some  Wre  mortgages, 
othlh  ncAptSi  others  letters,  others  returned 
checks  and  drafts.  Jlothing  among  these  had 
anyinteroWforZilhih. 

Inside  the  desk  there  were  some  drawM«,'which 
ZUIah  opened.    Once  on  the  search,  she  kept  it 
up  most  vigorously.    The  discovery  of  her  mo- 
thers miniature  led  her  to  suppose  that  some, 
thing  else  of  equal  value  might  be  found  he«J 
somewhere.    But,  after  a  long  search,  nothing] 
whatever  was  found.    The  search,  howevftr,  onlj 
became  the  more  exciting,  and  the  more  she  waj  I 
baffled  the  more  eager  did  she  become  to  follow  f 
|t  out  to  the  end.    While  she  was  investigating 
in  this  way,  Hilda  stood  by  her,  looking  on  with 
the  air  of  a  sympathizing  friend  and  interested 
spectator.    Sometimes  she  anticipated  Zillah  m 
opening  drawers  which  lay  before  their  eyes,  and 
in  seizing  and  examining  .the  rolls  of  papers  wiili 
which  each  drawer  was  filled.    The  search  wrf 
conducted  by  both,  in  fact,  but  Zillah  seemed  to  I 
take  the  lead.  f 

"  There's  nothing  more,"  said  Hilda  at  last,  u 
Zillah  opened  the  last  drawer,  and  found  onlr 
some  old  business  letters.  "  You  have  exam- 1 
ined  all,  you  have  found  nothing.  At  any  rate, 
the  search  has  given  you  the  miniature ;  and,  be- 
sides, it  has  dispelled  that  awe  that  you  spoke! 
of." 

"Butfldear  Hilda,  there  ought  to  t)e  some 
thing,"  said  Zillah.  "I  hoped  for  something 
more.  I  had  an  idea  that  I  might  find  some- 
thing—I  don't  know  what— something  which  I 
could  keep  for  the  rest  of  my  life."  I 

"  Is  not  the  miniature  enough,  dearest?"  said 
Hilda,  in  affectionate  tones.  "  What  more  conM 
you  wish  for  ?" 

"  I  don't  know.  I  prize  it  most  highly ;  but, 
atill,  I  feel  disappointed."  ' 

"  There  is  no  more  chance,"  said  Hilda. 
". No ;  I  have  examined  every  drawer." 
"  Yon  can  not  expect  any  thing  more,  so  let  ni 
go  away— unless,"  she  added,  "you  expect  to 
hnd  some  mysterious  secret  drawer  somewhere, 
and  1  fancy  there  is  hardly  any  room  here  for 
any  thing  of  that  kind."  ' 

"  A  secret  drawer  I"  repeated  Zillah,  with  via- 
ble excitement.  "^Vhat  an  ideal  But  could  i 
there  be  one?  Is  there  any  place  for  one?  I 
don't  see  any  place.  Therq  is  the  open  place 
where  the  books  are  kept,  and,  on  each  side,  t 
row  of  drawers.    No ;  there  are  no  secret  diaw- 


ibifc  .era  lierer    But  see— whi^^ 


As  Zillah  said  this  she  reached  out  her  hand  1 
toward  the  lower  part  of  the  phice  where  the 
books  were  kept.  A  narrow  piece  of  wood  pro- 
jected there  beyond  the  level  face  of  the  back  of 
the  desk.  On  this  piece  of  wood  there  was  i 
brass  catch,  which  seemed  intended  to  be  fasten- 
ed 5  but  now,  on  accoont  of  the  projection  of  the 


yti 


.11 


antly.    "  No  doubt  your  pan  I 
et  precious  things.!'  ' 

Zillah.     Slie  covered  the  por.'. 
It  it  in  her  pocket,  and  theo 

the  deslc. 

les  of  papers  there,  lying  on  | 
iesk,  dll  neatly  wrapped.up 
moiit  business-like^  mantier. 
I  number  of  drawer*,  all  of 
ith  papers.    These  were  all 

and  were  hkbeled,  so  as  to 
nee  that  they  referred  io  the 
te.  Some  were  mortgages, 
ers  letters,  others  returned  | 

Nothing  among  these 
h,  ^ 

»ro  were  some  drawers,  which  I 
e  on  the  search,  she  kept  ii  I 
The  discovery  of  her  mo- 

her  to  suppose  that  some- 
value  might  be  found  he«j 
Iter  a  long  search,  nothing] 

The  search,  however,  onlj  I 
jting,  and  the  more  she  waa  I 
tr  did  she  become  to  follow  I 
Yhile  she  was  investigating 
ood  by  her,  lookiiig  on  with 
izing  friend  and  interested  { 
Bs  she  anticipated  Zillah  in 
;h  lay  before  their  eyes,  and 
ling  .the  rolls  of  papers  with  I 
as  filled.    The  search  w«r| 
t  fact,  but  Zillah  seemed  to  [ 

lore,"  said  Hilda  at  last,  u 
it  drawer,  and  found  on); 
tiers.     "  You  have  exam'- 
ind  nothing.    At  any  rate,  [ 
rou  the  miniature ;  and,  be- 1 
1  that  awe  that  you  spokt  I 

,  there  ought  to  Im  some- 1 
"I  hoped  for  something! 
i  that  I  might  find  some- 1 
what — something  which  1 1 
t  of  my  life." 
lire  enough,  dearest?"  said  I 
ones.    •'  What  more  could 

prize  it  most  highly ;  bat, 
>d."  ' 

chance,"  said  Hilda, 
ined  every  drawer." 
!t  any  thing  more,  so  let  ni  I 
e  added,  "you  expect  to 
secret  drawer  somewhere,  [ 
liardly  any  room  here  for 

repeated  Zillah,  with  \ia- 
hat  an  idea  1  But  could 
re  any  pbce  for  one?  I 
There  IS  the  open  pUce 
^ept,  and,  on  each  side,  • 
there  are  no  secret  draw- 


THE  CRYPTOGRAM. 


,  it  wssniot  fastened.    Zllah  instantly  ^ull- 

||  the  wood,  and  it  came  out. 

Fit  was  a  shallow  drawer,  not  more  than  half 

I  inch  in  depth,  and  the  catch  was  the  means 

f  which  it  was  closed.    A  bit  of  brass,  that 

poked  like  an  omvnental  stud,  was,  in  reality, 

I  spring,  by  pressing  which  the  drawer  sprang 

J)en.    But  when  2illah  looked  there  the  drawer 

Kis  already  open,  and,  as  she  pulled  it  out,  she 

\w  it  alL 

[As  she  pulled  it  out  her  hand  trembled,  and 
jtT  heart  beat  fast  A  strange  and  inexplica- 
le  feeling  filled  her  mind — a  kind  of  anticipa- 
lon  of  ciUamity— a  mysterious  foreboding  of 
M— which  spread  a  strange  terror  through  her. 
lut  her  excitement  was  stcbng,  and  was  not  now 
bsbe  quelled ;  and  it  would  have  needed  some- 
ling  far  more  powerful  than  this  vague  fear  to 
Sop  her  in  the  search, into  the  mystery  of  the 

fWhen  men  do  any  thing  that  is  destined  to 
ffect  them  seriou^y,  for  good  or  evil,  it  often 
Isppens  that  at  theitime  of  the  action  a  certain 
Jiaccountable  prenujuition  arises  in  the  mind. 
Ibis  is  chiefly  the  case  when  the  act  is  tb  be  the 
kuse  of  sorrow.  Like  the  wizard  with  Lochiel, 
bine  dark  phantom  arises  before  the  mind,  and 
|«ms  of  the  evil  to  como.  So  it  was  in  the  pres- 
iit  case.  The  pulling  out  of  that  drawer  was  an 
iventful  moment  in  the  life  of  Zillah.  It  was  a 
Irisis  fraught  with  future  sorrow  and  evil  and 
bifering.  There  was  something  of  all  this  in 
er  pind  at  that  moment ;  and,  as  she  pulled  it 
pt,  and  as  it  lay  before  her,  a  shudder  passed 
lirongh  her,  and  she  turned  her  bice  away. 
I  "Oh,  Hilda,  Hilda !i^he  murmured.  "I'm 
ffraid— "    . 

1  "Afraid  of  what?"  asked  Hilda.     "What's 
he  matter?  Hera  is  a  discovery,  certainly.    This 
iecret  drawer  could  never  have  been  suspected. 
Vhat  a  singnhv  chance  it  was  Uiat  yon  should 
Ave  made  such  a  discovery  I " 
But  Zillah  did  not  seem  to  hear  her.    Before 
he  had  done  speaking  she  had  turned  to  ex- 
mine  the  drawer.    There  were  several  papers 
a  it.    All  were  yellow  and  fade<l,  and  the  writ- 
ng  upon  them  was  |Wle  wth  age.    These  Zilhih 
leized  in  a  nervous  and  tremulous  grasp.  «  The 
Irst  tine  which  she  unfolded  was  the  secret  ci- 
|her.    Upon  *this  she  gazed  for  some  time  in 
lewilderment,  and  then  opened  a  paper  which 
fcras  inclosed  within  it.    This  paper,  like  the  oth- 
K,  was  faded,  and  the  ink  was  ^e.     It  con- 
pined  what  seemed  like  a  key  to  decipher  the 
letters  on  the  other.     These  Zillah  placed  on 
Ine  side,  not  choosing  to  do  any  more  at  that 
pme.    Then  she  went  on  to  examine  the  others. 
Vhat  these  were  has  already  been  exphuned. 
•hey  were  the  lettera  of  Obed  Chute,  and  the 
hrewell  note  of  Lady  Chetwynde.    But  in  ad- 
ution  to  these  there  was  another  letter,  with 
pich  the  reader  is  not  as  yet  acquainted.     It 
WM  as  brown  and  as  faded  as  the  other  papers, 
|rith  writing  as  pale  juid  as  illegible.    It  was  in 
RtFhamlwriiiDf  «f  ObedChnte.-^  U  was  ai  fol- 
pws: 


^1  "  N«w  ToBX,  Octottr  10, 1841. 

'  Dbar  Sib,— L.  C.  has  been  in  the  convent 
^yenr.  The  seventy  thousand  dollare  will  never 
gam  trouble  you.  All  is  now  settled,  and  no 
no  need  ever  know  that  the  Redfield  Lyttoun 
►ho  ran  away  with  L.  C.  was  really  Captain 


Vom^ny.  Thertfia  no  possibility  »hat  any  ouq 
can  over  find  it  out,  unless  you  yourself  disclose 
yp'V  secret  Allow  me  to  congratulate  you  on 
the  happy  termination  of  this  unpleasant  bi^iness. 
'YoMrs,  truly,  Oded  Chdtb. 

"  Captain  O.  N.  Puxiaov." 

Zillah  read  this  over  many  times.  She  could 
not  comprehend  one  word  of  it  as  vet.  Who  was 
L.  C.  she  knew  not  The  mention  of  Captain 
lomeroy,  however,  seemed  to  implicate  her  fa- 
ther m  some  "unpleasant  business."  A  dorkor 
anucipation  of  evil,  and  a  profounder  dread,  set- 
tled over  her  heart.  She  did  not  soy  a  wolxl  to 
Hilda.  This,  whatever  it  was,  could  not  be  made 
the  subject  of  girlish  confidence.  It  was  soma- 
thmg  which  she  felt  was  to  be  examined  by  her- 
self in  solitude  and  in  fear.  Once  only  did^  she 
lookatHUda.  It  was  when  the  latter  asked,  in  a 
toneof^pipathy: 

"DearZiJhih.whatisit?'*  And,  as  she  asked 
this,  she  stooped  forward  and  kissed  her. 

Zillah  shuddered  involhntarily.  Why  ?  Not 
because  she  suspected  her  friend.  Her  nature 
was  too  noble  to  harbor  suspicion.  Her  shud- 
der rather  arose  from  that  mysterious  premoni- 
tion which,  according  to  old  superstitions,  arises 
warnihgly  and  instinctirely  and  bliridfy  at  the  ap- 
proach of  danger.  So  the  old  superstition  says 
that  this  involuntary  shudder  will  arise  when  any 
one  steps  over  the  place  which  is  destined  to  be 
our  grave.     A  pleasant  fancy ! 

Zillah  shuddered,  and  looked  up  at  Hilda  with 
a  strange  dazed  expression.  It  was  some  time 
before  she  spoke. 

' '  They  are  family  papers, "  she  said.  "  I— I 
don't  understand  them.  I  will  look  over  them." 
She  gathered  up  the  papen  abruptly,  and  lef^ 
the  room.  As  the  door  closed  after  her  Hilda 
tot  looking  at  the  place  where  she  had  vanished, 
with  a  Very  singular  smile  on  her  face. 

For  the  remainder  of  that  day  Zillah  continued 
shut  up  in  her  own  room.  Hilda  went  once 
to  ask,  in  a  voice  of  the  sweetest  and  tenderest 
symMthy,  what  was  the  matter.  Zillah  only  re- 
plied  that  she  was  not  well,  and  was  lying  down. 
She  wotfld  not  open  her  door,  however.  Again, 
before  bedtime,  Hilda  went  At  her  earnest  en- 
treaty  Zillah  let  her  in.  She  was  very  pdie,  wiUj 
a  weiry,  anxious  expression  on  her  face. 
Hilda  embraced  her  and  kissed  her. 
"  Oh,  my  darling,"  said  she,  "  will  yon  not  tell 
me  your  trouble?  Perhaps  I  may  be  of  use 
to  yon.  Will  you  not  give  me  your  confi- 
dence?" 

"Not  just  yet,  HUda  dearest  I  do  not  want 
to  trouble  you.  Be(Hes,  there  may  bo  nothing  in 
it  I  will  speak  to  the  Earl  first,  and  then  I  will 
tell  you." 

"  And  yon  will  not  tell  me  now  ?"  murmured 
Hilda,  reproachfully. 

"No,  dearest,  not  now.  Better  not  You 
will  soon  know  all,  whether  it  is  good  or  bad.  I 
nm  going  back  to  Chetwynde  to-morrow."    "      _ 


\. 


"To-morrow? 

"Jfes,"  said  Zillah,  monmfuOy.  "I  must  go 
back  to  end  my  suspense.  You  caix  do  nothing. 
Lord  Chetwynde  only  can  tell  me  what  I  want 
to  know.  I  will  tell  him  all,  and  he  can  dispel 
my  trouble,  or  else  deepen  it  in  my  heart  for- 
ever." 

' '  How  lerribte  I    What  a  frightfUl  thing  this 


/ 


fob  a5u    i*'<f  y'   'It.J 


64 


THB  CRTPTOGBAM, 


matt  be.  My  dsHIng,  my  friend,  nr  tUter,  tell 
me  this— was  it  that  wretched  paper?" 

"Yes/'taidZiUah.  "And now, dealest,  good- 
night   l>aTe  ni»~i  am  verr  miserable. " 

Hilda  kissed  heV  agdn. 

*/  Darling,  I  would  not  leare  von,  bat  jon  drive 
me  away.  Yon  have  no  confidence  in  yonr  poor 
Hilda.  Bnt  I  will  not  reproach  yon.  Good> 
/night,  darling." 

"Qood-night,  dearest." 


CHAPTER  XVin. 

A  SHOCK. 


The  discovery  of  these  papers  thtis  brought 
the  visit  to  Pomeroy  Court  to  an  abmpt  termina- 
tion. The  place  had  now  become  intolerable  to 
Zillah.  In  her  impatience  she  was  eager  to 
leave,  and  her  one  th^ght  noW  was  to  apply  to 
Lord  Chetwynde  for  a  solution  ^f  this  dark  mys- 
tery. 

''Why,  Zillah,"  he  cried,  as  she  came  back; 
"  what  is  the  meaning  of  this  ?  You  4iave  made 
but  a  short  stay.  Was  Pomeroy  Court  too 
gloomy,  or  did  yon  think  that  yonr  poor  fa- 
ther was  lonely  here  without  yton?  Xonely 
enonj^  he  Was — and  glad  indeed  i  he  is  to  see 
his  litUe  Zillah." 

And  Lord  Chetw^de  kissed  hw  fondly,  ex- 
hibiting ^  delight  which  touched  ZiUah  to  the 
heart  She  C(mld  not  say  any  thing  then  and 
tt)ere  abont  the  real  cause  of  her  sudden  retnri). 
She  would  have  to  wait  for  a  &vorable  oppor- 
tnnitv,  even  thou^  her  heart  was  throbbing,  in 
her  fierce  impati^ce,  as  thoagb  it  ^onld  burst 
r  She  took  refuge  in  caresses  and  in  general  re- 
marks as  to  her  joy  on  finding  herself  back  again, 
leaving  him  to  suppose  that  the  gloom  which  hung 
around  Pomeroy  Court  now  bad  been  too  op- 
pressive for  her,  and  that  she  had  hnnied^way 
ftom  it  y^ 

The  subject  which  was  nppermort<4n  Zillah's 

mind  was  one  which  she  haraly  knifw  how  to  in- 

.  traduce.    It  was  of  such  delicMiV  that  tihe  idea 

of  mentioning  it  to  the  Earl  filled  her  with  r»- 

_  pngnance.    For  the  first  day  she  was  distrait  and 

preoccupied.    Other  days  followed.    Her  nights 

jwere  sleepless.    The  Earl  soon  sdw  that  there 

was  something  on  her  mind,  and  taxed  her  with 

it    ZiUah  burst  into  tears  and  sat  weeping. 

"My  child,"  said  the  Earl,  tenderlyf  " This 
must  not  go  on.  There  can  not  be  ^ny  thing  in 
your  thoughts  wych  you  need  hesiiate  to  tell 
me.  Will  yoq.  not  show  some  confidence  toward 
me?" 

Zillah  looked  at  him,  and  his  loving  face  en- 
couraged her.  Betides,  this  soiipense  was  unen- 
durable. Her  repugnance  to  mention  vuch  a 
thing  for  a  time  made  her  silent^^ut  at  last  she 
ventured  upon  the  dark  and  tf^Ue  subject 

"  Something  occarred  at  Pomeroy  Court,"  she 
said,  and  then  stopped. 

_  "WeU?':"  laid  (hfr&drJciBdlf «d.eseGib»- 
gingly. 


"It  is  something  which  I  want  very  mnch  to 
ask  you  about—" 

"Well,  why  don't  yon?"  said  Lord  Chetwynde. 
"Mt  poor  child,  jrott  cant  be  afraid  of  me,  and 
yet  it  looks  like  it  You  are  very  mysterious. 
This  '  something'  must  have  been  very  import- 


ant to  have  ieiit  yon  bodt  ■>  woen.  Was  h  n 
discovery,  or  was  it  a  Wght?  Did  joa  find  « I 
dead  body  ?  Bnt  what  U  that  yon  can  want'io  I 
ask  me  about?  I  have  been  a  hermit  for  twenty  I 
Tears,  l  crept  into.mv  shell  before  von  wen  I 
bom,  .and  here  I  have  lived  ever  Unce.  '^  I 

The  Earl  spoke  pkyfuUy.  yet  with  an  nneatr  I 
curiosi^  in  hts  tone.  Zillah  waa  enotfnraged  lo  | 
go  on.  I 

"  It  is  something,"  said  she,  timidly  and  het- 
iutingly,  "  which  I  found  among  my  ather's  pt.  I 
pers."  f 

Lord  Chetwynde  looked  all  around  the  rooin. 
Then  he  rose. 

"  Come  into  the  library,"  said  he.  "  Perhapi  I 
it  is  something  very  important ;  and  if  so,  then  i 
nee4  be  no  listeners."  | 

Saying  this  he  led  the  way  in  silence,  followed  I 
by  ZiUah.  Arriving  there  he  motioned  Zillah  to  I 
a  seat,  and  took  a  chair  opposite, hers,  looking  m  I 
her  with  a  glance  of  pmplexity  and  curiosit}'.  I 
Amidst  this  there  waa  an  air  of  apprdiensiug  I 
about  him,  os  though  .he  foared  that  the  seem  I 
which  ZiUah  wished  to  te|l  might  he  connected! 
with  those  events  in  his  life  which  he  withed  to  I 
remain  nnreveoled.  This  suspicion  was  natnnL  I 
His  own  secret  waa  so  huge,  to  engrossing,  thit  I 
when  one  oome  to  hbn  aa  ZiUah  did  now,  bowed  I 
down  by  the  weight  of  another  secret,  he  woakl  | 
natnralhr  imagine  that  it  was  connected  with  bit  I 
own.  He  sat  now  opposite  ZiUah,  with  this  for  I 
in  his  face,  end  with  the  afar  of  a  man  who  ni  | 
trying  to  fortify  himself  against  aome  menadu  I 
cahunity.  ' 

"  I  have  been  in  very  deep  trpab](B,"  I 
ZiUoh,  timidly,  and  with  downcast  ^yet.    '  _^ 
time  I  ventored  into  dear  ]Mpa's  stody— andll 
happened  to  examine  his  dew. " 
She  hesitated. 

"  WeU  ?"  said  the  Earl,  in  a  low  voice. 
"In  the  desk  I  found  a  secret  drawer,  whietl 
I  would  not  have  discovered  except  by  the  metot  I 
chance ;  and  inside  of  thia  secret  drawer  I  fonnd  I 
some  papers,  which->which  have  filled  me  vitkl 
anxle^.''  «  I 

"A  secret  drawer?"  toid  the  fiari,  at  Ziiul 
agofai  pansed.  "And  what  were'these  papenl 
that  ^on  found  in  it  ?"  There  was  intense  anx- 1 
iety  in  the  tones  of  his  voice  as  he  asked  tliiil 
question. 

"Ifoandthere,"taidZUhh,  "apaperwrittal 
in  cipher.  There  wat  a  kev  connected  with  it,  I 
by  means  of  which  I  was  able  to  decipher  it" 

"Written  in  cipher?  How  singular  I"  said  I 
the  Earij  with  increasing  anxietv.  "What  could  | 
it  possibly  have  been?" 

ZUlah  stole  a  i^nce  at  him  feorfnUy  and  in-l 
qulringly.  She  taw  that  he  wat  much  excited  | 
and  most  eager  in  his  Cariosity. 

"What  wat  It?"  repeated  the  Eari.  "Wijl 
do  jroa  keep  me  in  tntpense  ?  You  need  not  bt  I 
aflcoid  of  me,  my  child.  Of  course  it  is  nothi^l 
that  I  am  in  any  way  concerned  with ;  and  vm  I 
if  it  were— why— M  any  rote,  teU  m«  wb«  HI 
waa^— =#= ■ 


The  Earl  spoke  hi  a  tone  of  feverish  exdte-l 
ment,  wnich  was  to  unlike  any  thing  tiiat  ZSM I 
had  ever  seen  in  him  before  uat  her  embanM-l 
ment  wat  hicreased. 

"  It  wat  lomething,"  the  went  on,  detpentdr,  I 
and  in  a  voice  which  trembled  wiA  agitatii)i,| 
"with  which  yon  are  connected — tometU^I 


i  ^-t'«fcia^V3  3(!<ti^'<A.3 


«tfu''^^i^6'\i„  i.  *?    '     \Cm^    "  '^'mSW 


fJ^iSihi^ 


ti  li-*^  ■•  ?  J-wS^&s^* 


fcn  hick  m  Kum.  Waahil 
it  1^  fright  r  Did  jm  flii((a| 
what  it  that  you  can  want' to  I 
hare  been  a  liennit  for  twent;  I 
to.mT  thell  before  yon  wen  I 
ave  lived  ever  kince.  ' 


THE  GBTFTOGKAMi 


playfully,  yet  with  an  nneair  I 
«.  ^  ZiHaa  was  enoonraged  to  I 

g,"  said  she,  timidly  and  hea- 
[  foond  among  my  &ther'«  p*.  I 

I  looked  all  aronnd  the  room. 

library,  "laid  he.  "Perhapi 
r  important ;  and  if  lo,  there 
I."  [ 

d  the  way  in  tilence,  followed 
g  there  he  motioned  Zillah  to  I 
:hair  opposite,  hers,  looking  u  I 
of  poplexity  and  curiosit}-.  [ 
was  an  air  of  iqyrehensiun 
igh,he  feared  that  the  seem 
1  to  tell  might  be  connected  I 
1  his  life  which  be  wished  to! 
This  suspicion  was  natonl  I 
so  hoge,  10  engrossing,  duti 
lim  as  Zillah  did  now,  bowed  I 
;  of  Another  secret,  he  wonid| 
^  it  was  connected  with  hit  I 
opporittf  Zillah,  with  this  feu  I 
k  the  air  of  a  man  who  wul 
iself  against  some  menadigl 

I  very  deep  trpnbjjs,"  L„ 
with  downcast  ^yea.    ''T_ 

0  dear  papa's  ttndy — and  1 1 
le  his  deik." 

)  Earl,  in  a  low  voice.  , 
rand  a  secret  drawer,  wUct  1 
covered  except  by  the  meieH  I 
of  this  secret  drawer  I  foond  I 
—which  have  filled  me  witli| 

rt"  said  the  tvA,  as  73m\ 
nd  what  were 'these  papenl 
t"  There  was  intense  anx- 1 
'  his  voice  as  he  asked  thil 

laid ZiUah,  "a  paper writtti I 
as  a  ker  connected  with it,| 

was  able  to  decipher  it." 
ler?    How  singalar!"  nidi 
sing  anxiety.   "What  could  I 
1?" 
ice  at  him  ibarfnlly  and  in-l 

that  he  was  much  excittdl 
8  cariosity. 

repeated  the  Eaii  "VHi;! 
ispensef  Yon  need  notbtl 
U.  Of  conrseitisnothii^l 
r  GODcemed  with ;  anderal 

any  nite,  tell  me  who  ill 

1  a  tone  of  feverish  excite- 1 
anlike  any  thing  that  Zillilil 
I  before  that  her  embanM-l 

;,"  she  went  on,  despentetf,  I 
h  trembled  with  agitttiei,! 
MX)  connected— sometii&i|| 


ihich  Iliad  Mvtr  heard  of  before— something 
thich  illed  me  with  horror.  I  will  show  it  to 
W— bvtiwantiiiattoaakyoaonething.  Will 
on  answer  itr 

<  Why  shdidd  I  nott"  said  the  Earl,  in  a  low 
oice.  * 

,  "  It  is  abont  Lady  CSietwynde,"  said  Zillah^ 
trhoie  voice  had  dteii«way  to  a  whisper. 

The  Earl's  ftce  seemed  to  tara  to  stone  at  he 
Aoked  at  her.    He  had  been  half  prepared  for 
his,  bnt  still,  when  it  finally  came,  it  was  over- 
^hehning.    Once  before,  and  once  only  in  his 
Ife,  had  he  toki  hi*  secret    That  was  to  Gen- 
iral  Fomdroy.     Bnt  Zillah  wa»  different,  and 
jrenithe,  nmch  at  he  loved  her,  waa  not  one  to 
Irhom  he«onId  speak  obont  snch  a  thing  as  this. 
"Wdir  said  he  at  lastt  in  a  harsh,  con- 
trained  vdce.    "  Ash  what  yon  wish. " 
ZiUah  started.   The  tone  waa  so  different  fron 
hat  in  ««ieh  Lord  Chetwynde  usually  spoke  that 
he  was  frightened^ 
"I— I  do  not  know  how  t6  atk  what  I  want 
)  ask,"  the  stammered. 

"I  can  imagine  it,"  said  the  Earl.     "It  it 
Ibont  my  dishonor.     I  told  General  Pomeray 
mboat  it  once,  and  it  seems  that  he  has  kindly 
Sritten  it  out  for  yonr  benefit." 
Bitterness  indescribable  was  in  the  Esvl's  tones 
s  he  said  this.    ZiUah  shrank  back  into  herself 
nd  looked  widi  fear  and  wonder  upon  this  man, 
|rho  a  few  moments  before  had  been  all  fond> 
I8S,  bat  now  wat  all  tntpicion.    Her  first  im> 
'  I  wat  to  go  and  carest  him,  and  explain 
the  cipher  so  that  it  might  never  again 
.\)l«llfasinthitVray<    Bat  she  was  too  frank 
nd  honest  to  do  this,  aod,  betides,  her  own  de^ 
pre  to  unravel  the  injury  had  by  thit  time  ba- 
ome  80  intense  thitt  it  waa  impossible  to  stop, 
lie  very  agitation  of  the  Eari,  while  it  fright- 
ned  her,  stil}  gave  new  power  to  her  eager  and 
leverish  cariosity.    But  now,  more  than  ever,  she 
MgaQ  to  realise  what  all  this  involved.    That 
ace  Which  canght  her  eyes,  once  all  love,  which 
■ad  never  before  rggarded  her  with  aaght  but 
mdemess,  yet  which  now  seemed  cold  and  icy 
-that  face  told  her  all  the  task  that  lay  before 
her.    Could  she  encoanter  it?    But  how  could 
|ihe  help  it?    Dare  she  gat-oai    Yet  she  could 
not  go  back  now.  . 
The  Earl  saw  her  hesitation. 
"  I  know  what  yon  wish  to  ask,"  said  he,  "and 
mU  answer  it.    Child,  she  dishonored  me— she 
dragged  my  name  down  into  the  dust  I    Do  yon 
-iskmore?    ^fledwithavHIain!"     . 
That  stem,  white  fece,  which  was  set  ih  an- 
■guish  before  her,  from  whose  lips  these  words 
■seemed  to  be  torn,  at,  one  by  one,  they  were 
Wang  out  to  her  earsL  wa«  remembered  by  ZiUah 
Imany  and  many  a  time  in  after  years*    At  this 
■moment  the  efibct  npon  her  was  appiUling.    She 
Iwns  dninb.  ^A  vague  dadrq  to  avert  hU  wrath 
larose  in  her  heart   She  looked  at  him  imploring. 
I V ;  but  her  look  had  no  longer  any  power. 
\    Sg»h»''  j«^«*M,  inapatiently,  after  wait..- 
,  w a tinw,"  *^8paatr  Tefffie  whaf R  is  that 
I  yon  have  found;  teU  me  what  this  thing  it  that 
I  concenw  me.    Can  it  be  any  tiding  more  than  I 
I  have  said?"  * 

Zillau  tremUfld.  Thit  MiddeB  trantformation 
I -thw  complete  diang«  frpm  warm  aflbctien  to 
I  icy  coldnett—from  derob^  love  to  iron  stem- 
I  Best— wat  aomething  whidi  ihe  did  not  antioi- 


.it  i 


«5 


pate.  Bdng  thot  taken  :aumum^  tho  wat  all 
unnenred  and  overcome,  Sh«  could  no  longer 
rattrainhoraelf.  •  * 

•'Oh,Jathen"  the  ctkC^hmtiqg  fnto  tears, 
and  flinging  herself  a|^  feet  in  nneoatroUable 
emotion.  "Oh,  fatJ»l  Donatlookatmeso- 
donotH^^sotoyourpoorZillahi  JHavelany 
friend  on  earth  but  you  ?"  w^  . 

She  clasped  his  thin,  white  hands  in  hti«,  white 
hot  tears  ^apon  them.  But  tha,  Eari  sat  un- 
moved,  and  changed  not  a  matde  of- his  coun- 
tenance. He  waited  for  a  time,  taking  no  no- 
Uoo  of  her  anguish,  and  then  spoke,  with  n»  re- 
laxation of  the  stemnett  of  his  tone.   . 

"Daughter,"  said  he,  "do  not  become  agi- 
tated. It  was  yw  yourself  who  hrrfiight  on  thit 
■conversaUon.'  Let  as  end  it  at  once.  Show  me 
the  papers  of  whiohryon-tpeak.  You  say  that  they 
ara  connected  with  m»*-that  tbc^y  fiUad  jiou  with 
horror.  Whatls  it  that  yon  mean?  Something 
more  than  cnriotii^  about  the.nnhan>y  woman 
who  wat  once  iny  wife  haa  driven  you  to  ask  ex- 
pbnationt  of  me.    Show  me  the  papers. " 

Hit  tone  forbade  denial    Zillah  taid  not  a 
word.    Slowly  the  draw  hma.  her  pocket  thote 
papers,  heavy  with  fete,  and,  with  »  tiembling 
band,  die  gave  them  to  the.EarL    Scarcely  had 
the  done  to  than  she  repented.    But  it  was  too 
ute.    Beside,  of  what  avail  would  it  have  been 
to  have  kept  them  t    She  herself  hadhegun  thit 
conyenation;  the  herself  had  songht  for  a  rav- 
ehktion  of  this  mystery.    The  and.  mntt  come, 
whatever  itmight  be. 
" Oh,  fether i"  she  maanad,  implorinsly. 
"What  U  It?"  asked  the  EirlT^'^ 
"You  knew  my  dear  papa  allhit  Mfe,  did  von 
not,  from  hit  boyhood  ?'"  ' 

"Yet,"  taid  thaEari,  mechaaieally,  looking  - 
at  the  papera  which  ZiUah  had  pkced  in  hit 
hand ; '^  yet— from  boyhood."  . 
"And  you  loved  and  honored  him?" 
"Yes.'' 

"Wat  there  ever  a  time  hi  which,  you  lost 
sight  of  one  an9ther,  or  did  not  know  aU  about 
one  another?" 

"Certainly.    For  twenty  years  wa  ket  sidit 
of  one  another  oompleteiy.    Why  doyoaask?" 
"Did  ha  ever  live  in  Lcindon?"wked  ZUhdi, 
despakingly. 

"Yes,"  said  the  Earl ;( Mho  Uved  there  for  two 
years,  and^  I  scarcely  ever  s^w  him. '  I  was  in 
poUtiosjhawathithaaimy.  I  wat  buqr  every 
moment  otjof  time ;  he  had  aU  that  leiaoia 
which  officers  enjoy,  and  leMSng  the  life  of  gay- 
c^peo«Uac  to  them.  But  why  do  you  atk? 
What  connection  hat  aU  this  wim  tha  papers  ?" 
ZULih  murmurtd  tome  inawdil^  wiordt,  and 
then  tat watahing  tha  Earl  at  ha  began.to  exam, 
ina  tha  pmrt,  with  a  fitce  on  which,  theia  were 
vitible  a  thousand  contending  em^tiont..  The 
Earl  looked  over  the  papert.  Th«rawB|t  the  ci- 
pher and  the  key;  and  there  was  uai. paper 
written  oat  by  ZiUah, containing thewip&niaon 
At  thft  pjiihttf  w^oQrdinjLtfi  tho  kor  flhithii  iia« 
per wldc^ obtained  tha keywua wri«Mo^£e-^ 
meot  to  flie  efiecttbat  two.thirda  of  tbe.kt^n 
had  no  maanhig,  Truttbig  to  thit,  ZiUah  bad 
written  out  her.  trantlation  of  the  drdier,  juit  at 
Hilda  had  before  dona.  . 
'  /Hie  Earl  read  the  trantlation  thi«ngb  nait 
eareftaUy. 
"  What't  thit?"  he  exckimed^in  deaperagitfc 


a 


66 


THE  CRYPTOGRABT.- 


! 
i 


tion.  ZUkh  made  no  nflj.  In  fact,  nt  that 
moment  her  heart  wu  torobbing  ao  furiouHly 
that  sh^  conld  not  have  ipoken  a  word.  Now 
hod  come  the  eriaa  of  her  fate,  and  hor  heart,  by 
a  certain  deep  instinct,  told  h6r  this.  Beneath 
V  nil  the  agitation  arising  from  the  change  in  the 
Earl  there  was  something  more  profound,  more 
dread.  It  was  a  continuation  of  thatxlark  fore- 
boding which  she  hnd  felt  at  Pomeroy  Court — 
a  certain  fearful  loolcing  for  of  some  obscure  and 
shadowy  calamity. 

The  Earl,  after  reading  tlio  trnnslotion,  took 
the  cipher  writing  nnd  held  up  the  key  beside  it, 
while  his  thin  hands  trembled,  and  his  eves 
seemed  to  devour  the  sheet,  as  he  slowly  spelled 
oat  the  frightful  meaning.    It  was  bad  for  Zillah 
that  these  papers  hod  fallen  into  his  hands  in 
such  a  wnv.     Her  evil  star  had  been  in  the  as- 
cendant when  she  was  drawn  on  to  this.    Com- 
ing to  him  thus,  from  the  hand  of  Zillah  herself, 
there  was  an  authenticity  and  an  authority  about 
tlie  papers  which  otherwise  might  have  been 
wanting.     It  was  to  him,  at  this  time,  precisely 
the  same  as  if  they  had  been  handed  to  him  by 
the  General  hiragclf.     Hod  they  been  discovered 
by  hio|iself  originally,  it  is  possible— in  fact,  high- 
ly probable— that  ho  would  have  looked  upon 
them  with  different  eyes,  and  their  effect  upon 
him  would  have  been  far  othenvise.     ^s  it  was, 
however,  Zillah  herself  had  found  th<e£a'and'given 
them  to  him.     ZilUih  had  been  exciting  him  by 
her  agitation  and  her  suffering,  and  had,  last  of 
all,  been  rousing  him  gradually  up  to  a  pitch  of 
the  most  intense  excitement,  by  the  conversation 
which  she  had  brought  forward,  by  her  timidity, 
her  reluctance,  her  strange  questionings,  and  her 
genend  agitation.     To  a  task  which  requy-ed  the 
utmost  coolness  of  feeling,  and  calm  impartiality 
of  judgment,  he  brought  a  feverish  heart,  a  heated 
brain,  and  an  unreasoning  fear  of  some  terrific 
disclosure.  All  this  prepared  him  to  accept  blind- 
ly whatever  the  paper  might  reveal. 

As  he  examined  the  paper  he  did  not  look  at 
Zillah,  but  spelled  out  the  words  from  the  char- 
acters, one  by  one,  and  saw  that  the  translation 
was  correct.    This  tpok  a  long  time ;  and  all  the 
while  Zillah  sat  there,  with  her  eyes  fastened  on 
him ;  but  he  did  not  give  her  one  look.     All  his 
soul  seemed,  to  be  absorbed  by  the  papers  before 
him.     At  last  he  ended  with  the  cipher  writing — 
or,  at  least,  with  as  much  of  it  as  was  supposed 
to  be  decipherable — and  then  he  turned  to  the 
other  papers.    These  he  read  through ;  and  then, 
beginning  again,  he  read  them  through  once 
more.    One  only  exclamation  escaped  him.    It 
was  while  reading  that  lost  letter,  where  mention 
was  made  of  the  name  Redfield  Lyttoun  being 
an  assumed  one.    Then  he  said,  in  a  low  voice 
which  seemed  like  a  groan  wrung  out  by  angaish 
from  his  inmost  soul : 
"Oh,  my  God  I  mvGod!" 
At  hist  the  Earl  finished  examining  the  pa- 
pen.    He  put  them  down  feebly,  and  sat  stai^ 
mg  blankly  at  vacancy.     He  looked  ten  years 
older  than  when  he  had  entered  the  dining-room. 
_HisJiMe  was  as  bloodless  as  the  face  of  a  corpse, 
"TjIs  lips  were  ashen,  and  new  farrows  seemed  to 
have  been  traced  on  his  brow.     On  his  face 
there  wu  stamped  a  fixed  and  settled  expliessioi 
of  dull,  changeless  anguish,  which  smote  Zillal. 
to  her  heart.    He  did  not  sea  her—he  did  n0t 
notice  that  other  face,  a*  poUid  as  his  o 


which  was  turned  toward  his,  with  an  agony  in 
ite  expression  which  rivaled  all  that  ho  was  en 
during.  No-^he  qsticed  nothing,  and  saw  uu 
one..  All  his' Soul  was  taken  up  now  with  ono 
thoaght.  lie  had  fsad  the  paper,  and  had  at 
once  accepted  its  terrific  mea<[tng.  To  him  it 
had  declared  that  in  the  tragedy  of  his  youni; 
life,  not  only  his  wife  had  been  false,  but  iiin 
friend  also.  More— tliat  it  was  his  friend  who 
had  betrayed  his  wife.  Mora  yet— and  there 
was  fresh  anguish  in  this  thoi^ht— this  friend, 
ofter  the  absence  of  many  years,  had  letunicti 
and  claimed  his  friendship,  and  had  received  his 
confidences.  To  him  he  had  poured  out ,  tlio 
grief  of  his  heart— the  confession  of  life-I»ng 
sorrows  which  had  been  wrought  by  the  veiy 
man  to  whom  he  told  his  tale.  And  this  was 
the  man  who,  under  the  plea  of  ancient  friend- 
ship, had  bought  his  son  fur  gold  1  Great  Ileav-' 
en  {  the  son  of  the  woman  whom  he  had  ruined 
—and  for  gold  I  He  had  drawn  oway  his  wife  to 
ruin — he  had  come  and  drawn  away  his  son— 
into  what  ?  into  a  marriage  with  the  daughter 
of  his  own  mother's  betrayer. 

Such  were  the  thoughts,  mod,  frenzied,  tlukt 
filled  Lord  Chetwynde^s  mind  as  he  sat  them 
stunned — paralyzed  by  this  hideous  accumula- 
tion of  intolerable  griefs.  What  was  Zilkth  to 
him  now  ?  The  child  of  a  foul  traitor.  The 
one  to  whom  bis  noble  son  had  been  sold.  That 
son  had  been,  as  he  once  said,  the  solace  of  hit 
life.  For  his  sake  ho  had  been  content  to  live 
even  under  his  loud  of  sham^4n4  misery.  For 
him  he  had  labored;  for ^is  happiness  he  had 
planned.  And  for  what  ?»  WijiAt  f.  That  which 
was  too  hideous  to  think  bf-^a  livii)^  death— « 
nnion  with  one  from  vitba^'^i  ot^ltt  to  stand 
apart  for  evermore.      v»,*'^  ^\\  .(^.s;;; 

Little  did  Zillah  ^nl^  ^tfi(y|f||»nght8  wei« 
sweeping  and  surging  thi«^l|pi^teiind  of  Lord 
Chetwynde  as  she  sat  theki^-^^uia!>)iini  with 
her  awful  eyes.  Little  md  she^n^i^the 
feelings  with  which,  nt  that  moment,^^'t^rd. 
ed  her.  Nothing  of  this  kind  come  t6Tb%'  ,|)ne 
only  thought  was  present— the  anguish  whith  be 
was  enduring.  The  sight  of  that  anguish  waj 
intolerable.  She  looked,  and  waited,  and  at  last, 
unable  to  bear  this  any  longer,  she  sprang  for- 
ward, and  tore  his  hands  away  from  his  fkce. 

"It's  not!  It's  not  I  "she  gasped.  "Sajryoa 
do  not  believe  it!  Oh,  father!  It's  impossi- 
ble!"  *^ 
.  The  Earl  withdrew  his  hands,  and  shrank  awaj 
from  her,  regarding  her  with  that  blank  gaze 
which  shows  that  the  mind  sees  not  the  mate- 
rial form  toward  which  the  eyes  ore  turned,  but 
is  taken  np  with  its  own  thoughts. 

"  Impossible  ?"  he  repeiUed.  "  Yes.  That  ii 
the  word  I  spoke  when  I  first  heard  that  the  hod 
left  me.  Ii^possible?  And  why?  Is  a  friend 
more  true  than  a  wife  ?  After  Lady  Chetwyndt 
failed  me,  why  should  I  believe  in  NeviUe  Pome- 
roy? And  you— why  did  yon  not  let  me  end 
my  life  in  peace?  Why  did  yon  bring  to  dm 
•'•■«  frightful- this  damning  evidence  which  de- 

yi^my  faith  wot  la  aon.  but  even  in  Hg 
itself?" 
"  Father !    Oh,  fttther !"  moaned  Zillah. 
But  the  Earl  turned  away.     She  seized  his 
hand  again  in  both  hers.     Again  he  shrank 
away,  and  withdrew  his  hand  from  her  touch. 
She  was  abhorrent  to  him  then  ( 


-4J^ 


toward  hit,  with  an  agony  in 
;h  rivuled  all  that  ho  was  en 
^Sliced  nothing,  anu  uw  nv 

wan  taken  up  now  with  ono 

bad  the  paper,  and  had  at 
terriHc  mear^ing.  To  him  ft 
in  the  tragedy  of  hii  young 
vife  had  been  falie.bat  hU 
>— lliat  it  waa  liia  friend  who 
wife.  Mora  yet— and  there 
in  thia  thoi^ht— this  friend, 
)f  many  years,  had  refunKhl 
indship,  and  had  received  liij 
liim  he  had  poured  out  .the 
—the  confession  of  life-long 
1  been  wrought  by  the  veiy 
old  his  talo.  And  tliis  won 
ir,t6«j>lea  of  ancient  friend- 
8  son  for  gold  I  Great  Heav- ' 
woman  whom  he  had  ruined 
[e  had  drawn  away  his  wife  to 

and  drawn  away  his  son— 
mwriago  with  the  danghter 

betrayer. 

lioughts,  mad,  frenzied,  tlut 
ndo's  mind  as  he  sat  there 
1  by  this  hideous  accumiila> 
griefs.  What  was  Zillah  to 
lild  of  a  foul  traitor.  The 
ble  son  had  been  sold.    That 

I  once  said,  the  solace  of  hit 
ho  had  been  content  to  lire 
of  sliam^j^4  misery.     For 

il;  for  ^ia  hi^ppiness  he  had 
rhat  h]  Wi»*t  ?,  That  which 
think  t)f-^a  liriiig.  death— a 
a  win^^^ei  o^U  to  stand 

aii^  ^Al^bnghta  were 
g  thre>(fi|fmteiind  of  Lord 
It  theii^-«E|tfj|b'^Wm  with 
Jttle  ma  she  dni^i^  the 
at  that  moment,^^'r^i^. 
this  kind  came  to  M^'^^ne 
isent — the  anguish  whith  he 
s  sight  of  that  anguish  wa« 
ked,  and  waited,  ond  at  last, 
any  longer,  she  sprang  for- 
tnda  away  from  his  face. 
>t  1 "  she  gasped.  ' '  8af  yoa 
Ob,  father!    It's  impossi- 

his  hands,  and  shrank  awaj 
her  with  that  blank  gaze 
ic  mind  sees  not  the  mate- 
ich  the  eyes  ore  turned,  but 
iwn  thoughts, 
repeated.  "Yes.  Thatii 
ia  I  first  heard  that  $he  had 
?  And  why?  Is  a  friend 
9?   After  Ladr  Chetwyndt 

I I  beliere  in  Mevi}le  Pomfr 
ly  did  ^ou  not  let  me  end 
Why  did  yoa  bring  to  dm 
unning  evidence  which  de- 
tinaay-bat  Bven  in  Ileava 

ther!"  moaned  Zillah. 
ed  away.     She  seized  hij 
here.     Again  he  shrank 
lis  hand  from  her  touch, 
to  him  then  ( 


THE  CBTPTOGBAM. 


•7 


t?n!:i?'.,^S^^gg^r  ^''ffl»!^h¥*r-«rf^ 


at  once  a  wild  mrnlsion  of  feeling  tookltace 
TUhm  her  alw.  All  the  fierce  priJe  of  her  hot, 
impassioned  Spath«m  nature  rose  np  in  rebelll 
103  agrbut  this  sadden,  this  hasty  chwge.  Why 
Bhonld  he  so  goon  lose  faith  in  Wither  ?  He 
gniltyi-her  father!— the  noble— the  genUe— 
the  stainlesi-the  true— he  I  the  pan  in  heart— 


t,  'Alii 


fore  her  as  the  ideal  of  manly  honor  and  loyattr 
and  truth ?  Never!  If  it  came  to  a  qaestttntt 
between  Lord  Chetwynde  and  that  idol  "of  her 
young  life,  whose  memoTT  she  adored,  then  -• 
Lord  Chetwynde  must  go  down,  i  Who  wu  he 
that  dared  to  think  evU  for  onMhoment  of  the 
BobliBstofmenI   CotddheUmi^co^&eiritb 


x:* 


68 


THE  CBYPTOGRAM. 


the  father  whom  she  had  lost,  in  all  that  is  highest 
in  manhood?  No.  The  cha:rge  was  foal  and 
false.  Lord  Chetwynde  waa  fdke  for  go  doubt- 
ing his  friend.  ■>  , 

All  this  flashed  9Ter  Zillah's  mind,  and  at  that 
moment,  in  her  rernlsion  of  indignant  pride,  she 
forgot  altogether  all  those  doubts  which,  but  a 
short  time  before,  had  been  agitating  her. own 
soul — doabts,  too,  which  were  so  strong  that 
they  bad  forced  her  to  bring  on  this  scene  irith 
the  Earl.  All  this  was  forgotten.  Her  Idjridty 
to  her  father  triumphed  over  doubt,  so,  soon  as 
she  saw  another  sharing,  that  doubt       '  / 

But  her  thoughts  were  suddenly  cheeked. 

The  Earl,  who  had  but  lately  shrunk  away 
from  her,  now  Kimed  toward  her,  and  looked  at 
her  with  a  Strang^,  dazed,  blank  expression  of 
iace,  and  wild  vacant  eyes.  For  a  nM)ment  he 
sat  turned  toward  her  thus ;  and  thert,  giviqg  a 
deep  groan,  he  fell  f6rward  out  of  his  chair  on 
the  floor.  With  a  piercing  cry^Zillah  a|Htng 
toward  him  and  tried  tb  raise  him  np,:,  Her  ct^ 
aroused  the  h6u8eh<ri4>  Mrs.  Bart  was  flnt 
among  tboae  who  nished  to  the  room  to  help 
her.  She  flung  her  arms  around  the  prostrate- 
form,  and  lifted  it  upon  the  sofa.  '  As  he  lay 


.-  there  a  shudder  passed  through  Zillah'g  fnmeat  liBettet  far,  it  seemed  to  her,  it  would  be  to  carry 
tiie  sight  which  she  bejield.    For  the  Earl,  in  •  tbat  aeciet  to  the  "grave  than  to  disokiae  it  in  any 

eonfldanOB : to. easf  third mnopi 


falling,  had  struck  hisi'liead  against  the  shup- 
comer  of  (he  table,  ancl  his  white  and  venerable 
hairs  were  now  all  stained  with  blood,  which 
trickled  slowly  over  his  wan  pale  face. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

A     NEW     FEBPLEXITT. 


thoughts,  and  Mrs.  Hart  was  preoccupied,  and 
more  distrait  thian  usual. 

Midnigh^came^  For  honn  ZiUah  had  brood- 
ed over  herWn  soispws.  She  longed  for  sym- 
pathv.  Mrs.  Hart  seemed  to  her  tobe .the  one 
id  whom  ahtf  might  best  confl^  fSe'  evident 
affectioh  whieb  Mrs.  ILu^fUt  for  the  Earl  was 
of  itself  an:  liidi^ment^  confidence..  Her  own 
rtf{itotimiliMr*}»i^^  housekeeper  also  impelled 
'hei'  td  t^Mf^all  that  had  happened.  And  so  it 
WWlMat,  while  they  sat  there  together,  Zillah 
^duailjr  told  her  about  her  interview  with  the 

But  the  stoiy  which  Zillah  told  did  not  com- 
prise the  whole  truth.  She  did  not  wish  to  go 
into  details,  and  there  were  many  circun\stance« 
which  she  did  aat  feel  inclined  to  tell  to  the 
housekeeper.  There  was  no  reason  why  she 
should  tell  about  the  secretv  cipher,  and  very 
many  reasons  why  she  should  not  It  was  an 
affair  which  concerned  her  father  and- her  fam- 
ily. That  her  own  fears  were  well  footldsd  she 
dared  not  suppose,  and  therefore  die  would  not 
einen  hint  about  such  fears  to  another.  Abo\-e 
alii  she  was  unwilling  to  tell  what  effect  the  dis- 
dlqsnre  of  that  secret  of  hers  had  upon  the  EarL 


At  the  sight  of  that  venerable  face,  as  white 
as  marble,  now  set  in  the  fixedness  of  death) 
whose  white  hair  was  all  stained  with  the  blood 
that  oozed  from  the  wound  on  his  forehead,  all 
Zillah 's  tendemeaa  returned,  fiittedy  idie  re- 
proached herself. 

"  I  tave  killed  him !    it  wa*  aU  my  fanlt  t" 
she  cried.     "Oh,  saiv  him!    D6  sbmethiogii 
Can  you  not  save  him  ?"      -  <- 

Mrs.  Hart  did  n6t  sectt-tokear  iMr^atall. 
She  had  carried  the  E^  to>th»is«St,  ancHfaen 
she  knelt  by  his  side,  with  hev'atais  flmig  kroond 
him.  She  seemed  uneonse|oM  (of  the 'presence 
of  Zillah.  Her  head  lay  on  the  Eari's  breast 
At  Ust  she  pressed  her  lips  to  Ua  fbrahcad,  whdre' 
the  blood  flowed,  with^  quicks  fcterikh  kisi. 
Her  white  face,  as  it  wV  set  against  the  stony 
&ce  of  the  Earl,  startled  ZiUah.  She  Mood 
mule. 

The  servants  hurrieddjn.  Mrs.  Hart  roused 
herself^  and  had  the  am  carried  to  his  room. 
Zillah  fbllowed.  The  Earl  was  put  to  bed.  A 
servant  was  sent  off  for  a  doct^  Mrs.  Hart 
and  Zillah  watched  anxiously  ^  the  doctor 
came.  The  do^ju'  dressed  the  wonnd,  and  gave 
directions  for  thmreatment  of  the  patieiUj^  Qui- 
et  above  all  ftiingi  was  enjoined.  ApopHy  was 
-Untaditt^  tmt  tt  mm  tmiy  siiat  "rte  rau  cbn- 
viction  of  the  doctor  seemed  to  be  that  it  was 
mental  tronUe  of  tome  Und,  and  ^is  conviction 
was  shared  by  those  who  wa^holvthe  EarL  ^ 

Zillah  and  Mrs.  Hart  both  watched  that  n^R. 
lliey  sat  in  anjidjoining  room.  But  little  was 
■aid  at  first 


any 
Whatever  the 
ibMtrmi|ht^!itW«iiid'fcaibetteifto  hold  it  con- 
oetfe4'Wt#diaila)EM  «iid!hMto)f.  r.   . 

What\Z&tab«*lihnUit»tii0«flMt.liiik«flhe  had 
been  twktagtte'Btel  OahtoliadyiGhiBtwynde; 
that  tiie  mention  of  tieiiiilJBatiliirtlfhodMeed  an 
extraordinniy  effect;  that  shetvmeditty  with- 
draw it,  but  the  Earl  inaUted'bOuknDwing  what 
she  had  to  say. 

"Oh,"  she  cried,  "how  Uttarlrljament  that 
IsaidlanytUng^lrixMitJtl  Bnt  Lkad  iseen  some- 
thing Bti  home!  wUeh  exdtad  *igt>  icariosity.  It 
wu  afaoat  Lady  Chetwynde.  It  stated  that  she 
eh)J)e<l  with  a  certain  Kiedfield  Lyttoun,  and  that 
the  name  was  an  assumed  one ;  but  what, "  cried 
Zilkh,  suddenly  starting  fbrwajrd'^t/  what  is  the 
matter?"  " 

While  Zillab  wM  spMidpgiMtt  Hart'i  face- 
always  pal»-<faeoMd<tD<tiim  gr^r,.and  a  shad- 
dtt  passed 'thrburfi  h«i(<thh>,  rimaciated  frame.  ■ 
She  pressed  her  hand  ion  kerlUMt.  and  sudden- 
ly sank  back  with  a  groaat'iii 

ZiUah  s|>mn||<tQii!Mdivfaeri  «M  mised  &er  up. 
Mrs. Hart IMUllMiM  her  htud Ion  herhtertj  and 
gave  mteranco'lnJowMoans'OfoiifrishtpiiZillah 
ctefedi  her  liluads^  said,  tbeii  hurrieitoff'  and  got 
■one  wine.  ^  'At  the  taste  o/  tlm  stimulating 
UqAo^'^ipbor  oreatare  rarired,  She  then  sat 
panli|tg«iirithlMr«yaBfixedM  the  floor.  Zillah 
sat)  lookiiHB  \Kt  faerinitlKmtkajilng  a  word,  and 
afhiid  la  tbrnh  again  apoo  'atsaUMt  which  had 
produced  •»  diaastroas  on  eASwiU:l¥at  wlif  should 
it?  Why  should  this  weaumalMw  emotion  eqpl 
to  that  of  the  Eikrl  M  the  vetflatentiasi  of  such  t 
thing?  There  was  sai^Iy  Mme  unfathomable 
mysterr  about  it  The  emotion  of  the  Earl  was 
intellitf  ble— that  of  Mrs.  Hart  Was  not  so.    Such 


wereWelhoughU  that  passed  through  her  mind 
as  she  sat  there  in  silence  watching  her  com- 
panion. 

Hours  passed  withont  one  word  beinif  spoken. 

ZiUah  fkwinently  urged  Mrs.  Hart  to  go  to  bed, 

but  Mrs.  Hart  refused.    She  could  fttt  sleep,  she 

Zillah  was  busied  with  her  own   said,  jaad  she  would  rather  be  near  the  SsA 


Hart  was  preoccnpied,  and 
inaL 

For  hoars  Zillah  had  brood- 
tpwi.  She  longed  for  sym- 
eemed  to  her  tobd  the  one 
best  coiifi<^  ^nie  evident 
.  £tol'<Ut  for  the  Earl  was 
nt^  confidence..  Her  own 
1  housekeeper  also  impelled 
t  had  happened.  And  so  it 
'  sat  there  together,  Zillah 
Mat  her  interview  with  the 

;h  Zillah  told  did  not  com- 
i.  She  did  not  wish  to  go 
e  were  manv  circun^stancea 
feel  inclined  to  tell  to  the 
i  was  no  reason  why  ghe 
le  secretv  cipher,  and  very 
he  should  not.  It  was  an 
ad  her  father  and  her  fam- 
ibara  were  well  fontldsd  she 
nd  therefore  she  Would  not 
I  fears  to  another.  Aboi-e 
;  to  tell  what  effect  the  dis- 
of  hers  had  upon  the  EarL 
to  her,  it  wonld  be  to  carry 
re  than  to  disclose  it  in  any 
IrdMno^t.- Whatever  the 
oid'Mibetteifto  hold  it  con- 

1*  to.tiis«fiMt<1lMti  aha  had 

I  khthkiKia^JQtotWjmde; 

k«iltnl))Bitilyfaitodiyed  an 

that  •hsiwlsfeeditb'  with- 

insbt«d'oaL'&nowing  what 

'howUttsrhT'IJament  thnt 
iiti  But  IJutdiseen  some- 
exeitad  isficvriosity.  It 
wynde.  It  stated  that  she 
Kedfield  Lrttonn,  and  that 
med  one ;  but  what,"  cried 
ng  forwaJrd'w^i^wbat  is  the 

liMUpgiMm  Hart'i  facc- 
ttxtiuii  giiqr,.and  a  shud- 
^ititldo,  rimaciated  frame. 
iOD'AeniiMrt.  and  sudden- 
roaiK-'iiiii.  •■  ■ 
idivheri^kd  ndsed  her  op. 
lep  htind  Ion  her:  htert; :  and 
ntoamoCaagilkhr'  iZitlah 
Ithmi  hnnieitoff'  and  got 
tame  qf  the  stioiulating 
ire  rarirad^  She  then  sat 
Axed  aa  the  floor.  Zillah 
Ihoat:  iMjting  a  word,  and 
■|nni«)aablMti  which  had 
■a  efieou  :i¥at  wtf  should 
ranan  dMw  ODOtion  eqfil 
^a  veiJpMntiea  of  such  « 
mtt\j  some  nnfkthomable 
le  emotion  of  the  Eofl  wta 
ri.  Hart  #as  not  so.  Such 
i  poised  through  her  mind 
ilence  watching  her  com- 

st  one  wwd  being  spoken. 

d  Mrs.  Hart  to  go  to  bed, 

She  could  Mt  sleep,  sb« 

rather  be  near  the  UiA 


THE  CRTPTOGBAM. 


At  length  ZiUab,  penetrated  with  pity  for  the 
poor  suffering  woman,  insisted  on  her  lying  down 
on  the  sofa.  Mrs.  Hart  had  to  yield.  She  lay 
down  accordingly,  but  not  to  sleep.  The  sighs 
that  escaped  her  from  time  to  time  showed  that 
her  secret  sorrt>w  kept  her  awake. 

Suddenly,  out  of  a  deep  silence,  Mrs.  Hart 
sprang  up  and  turned  her  white  &ce  toward  Zil- 
lah. Her  large,  weihd  eyes  seemed  to  bum  them- 
solves  into  Zillah's  brain.  Her  lips  moved.  It 
was  but  in  a  whisper  that  she  qioke : 

"Never— never— never— mention  it  again— 
either  to  him  or  to  me.    It  is  hell  to  both  of  us  I " 

She  fell  book  again,  moaning. 

Zillah  sat  transfixed,  awe-stmck  and  wonder^ 
Ing. 


CHAPTER  XX 

A  MODEL  mmSB,  AND  FUIEND  IH  NEED. 

ZiLLAB  did  not  tell  Hilda  about  ;the  particular 
cause  of  the  Earl's  sickness  for  some  time,  but 
Hilda  was  sufficiently  acnte  to  conjecture  what 
it  might  be.~  She  was  too  wary  to  press  matters, 
Mid  although  she  longed  to  know  all;  yet  she  re- 
fhiined  fVom  asking.  She  knew  enough  of  Zil- 
lah's (hmk  ond'conflding  nature  to  ftel  snre  that 
the  confidence  wonld  come  of  itself  some  da^  un- 
asked. Zillah  was  one  of  thoee  who  can  not  keep 
a  secret.  Wan^hearted,  open,  and  impulsive, 
she  was  ever  on  Ris  watch  for  sympathy,  and  no 


shate  it  with  some  one.  She  had  divulged  her 
secret  to  the  Earl,  wfRi  reralU  that  were  hunent- 
able.  She  had  partially  disclosed  it  to  Mrs.  Hart, 
«rith  result!  eanolly  kunentoble.  The  sickness 
of  the  Earl  and  of  Mrs.  Hart  was  now  added  to 
her  troubles  t  and  the  time  would  soon  come 
when,  (nm  the  iwoeasitiw  pf  her  nataxe,  she 


would  be  compelled  to  pour  out  her  sonl  to  Hll- 
da.     So  Hilda  waited. 

Mrs.  Hart  seemed  to  be  completely  broken 
down.  She  made  a  feeble  attempt  to  take  part 
in  nursing  the  Earl,  but  feinted  away  in  his  room. 
Hilda  was  obliged  to  tell  her  that  she  would  be 
of  more  use  by  staying  oway  altogether,  and  Mrs. 
Hart  had  to  obey.  She  tottered  obout,  frequent- 
ly haunting  that  portion  of  the  house  where  the 
Karl  lay,  and  asking  questions  about  his  liiilth. 
Zillah  and  Hilda  were  the  chief  nurses,  arlrtbok 
turns  at  watching.  But  Zillah  was  inexperi- 
enced, and  rather  noisy.  In  spite  of  her  affec- 
tionate^ solicitude  she  could  not  create  new  qual- 
ities within  herself,  and  in  one  moment  make 
herself  a  good  nurse.  Hilda,  on  the  contraiy, 
seemed  formed  by  nature  for  the  sick-room. 
SteakhyJ  quiet,  noiseless,  she  moved  about  as 
silently  as  a  spirit.  Every  thing  was  in  its  place. 
The  medicines  were  always  arranged  in  the 
best  order.  The  pillows  were  always  comfort- 
able. The  doctor  looked  at  her  out  of  his  pto- 
feSsionol  eyes  with  cordial  approval,  and  when 
he  visited  he  gave  his  directions  always  to  her, 
as  though  she  alone  could  be  considered  a  re- 
sponsible being.  Zillah  saw  this,  but  felt  no  jeal- 
ousy. She  humbly  acquiesced  in  the  doctor's 
decision^  meekly  felt  that  she  hod  none  of  the 
qualities  of  a  nurse ;  and  admired  Hilda's  genius 
for  that  office  with  all  her  heart.  Added  to  this 
conviction  of  her  own  inability,  there  was  the  con- 
sciousness  that  she  bad  brought  all  this  upon  the 
Earl — a  consciousness  which  brought  on  self-re- 
proach and  perpetual  remorse.  The  very  affiec- 
tion  which  she  felt  for  L^rd  Chetwynde  of  itself 
incapacitated  her.  A  good  nurse  should  be  cool. 
Like  a  good  doctor  or  a  good  surgeon,  his  of- 
fections  should  not  be  too  largely  interested.  It 
is  a  mistake  to  suppose  that  one's  dear  friends 
make  one's  best  nurses.  They  ore  very  well  to 
look  at,  but  not  to  administer  medicine  or  smooth 
the  pillow.  Zillah's  face  of  agony  was  not  so 
conducive  to  recovery  as  the  c^m  smile  of  Hil- 
da. The  Earl  did  not  need  kisses  or  hot  tears 
upon  his  face.  What  he  did  need  was  quiet, 
and  n  regular  administration  of  medicines  pre- 
sented by  a  cool,  steady  hand. 

The  Eari  was  very  low.  Ho  was  weak,  yet 
conscious  of  all  that  was  going  on.  Zillah's 
heart  was  gladdened  to  hear  once  more  words 
of  love  from  him.  The  temporary  fawdness  of 
heart  which  had  appalled  her  had  all  passed 
away,  and  the  Old  aff'ection  had  ratnmed.  In  a 
few  feeble  worth  he  begged  her  not  to  let  Guy 
know  that  he  was  sick,  for  he  woidd  soon  re- 
cover, and  it  would  only  worry  his  son.  Most 
of  the  words  which  he  spoke  were  about  that 
son.  Zillah  would  have  giv«n  any  thing  if  she 
could  have  brought  Guy  to  that  bedside.  But 
that  was  impossible,  and  she  cotdd  only  wait 
and  hope. 

Weeks  passed  awmr,  and  in  the  interviews 
which  she  had  with  Hilda  ZiUah  grodnllr  let 
her  know  all  that  had  happened.  She  toldf  her 
about  ftedisuuVery  of  the  papers,  ud  the  (dhlir^ 
which  ther  had  upon  the  Earl.  At  list,  one 
evening,  she  gave  the  papers  to  Hilda.  It  was 
when  Zillah  came  to  sit  in>  with  the  Earl.  Hilda 
took  thb  papers  solemnly,  and  said  that  sba 
would  look  over  them.  She  reproaehed  ZiUah 
for  not  giving  her  her  confidence  befora,  and 
said  that  she  hod  a  doim  before  any  one,  and 


70 


THE  CRYPTOGRAM. 


if  she  had  only  told  her  all  about  it  at  Pomerojr 
Court,  this  might  not  have  happened.  All  this 
Zillah  felt  keenly,  and  began  to  think  that  the 
grand  mistake  which  she  had  made  was  in  not 
taking  Hilda  into  her  confidence  at  the  very  out- 
set '         ■■■- 

"  I  do  not  know  what  these  papers  may  mean," 
said  Hilda ;  "  bat  I  tell  you  candidly  thiit  if  they 
contain  what  I  suspect,  I  would  hare  advised  you 
never  to  mention  it'  to  Lord  Chotwynde.  It  was 
an  awful  thing  to  bring  it  all  up  to  him." 

"Then  vou  know  all  about  it?"  asked  Zillah, 
wonderingly. 

"Of  course,  Everjr  body  knows  the  sorrow 
of  his  life.  It  has  been  public  for  the  last  twen- 
ty years.  I  heard  all  about  it  when  I  was  a  lit- 
tle girl  from  one  of  the  servants.  I  could  have 
advised  you  to  good  purpose,  and  saved  you  from 
sorrow,  if  you  had  only  confided  in  me." 

Such  were  Hilda's  words,  and  Zillah  felt  new 
self-reproach  to  think  that  She  had  not  confided 
in  her  friend. 

"  I  hope  another  time  yon  will  not  be  so  want- 
ing in  confidence,"  said  Hilda,  as  she  retired. 
"  Dp  I  not  deserve  it  ?" 

"You  do,  you  do,  my  dearest!"  said  Zillah, 
affectionately.     "I  have  always  said  that  .you 
were  like  a  sister — and  after  tliis  I  will  tell  you 
every  thing." 
Hilda  kissed  her,  and  departed, 
Zillah  waited  impatiently  to  see  Hilda  again. 
She  was  anxions  to  know  what  etiect  these  pa- 
pers would  produce  on  her.     Would  she  scout 
them  as  absurd,  or  believe  the  statement  ?   When' 
Hilda  appeared  again  to  relieve  her,  all  Zillah's 
cariosity  was  expressed  in  her  face.     But  Hilda 
said  nothing  about  the  papers.     She  itrged  Zil- 
lah to  g^  and  sleep. 
^  "I  know  what  you  want  to  say,"  said  she, 

"  bat  I  will  not  talk  about  it  now.  Go  off  to 
bed,  darling,  and  get  some  rest  You  need 
it" 

So  Zillah  had  to  go,  and -defer  the  conversa- 
tion till  some  other  time.  She  went  away  to 
bed,  and  slept  but  little.  Before  her  hour  she 
was  up  and  hastened  bock. 

"  Why,  Zillah,"  said  Hilda,  "you  are  half  an 
hour  before  your  time.  Yoa  an  wearing  your- 
self out." 

"Did  yon  read  the  papers?"  asked  Zill&h,  as 
the  kissed  her. 

"Tw,"  said  HUda,  seriooslr. 
-    "And  what  do  you  think  ?" 'asked  Zillah,  with 
a  frightened  face.  ^ 

"My  darling,"  said  Hilda,  "how  excited  von 
are !    How  yoa  tremble !    Poor  dear !    What  is 
<l^  the  matter?'' 

"That  awfol-confosshp!"  gasped  Zillah,  in  a 
scarce  audible  voice.  ,  ^ 

"My  dariing,"8aid  Hilda,  passing  her  am 
about  iliUah's  veck,  "why  should  vou  take  it 
•otohMrt?  Yon  have  no  concern  with  it.  Yon 
■re  Guy  Molyneox'a  wife.  This  paper  has  now 
no  con«em  with  yon."  • 

Zillah  itarttd  bock  as  though  she  had  been 

BBgi — Nothing  4!onld.  have  beoo  mow  abhor- 


did  yon  give  it  to  me?  Is  it  not  your,  father's 
own  confession  ?" 

Zillah  shuddered,  and  burst  into  tears; 

"  No,"  she  cried  at  last ;  "  J  do  not  believe  it. 
I  will  never  believe  it.  Why  did  I  ask  the  Eari  1 
Because  I  believed  that  he  would  dispel  my  anx- 
iety.    That  is  all." 

"  Ah,  poor  child ! "  saidjiilda,  fondly.  "  Yon 
are  too  young  to  have  trouble.  Think  no  more 
of  this." 

' '  Think  of  it !  I  tell  you  I  think  of  it  all  the 
time— night  and  day,"  cried  Zillnh,  impetuously. 
"Think  of  it  I  Why,  what  else  can  I  do  than 
think  of  it?" 

' '  But  you  do  not  believe  it  ?" 

"No.    Never  wiU  I  believe  it." 

"  Then  why  trouble  yourself  about  it  ?" 

"  Because  it  is  a  stain  on  my  dear  papa's  mem- 
ory. It  is  undeser>-ed — it  is  inexplicable ;  but  it 
is  a,  stain.    And  how  can  ^.  his  daughter,  not 


rant  to  her,  in  snch  a  connection,  than  the  sug- 
gestion of  her  macTJoge. 

"You  believe  it,  thm?" 

"  Believe  it !  Why,  don't  yon  ?"  said  Hildo, 
In  wondering  tone*.  "Yon  do,  or  you  would 
■ot  feel  BO.    Why  did  you  ask  the  Earl  ?    Why 


thin^ofit? 

"A  stain!"  said  Hilda,  after  a  thoughtful 
pause.  "  If  there  were  a  stain  on  such  a  name, 
I  can  well  imogine  that  you  would  feel  anguish. 
But  there  is  none.  How  can  there  be  ?  Think 
of  his  noble  life  spent  in  honor  in  the  service  of 
his  country !  Can  you  associate  any  stain  with 
snch  a  life?" 

"He  was  the  noblest  of  men!"  interrupted 
Zillah,  vehemently. 

"Then  do  not  talk  of  a  8toin,"said  HiWa, 
calmly.  "  As  to  Lord  Chetwynde,  he,  at  least, 
has  nothing  to  say.  To  him  General  Pomeroy 
was  such  a  friend  as  he  could  never  have  hoped 
for.  He  saved  Lord  Chetwynde  from  beggaiy 
and  ruin.  When  General  Pomeroy  firet  came 
back  to  England  he  found  Lord  Chetwynde  at 
the  last  extremity,  and  advanced  sixty  thousand 
pounds  to  help  him.  Think  of  that  1  And  it's 
true.  I  was  informed  of  it  on  good  authorifj-. 
Besides,  General  Pomeroy  did  more ;  for  he  in- 
trusted his  only  daughter  to  Lord  Chetwynde—" 

"  My  God  I''  cried  Zillah ;  "  what  are  you  say. 
ing  ?  Do  you  not  know,  Hilda,  that  every  word 
that  you  speak  is  a  stab  ?  What  do  you  mean? 
Do  you  dare  to  talk  as  if  my  papa  has  shut  tlie 
mouth  of  on  injured  friend  by  a  payment  of 
money?  Do  you  mean  me  to  think  that,  after 
dishonoring  his  friend,  he  has  sought  to  efface 
the  dishonor  by  gold  ?  My  God!  you  will  drive 
me  mad.  You  make  my  papa,  and  Lord  Chet- 
wynde also,  sink  down  into  fathomless  deptbt 
of  infamy." 

"You  torture  rov  words  into  a  meaning  dif- 
ferent from  what  1  intended,"  said  Hilda,  quiet- 
ly. "I  merely  meixnt  to  show  you  that  Loid 
Chetwynde's  obligations  to  General  Pomeroy 
were  so  vast  that  he  ought  not  even  to  suspect 
him,  no  matter  how  strong  the  proof." 

Zillah  waved  her  hands  \iith  a  gesture  of  de- 
spair.    ^^  ' 

"No  ilMlter  how  strong  the  proof!"  she  re- 
peated. "  Ah !  Ther?  it  is  again.  You  qui- 
etly assume  my  papa's  gnllt  ig  arery  word.  Yoi 
have  read  those  papers,  and  have  believed  every 
wwdr" 


"  Yon  are  ^«ry  nnUnd,  ZiUah.  I  was  daii« 
my  best  to  comfort  you." 

"Comfort!"  cried  Zillah,  In  indescribable 
tones. 


twining 


Ah,  my  darling,  do  not  be  crora,"  said  Hilda, 
ing  her  arms  around  ZiUob's  neck.    "Yos 


■4i<  '^' 


T^ 


ne?    Is  it  not  jour,  father's 

and  burst  into  tears; 
It  lost ;  "  I  do  not  believe  it. 
t.    Why  did  I  ask  the  Earl  I 
lat  he  would  dispel  my  anx- 

•  said^Hilda,  fondly.  "You 
ve  trouble.     Think  no  more 

tell  you  I  think  of  it  all  the 
,"  cried  Zillnb,  impetuously. 
T,  what  else  can  I  do  than 

believe  it?" 
1 1  believe  it." 
le  yourself  about  it  ?" 
ain  on  my  dear  papa's  mem- 
id — it  isinexplicable ;  but  it 
w  can  T^his  daughter,  not 

Hilda,  after  a  thoughtful 
ere  a  stain  on  such  a  name, 
hat  you  would  feci  anguish. 
How  can  there  be  ?  Think 
It  in  honor  in  the  service  of 
ou  associate  any  stoip  with 

blest  of  men!"  interrupted 

Ik  of  a  stain,"  said  Hilda, 
rd  Chefwynde,  he,  at  least, 

To  him  General  Pomeroy 
he  could  never  have  hoped 
1  Chetwynde  from  beggary 
eneral  Pomeroy  first  came 
found  Lord  Chetwynde  at 
id  advanced  sixty  thousand 

Think  of  that !  And  it't 
id  of  it  on  good  authority, 
aeroy  did  mow ;  for  he  in- 
hter  to  Lord  Chetwynde—" 
iZillah ;  "  what  are  you  say. 
low,  Hilda,  that  every  word 
tab  ?  What  do  you  mean  1 
as  if  my  papa  has  shut  the 
1  friend  by  a  payment  of 
:an  me  to  think  that,  after 
d,  ho  has  sought  to  efian 
t  My  God !  you  will  drjw 
I  my  papa,  and  Lord  Chet- 
wn  into  fathomless  depthi 

words  into  a  meaning  dif- 
tended,"  said  Hilda,  quiet- 
nt  to  show  you  that  Loid 
ons  to  General  Pomeroy 
ought  not  even  to  suspect 
trong  the  proof." 
ands  with  a  gesture  of  d» 

strong  the  proof  I"  she  r>- 
Br9  it  is  again.  Yon  qui- 
I  goilt  ip  arery  word.  Yot 
w,  and  have  believed  eray 

dnd,  Zillah.    I  was  doing 

m." 

Zillah,  in   indescribabk 

0  not  be  crof  a, "  said  Hilda, 
und  Zillah's  neck.    "Ym 


THE  CEyPTOGRAM, 


[know  I  loved  yonr  papa  only  less  than  you  did. 
I  He  wa%«  father  to  me.  What  can  I  say  ?  Yon 
I  yoiuiJdr  were  troubled  1>y  those  papers.  So  was 
1 1.  And  that  is  all  I  will  say.  I  will  not  speak 
of  theia  again." 

And  here  Hilda  stopped^  and  went  about  the 
room  to  attend  to  her  duties  as  nurse.  Zillah 
stood,  {«nth  her  mind  full  of  strange,  conflicting 
feelingii.  The  Hints  which  Hilda  had  given  sank 
deep  into  her  soul.  What  did  they  mean  ?  Their 
frightfjU  meaning  stood  revealed  full  before  her 
I  in  allits  abhorrent  reality. 

Bevtewing  those  papers  by  the  light  of  Hilda's 
I  dark  interpretation,  she  saw  what  they  involved. 
r  This,  then,  was  the  cause  of  her  marriage.    Her 
I  father  had  tried  to  atone  for  the  past.     He  had 
[  made  Lord  Chetwynde  rich  to  pay  for  the  dis- 
I  honor  that  he  had  suffered.     He  had  stolen  away 
the  wife,  and  given  a^laughter  in  her  place.    She, 
then,  had  been  the  medium. of  this  frightful  at- 
tempt at  readjustment,  this  atonement  for  wrongs 
that  could  never  be  a^ned  for.     Hilda's  mean- 
ing made  this  the  only  conceivable  cause  for  that 
premature  engagement,  that  hurried  marriage  by 
the  death-bed,    And  could  there  be  any  other 
reason  ?    Did  it  not  look  like  the  act  of  a  re- 
morsefnl  sinner,  anxious  to  finish  his  expiation, 
and  make  ameitds  for  crime  before  meeting  his 

I  Judge  in  the  other  world  to  which  he  was  hast- 
ening? The  General  had  offered  up  every  thing 
to  expiate  his  crime — he  had  given  his  fortune — 
he  had  sacrificed  his  daughter.  What  other 
cause  could  possibly  have  moved  him  to  enforce 
the  hideous  mockery  of  that  ghastly,  that  un- 

I  paralleled  marriage  ? 

I     Beneath  such  intolerable  thoughts  as  these, 

I  Zillah's  brain  whiried.  She  could  not  avoid 
them.  Affection,  loyalty,  honor — all  bade  her 
trust  in  her  father ;  the  remembrance  of  his  no- 
ble character,  of  his  stainless  life,  his  pure  and 

I  gentle  nature,  all  recurred.  In  vain.  Still  the 
dark  suspicion  insidionslr  conveyed  by  Hilda 

I  would  obtrude ;  and,  indeed,  under  such  cir- 
cumstances, Zillah  would  have  been  more  than 
human  if  they  had  not  come  forth  before  her. 
As  it  was,  she  was  only  human  and  young  and 
inexperienced.     Dark  days  and  bitter  nights 

I  were  before  her,  but  among  all  none  were  mora 
dark  and  bitter  than  this. 


CHAPTER  XXL 

A    DA^K     COMMISSION. 

These  amate^ir  nurses  who  had  gathered 
about  the  Earl  differed  very  much,  as  may  be 
supposed,,  in  theiif  individual  capacities.  As  for 
Mrs.  Hart,  she  Was  very  quickly  put  out  of  the 
w»y.  The  strokis  which  had  prostrated  her,  at 
the  outset,  did  n<)t  seem  to  be  one  from  which 
•he«ould  very  readily  recover.  The  only  thing 
which  she  did  was  to  totter  to  the  room  early 
ta  the  morning,  <o  as  to  And  out  how  the  Eari 
"M.  and  then  to  totter  back  again  uittil  the  next 
ng.    Mm.  Mart  thus  was  IneapabTe;  and 


'  nornmg.    Aire. 


Zillth  was  not  vejy  much  better.  Siiice  her  con 
versation  with  Hjlda  there  were  thoughts  in  her 
I  mind  so  new,  sol  different  ftt)m  any  which  she 
had  ever  had  befoke,  and  so  frightful  in  their  im- 
port, that  they  changed  all  her  nature.  She  be- 
came melancholy,  self-absorbed,  anij  preocca- 


71 

pied.  Silent  and  distrait,  she  wandered  about 
the  Earl's  iroom  aimlessly,  and  did  iiot  seem  able 
to  give  to  him  that  close  and  undivided  atten- 
tion which  he  needed.  Hilda  found  it  necessary 
to  reproach  her  several  times  in  her  usual  affec- 
tionate way;  and  Zillah  tried,  after  each  re- 
proach, to  rouse  herself  from  her  melanclufar, 
so  as  to  do  better  the  next  time.  Yet,  the  ^t 
time  she  did  just  as  badly;  and,  gn  the  whole,  ac- 
quitted herself  but  poorly  of  her  Sesponsible  task. 

Jad  thus  it  happened  that  Hilda  was  obliged 
to  assume  the  supreme  responsibility.  The  oth- 
ers ha^  grown  more  than  ever  useless,  and  she, 
accordingly,  grew  more  than  aver  necessary.  To 
this  task  she  devoted  herself  with  that  assiduity 
and  patience  for  whtcli  she  was  distinguished. 
The  constant  loss  of  sleep,  and  the  incessant 
and  weary  vigils  which  she  w#  forced  to  main- 
tain, seemed  to  have  but  little  effect  upon  her 
elastic  and  energetic  nature.  Zillah,  in  spite  of 
her  preoccupation,  could  not  help  -seeing  that 
Hilita  was  doing  nearly  all  the  work,  and  remon- 
flraited  with  her  accoi^ingly.  But  to  her  earn- 
est remonstrances  Hilda  turned  a  deaf  ear. 

"You  see,  dear,"  said  she,  "there  is  no  one 
but  me,  Mrs.  Hart  is  herself  in  need  of  a  nurse, 
and  yfto  are  no  better  than  a  baby,  so  how  can 
I  help  watchj^ing  poor  dear  Lord  Chetwynde  ?" 

"But  ywrwill  wear  yourself  out,"  persisted 
ZiUah.  *^ 

"Oh,  we  will  wait  till  I  begin  to  show  signs 
of  weariness,"  said  Hilda,  in  a  sprightly  tone. 
"  At  pnesentj  I  feel  able  to  spend  a  great  many 
days  and  nights  here." 

Indeed,  to  all  her  remonstrances  Hilda  was 
quite  inaccessible,  and  it  remained  for  Zillah  to 
see  her  friend  spend  most  of  her  time  in  that 
sick-room,  the  ruling  spirit,  while  she  was  com- 
paratively useless.  ^She  could  only  feel  grati- 
tude for  so  much  kindness,  and  express  that 
gratitude  whenever%ny  occasion  arose.  Wliile 
Hilda  was  regardless  of  Zillah's  remonstrances, 
she  was  equally  so  of  the^ijloctor's  warnings. 
That  functionary  did  not  awh  to  see  his  best 
nurse  wear  herself  out,  and  warned  her  frequent' 
ly,  but  with  no  effect  whatever.  Hilda's  self- 
sacrificing  zeal'was  irrepressible  and  invincible. 

While  Hilda  was  thus  devoting  herself  to  the 
Earl  with  such  tireless  patience,  and  exciting 
the  wonder  and  gratitude  of  all  in  that  little 
household  by  her  admirable  self-devotion,  there 
was  another  who  watched  the  pnM[res8  of  events 
with  perfect  cahnness,  yet  witflUeep  anxiety. 
Gualtier  was  not  able  now  to  give  his  music 
lessons,  yet,  although  he  no  longer  could  gain 
admission  to  the  inmates  of  Castle  Chetwynde, 
his  anxiety  about  the  Earl  was  a  sufficient  ex- 
cuse for  calling  every  day  to  inquire  about  hia 
health.  On  those  inquiries  he  not  only  heard 
about  the  Earl,  but  also  about  all  the  others, 
and  more  particularly  about  Hilda.  He  culti- 
vated an  acquaintance  with  the  doctor,  who, 
though  generally  disposed  to  stand  on  his  dig^ 
nity  toward  musicians,  seemed  to  think  that 
Gualtier  had  gained  from  th«  Karl'ii  patmnng. 


a  higher  title  to  be  noticed  than  any  Which  hia 
art  could  give.  Besides,  the  good  doctor  knew 
that  Gualtier  was  constantly  at  the  Castle,  and 
naturally  wished  to  avail  himself  of  so  good  aa.« 
opportunity  of  finding  out  all  about  the  internal 
life  of  this  noble  but  secluded  family.  Qnaltier 
humored  him  to  the  fullest  extent,  and  |rith  ■ 


\,. 


\ 


72 


THE  (»TPT06RAH. 


great  appearance  of  frankness  told  him  as  much 
as  he '  thoDght  proper,  and  no  more ;  in  retnm 
for  which  confidence  he  received  the  fullest  in- 
fonnation  as  to  the  present  condition  of  the 
household.  What  sniprised  Gualtier  most  was 
Hilda's  devotion.  He  had  tibt  anticipated  it. 
It  Was  real,  yet  what  could  be  her  motive?  In 
his  own  language — What  'game  was  the  littlia 
thing  up  to?  This  was  the  question  which' he 
incessantly  asked  himself,  without  being  able  to 
answer  it.  His  respect  for  her  genius  was  too 
great  to  allow  him  for  one  moment  to  supposed 
that  it  was  possible  for  her  to  act  without  scfme 
deep  motive.  Iler  immohition  of  self,  her  assi- 
duity, her  tenderness,  her  skill,  all  seemed  to  t^is 
man  so  manyelMnents  in  the'  game  which  she 
was  playing.  Aftd  for  all  these  things  he  only 
admired  her  the  more  fel^^•ently.  That  she  would 
Bucsceed  he  never  for  a  moment  doubted ;  thought 
what  ^t. was -that  she  might  be  aiming  at,  and. 
what  it  was  that  her  success  might  involve,  were 
inscrdtable  mysteries. 

What  game  is  the  little  thing  up  to?  he  asked 
himself,  affectiqiwtely,  an4  with  tejider  empha- 
sis. What  gome?  And  this  became  the  one 
idea  of'his  mind.  Little  else  were  his  thoughts 
engaged  in,  except  an  attempt  to  fathom  the 
depths  of  Hilda's  design.  But  he  was  baffled. 
What  th{tt  design  involved  could  hardly  have 
been  discovered  by  him.  Often  and  often  he 
wished  th^t  he  could  look  into  that  sick-cham- 
ber to  see  whatihe  "little  thing  was  up  to." 
Yet,  could  he  hftve  looked  into  that  chamber,  he 
wouldj^re  seen  nothing  that  could  have  en- 
ligfateniii  him.  He  would  have  seen  a  slender, 
graceful  form,  moving  lightly  about  the  room, 
now  stooping  over  the  form  of  the  sick  man  to 
adjust  or  to  smooth  his  pillow,  now  watchfully 
and  warily  administering  the  medicine  which 
stood  near  the  bed.  Hilda  was  not  one  who 
would  leave  any  thing  to  be  discovered,  oven  by 
^  those  \rbo  might  choose  to  lurk  in  ambush  and 
spy  at  her  through  a  keyhole. 

But  thongh  Hilda's. plans  were  for  some  time 
impenetrable,  there  came  at  last  an  opportunity 
when  he  was  furnished  with  light  snfflcient  to  re- 
veal them — ft  lurid  light  which  made  known  to 
him  poftiibilities  in  her  which  he  had  certainly 
not  suspected  beforo.^ 

One  day,  on  visithtg  Chetwynde  Castle,  he 
found  her  in  the  chief  parlot.  H»  thought  that 
she  had  come  there  imrposely  in  order  to  see 
him ;  and  he  was  not  disappointed.  After  a  few 
questions  as  to  the  Earls  health,  she  excused 
herself,  and  said  that  she  must  hurry  back  to  his 
room;  but,  as  she  turned  to  go,  she  slipped  a 
piece  of  paper  into  his  hand,  as  she  had  done 
once  before.  On  it  ho  saw  the  following  wotxls : 
"Be  in  the  Weit  Avenue,  at  the  former  place, 
at  three  o'clock. " 

Gualtier  wandered  about  in  a  state  of  ftv^rish 
impatience  till  the  appointed  hour;  mar^■eling 
what  the  purpose  might  be  which  had  induced 
Hilda  to  leek  the  interview.  He  felt  tfcat  the  pnr- 
pose  mu<t  be  of  <hr-reachlng  importftnce  which 
-mmld  lead  her  to  ««ek  hint  at  such  A  tune ;  but 
*hat  it  was  he  tried  in  vain  to  conjecture. 

At  last  the  hour  came,  and  Gualtier,  who  had 
been  waiting  so  long,  w'as  rewarded  by  the  sight 
of  Hilda.  She  was  ns  calm  as  usual,  but  greeted 
hiift  with  greater  oordiality  than  she  was  in  the 
babit  of  •bowing,   She  also  evinoed  greater  om-  J 


tion.than  even  on  the  fiirmw  occasion^  and  ted 
the  way  to  a  morei  lonely  spot,  and  looked  all 
around  most  carefully,  so  as  to  guard  against  the 
possibility  of  discovery.  When,  at  length,  she 
spoke,  it  was  in  a  low  and  guarded  voice. 

"  I  am  so  worn  down  by  nursing,"  she  said, 
"  that  I  -have  had  to  como  out  for  a  little  fre8h 
air.  But  I  would  not  leave  the  Earl  till  ther 
absolutely  forced  me.  Such  is  my  devotion  to 
him  that  there  is  itn- impression  abroad  throiigh 
the  Castle  that  I  will  not  survive  him." 

"  Survive  him  ?  Vou  speak  as  though  he  were 
doomed,"  said  Gualtier. 

"He— is— very— low, " sud  Hilda,  in  a s«lem« 
monotone. 

Gualtier  said  nothing,  but  regarded  her  in  si- 
lence <br  some  time. 

"  What  was  the  cause  of  his  illness  ?"  he  asked 
at  length.  "  The  doctor  thinks  that  his  mind  is 
affected." 

»"  For  once,  Bomething  like  the  truth  has  pen- 
etrated that  heavy  brain." 

"  Do  you  know  any  thing  that  con  have  hap- 
pened?"  asked  Gualtier,  cautiously^ 

"Yes;  a  sudden  shock.     Strange  tp  soy,  it 
was  administered  by  Mrs.  MolyneuJE.''^ 
"Mrs.  Molyneuxl'' 
"Yes." 

"  I  am  so  completely  out  of  your  sphere  thjjt 
I  know  nothing  whatever  of  what  is  going  on. 
How  Mrs.  Molyneux  can  have  given  a  shock  to 
the  Earl  that  could  have  reduced  him  to  his  pres- 
ent state,  I  can  not  imagine."  * 

"  Of  coarse  it  was  not  intentional  She  hap- 
pened to  ask  the  Earl  about  something  which'  re- 
vived  old  memories  and  old  sorrows  in  a  very 
forcible  manner.  He  grew  excited— so  much  so, 
indeed,  that  he  faintnl,  and,  in  falling,  struck 
his  head.     That  is  the  whole  story. " 

"Moy  I  ask,"  s^id  Gualtier,  after  a  thought- 
ful pouse,  "  if  Mrs.  Molyneux's  ill-fated  ques- 
tions had  any  reference  to  those  things  abont 
which  we  have  spoken  together,  from  time  to 
time?" 

"  They  had — and  a  very  close  one.  In  fact, 
they  arose  out  of  those  very  papers  which  we  have 
had  before  us."    ., 

Gualtier  looked  at  Hilda,  as  she  said  this,  wi(h 
the  closest  attention. 

" It  happened,"  said  Hilda,  "  that  Mrs.  Moly- 
neux, on  her  Uist  visit  to  Fomeroy  Court,  was 
seized  with  a  fiincy  to  examine  her  father's  desk. 
While  doing  so,  she  found  a  secret  drawer,  which, 
by  some  singuhir  accident,  hod  been  left  sUrtcd, 
ond  a  little  loose— just  enough  to  attract  her  at- 
tention. This  she  opened,  and  in  it,  strange  to 
say,  she  found  that  very  cipher  which  I  have  told 
you  of.  A  key  accompanied  it,  by  which  she  was 
able  to  read  as  much  as  we  have  read ;  and  there 
were  also  those  letters  with  which  you  are  famil- 
iar. '  She  took  them  to  her  room,  shut  heoelf  ap, 
and  studied  them  as  eagerly  as  ever  either  you  or 
I  did.  She  then  hurried  back  to  Chetwynde  Cas- 
tle, and  laid  every  thing  before  the  EarL  Out  of 
this  aroae  his  ajtcitaiwiint  anrf  Um  vmry  nul  wwnlt.  " 
"  I  did  not  know  that  there  were  sufficient  ma- 
terials for  accompUshiqg  so  much« "  said  Ottaltie% 
cautiously. 

"No;  the  materials  wei*  not  abundant  Then 
was  the  cipher,  with-whkh  no  one  would  haw 
Rtajiposed  that  any  thing  eonld  be  dona.  Then 
there  were  those  other  letters  which  lay  with  it 


tmii- 


,*a 


he  former  occasion,  and  Jej 
lonely  gpot,  and  looked  all 
\y,  so  as  to  guard  against  th« 
■ery.    When,  at  length,  she 
iw  and  guarded  voice, 
lown  by  nnriing,"  she  said, 
D  come  out  for  a  Utile  fresh 
not  leave  the  Earl  (ill  they 
e.     Such  is  my  devotion  to 
rimpression  abroad  through 
1  not  survive  him." 
If  on  speak  as  though  he  were 
tier, 
low, "  said  Hilda,  in  a  solemR 

ing,  but  regarded  her  in  si- 

inse  of  his  illness  ?"  he  asked 
octor  thinks  th^t  his  mind  is 

hiitg  like  the  truth  has  pen- 
rain." 

ly  thing  that  con  hare  hap- 
Itier,  cautiously^ 
shock.     Strange  tp  say,  it 

Mrs.  MolyneuX.''^ 
la- 
tely ont  of  your  sphere  thjjt 
tever  of  what  is  going  on. 
:  can  have  given  a  shock  to 
ave  reduced  him  to  his  pres- 
mogine."  • 

not  intantionaL  She  hap- 
1  about  somethipg  which'  re- 
and  old  sorrowl  in  a  very 
1  grew  excited— so  much  so, 
ted,  and,  in  fiiUing,  struck 
>e  whole  story. " 
1  Gualtier,  after  a  thonght- 

Molynenx's  ill-fated  qucs- 
ince  to  those  things  about 
en  together,  from  time  to 

a  very  close  one.  In  fact, 
D  very  papers  which  we  hare 

Hilda,  OS  she  said  this,  wi(h 

id  Hilda,  "  that  Mrs.  Molj- 
iit  to  Fomeroy  Court,  wm 
examine  her  father's  desk. 
>und  a  secret  drawer,  which, 
dent,  had  been  left  started, 
it  enough  to  attract  her  at- 
tened,  and  in  it,  strange  to 
rry  Cipher  which  I  have  told 
ipanied  it,  by  which  she  wu 
08  we  have  read ;  and  there 
s  with  which  vou  are  famil- 
i  her  room,  shot  hetvlf  up, 
lagerly  as  erer  either  you  or 
fid  back  to  Chetwynde  Goi- 
ng before  the  EarL  Out  of 
intj 

at  diereWere'sufflcientnu- 
t)g  so  muofa^ "  said  Goaltiei^ 

wei^  not  abundant  Then 
which  no  one  would  hart 
ing  could  be  done.  Then 
>r  letters  which  lay  with  it 


lin  the  desk,  which  corroborated  what  the  cipher 

Iseemed  to  say.     Out  of  this  |^  suddenly  arisen 

Imin  and  anguish." 

I     "There  was  also  the  key,"  sqid  Gualtier,  in  a 

■tone  of  delicate  insinuation. 

1    "  True, "  said  Hil^a  ^"  had  the  k;ey  not  been 

I  inclosed  With  the  popenij  she  could  not  have  Mn- 

Iderstood  the  cipher^  or  made  any  thing  out  of 

I  the  letters." 

"The  Earl  must  hove  believed  it  nil." 

"He  never 'doubted  for  nn  Instant.    By  the 

I  merest  chance,  I  happened  to  bo  ta  a  place  where 

I I  saw  it  all,"  said  Hilda,  with  a  pecnUar  enipha- 
J  sis.  "  I  thought  diat  he  would  reject  it  at  first 
land  that  tlw  first  imralse  would  be  to  scout  such 
I  a  charge.  J3nt  mark  this"— ahd  her  voice  grew 
Isolenin — "there  mast  have  been  some  knowt 
I  edge  in  his  mind  of  tUngs  unknown  to  us,  or  else 
I  he  could  never  bure  been  so  utterly  and  com- 
I  pletely  overwhelnMtdi-  '  I|  was  a  blow  w'Wcb  liter-J 
I  ally  crushed  him-^ai  nrind  and  body." 

There  was  a  long  ailence. 

"And  yonlthfaik  be  can  not  snrvivg  this?" 
I  asked  Gualtier. 

"No,"  said  Hilda,  in  a  very  strange,  slow 
I  voice,  "I  do  not  think— that— he— can— recor- 
ler.    He  is  old  jind  feeble.     T1)e  shock  was  great. 
I  His  mind  wanders,  also.     He  Is  sinking  slowlr 
I  but  surely."    v^  =  /» 

I  She  paused,  hnd  looked  earnestly  at  Gualtier, 
I  who  returned  her  look  with  one  of  equol  eamest- 
Iness.  ^.  ■'. 

"I  have  yetko  tell  you  whot  purpose  induced 
Ime  to  oppoint  this  meeting .".liaid  glie,  in  so 
■strange  a  voice  that  Gualtiefifkarted.  But  he 
I  said  not  a  word.  oi>V>T'* 

HiTda,  who  was  standing  near 'to  him,  drew 
luearer  still.  She  looked  all  ground,  with  a 
■strange  hght'tfa  her  eyes.  Then  she  turned  to 
Ihim  again,  and  said,  in  a  low  whisper^ 

"I  want  you  to  get  me  somethftig." 

Gualtier  looked  at  her  inquiringly,  but  in  si- 
I  lence.   His  eyes  seemed  to  ask  her,, "  What  is  it  ?" 

She  put  her  mouth  close  to  his  ear,  and  whis- 
■  oered  something,  heard  only  by  him.  But  that 
■low  whisper  was  never  forgotten.  His  face  turrt- 
led  deathly  ^  He  looked  away,  and  said  not 
|a  word. 

■fii."?*i?'"'*^V  "^  ¥*"  "I  •«"  8"5"K  ^o^-" 
■bhe  held  out  her  hand.  He  grasped  it.  At  that 
■moment  their  eyes  met,  and  a  look  of  intelli- 
Igenco  flashed  between  them. 


THE  cbyftogram: 


»'. 


'  •■"^-1 


«AM.  „ 

conUn4e4  to  rego^Zillah  with  horror,  or  else' 
If  affection  had  trii3rphed  over  a  sense  of  injury, 
he  woulff  have  done somethingor  said  somethimi 
m  Jiis  more  lucid  intervaU  to  assure  Zillah  of  his 
continued  love^  Bnt  nothing  of  the  kind  oc- 
curred. He  clung  to  Zillah  like  a  child,  and 
the  tew  faint  words  which  he  oddressed  to  her 
simply  recognized  her  as  the  object  of  an  affec 
tion  which  had  never  met  with  an  interruption. 
Ihey  idso  had  reference  to  Guy,  as  to  whether 

ml.  ^^'^"T,*?  •''""  >■«''  """^  wJ^ether  any 
ram^  letters  had  been  received  from  him.     A 

I^^j    i     **™*  '^"""8  ">«  illness, -she  tried  ' 
to  road,  but  the  poor  weary  brain  orthe  sick 
man^ould  not  follow  her.    She  had  to  tell  him 
in  aftw  general  terms  its  contents. 

Foraome  weeks  she  hod  hoped  that  the  Eail 
woold  recover,  and  therefore  delayed  sending 
the  «d   nejvs  to.  Guy.      Bnt  at   length   she 

that  a*  illness  would  be  long,  and  she  saw 
«»«t  it  was  too  senouB  to  allow  Guy  to  remain 
in  ignorance.  She  longed  to  address  him  words 
of  condolence,  and  sympathized  deeply  with  him 
w  the  anxie^wUob  tiH» ]Mew  woidd  bo  felt  by 
a  heart  so  aflbotionatB-as  his. 

And  now  as  shethoBgJiti**  writing  to  him  there 
came  to  her,  more  bitterly  than  ever,  the  thought 
f*  I^'^J^T^-  She  write  1  She  could  not. 
It  was  Hilda  who  would  write.  Hilda  stood  be- 
tween her  and  the  one  whom  she  wished  to 
soothe.  In  spite  of  her  warm  and  sisterly  af- 
fecuon  for  her  fnend,  and  her  boundless  trust  in  ' 
her,  this  thought  now  sent  a  thrill  of  vexation  ; 
through  her;  and  she  bitterly  lamented  the 
Cham  of  events  by  which  she  hod  been  placed 
m  such  a  position.  It  was  humUiating  and  goU- 
ing.  But  could  she  not  yet  escape?  Might  she 
not  even  now  write  in  her  own  name  explaining 

'.j?"-.  ^'  ''""l**  "<»»  be— not  now,  for  what 
would  he  the  reception  of  such  explanations,  com- 
ing  84  ther  would  with  the  news  of  his  father's 

JL--^""'^  •""  *£?**  *•>««»  *>tl»  nny  consid- 
f^la?^'*!®'"'    ^0"'<'  not  his  anxiety  about 
his  l|tterlMd  him  to  regard  them  with  an  im- 
patient disdain?     But  perhaps,  on  the  other 
hand,  be  n»ight  feel  softened  and  accept  her    * 
explanation  reiiily  without  giving  any  thought^ 
to  the  strange  de^ljwWch  had  been  practi?e<f<P 
for  so  long  a  tim^jWiia  gave  her  «  gleam  of 


^ 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

THE  JUDAS  KI88. 

■«mtJ"*,''T^y  ^^^  *"^  *••«'  when  the  Earl 

■wUied  a  httlfljo  as  to  recognise  Zillah,  all  M. 

■old  affection  #as  exhibited,  and  the  temporary 

■avemoii  which  he  had  manifested  durinrthi 

ieventful  ume  when  he  bad  seen  the  cipher  wriUng 

!!!l.P?y^?y.*'*ho'it  leaving  any  trace  of  iu 

ejwjence.    it  is  qrite^ikely  hideed  ffiar  the 

woo*  cireumstance  had  been  ntterlyvJMitera^ 

l^ht TtIu  rf"'^'  *"**  ^hen  his  eyes  canght 

En  L  1^*^  ''^  *"  him  simply  the  one 

•worn  H  loved  next  b?st  to  Guy.    Hi.  brain 

V^  Intj'  **^  '^*  ••''  '■'«'""'«•  "«»«d 
C'l^  I  "^"^  nearly  gone.  Had  he 
■"Msmbered  that  scene  h«  would  either  have 


^ope  I  Jpt  in  her  pprfaexity  she  could  not 
i^nght  oonnsel  from  Hilda  as  usual 


so-shojbnght  oonnsel  from  HUdaas  nsuali&li 
Mrs.  Hart  being  in  the  possession  of  heflKal 
ftculues  she  might  possibly  have  asked  her  ad- 
vice also  .but,  as  it  was,  Hilda  was  the  only  one 
to  whom  ihe  could,  turn. 

Hilda  listened  to  her  with  that  sweet  smile, 
and  that  loving  and  patient  consideration,  which 
she  always  gave  to  Zilloh's  confidences  and  ao- 
peals.  "^ 

"  Darling,"  g«ia  she,  after  a  longand  thoughtful 
sUence,  "I  understand  fnUy  the  perplexity  which 
yon  feel.    In  fact,  this  letter  <mght  to  come  from 


yon,  and  from  you  only. 
ISver  began  this.    I'm  s 


ily  Sony  that- 

.    /     :.° ;;•    '  "■  *«"«  I  did  it  fi'ora  the  very 

beat  motives.    Who  could  ever  have  dreamed  that 
It  would  become  so  enibniVossing  ?    And  now  I 
don  t  know  what  to  do— that  is,  not  just  now." 
^j„?°  you  think  he  would  be  angiy  at  th^  de- 

"Do  yon  70«»nelf  think  ao ?" asfad  Hfldo  in 
reply. 


««• 


^^'"^ 


CRYPTOGRAM. 


'^'.^^ 


"^m 


HILDA   WHITES  TO  OUT  MOLTKEUX. 


1  "'^y,  that  is  what  I  am  isfraid  of;  but  then 
j^-isq't  it  possible  that  he  niight  bo-Usoftened, 
'yiwknow — by  anxiety?" 

^'  People  don't  get  softened  by  anxietf .  They 
^t  impatient,  ailgiy  with  th^  world  ahj^  With 
Providence.  Bat  the  best  Way  to  judge  is  ttf 
put  yourself  in  his  situation.  Suppose  you  were 
ifi  Indi^  and  a  letter  was  written  to  yoi^  by  your 
wife-^or  your  husband,  I  suppose  I  shoiild  say- 
telling  you  that  your  father  was  extremely  ill,  and 
that  he  himself  had  been  deceiving  you  for  some 
Tears.  The  writing  would  be  strange — qnjte  un-: 
ia<|kHiar ;  the  story  would  be  almcMt  incredible ; 
vou'  wouldn't  know  what  to  think.  You'd  be 
a^ply  anxious,  and  yet  half  believe  that  some 
one  was  practicing  a  cruel  jest  on  you.  For  my 
part,  if  I  had  an  explanatfon  to  moke  I  would 
\yra\t  for  a  time  of  prosperity  and  happiness. 
'  Misfortune  makes  people  so  bitter. " 

"That  is  the  very  thing  that  J'm  afraid  of," 
said  Zillah,  despairingly.  "  And — oh  dear,  what 
thaa  I  do?" 

"  Yon  most  do  one  thing 
b  writa  him  about  his  foth( 
must  do  it,  darling." 

"Why,  what  do  yon  mi 
now  showing  me/that'this 
which  I  could  nob  do." 

"  You  tmsunderstand  me,"  said  Hilda,  *ith  a 
smile.  ^lJ'>y>  ^o  yon  reolly  mean  t6  say  that 
ytmjio  notaeo  liog  easy  it-ia^e^get  out  of^thi^ 


Illy,  and  that 
"""oji  yourself 

u  were  just 
tvery  thing 


difficulty?" 
"Easy  I  It  seems  to  me  a  terrible  one." 
"  Why,  my  dariing  child,  don'tmyou  see  that 
ofter  you  write  your  letter  I  con  ct^ty  it  ?  You 
Surely  have  nothmg  so  very  private  to  say  thdt  you 
will  object  to  that.  I  suppose  all  that  yon  want 
to  do  is  to  break  the  news  to  him  as  gently  «nd 


tepderly  as  possible.     Yon  don't  want  to  indul^  I 
in  expressions  of  pergonal  affection, ' of  cojjrse." 
"Oh,  my  dearest  Hilda!"  cried  Zillah,  over- 
joyed.    "  What  an  owl  I  am  not  to  have  thonght 
of  that !    It  meets  the  whole  diffltulty.    I  writt 
— you  copy  it — aitd  it  will  be  nt.y  letter  after'alL 
How  I  could  have  been  to  stupid  I  do  not  see. 
But  I'm  always  so.    As  to  any  private  confi- 
dences', there  is  no  danger  of  any  thing  of  tho:  j 
kind  taking  place  between  people  who  are  w  [ 
very  peculiarly  situated  as  we  tire."      t 
"I  suppose  not,"  said  Hilda,  with  a  smila 
"But  it's  such  a  bore  to  copy  letters." 
"My  darling,  can  any  thing' be  a  trouble  that  I 
I  do  for  you  ?    Besides,  yoa  know  how  very  fait 
I  write.' 

Yon  a^  always  so  kind,"  said  Zillah,  as  tiit  I 


kissed  her  friend  fondly  and 
I  could  do  something  for  _ 
I  don't  seem  able  to  do  an; 
hot  even  for  the  dear  old 
I  give  to  be  like  vou!" 

"  Yon  ate  far  be| 
Hilda,  with  perjii 
words.     ''But  00' 
and  bring  it  to  mi 
aS  I  can,  and  send 

Under  these  cii 
written. 

The  Earl  lingered 


Iwidi 

p»orme!— 

any  body— 

t  wouldn't 

iiiig,"  laid 

ing  in  her 

the  letter, 

Cotiy  it  as  fiut 

letter  waiJ 

stage,  will 


len  he  had 
There' 
he  had  not  I 


first,  indeed,  there  was 

seenfed  better*.  bd(  that 

lapse  sorely  puzsled  the 

bcien  in  such  good  hqndt  he  might  hmiw  suspected 

the  nurse  of  lieglect,  but  that  Was  the  last  thtni 

that  he  could  have  thonght  Of  Hilda.    Indeed, 

Hildft  hod  been  w  fearful  of  the  EatI's  being  neg- 


♦i^'t*~|:ft'' ' 


Ton  don't  want  to  induigg  I 
t^onal  affection,  of  course." 
t  Hilda!"  cried  Zillah,  over- 
owl  I  am  not  to  have  thought 
he  whole  difflmilty.  I  writa 
it  will  be  ntjf  letter  after'ilL  | 
l)een  «o  stnpid  I  do  not  see, 

A»  to  any  private  confi- 
danger  of  aiiy  thing  of  thei  { 
between  p^pw  who  are 
ited  ai  we  tire."      < 
said  Hilda,  with  a  smile, 
bore  to  Copy  letters." 
1  any  thing  be  a  trouble  thit  I 
des,'  yoa  know  how  veiyfut 


so  kind,"  said  Zillah,  as  tht 


was  jMHElCl'B')  he  hd 
that  P<V^^^-     The  ra- 
the doctflll^f  he  had  not 
nds  he  might  haw  saspeeied  I 
,  but  that  Was  the  last  thlii|  I 
tbonght  Af  Hilda.    Indeed,  [ 
urfiil  of  the  £Ari's  beiAgDer 


THE  CRYPTOG 


the  had,  for  his  sake,  assumed  these 
*% 'cares.  Singnlariy  enough,  how- 
, — ^-sinoa  Ker  assamptfon  of  the  chief 
mtiiaB  him  that  the  Earl  had  relapsed. 
J^octor  felt  tbat  nothing  better  in  the  way 
nursing  him  coald  be  conceived  of.  Zillah 
lougtatwt  if  it  twd  not  been  for  Hilda  the  Eari 
roia<y<irceiy  have  b«en  alive.  As  for  Hilda 
^e  coold  bnly  dieekly  deprecate  the  doc- 
or's  pjpises,  and  sigh  to  think  that  such  care  as 
lers  should  prove  to  nnayailing. 
\np  Earl's  case  was,  indeed,  a  mysterious  one. 
gAvr  m^kingeveiy  auowajnce  for  the  shock  which 
-  "^ght  hav«  experienced,  and  after  laying  all 


76 


— jle  stress  upon  thuUw^on  his  headwlich 
je  had  suffered  when  nUlOKrward,  it  still  was 
i  si^bject  of  wonder  to  the  doctor  why  he  should 
|iot  recover.  Hilda-  had  told  him  ih  general 
^9,  and  with  her  nanal  delicacy,  of  the  cause 
,.  ho  Earl's  illness,  io  that  the  doctor  knew  that 
f  aiose  from  mental  trouble,  and  not  from  phys- 
^1  aiknent  Yet,  even  under  these  circum- 
^ces,  he  was  punled  iit  the  complete  prostra- 
pon  of  the  Eari,  and  at  the  adverse  symptoms 
Which  appeared  as  time  pttssed  on. 

I'he  Earl  sle)>t  most  of  the  time.  '  He  was  in 
I  kind  of  stupor.    This  puzzled  the  doctor  ex- 
«melv.    The  remedies  which  ho  administered 
_ .  jnea  not  to  have  their  legitimate  effect.   In  fact 
hey  seemed  to  have  no  effect,  and  the  most  power- 
til  drugs  proved  useless  in  this  mysterious  case. 
"It  must  be  the  mind,"  said  the  doctor  t<J 
himself,  as  he  fode  home  one  day  after  finding 
Hie  Eari  in  a  lower  state  than  usual.     •'  It  must 
M  the  mind ;  and  may  the  devil  take  the  mind; 
pr  hang  me  if  I  can  ever  make  head  or  tail  of  it  I " 
Y«t  on  the  night  when  the  doctor  soliloquized 
Ji  this  &shion  a  change  had  come  over  the  Earl 
khich  might  have  been  supposed  to  be  for  the 
-ter.    He  was  exceedingly  weak,  so  vfeak,  ip- 
-  d,  that  it  was  only  with  ^  great  effoinir  that?lfe 
tonld  move  his  hand ;  but  he  seemed  to  be  more 
fensible  than  usual.    That  "mind"  which  the 
■octor  cursed  seemed  to  have  resuihed  something 
K  iu  former  funct!on#.     He  asked  various  ques- 
lons ;  and,  among  others,  he  wished  to  hear 
|iny's  l^st  letter.   This  Hilda  promised  he  should 
«r  on  the  morrow.    Zillah  was  there  at  the 
ne,  and  the  Earl  catt  an  appealing  glance  to- 
fard  her;  but  such  was  her  confldende  in  Hilda 
at  she  did  not  dream  of  doing  'Mffi-jtfikttAt  op 
isitioit^  her  decision.    So  sh^|j»^^^iMu, 
nd  bending  over  the  Earl,  sh^MM  him,  and 
H,  "To-morrow."  ,    *  '^^^ 

This  Eari,  by  a  great,,,|P)rt,  reached  up  hifi 


fiin,  feeble  hand  and  too]|^erat 
!!  ?<»»  w'"  not  ieave  met'  he  mnmmred. 


An4  2illah  stooped  down  and  tbld  the  Earl 
that  she  would  stay.  •■• 

There  was  trouble  in  the  Earl's  face.  He  lay 
silent  and  motionless,  with  l)is  eyes  fixed  upoii 
^Ulah.  Something  there  was  in  his  eyes  ^hich 
Bapressed  such  mute  appeal  that  Zillah  wondered 
what  it  might  be.  She  went  over  to  him  and  snt 
by  his  side.  He  feebly  reached  Mt  his  thin 
hand.  Zillah  took  it  and  held  it  in  both  of  hers, 
kissing  him  as  she  did  so.  ' 

''  You  will  not  leava  me  ?"  be  whispered. 
"No,  dear  father."  ^ 

Afuint  pressure  of  her  hand  was  the  Eari's 
response,  and  a  faint  smile  of  pleasure  hovered 
over  his  thin  lips. 

"  Have  you  written  to  Gov  ?"  he  asked  again. 
Yes.    IhaveXvrittenforhimtocomohome," 
said  Zyiah,  who  meant  that  Hilda  hndw^ritt^  in 
her  name ;  but,  in  her  mind,  it  was  all  the  same. 
The  Euri  drew  n  deep  sigh.     There  was  trou- 
ble in  his  fhce.     Zillah  marked  it,  but  sTippoAd 
^that  he  was  anxious  about  that  son  wlyo  was  never  \ 
absent  from  hin  thoughts.     She  did  not  attempt 
to  soothe  his  mind  in  any  way.    He  was  not  able 
to  keep  up  a  conversation.   Nor  did  she  notice  that 
the  pressure  on  her  hand  was  stronger-whoniver 
Hilda,  with  her  light,  stealtKy  step,  came  near ; 
nor  did  she  see  the  fear  that  was  in  his  face  m 
Jus  eyes  rested  upon  her. 

The  Eari  drew  Ziliy*(aintly  toward  him.  She 
bent  down  over  hiifti  ' 

"  Send  her  away,"  said  he,  in  a  low  whisper. 

•Who?  ,  Hilda?"  asked  Zillah,  in  wonder. 

Yes.     You  nurse  too— you  stay  with  mo." 

Zillah  at  once  arose.  "Hilda," said  she,  "he 
wants  me  to  stay  with  him  to-night  I  suppose 
ho  thinks  I  give  up  too  much  to  yon,  andaeglect 
him.  Oh  dear,  I  only  wish  I  was  such  a  nnrtft 
as  you!  But,  sinde  he  wishes  it,  I  will  stay  to- 
night ;.^nd  if  there  is  any  trouble  I  will  call  you." 

"But,  my  poor  child,"  said  Hilda,  sweeUv. 
"you  have  been  here  all  day." 

_"0h;  well,  it  is  his  wish,  and  I  will  stay  here 
all  night."      ,     '  ^ 

Hilda  remonstrated  a  little ;  but,  finding  that 
ZiUah  was  determined,  she  retired,  and  ZiUah 
passed  all  thalWight  with  the  Eari.  He  wis  un- 
easy. A  terror  seemed  to  be  over  hfta.  Ho  in- 
sisted on  holding  Zillah's  hand.  At  times  he 
Woild  Mart  and  look  fearfully  around.     Was  it 

c^-j;  "Afep  feared  ?  Whatever  his  fear  was, 
le^ttuJ-ncrthipg;  but  after  each  start  he  would 
look>ge*r«lto  at  Zillah,  and  press  her  hand 
roiDW^  And  Zillah  thought  it  was  simply  the 
disorder  of  his  nervous  system,  or,  perhaps,  the 
^  effect  of  the  medicine^^hich  he  had  taken.  At 
to  those  inedioiiDes,  Ute  was  most  careful  jail. 


«*r«pfai..i„  «7*  jf       -      .       luurnmrea.  to  tnose  medicines,  jQte  was  most  carefol  and 

^rtamlynot,ifyouwantmetostay,"saidlmost  regular  in^dmMsteringXnJl^^Cd^ 
-  ■  "       if"^*"  ^*'y  «nxietv  about  these  interfered  with  that 


The  Eari,kn  still  greater  effbrt,  dragged  hw 
town  neararft  him.  ws-^  "w 

i  7^u'* '"!? ">" ****«•." he  whispered. 
'  Zillah  started  at  the  torn  of  hU  voite.    It  was 
|t«meoffear. 

iree?i£,!*  '*^'^**^*^^^'*°'^*«'fa.  in  * 
[The  Eari  fttwnied.    Zillah  dL, 
fw.   She  looked  bMsk  to  Hild- 
f  «*••>«•  "M  to  Star  with  bii^ 
1    Poor  dear !"  said  HUda. 
•t  yon  will.    ItisftwMm.    He  iov' 
now.    Tell  him'thaty^  stay 


watchfblneti  about  the  Earl  hii^lf  which  was 
the  chief  reqajsite.  Fully  conscious  that  she  was 
palnftally  irreiidar  and  niMiithodical,  Zillah 
pvo  her  chief  thought  to  the  passage  of  tho 
hoars,  ^  that  avMynMriw'""  shouldJ^  S^y^fHir- 


s.-. 

f^'' 


0 


'M  HghVtiine. 

It  WHS  a  long  night,  but  i 
and  with  it  came  HilcH^  ( 
tionate,  and  sweet.  /  .v  ^    .•     - 

•  "How  lias  he  been,  dnfrling?"  the  kAodf  ^ 

"Qui^t,"  said  ZUlah>earily. 

"That's  right}  and  Aotv,  my  dearest,  go  off 
and  get  some  rest.    Xou  must  be  very  tired. " 


''?►'■* 


<, 


>,9  i 


THB  EASI.  OASFBD—' JUDAS ! 


So  Zillab  went  oi,  and  Hilda  remained  with 
t)ie  Earl. 

\Day  was  just  dawning  when  Zillal)  ■  left  the 
Earl's  room.  She  stooped  over  him  and  kissed 
him.  Overcome  by  fatigue,  she  did  nSt  thinli 
mudi  of  the  earnest,  wistful  gaze  which  caught 
her  ^es.  Was  it  not  the  same  look  w^ich  he 
had  fixed  on  her  fr^uently  before  ? 

The  E!arl  again  drew  her  down  as, she  clasped 
his  hand.    She  stooped  over  him. 

"  I'm  afmid  of  her,"  he  said,  in  a  low  whisper. 
•'Send  Mrs.  Hart" 

Mrs.  Hart?  The  Earl  did  not  seem  to  know 
that  die  was  ill.  No  donbt  his  mind  was  wan- 
dering. So  Zillah  thonght,  and  the  idea  was 
natural.  She  thonght  she  would  humor  the  de- 
Ihions  fancy.  So  she  promised  to  send  Mrs. 
Hart. 

"What  did  he  say?"  asked  Hilda,  foUowing 
Zillah  gut    Zillah  told  her  according  to  her  own 


"Oh,  it's  only  his  delirium,"  said  Hilda. 
"  He'll  take  me  fofYou  when  I  go  back.  .  Don't 
let  it  trouble  yon.  Yon  might  (end  Mathilde  if 
yon  feel  afraid ;  bnt  I  banily  think  that  Ma- 
thilde would  be  so  nsdfnl  here  as  I." 

"/  afraid?    My  dear  UUda.  can  I  take  his 


poor  delirions  fancy  in  earnest  7  Send  Mathilde!  | 
I  should  hardly  expect  to  see  him  alive  again.' 

"  Alive  again  1"  said  Hilda,  with  a  singular  in- 1 
tonation. 

"  Yes ;  Mathilde  is  an  exedlent  maid,  bnt  in  I 
a  sick-room  she  is  as  helpless  aa  a  child.  8be  it  I 
far  worse  than  I  am.  Do  we  erer  venture  to  | 
leave  him  alone  with  her?" 

"Never  mind.  Do  yon  go  to  sle^,  darlin|,| 
and  sweet  dreams  to  you."  V 

They  kissed,  and  Zillah  went  to  her  chamber,  I 

It  was  about  dawn,  attd  the  mottling  twilight  I 
but  dimly  illumined  die  Ji$IL  The  Earl's  rsoo  I 
was  dark,  and  the  faintjiight  light  ^ade  it)jecti  I 
only  indistinctly  percapuble.  The  Earl's  white! 
face  was  torhed  toward  the  door  as  Hilda  en- 1 
tered,  with  imploring,  wtstfol  expectancy  upon  I 
it  As  he  canght  si^t  of  Hilda  the  ej^pration  | 
turned  to  one  of  fea^— that  same  fear  which  Zil'  I 
lahhadseennponit  Whatdidhefty?  Wliii| 
was  It  that  was  upon  hi*  mind  ?  What  i 
thought  threw  its  shadow  over  his  soul  ? 

Hilda  kxAed  at  him  iUr  a  long  time  in  silence,  I 
her  fiace  calm  and  impassive,  her  eyea  intent  upoi  I 
him.  The  Earl  looli«d  hack  npon  her  with  in-l 
changed  fear — looking^ock  thus  out  of  his  vsak*  [ 
ness  and  helplaiMimi,  wl|h>  fear  that  seemed  ii>| 


'I'tiii^ 


IRE  gbyftoqbam: 


in  earnest?  SendMathilde?| 
«ct  to  see  him  alive  again." 
lid  Hilda,  witb  a  singular  in- 1 

is  «n  excellent  maid,  bnt  in  I 
s  helpless  as  a  child.  8he  ii  I 
tn.  Do  we  ever  Tenture  to  | 
b  her?" 
Do  yon  go  to  sle^,  darling,  I 
jyou."  V  f 

Sullah  went  to  her  chamber.  I 
n,  attd  the  morning  twilighi  I 
die  yhfU.  The  Earl's  rooni  I 
dnt  Aight  light  /nade  «l)jectt  I 
'cepttble.  The  Earl's  wiiitcl 
•rara  the  door  as  Hilda  en- 1 
ig,  wiktful  expectancy  upoal 
ight  of  Hilda  the  e^ffflfes^  I 
r— that  same  fear  which  !&■  I 
.  Whatdidheftgr?  Whiii 
It  hto  mifid?  WbAtfJsulul 
adow  over  bis  sonl  ? 
Im  ibr  a  long  time  in  lileno;  I 
ipossive,  her  eyes  intent  npoi  I 
hfd  back  npon  her  with  in-l 
ngflMck  Uras  out  of  his  wtak- 1 
I,  wl|h  a  fisar  that  seemed  i»  I 


idSed  br  the  oonsciovsneat  of  that  weoknesai 
sat  Hilda  s  ftee  softened  not ;  m>  gleam  of  ten- 
leraess  mitigated  the  hard  lustre  of  her  eyes ; 
ler  expression  lessened  not  from  its  set  purpose, 
"be  Eul  said  not  one  word.    It  was  not  to  her 
lat  he  would  utter  the  fear  that  was  in  him. 
allah  had  promised  to  send  Mrs.  Hart.    When 
ronld  Mrs.  Hart  come  ?   Would  she  ever  come, 
would  she  never  come?    He  looked  away 
ivm  Hilda  feverishly,  anxiously,  to  the  door; 
le  strained  his  ears  to  listen  for  footsteps.    But 
10  footsteps  broke  the  deep  stillness  that  reigned 
through  uie  vast  house,  where  all  slept  except 
bese  two  who  faced  each  other  in  the  sick-room. 
There  was  a  clock  at  the  end  of  the  corridor 
intside,  whose  ticking  sounded  jdall  and  muffled 
"-om  the  distance,  yet  it  penetrated,  with  clear, 
isrp  vibrations,  to  the  brain  of  the  sick  man, 
uid  seemed  to  him,  in  the  gathering-excitement 
)f  this  fearful  nour,  to  grow  louder  and  lander, 
'U  each  tick  sounded  to  his  sharpened  senspHike 
M  vibrations  of  a  bdl,  and  seemed  to  be  the  ni- 
leral  knell  of  his  destiny ;  sounding  thus  to  hiK 
irs,  solemnly,  fatefnUrv  bodingly ;  pealing  forth 
ins  with  every  sound  the  announcement  that 
>«ond  after  second  out  of  those  few  minutes  of 
Jme  which  were  still  left  him  had  passed  away 
From  him  forever.     Each  one  of  those  seconds 
ivas  prok»)ged  to  his  excited  sense  to  the  dura- 
tion of  an  hour.    After  each  stroke  he  listened 
for  Ae  next,  dreading  to  hear  it,  vet  awaiting  it, 
itao'all  the  while  feeling  upon  hiih  the  eves  of 
ine  of  whom  he  was  to  be  the  helpless,  voiceless 
rictim. 
There  had  been  bnt  a  few  miiintes  since  Zil- 
th  left,  but  they  seemed  like  long  terms  of  du- 
Uion  to  the  man  who  watched  and  feared.    Zil- 
had  gone,  and  would  not  return.    Would 
— .  Hart  over  cSme?     Oh,  could  Mrs.  Hart 
lave  knowq  that  this  man,  of  all  living  beings, 
^as  thus  watching  and  hoping  for  her,  and  thifit 
J  this  man  of  idl  others  her  presence  would  have 
iven  a  heavenly  peace  and  calm  I    If  she  could 
jut  have  known  this  as  it  was  then  it  would 
lave  roused  he?  even  from  the  bed  of  death,  and 
)ronghrher  to  his  side  though  it  were  but  to  die 
It  the  first  sight  of  him.     But  Mrs.  Hart  came 
lOt.    She  knpw  nothing  of  any  wish  for  her.    In 
ler  own  extreme  prostration  she  had  found,  after 
wakefn}  night,  a  little  blessed  sleep,  and  the 
'atcher  watched  in  vain.         ^tr-'  ■ 
The  clock  tolled  on. 

Hilda  looked  oiit  through  the  door.    She  tnm- 
I  and  went  out  into  the  hall.     She  came  back 
ind  looked  around  the  room.    She  went  to  the 
"indow  and  lookfilpfeut.    The  twilighLiras 
fag.    The  gloomllras  lessening  tto 
lim  groves  and  shadowy  trees. 
omiBg.     She  went  back  int6 
^nce  more  into  the  hall.    There  t 

Istened,,  .'O^  Earl  followed  her    

-eyes  thaf-^re  fhll  of  awful  expectation. 
Hilda  came  back.  The  Earl  summoned  all 
^is  strength,  and  uttered  a  faint  cry.  Hilda 
alked jip  to-him ;  -slw  sto^ied-diBD^over  hfaK 
he  ^rl  uttered  another  cry.  "^ 
Hilda  paused.  Then  she  stoom  down  and 
jiissed  his  forehead.  • 

The  Karl  psped.    One  word  come  hissing 

"Judas  I"     ■'■■       y'  ^ 


77 


I  in  her  nsually 

through  Zil- 

hy  excitement 

nt  now  this  ex- 


lih  his  eyes 


CHAPTEB  XXlk 
THE  HonsB  or  uoDsinKa. 

ZiLLAH  had  scarcely  &llen  asle^  when  a  shrill 
try  roused  her.     She  started  np     Hilda  stood 
by  her  side  with  wild  ei(vitement| 
impassive  face.     A  cold  thrill  r 
lah's  frame.     To  see  Hilda  in 
was  an  unknown  thing  to  her; 
citement  was  not  concealed.  < 

"  Oh,  my  darlinff !  my  darling!"  she  cried. 

"What?  what?"  Zillah  almost  screamed. 
"What  is  it?  What  has  happened  ?"  Fear  told 
her.  She  knew  what  had  happened.  One  tiling, 
and  one  only,  could  account  for  tttis. 

"  He's  gone  t  It's  over  I  He's  gone !  He's 
gone !  Qh,  darting  1  Hon^  can  I  tell  it  ?  And 
so  sudden  I  Oh,  cahn  yourself  1"  And  Hilda 
flung  her  arms  about  Zillah,  and  groaned. 

Zillah's  heart  seemed  to  stand  still.  She  flung 
off  Hilda's  arms,  «fae  tore  herself  away,  and 
rushed  to  the  Earl's  room.  Such  a  sudden  thing 
as  this— could  it  be  ?  Gone !  And  it  was  only  a 
few  moments  since  she  had  seen  his  last  ghmce, 
ahd  heard  his  last  words. 

Yes ;  it  was  indeed  so.  There,  as  she  entered 
that  romn,  where  now  the  rays  of  morning  en- 
tereU,  she  saw  the  form  of  her  friend— tiiat  friend 
whobi  she  called  father,  and  loved  as  such.  But 
the  white  face  was  no  longer  tumied  to  greet  her ; 
the  ijes  did  not  seek  hers,  nor  could  that  cold 
handj  ever  again  return  the  pressure  of  hers. 
Whitip  as  marble  was  that  face  now,  still  and  set' 
in  th^ fixedness  of  death;  cold  as  marble  was 
now  that  hand  which  hers  clasped  in  that  first 
fienzylof  grief  and  horror;  cold  as  marble  and 
as  lifeless.  Never  again— never  again  might  she 
hold  cbmmnne  with  the  friend  who  now  was 
numbeiied  with  the  dead. 

She  ^t  in  that  room  stricken  into  dumbness 
by  the  ^hocfc  of  this  sudden  calamity.  Time 
j  The  awful  news  flashed  through  the 
house.  IThe  servants  heard  it,  and  came  silent 
and  awe|strnck  to  the  room ;  but  when  they  saw 
the  whitf  face,  and  the  mourner  by  the  bedside, 
they  stoid  still,  nor  did  they  dare  to  cross  the 
threshold-  Suddenly,  while  the  little  group  of 
servants]  stood  there  in  that  doorway,  with  the 
reverencb  which  is  always  felt  for  death  and  for 
sorrow,  there  came,  one  who  forced  her  way 
through  ihem  and  passed  into  the  room.  This 
one  bore  pn  her  face  the  expression  of  a  might, 
ier  grief  Ithan  that  which  could  be  felt  by  any 
others — a  grief  unspeakable— beyond  words,  and 
beyond  thought.  White-haired,  and  with  a  &oe 
which  no>»-  seemed  turned  to  stone  in  the  fixed- 
ness of  its  great  agony,  this  figure  tottered  rath- 
er than  \yalked  into  the  room.  There  was  no 
longer  ankr  self-restraint  in  this  woman,  who  for 
years  had  lived  under  a  self-restraint  that  never 
relaxed ;  there  was  no  thonght  as  to  those  who 
might  sea  or  hear ;  there  was  nothing  hut  the  ut- 
ter abMidjmment  of  perfect  grief— of  gnef  which 
had  reacl|ed  its  height  and  could  blow  nothing  - 
TBore ;  tltAre  was  nothing  lees-thani  despair  itself  ^ 

that  despair  which  arises  ^hmi  all  is  lost — as 
this  wom4n  flung  hers||L^t  allah,  as  though 
she  hadU^  grief  superij^r  w  .ZUlafc'8i  Ond  a  right 
to  passiefen  her  in  thetJBie  precedittce  of 
sorrow.  It  wqs  thus  that^Hn.  Hart  ^hie  be- 
fore the  presence  of  the  .dendjm4  flwVKpMlf 
nponthp  inanimate  <!^HMw^<J^4faPthi9 


} 


% 


— ---i*. 


the 
dweller  had 


78 

arms  around  that  clhj^ 
departed,  and  pressc 
cold  brow  from  whicl 
passed  away  to  its  Iil{lin||ttality, 

In  the  depths  of^fnr  own  grief  Zillah  was 
roused  by  a  cry  which  expressed  a  deeper  grief 
than  hers — a  qi^  of  agony — a  ciy  of  despair : 

"  Oh,  my  Goa  t  Oh,  God  of  mqrcy !  Dead ! 
What  ?  dead !  Dead — and  no  explanation — no, 
forgiveness  I"  *  j,>i 

And  A^.  Hart  f^  down  lifeless  over  tn( 
form  of  the  dted. 

Zillah,  rostr  with  a  wonder  in  her  soul  which 


BML- 


What 


Blleviate4:jdie  sorrow  of  bereavement. 
„Whatdiditmean? 

ItionI"      "Forgiveness!"      What 
Flliese  ?  His  housekeeper .' — could  she 
iiw  else  ?  What  had  she  done  which  re- 
^is  lamentation  ?    What  was  the  Earl  to 
it  hu  death  should  cause  such  despair  ? 
,    amidst  snch  thoughts  Zillah  was  still  con- 
siderate about  this  stricken  one,  and  she  called 
the  ser\-ants,  and  they  bore  her  away  to  her  own 
room.     This  grie^,-iron)  whatever  cause  it  iQay 
Have  arisen,  was  t^  much  for  Mrs.  Hart     Be- 
fbro  this  she  had  been  prostrated.      She  now 
lost  all  consciousq^,  and  lay  in  a  stupor  Avm 
which  she  could  not  be  aroused. 

The  wondering  questions  which  had  arisen  in 
Zillah's  mind  troubled  her  and  puzzled  her  at 
fii^;  but  graddaUJM^  thought  that  she  could 
aiin|er  thenu  Mr^T^art,  sh»thought,  was  won- 
derfully attach^  to  thft£arl.  s£e  had  com- 
mfttef^  some  imaginary  (Mnqaency  in  her  man- 
agement of  the  household,  which,  in  her  weak 
and  semi-delirions  state,  was  weighing  upon  her 
spirits.  When  she  found  that  he  was  deadj/^ 
shock  was  great  to  one  in  her  weak  at0at  o*^- 
she  had  only  thought  of  some  confession  whipb! 
she  had  wished  to  make  to  him,       ,  :<. 

When  the  doctor  came  difeiar  ha  '&d»id  Zil- 
lah still  sitting  therai  hol<|H|yi£e  l^mFof  the 
dead.    Hilda  came  to  tell  al^&t  she  knew. 

*' About  half  an  hour. after  Zillah  left,"  she 
said,  "I  was  sitting  by  theuSvindqw,  looliing  out 
to  «||We  rising  sun.  SaddetdgjuMarl  gave-  a 
sndSPltart,  and  sat  npnghtWoeC^  I  rushed 
oveffo  him.  *  He  fell  back.  '  I  <d)Wed  his  hands 
.and  feet.  I  could  not  thin^  at  first,  that  it  was 
any  thing  more  than  a  faintlhg  fit.  The  truth 
equally  came  to  me.  He  was  dead.  '*  Aa  aw 
fol  horror  rushed  over  me.  I  ^d  ftrom 
nota  to  'Mrs.  Molyneux,  and  roused  her 
sleep.  She  sprang  up  and  hooied  to  the 
tifae  knows  tfe  rest."  v; 

Sia  was'^ilda's  account  ^  ''■ 
Ab  fonhe  doctor,  he  could  easily  account  fSr' 
he  sudden  death.  It  was  mi»d.  His  heart  had 
been  affected,  and  he  had  died  from  j»  sudden 
I  spasm.  -  It  was  oajy  through  the  care  of  Miss 
^  Krieff  that  the  E^rl  had  lived  so  long. 

Bnt  so  great  was  Hilda's  distress  that  Zillah 
had  to  devote  herself  to  the  task  ef  soothing  her. 


icnudiing  blow  which  a  few  ywrs  b«foiiB  had  de-l 
■eended  so  suddenly  upon  her  yonug  l|fe,    8hi  I 
began  to  rally  and  to  look  forward  to  the  future,  I 
Qny  had  been  written  to,  not  by  her,  but,4i| 
usual,  by  Hilda,  in  iter  name.    The  news  of  |ier  I 
father's  death  had'been-  broken  to  him  as  deli.  I 
cately  as  possible.    Hilda  read  it  to  Zillah,  who,  f 
afker  a  few  changes  of  expression,  approved  of  it,'  I 
jUMlHtfHlgf  he  efi'ect  of  impressing  iipon  Zi|.  I 
fWl 'iiiflnf  In^fiict  :t|||t  Gdr,n)ust  soon  conn  I 
home.    The  absence  mus^  cease.     In  any  case  | 
it  could  not  UCst  much  longer.     Either  she  would  I 
have  liad  to  join  him,  or  he  come  back  to  her,  I 
The  prospect  of  his  arrival  now  stood  before  her  I 
and  the  question  arose  how  to  meet  itf-,,  Wasijl 
welcome  or  unpleasant?    Afier  all,  was  he  not  I 
a  noble  character,  and  a  valiant  soldier — the  sog  I 
of  a  dear  friend  ?    Zillah's  woman's  heart  judged  I 
him  not  harshly,  and  much  of  her  thought  wai  I 
taken, up  with  conjectures  as  to  the  probable  t«.  I 
suits  of  that  return.    She  began  at  length  to  look  I 
forward  to  it  with  hope;  and  to  think  that  ahtl 
might  be  happy  with  such  a  man  for  her  hD|.| 
band.     The  only  thing  that  troubled  her  was  the  I 
idea  that  any  man,  however  noble,  should  hare  I 
thcright  of  claiming  her  as  his  without  the  pre.] 
linnary  wooing.     To  a  delicate  natuTAthis  wail 
intolerable,  and  she  could  only  tnoKlhat  he  I 
would  be  acceptable  to  her  on  his^rnnppevf 
ance:  '  I 

In  the  midst  of  these  thoughts  a  letter  arriredl 
from  Gujr,  addressed  to  that  one  who  was  now  I 
beyond  its  rmch.  Zilhih  opened  this  without  I 
hesitation,  for  I^rd  Chetwynde  had  always  beet  I 
in  the  habit  of  banding  them  to  her  directly  he  I 
had  read  them.  ^|., 

Few  things  connected  with  thone  whdn  we  i 
have  loved  andJost  are  more  painful,  where  all  I 
is  M>  exqnisitel^p^inful,  than  the  reading  of  let- 1 
ten  by  them  or  to  them.  The  most  triviM  con.  I 
moBplaces-^he  lightest  expressions  of  regard- 1 
an  all  invested  with  the  tenderest  pathos,  aDdl 
from  our  hearts  there  ^ms  rung  out  at  cvei;! 
line  the  despairing  refrain  of  "  nevermore— nev- 1 
ermore."  It  was  thus,  Add  witn  blending  team, I 
that^^Uah  r^ad  thigirst  part  of- Guy's  letter,! 
whii^was  full  pf  Mder  love^and  thoughtful 
qpnstderatioil.  goon,  however,  this  sadoessijratl 
dispelled^h^itttention  was  aiflied ;  «p  even  | 
othe||Mp^as  baiAshed  in  her  ^l|||uTbing  in- 1 
teroi0^what%he  read.  After  80W9  prelimin-l 
y^paragraphs  the  letter  went  on  thus : 
"Joa  will  A  utonished,  my  deaf  father,  and,  j 
lOByloased,  to  learn  that  I  have  made  up  nrl 
ivmma  retom  to  Engliifid  as  soon  as  possibk  I 
As  yoa  may  imagine,  this  resolve  is  a  siiddfll 
one,  and  I  should  be  false  to  that  perfect  cos- 1 
fidenoe  which  has  always  existed  between  tu,  It  | 
I  did  not  fhwkly  acquaint  you  with  the  circno-l 
stances  which  hue  led  to  my  decision.  I  ban  I 
oft^n  mentioned  to  you  my  friend  Captain  Caiii-| 
eron  of  the  Royal  Engineers,  who  is  superintend- 1 
ing  the  erection  of  some  fortifications  overlo(d:-| 
ing  the  mountain  pass.  Isolated  as  we  art  fim  I 
all  Enropcyi  socwty,  we  have  nntnrally  bea| 


tLivwki  luuuh  togBilwi,  and  ■  flno  firtciid 
grown  op  betwem  ns.  We  constituted  biffli| 
member  of  our  little  mess,  consisting  of  my  m  I 
subalterns  and  myself;  so  that  he  hae  been  Tir-| 
tnally  living  with  us  ever  since  oar  arrival  bm  I 
"Not  very  long  ago  oar  little  circle  rec«iTed| 
a  very  important  additfon.    This  vat  Csp(aii| 


CHAFTEB  XXIV. 

X  LCmit  AND  ITS  COKSEQtmKCtS. 

Sous  weeks  passed,  and  Zillah's  grief  gradu- 


ally becamf  kMened. 
to  liear  nil  blow  at 


She  was  far  better  able 
this  time  than  that  fint 


ch  *  hw  years  bfibi^  had  d».| 
ly  upon  her  yornig  l(fe.  8bi| 
to  look  forwuxl  to  the  tutun.  I 
itten  to,'il6t  by  her,  but,«| 

her  name.    The  neiyi  of  ^  | 
been  broken  to  him  as.  deli.  I 

Hilda  read  it  to  Zilloh,  wlio,  [ 
I  of  cxpresiiion,  approved  «f  It  I 
effect  of  imprewiing  iipon  Zil.  I 
It  <:t)^  Gay  must  soon  coae  I 
ice  mus|  cease.  In  any  cai«  I 
ich  longer.  Either  she  wonld  I 
lim,  or  he  come  back  to  her.  f 
I  arrival  now  stood  before  herj  I 
rose  how  to  meet  it«).  Was  it  I 
sant?  After  all,  was  he  noil 
ind  a  valiant  soldier — the  wi  f 
Zillah's  woman's  heart  jud^  I 
nd  much  of  her  thought  wail 
ectures  as  to  the  probable  t«.  I 
bhe  began  at  length  to  look  I 
hope ;  and  to  think  that  At  I 
ith  such  a  man  for  her  bni-l 
ing  that  tronbled  her  was  tli«l 
,  however  noble,  should  hare  I 
ig  her  as  his  withont  the  pr«.| 
To  a  delicate  naturAthis  wti I 
e  could  only  tndBthat  b«| 
e  to  her  on  his''!nfflrappear'r 

heso  thoaghts  a  letter  arriredl 
id  to  that  one  who  was  not  I 
Zillah  opened  this  witliooil 
Chetwyndo  had  always  beet  I 
ding  them  to  her  directly  lie  I 

lectcd  with  those  whA  ve  I 
are  more  painful,  where  ail  I 
nful,  than  the  reading  of  let- 1 
liem.  The  most  triviSI  codi-  I 
itest  expressions  of  regard-! 
h  the  tenderest  pathos,  audi 
ere  seems  mng  out  at  evetjl 
nefr^n  of  "nevermore— nerl 
lus,  And  witn  blending  team,  I 
igirst  part  of- Guy's  letter, 
Suier  lovA>iind  tlioughlbll 
n,  howereivthis  BadAgss^ntl 
tiqnwasaiilmed;  arideTei^l 
unshed  in  her  ^|i|ufhingii)-| 
read.  After  soMq  prclimis-l 
letter  went  on  thns :  I 

mished,  my  dear  father,  and,  I 
larn  that  I  have  made  up  m  I 
Snglifid  as  soon  as  posaikk  I 
ne,  this  resolve  is  a  siiddAl 
e  false  to  that  perfect  cos- 1 
Iways  existed  between  as  if  I 

?|aaint  yoa  with  the  circDO-j 
ed  to  my  decision.  I  ban  I 
foa  my  friend  Captain  Cam- 1 
igineers,  who  is  superintend-  [ 
lome  fortifications  overlook- 
u.  IsoUtadaaweartfhia 
y,  wa  have  natnnJlT  bea 
ir,  and  s  Ann  flrtendsmirfin 
OS.  We  constituted  bint  1 
mesa,  coosisting  of  my  tnl 
tU,  BO  that  he  haa  been  Ti^| 
ever  since  onr  arrival  hen.  [ 
igo  our  little  circle  recaredl 
IcUtion.    This  was  CRpttiil 


TSksi  CBYPTOOBAlt. 


n 


„^'l  sister;  who,  having  been  left  an  or. 
in  England,  and  having  no  near  relatives 
hod  come  out  to  her  brother.    She  was  a- 
wuang  girL    I  had  seen  nothii^  of  English 
uies  for  a  long  time,  and  so  it  (Ud  not  need 
lach  persuasion  to  induce  me  to  go  to  Cam- 
ivn's  bouse  after  Miss  Cameron  hod  arrived, 
lircnmstances,  rather  than  any  deliberate  design 
my  part.1(^w  me  there  more  and  more,  till  at 
igth  all  mv  evenings  were  spent  there, 'hnd,  in 
^%  all  my  leisure  time.  -  I  always  used  to  join 
Jiss  Canieron  and  her  b|x>ther  on  their  morning 
tdes  aML  evening  walks ;  and  very  often,  if  duty 
iventediiim  from  accompanying  her,  she  would 
me  to  tike  his  place  as  her  escort.    She  was^ 
'^  a  fond  of  music  as  I  am ;  and,  in  the  even-/ 
^'je  generally  spent  most  of  the  time  in  play- 
_  or  singing  together.    She  played  accompani- 
luits  to  my  songs,  and  I  to  hers.    We  per- 
urmed  duets  ^g^er ;  and  thus,  whether  in  the 
louse  or  ontfff^it,  were  thrown  into  the  closest 
>~i8ible  intercourse.      All  this  came  about  so 
jorally  that  several  ihonths  had  passed  away 
this  fiimiliar  association  before  I  began  even 
suspect  danger,  either  for  myself  or  for  her. 
iddenly,  however,  I  awakened  to  the  conscious- 
as  of  tbiiact  as  it  was.     All  my  lifi^  was  filled 
)y  Inez  ^jttMron — all  my  life  seeme^l^  centre 
poiind  herwaU  my  future  sejpmed.  pf,  bhu^jc  as 
lidnight  ajMlrffom  her.    Never  before  had  I 
)lt  expn  '^VUng  interest  in  any  woman, 
lonnd  as  I  hoS^Mn  all  my  life,  in  boyhood  by 
lonor,  and  in  ear^asanhood  by  le^  ties,  I  had 
lever  allowed  i^^^o  think  of  any  other  wo- 
oan ;  and  I  hatfmlW^jJKi  been  on  my  guard  so  as 
lot  to  drift  into  any  of  thofeMttations  with  which 
len  in  general,  and  especlHHjkwe  Offlcers,  con- 
Ire  to  fritter'  awaj^  the  fnHess  of  affection, 
[nexperience,  combined  With^he  influence  of 
drcumstances,  caused  me  to  drift  into  this  posi- 
'  )n ;  and  the  sitnation  became  one  from  which 
.  was  hard  indeed  to  extricate  mysdf.    I  had, 
lowever,  been  on  my  guard  after  a  fashion.     I 
jad  from  the  first  scrupulotUly  avoided  those 
lalanteriet  and  fofont  de  purler  which  arp  more 
~  loal  in  Indian  society  than  elsewhere.    Besides, 
bad  long  before  made  Cameron  acquainted 
ith  my  marriage,  and  had  taken  it  for  gianted 
jat  Inez  knew  it  also.     I  thought,  even  after 
bad  found  out  that  I  loved  her,  that  there  was 
10  danger  for  her— and  that  she  had  always 
nerely  regarded  me  as  a  married  man  and  a 
iend.    But  one  day  an  ac^^^t  revealed  to  me 
_at  she  knew  nothing  about  iny  marriage,  and 
lad  taken  my  attentions  too  fji^vonibly  for  her 
—  peace  of  mind.    Ah,  dear  fiither,  inch  a 
.  -jvery  was  bitter  ind^  in  many  ways.     I 
lad  to  crush  out  my  I0VJ9  for  my  sake  and  for 
lers.    One  way  only  was  possible,  and  that  was 
leave!  her  fbrevar.    I  at  once  saw  Cameron, 
id  tohl  him  frankly  the  state  of  the  case,  so  far 
I  was  concerned.    Like  a  good  fellow,  as  he 
.  hel'blamed  himself  altogether.    'Yoa  see, 
[dyneiix,'  he  laid,  *  a  fellow  is  very  apt  to  orei^ 
>k  theipossihte  attracthrenesB  of  his  own  «i«t«r, ' 


mii^no  MIoft  to  prevent  mis  from  going, 
Int  evidptly  thought  it  my  only  (^ourse.  I  ac- 
^rdingly  applied  at  once  for  leave,  and  to-night 
J  am  ahout  to  start  for  Calcutta,  where  I  will 
rait  till  I  gain  a  formal  permit,  and  I  will  never 
*-!  Inez  again.  I  haVe  seen  her  for  the  last 
Oh,  fiither!   tho«»  word*  of  warning 


which  yon  once  spoke  to  me  have  become  Airi- 
ly true.  Chetwyiide  has  been  too  dearly  bought 
At  this  moment  the  weight  of  my  chains  is  too 
hea>7  to  be  borne.  If  I  could  feel  myself  free 
once  more,  how  ghtdly  would  I  give  np  all  my 
ancestral  estates!  What  is  Chetwynde  to  me? 
What  happiness  can  I  ever  have  ip  it  now,  or 
what  happmess  can  there  possibly  he  to  me  with- 
out Inez  ?  Besides,  I  turn  from  the  thought  of. 
her,  with  her  refined  beauty,  her  delicate  nataie, 
her  innumerable  accomplisliments,  her  true  and 
tender  heart,  and  think  of  that  other  one,  with 
her  ungovernable  passions,  her  unreasoning  tam- 
per, and  her  fierce  intractability,  where  I  can  see 
nothing  but  the^ool  of  a  savage,  unredeemed  by 
any  womanly  softness  or  feminine  grace.  Oh, 
father!  vm  it  well  to  bind  me  to  a  Hindu? 
Yon  willflgr,  perhaps,  that  I  should  not  judge 
of  the  woman  by  the  girl.  Buty.  father,  when  I 
saw  her  first  at  ten,  I  found  her  impish,  and  at 
fifteen,  when  I  married  her,  she  was  no  less  so, 
orily  perhaps  more  intensified.  Fierce  words  of 
insult  wei-e  flupg  at  me  by  that  creatuM.  My 
God  I  it  is  too'  bitter  to  think  of.  Het'  face  is 
before  me  now,  scowling  and  malignant,  while 
behind  it,  mournful  and  pitying,  yet  loving,  is 
the  pale  sweet  face  of  Inez. 

"  But  I  dare  not  trust  mysfelf  further.  Never 
before  have  I  spoken  to  yonUbout  the  horror 
which  I  feel  for  that  Hindu.  1  did  not  wish  to 
pain  you.  I  fear  I  am  selfish  ta  doing  so  now. 
But,  after  all,  it  is  better  for  you  to  know  it  once 
for  all.  Otherwise  the  discovery  of  it  would  bo 
all  the  worse.  Besides,  this  is  iWrung  out  from 
me  in  spite  of  mj^self  by  the  anguish  of  my  heart. 
"Let  me  do  justice  to  the  Hindu.  You  have 
spoken  of  her  sometimes — not  often,  however, 
and  I  thank  you  for  it — as  a  loving  daughter  to 
you.  I  thank  her  for  that,  I  am  sure.  Small 
comfort,  however,  is  this  to  me.  If  she  were 
now  an  angel  from  heaven,  she  could  not  fill  tlia . 
pUceoflnez.  /" 

"Forgive  me,  dear  father.    This  shall  6e  the 
lajst  of  complaints.    Ilenceforth  I  am  ready  to^,, 
bear  my  griefs.    I  am  ready  for  thib  sacrificeMijf 
I  can  not  see  her  yet,  but  when  I  reach  Enghind  .  k' 
I  must  «ee  yon  somehow.    If  you  can  not  me 
me,  you  must  manage  to  send  her  off  to  VoA 
eroy,  so  that  t  may  see  you  in  peace.    With  yhw^ 
I  will  forget  my  sonows,  and  will  be  again  a 
light-hearted  boy. 

"Let  me  assure  yon  that  I  mean  to  keep  my 
promise  made  years  ago  when  I  was  a  boy.  It 
shall  be  the  effort  of  my  life  to  make  my  wife 
happy.  Whether  I  succeed  or  not  will  be  an- 
other thing.    But  I  mast  have  time. 

"No  more  now.  I  have  written  about  this 
for  the  first  and  the  last  time.  Give  my  warm- 
^t  and  fondest  love  to  nurse.  I  hope  to  see 
yoa  soon,  and  remain,  dear  father, 

"  Yonr  aflbctionate  son, 
■    *  "GcYMdM-HEnx."  5* 


For  some  time  after  reading  this  letter  Zillah 
^ataa  if  stunned.— At  firsts^  seemedrseare^i: 
able  to  take  in  its  full  meaning.  Gradually, 
\however,  it  dawned  upon  her  to  its  widest  e3t- 
tent.  This,  then,  was  the  future  that  lay  be- 
tbre  her,  and  this  was  the  man  for  whose  arrival 
she  had  been  looking  with  such  mingled  feel- 
ings. Little  need  was  there  now  for  mingled 
feelings.    She  knew  well  with  what  feeling  to 


,3L-i,-. ' 


w- 


80 


THE  CBTFFOGBAM. 


expect  him.  She  had  at  timea  within  the  depths 
of  her  heart  formed  an  idea  that  her  life  would 
not  be  loveless ;  but  now— but  now —  Thliman 
wbu  was  her  husband,  and  the  only  one  to  whom 
she  could  loolt  for  love— this  man  turned  firom 
her  in  horror ;  he  hated  her,  he  loathed  her — 
worse,  he  loolced  upon  her  as  a  ilindo-^worse 
still,  if  any  thing  could  be  worse,  hhi  hate  and 
his  loathing  were  made  eternal ;  for  he  loved  an- 
other with  the  ardor  of  a  first  fresh  love,  and  his 
wife  seemed  to  him  a  demon  full  of  malignity, 
who  stood  between  him  and  the  angel  of  his 
heart  and  the  heaven  of  his  desires.  Uis  words 
/of  despair  rang  within  her  ears.  The  opprobri- 
/ous  epithets  which  he  applied  to  her  stung  her 
/  to  the  quick.  Passionate  and  hot-hearted,  all 
her  women's  nature  rose  up  in  arms  at  this  hor- 
rible, this  unlooked-for  assault.  All  her  pride 
Surged  up  within  her  in  deep  and  bitter  resent- 
.  ment.  Whatever  she  might  once  have  been,  she 
felt  that  she  was  different  now,  and  deserved  not 
this.  At  this  moment  she  would  have  given 
worlds  to  be  able  to  say  to  him,  "  You  are  free. 
Go,  nmrry  the  woman  whom  you  love."  But  it 
was  too  late. 

Not  the  least  did  she  feel  Guy's  declaration 
that  he  would  try  to  make  her  happy.  Her 
proud  spirit  chafed  most  at  this.  He  was  go- 
mg  to  treat  her  with  patient  forbearance,  and 
try  to  conceal  his  abhorrence.  Could  she  en- 
dure this?  Up  and  down  the  room  she  paped, 
with  angry  vehemence,  asking  herself  this  ques- 
tion. 

She  who  had  all  her  life  been  surrounded  by 
Idolizing;  love  was  now  tied  for  life  to  a  man  whose 
hif^est  desire  with  regard  to  her  was  that  he 
night  b6  able  to  endure  her.  In  an  agony  of 
grief,  she  threw  herself  upon  the  floor:  Was 
there  no  esc&pe?  she  thought  None?  none? 
Oh,  for  one  friend  to  advise  her ! 

The  longer  Zillah  thought  of  her  position  the 
worse  it  seemed  to  her.  Hours  pMsed  away, 
and  she  kept  herself  shut  up  in  her  room,  refus- 
ing to  admit  any  one,  bnt  considering  what  was 
best  to  do.  One  thing  only  appeared  as  possible 
under  these  circumstances,  and  that  was  to  leave 
Chetwynde.  She  felt  that  it  was  simply  impos- 
sible for  her  to  remain  there.  And  where  could 
she  go?  To  Pomeroy  Court?  But  that  had 
been  handed  over  to  him  as  part  of  the  payment 
to  him  for  taking  her.  She  could  not  go  back  to 
a  place  which  was  now  the  property  of  this  man. 
Nor  was  it  necessary.  She  had  money  of  her 
own,  which  would  enable  her  to  live  as  well  as 
she  wished.  Thirw  thousand  pounds  would  give 
her  an  income  suflicient  for  her  wants ;  and  she 
might  find  some  place  where  she  conld  live  in  se- 
clusion. Her  first  wild  thoughts  were  a  desire 
for  death ;  bat  since  death  would  not  come,  she 
could  at  least  so  arrange  matters  as  to  be  dead 
to  this  man.    Such  was  her  final  resolve. 

It  was  with  this  in  her  mind  that  she  went  out 
to  Hilda's  room.  Hilda  was  writing  as  she  en- 
tered, but  on  seeing  her  she  hastily  shut  her  desk, 
-and  spHMgfergMd  to  yeet  her^aendi  — 

"  My  darling !"  said  she.  "  How  I  rejoice  to 
see  yon !  Is  it  some  new  grief?  Will  you  nev<!r 
trust  me  ?  You  are  so  reticent  with  me  that  it 
breaks  my  heart." 

"  Hilda,"  said  she,  "  I  have  just  been  reading 
a  letter  from  Lord  Chetwrnde  to  his  father.  He 
is  abont  to  return  home.'' 


Zillah'a  yoIm,  as  sh*  spoke,  wm  bard  |md  me- 
talUe,  and  Hild»  law  that  something  wat  wrong. 
She  noticed  that  Zillah  used  the  words  Lord 
Chetwynde  with  stem  empiiasis,  instead  ftf  th«  j 
name  Ovy,  by  which,  she,  Ilka  tha  tmt,  had  ol 
ways  spoKen  of  him. 

''I  am  glad  to  hear  it,  dear," said  Hilds, 
quietly,  and  in  a  cordial  tone;  "for,  althoo)^ 
you  no  doabt  dread  tha  first  meeting,  especially 
unde^  snoh  painful  oiroumatancas,  yet  it  will  be 
for  yonr  happiness.'' 

•'^Hilda,'^^  said  Zillah,  with  increased  stern- 
ness, **  Lord  Chetwynde  and  I  will  never  me«  I 
again."  ' 

Hilda  started  back  with  nantterabla  astonish,  j 
ment  on  her  fhee. 

"Never  meet  again  1"  she  repeated—" not  | 
meet  Lord  Chetwynde— your  husband?  What  | 
do  yon  mean  ?" 

"  I  nm  going  to  leave  Chetwynde  as  soon  u  { 
possible,  and  shall  never  again  cross  its  threshold." 

Hilda  went  ot-qr  to  Zillah  and  put  hec  onu  | 
around  her. 

"  Darting, "  Baid>  she,  in  her  most  caressing  I 
lones,  "yott^no^  agitated.  What  is  it?.  Yoo 
a\f9  in  trouble.  Wmi{  new  grief  can  have  coim 
to  yo\^  ?  Will  you  not  tell  me  ?  Is  there  an; 
one  living  who  oan  sympathize  with  you  as  i 
can?" 

At  these  accents  of  kindness  Zillah's  fortitude  I 
gave  way.  She  put  her'  head  on  her  friend'i  I 
shoulder  and  sobbed  convulsively.  The  teanl 
relieved  her^  For  a  long  time  she  wept  in  li.  | 
lence. 

''I  hare  no  one  now  in  the  world  bnt  yog,  I 
dearest  Hilda.    And  you  will  not  forsake  me, 
wiUyon?" 

"  Forsake  yon,  my  darling,  nky  sister  ?  forstkt  I 
yon?  Never' while  I  livel  But  why  do  you  I 
speak  of  fiight  and  of  being  forsaken  ?  Whit  | 
mad  fancies  have  come  over  you  ?" 

Zillah  drew  from  her  pocket  the  letter  whick  | 
the  had  read. 

"Here,"  she  said,  <*nad  this,  and  you  wil 
know  alL" 

Hilda  took  the  letter  and  read  it  in  silence,  i)l  I 
through,  and  then  commencing  it  again,  she  one*  | 
more  reitd  it  through  to  the  end. 

Then  she  flwig  her  arms  around  Zillah,  io- 1 
pnkively,  and  strained  her  to  her  heart. 

\  *  Yon  understand  all  now  ?" 

"All;"  said  HUda. 

"  And  what  do  yon  think  ?^ 

"Think!    It  is  horrible  1" 

• '  What  would  you  do  f " 

"I?"  cried  Hilda,  starting  np. 
kUl  myself." 

ZiUah  shook  her  head. 

"  I  am  not  quite  capable  of  that — not  yet- 1 
though  it  may  be  in  me  to  do  it — some  time.! 
But  now  I  can  not.  My  idea  is  the  same  as  yonn,  I 
though.  I  will  go  into  saclusion,  and  be  dead  to  | 
him,  at  any  rate." 

Hilda  was  silent  for  a  few  moments.  Tha  | 
jhe  read  Ae  letter-agi^BF- 


"I  would 


"ZiUah,"  said  she,  with  a  deep  sigh,  "it  si 
very  well  to  talk  of  killiiig  one's  self,  as  I  dU  I 
just  now,  or  of  running  away ;  hut,  after  ail,  I 
other  things  must  be  coiwiderea.  I  spoke  baiti'  I 
ly ;  but  I  am  calmer  than  you,  and  I  ought  tt  I 
advise  you  calinly.  After  all,  it  is  avary  Mn-I 
ous  thing  that  70a  sptek  of;  and,  indew,sn| 


m 


ih*  ipoke,  WW  bwd  fuid  me- 
r  that  wnnetbiiig  wmt  wrong, 
lillah  oied  tiie  words  Lord 
rn  emptuuii,  initead  of  th« 
bthe,  lilM  Out  tmt,  bad ol 

hear  it,  dmur/'mid  Hilda, 
trdial  ton*;  "for,  aUhoai^ 
the  first  meeting,  especial!; 
Dironmstances,  yet  it  will  be 

illah,  with  increased'  stern- 
^0  and  I  will  never  meet  | 

k  with  UDntterablo  astonish.  | 

wn!"  she  repeated— "  not  I 
ide— year  husband  r    What  | 

leave  Chetwynde  m  soon  w  { 
ver  again  crosa  its  tbrcshold.' 
to  Zillah  and  put  her  onsi  I 

■he,  in  her  most  caressing 
litated.     What  is  it?    Yoo 
a{  new  grief  can  have  come  I 
not  tell  me  ?    Is  there  an;  I 
sympathize  with  you  as  I 

>f  kindness  Zillah's  fortitude  I 
t  heT'  head  on  her  friend'i  I 
d  convulsively.     The  tean 
a  long  time  siie  wept  in  li. 

now  in  the  world  but  yoo, 
d  you  will  not  forsake  me, 

f  darling,  nky  sister?  forsake  I 
I  live  I  But  why  do  yog  I 
of  being  forsaken  ?  What  | 
me  over  you  ?" 
her  pocket  the  letter  whidi  I 

I,  "nad  this,  and  you  will 

Iter  and  read  it  in  silence,  il  I 
immencing  it  again,  she  osn  ] 
1  to  the  end.  >* 

er  arms  around  Zillah,  in- 1 
ed  her  to  her  heart. 
iaUnow?" 


THE  CBYPTOGBAM.. 


lead.  . 

capable  of  that — ^not  y«t- 1 
n  me  to  do  it — some  tiis&J 
My  idea  is  the  same  as  yotin,  I 
ito  seclusion,  and  be  dead  to 


e,  with  a  deep  sigh,  "it  it  I 
'  killing  one's  self,  as  I  dUl 
ming  away ;  but,  after  all,  | 
» coiwdered.  I  spoke  haiti- 1 
ir  than  yon,  and  I  ought  to  I 
After  all,  it  is  a  very  mh-I 
speak  of;  and,  indeoi,  «•  I 


nni  capable  of  such  a  thing  ?  Whatever  I  may 
pdividuallv  think  of  your  resolve,  I  know  that 
on  ore  doing  what  the  world  will  consider  mad- 
<u» ;  and  it  is  mv  duty  to  put  the  case  plainly 
efore  you.  In  the  first  place,  then,  your  hua- 
and  does  not  love  you,  and  he  loves  another — 
ienr  h*rd  to  bear,  I  allow ;  but  men  are  fickle, 
Ind  perhaps  ere  many  months  have  elapsed  he 
p»y  forget  the  cold  knglish  beauty  as  be  gazes 
ki  your  ijouthem  face.  You  are  very  beautiful, 
^lloh ;  and  when  he  sees  you  he  will  change  his 
one.  He  moy  love  you  nt  first  sight." 
"Then  I  ihould  devpigo  him," said  Zillah,  hot- 
ly. "What  kind  of  Me  is  that  which  changes 
\t  the  sight  of  every  now  face?  Besides,  yon 
iorget  how  he  despises  me.  I  am  a  Hindu  in 
his  eyes.  Can  contempt  ever  change  into  love  ? 
If  such  a  miracle  could  take  place,  I  should  nev- 
br  believe  in  it.    Those  bitter  words  in  that  let- 

r  would  always  rankle  in  my  heart" 
,  "That  is  true,"  said  Hilda,  sorrowfully. 
[IThen  we  will  put  that  supposition  from  us. 
^ut,  allo>ving  you  never  gain  your  husband's 
^ve,  remember  how  much  there  is  left  you.  His 
bosition,  his  rank,  are  yours  by  right — you  are 
Lady  Chetwynde,  and  the  mistress  of  Chetwynde 
Castle.  You  can  fill  the  place  with  guests,  among 
.whom  you  will  be  queen.  You  may  go  to  Lon- 
don during  the  season,  take  the  position  to  which 
jrou  are  entitled  there  os  wife  of  a  peer,  and,  in 
Ebe  best  society  which  the  world  affords,  you  will 
receive  all  the  adrairntion  and  homage  which  you 
Beserve.  Beauty  like  yours,  combined  with  rank 
.nd  wealth,  may  make  you  a  queen  of  society. 
Slave  you  strength  to  forego  all  this,  Zillah  ?" 

"  You  have  left  one  thing  out  in  your  brilliant 
bicture,"  replied  Zillah.     "  All  this  may,  indeed, 
pe  mine — but — mine  on  suiferanee.    If  I  can  only 
;et  this  M  Lord  Chetwynde's  wife,  I  beg  leave 
0  decline  it.    Besides,  I  have  no  ambition  to 
khine  in  society.    Had  you  urged  me  to  remem- 
ber all  that  the  Earl  bos  done  for  me,  and  try  to 
endure  the  son  for  the  sake  of  the  father,  that 
inigbt  possibly  have  had  wdght.     Had  you 
khown  me  that  mr  marriage  wos  irrevpcable, 
bnd  that  the  best  thing  was  to  accept  the  situo- 
■ion,  itnd  try  to  be  a  dutifiil  wife  to  the  eon  of 
■be  man  whom  I  called  father,  you  might  per- 
«p8  for  a  moment  have  shaken  my  pride.     I 
night  have  stifled  the  promptings  of  those  wo- 
manly instincts  which  have  been  so  frightfully 
butraged,  and  consented  to  remain  passively  in 
a  situation  where  I  was  placed  by  those  two 
(friends  whorloved  me  best.     But  when  you  speak 
B  mo  of  the  dazzling  future  which  moylie  before 
ae  as  Lord  Chetwynde's  wife,  yoii  remind' me 
lio*  little  he  is  dependent  for  happiness  upon  any 
khing^hat  I  can  give  him ;  of  the  brilliant  career 
In  society  or  in  politics  which  is  open  to  him,  and 
which  will  render  domestic  life  superfluous.    I 
have  thought  over  all  this  most  fully ;  but  what 
jrou  have  just  said  has  thrown  a  new  light  upon 
It.    In  the  quiet  seclusion  in  which  I  have  hith- 
prto  lived  I  had  Almost  forgotten  that  there  was 
lB-oatsi«k  world,  where  naa^^eek  tlteir  happi- 
iiess.    Can  you  thltjk  that  I  am  able  to  enter 
kbat  world,  and  strive  to  be  a  queen  of  society, 
Vith  no  protecting  lova  around  me  to  warn  me 
»gainst  its  perils  or  to  shield  me  from  them? 
Ko  I    I  see  it  all    Under  do  circumstances  can 
t  live  with  this  man  who  abttors  me.    No  toler- 
ktion  can  be  possible  bn  eith6c^ii4B.<  The  best 


.F 


heciid 


thing  for  me  to  do  is  to  die.  Bui  since  I  can 
not  die,  the  next  best  thing  is  to  sink  out  of  bis 
view  into  nothingness.  So,  Hilda,!  I  shall  leave 
Chetwynde,  and  it  is  useless  to  atiempt  to  dis- 
suade me." 

Zillah  had  spoken  in  low,  measured  tones,  in 
words  which  were  so  formal  that  they  sounded 
like  a  schobl-giri's  recitation— a  long,  dull  mon- 
otone--the  monotony  of  despair.  Her  face 
drooped— her  eyes  were  fixed  on  the  flooi^her 
white  hands  clasped  each  other,  and  she  sat  thus 
—an  imoge  of  woe.  Hildo  looked  at  her  steadi- 
ly. For  a  moment  there  flashed  over  her  lips 
the  faintest  shadow  of  a  smile— the  lips  curled 
cruelly,  the  6ye8  gleamed  coldly— but  it  was  for 
n  moment.  Instantly  it  had  passed,  and  as  Zil- 
lah ceased,  HihJo  leaned  toward  her  and  drew 
her  head  down  upon  her  breast 

"Ah,  my  pjwr,  sweet  dariingi  mv  friend! 
my  sister!  my  noble  Zilbih!"  she  murmured. 
"  I  will  say  no  more.  I  see  yon  are  fixed  in 
your  purpose.  I  only  wished  you  to  act  with 
your  eyes  open.  But  of  what  avail  is  it  ?  Could 
you  live  to  be  scorned— live  on  snffierance? 
Never!  / would  die  first  What  compensation 
could  it  be  to  be  rich,  or  famous,  when  you  were 
the  property  of  a  man  who  loathed  you  ?  Ah, 
my  dear  one!  what  dm  I  saying?  But  you  are 
right  Yes,  sooner  than  live  with  that  man  I 
would  kill  myself. " 
,  A  long  silence  followed. 

"I  suppose  you  have  not  yet  made  any  plans, 
darling,'  said  Hilda  at  last 

' '  Yes  I  have.  A  thousand  phins  at  once  came 
sweeping  through  my  mind,  and  I  have  some 
general  idea  of  what  I  am  to  do,"  said  Zillah. 
"I  think  there  will  be  no  difficulty  about  the 
details.  Yon  remember,  when  I  wished  to  run 
away,  after  dear  popa's  death— ah,  how  glad  I 
am -that  I  did  not — how  many  happy  years  I 
should  have  lost — the  question  of  money  was  the 
insuperable  obstacle ;  but  that  is  effectually  re- 
moved now.  You  know  my  money  .is  so  settled 
that  it  is  payable  to  my  own  checks  at  my, bank- 
ers', who  are  not  even  the Chetwyndes'  bankers; 
for  the  Earl  thought  it  better  to  Iwve  it  with  pa- 
pa's men  of  business." 

"  You  must  be  veir  careful,"  said  Hilda,  "  to 
leave  no  trace  by  whicn  Lord  Chetwynde  can 
find  you  out  You  know  that  he  will  move 
heaveiLJtiul  earth  to  find  you.  His  character 
It  ideas  of  honor  would  insure  that, 
let  that  you  bore  his  name,  would 
and  wormwood  to  him  to  be  igno- 
'■'"^"^^O"'  doings.  Besides,  he  kys  great 
stress  oil  hift'jpromise  to  your  fiather." 

"  He  heed  ftot  fear,"  said  Zillah.  "The  dear 
old  name,  which  I  love  almost  as  prondly  as  he 
does,  shall  never  gain  the  lightest  stain  from  me. 
Of  course  I  shall  cease  to  use  it  now.  It  would 
be  easy  to  trace  Lady  Chetwynde  to  any  place. 
My  idea  is,  of  course,  to  take  an  assumed  name. 
Yon  and  I  can  live  quietly  and  raise  no  suspi- 
cions that  we  are  other  than  we  seem.  Btit, 
HBd«i  sre  yon  snrr  that  yon  are  wilting  to^p-- 
into  exile  with  me  ?  Can  you  endure  it  ?  Ca^ 
you  live  with  me,  and  share  my  monotonous 
life?" 

Hilda  looked  steadily  at  Zillah,  holding  her 
hand  the  while. 

"  Zillah,"  said  she,  in  a  solemn  rdce,  "whith- 
er thoikpest,  I  will  go ;  and  where  thou  lodgest, 


\ 


V 


■!l'^.^' 


,1  /* . 


'  WHITHER  TilOU  OOKiiT,   I   Wlti  OO. 


Thy  people  shall  be  my  peo])le,  and 
God! 


I  wUilodge.    _.„ 
tM  God  my  God ! 

A  deep  silence  followed.    ZiUoh  pressed  11  il- 
da>  hand  «nd  stifled  »  half  sob. 

"At  tfcy'rate,"  snid  Hilda,  "whoever  else 

n^y  fail^  ytw— yoa  Rave,  at  least,  one  .faithful^ 

heart — one  friend  qi>,  whom  you  can  always,  rely. 

,   No,  you  need  ifwt  'thttnk  me,"  said  she,  as  Zil- 

Inh  fondly  ki*pd  her  and  wu»  about  to  jipeak  ; 

.,    "I  am  but  a  i(oor,  selflsh  creature,  A(fcer  all. 

You  know  I  con)d  never  he  happy  away  from 

yofl.    You  kn^«  that  there  is  no  one  in  tlie 

-  world  whom  T  love  but  you ;  and  there  is  no 

other  who  lov«9  ine.     Do  I  pot  owe  evtfry  thing 

to  General  Pometoy  «nd  to  you,  my  darling  f" 

"Not  njort  than  I  owe  to  yau,  dear  Hilda. 
I  feel  ashamed  when.  I  think  of  how  »inch  I 
made  yci^  «ndure  for  years,  through  my  selfish 
exactions  and  my  ungovernable  temper.  But  I 
have  changed  a  little  I  think.  "The  Earl'a  influ- 
ence over  me  was  for  good,  I  hope.  Dear  Hil- 
da, we  have  none  IJut  one  another,  and  must 
«ling  together."  . 

Silence  then  followed,  i^ui  they  sa(  for  mfong 
bme,  each  wrapped  up  in  plans  for  the  fiuure. 


as  soon  as  ffae  coqIj,] 
conveniently    def '  m^-  ( 
Shealsb  told  them  of 
their  master's -espect- 
ed  retu'p,  and   thnt 
every  ihmg  must  be  iif 
reai^iiess  for  his  r9> 
ce'ption,  so   that,  on 
her  retiiTH,  she  might 
have  no  trouble  bcfo« 
her.    She  gaVfe^gome 
fdnt  hints  that*  she  ] 
might  l)robubly  mioet 
him  ht  London,  in  or. 
<ter  to  Jisnrm  suspi- 
cjon,  and  pdso  to  make  I 
It    easier    for    Chcj. 

WTido  himself  to  cea- 
Vki  th'o  fact  flf  Jierl 
fligfct,  if  hewlslieilta 
dv  "80.    _81i^    never! 
ceased  to  be  thought- 
ful about  prote^iiiigl 
his  ltcnol-,*ns  far  «  | 
j>ORs)ble. 

The  few  dpvs  V  | 
fore  ZiUah>  depart- 
nre  wer^  «mong  the  I 
,  most  Wref^ied  the 
bad  cVcr  known.  T)ie 
home  which  she  m 
dearly  loved,  and  | 
wWch  she  W  i 
thought  was  to  be  I 
hers  forever,  had  to 


CHAPTER  XXV.. 
COTTimq  THB  LAy  tib. 


OTTTmo  THE   hJKr  T[K. n..»»nuugu>t^ 

Feahtol  that  her  courage  Might  fail  jf  she   to  Him,  and  pi 


gave  herself  any  more  time-to  reflfect  on  what 
she  was  doing,  Zillah  announced  ««  the  house- 
hold, before  the  close  of  thnt  day,  that  the  shock- 


be  left,  because  she  felt  that  she  wa<  not,  wanted 
•there,     ^h^  went'obotit  the  grounds,  visitcil  cu 
cry  favorite  haunt  and  nook— the  spots  cndearei 
to  her  by  th«  rcmcmbriince  of  many  happy  hmin 
passed  among  thojn-^nd  her  tears  fltnved  fast 
andWittorly  as  sh^  thought  thnt  she  was  now  8«. 
ing  tjiem  for  tbajf^  time.   The  whole  of  the  \m 
day  at  ChettVyiTde  ^e  passed  in  the  little  church, 
under  which  ^veiy^olynenx  had  been  linric4.fcf 
ccntunes  back.     It  was  full  of  their  marble  ji, 
gics.     Often  had  she  wat9hed  the  sunlight  flitX 
cring  over  their  pale  sculptured  faces.     Dne  wf 
these  forms  had  been  her  especial  delight;  fy 
she  could  trace  ih  his  features  a  strong  fumily  ». 
semblance  to' Lord Chetwynde.    Tfcis ones ni^ 
w^s  G\fy.    Foi-meriy  sh^  used  to  scp  a  likeness  be- 
tween him  «nd  the  Guy  who  wqs  now  alive    He 
had  died  in  the  Holy  Laljd  j  but  his  bones  had 
been  brought  homft  that  thev  Might  r(Mtiii,tli« 
frmily  vault.     She  had  beenibnd  of  w*ing  ro- 
mances as  to  his  probable  history  and  fate;  but' 
no  thought  of  him  was  ia  her  roii^  to-day,  ail" 
she  wept  over  the  resting-place  of  one  who  had 
filled  a  father's  place  to  lier,  or  as  she  knelt  and 
prnved  in  her  dtsolation  tg  Jlim  wIiq  lias  prom, 
iscd  to-  Be  a  father  to  the  Atihcrless.     karncstlr 
did  she  entreat  that  IIi(  presence  tn|fcht  be  with 
her,  His  providence  di(w;i  Jer  lowh,  way.   I'oor 
chiW!    In  the  wild  imptrisMJim^f  herliatoi* 
she  jthought  that  ^ewiriaet^fff/ttfhi,  m»  mk-' 
wd  liw  litwlLBhidi  laBcp^lil? 


.._  j\eMif\g  in  Hiljntht.^  Hho  did  not 
know  that  she  was  morel v  following  her  omi  . 
win,  and  turning  her  bock  upcn  the  path  of  duty. ,  J 
rhat  duty  lav  in  simple  «rcq)tance  of#the  At« 


Of  LVd  Otetwynde's  dea-th  "re-i^de^d  rchang:  v^  TchZa^TnTforiyaJt^^^^ 
ne««a.7  fy  he^  and  that  she^hould  leave  hoZ  |  or  evU.  ;  uSp/ZlrilkSi  ^^  nevw.p^tS 


,  I 


>:"«  : 


as  8Mn  as  «faeconl(l 
Conveniently    do*  «t- 1 
Shealsb  told  them  tjf  i 
their  moiMcr's  expect-  i 
ed  retnp,  arid   that  i 
every  ihing  must  be  ut 
r^^ness  for  his  re^ 
ceptjon,  so  that,  on 
•  her  rettirn,  she  might 
have  no  trouble  befo« 
her.     She  gaVfejscnie , 
Wnt  hhUs  that*  she 
migbl  j)robably  miBet 
Wm  Sit  London^  in  or. 
der  to  disoHti  siispi- 
cjon,  and  jdso  to  malce 
it    easier   for    C'hoi. 
wyndo  himself  to  ceij. 
•enl  the  fact  of  berJ 
fligbt,  if  he  wlshe«l"to 
dp  "so.      i?h%    never  L 
ceased  ta  be  thoughf- 1 
fid  abeut  prote^tin^f 
his  ltonol-,*as  far  «s 
^oHsible.  *      [ 

The  few  dpvs  b^  | 
fore    Zillah>  (fepnrt- 
lire  wci-^  «mong  tlie  I 
most    '\f'ren;}ied    the 

bad  O'er  kitowTi.  lj,i\ 

•  home  which   she; 
dearly     loved,     nnd  I 
wWch       she       1^(|^J 
thought    was    to  h] 
hers  forever^  had  to 
felt  that,  she  vni  not,*an((ni- 
botit  the  grounds,  visited  eV.  i 
nd  nook — <he  spots  endeared 
(ihrance  of  many  happy  hoiin 
I'-^nd  her  tears  fltnved  fast 
bought  that  she  was  now  set. 
t  time.    The  whole  of  tlie  laji  | 
fie  passed  in  the  little  church, 
^olyneux  had  been  buriedfor 
was  full  of  their  marble  tffl, 
e  wat9hed  the  sunMght  flick. 
0  sculptured  faces.     One  bf  | 
en  her  especial  delight :  fcf 
8  features  a  strong  family  rj.^  J 
'hetwynde.    T^is ones  nmS ( 
shfc  used  to  scp  alikenesjs  be- 
juy  who  wn»  now  alive.    He ; 
ly  Lahd  ;  but  his  bones  had 
that  they  Mtght  rest. in, the; 
lad  been  fond  of  wdtvingi*- 
ibable  history  and  fate;  but', 
vas  in  her  mii^  to-day,  i) 
ating.place  of  one  who'^had 
to  her,  or  as  she  knelt  and  J 
lion  tq  Jlim  wIiq  lias  proni' 
)  the  Aitlicrless.     Earncativ 
Hit  presence  tnjttbt »«  witfc 
lir<b(!t  fier  loni^  way.   I'oor 
-  ^f  herliatnre  , 
jffj^ife  Wis  mak-' j 
.  ^^  hJitf'wSepBTile 
in  liiinbt  *  8ho  did  not 
merely  foBowing  her  o«ii 
l)ack  H|ipn  the  path  of  duty,  J 
iple  occt^tance  of>  the  Alt 
id  for  her,  Wheihor  for  good 
riikgei  wore  never. 


■■|m" 


;:i.-r 


•:."  V 


^riK'CHvPrOGRAM. 


88 

\'^^JZ1  ttfldvjn  flying  from  one  which  seemedlinfttat^^^  njptives  and  eircnmstances 

Ito  proiinw  tlnhappiness,  she  fo-got  thaj  V  Ae-  -that  led  to  onrmarria^.  I  had  his  full  and  fr^ 
•dietK«  Is  better  than  sijfcHfcV'  «ven  though  the  forgiveness  for  bavin^oubted  him  and  no? 
gacriflcebetbatofotie^sett.    ,  f  «  womaii,  beg  to  apttlogize  to  you  for  all  that 

J*''5^,'  !'!L^!!;^)'^,!!?£  'i'*'^'^f!'i'^5?^  i  ^  ^^^t  have  saw  as  rpaJsionate  girl. 


[the  castle^  exhausted  from  the  violence- iof' her 
J  emotion,' and  Yaint  and  weak  fronSheftgngfast- 
pingv'  llilda  expressed  atatin  At  hef  protracted 
Tabsence,  and  sfid  thai  she  was  just  about  goittg 
Jin  search  of  her.',  '♦  My  darling,"  sold  she,  "  you 
I  will  wear  ^ayyonr  strength.  Yoa«re  tod  weak 
I  no*  to  leave.  ,  Tjet  via  urge  'yoa,  for  the  last 
I  time,  to  stay ;  give  u{)  your  mad  resolution." 
f  '' '  No, "  said  ZHMh.  ' '  Yoo  knojv  you  yourself 
I  said  that  I  »V»Ui  right."       -'       ' 

"I  didnot  siy  that  ^o<i  *ire  right,  darling. 
I  Hdi4  wliat  I  would  do.  lit-  ^oat  pUux ;  but  I  did 
not  at  pll^ay,  or  even  hjnt,  4.hat  it  would  W 
i  right."-      '  ^     *.  ■         '  ^    ■  ,    *    ■ 

J  ^^  Never<niind, "  said  2iHah,"wei>riJy ;  "  I  have 
Iter^ed  myself  to  go  through  with, it,  and  I  con 
I  do  it.'  Tte  worst  bitt'emess  is  over  now.^  There 
1 11  bat  one  thin^m<ire  for  jne  to  dp,  an^  then  the 
I  tjej  between  mo  afld  Chetwynde  air^  fevered  for- 

J  At  Hilda's  damest  entreaty  ehe  took  sonje  l<e- 
■  fresbmentiiand  then^lhydpiMito  rest}  but,  feel- 
n  ittg  tocuix«itcd  to  sfeop,  she  got  up  <o  uccohipliah 
I  the  task  slio  bad  fcetwB  ligr.  Tht:rf  was  to  wrke 
to  her  hijjband,  tcUing  him  of  her  db- 
I  partujfearid  her  reajion  for  dcvirig  so,  She  wish- 
[  ed  Jo  Oo'this  in  ds/ew  words  ns  possible,  to  show 
[.no  Mjpw  of  ^ritesa  td^Srd  hiija,  or  of  her  own' 


sufim^ig. 


iroteas 


fulkmt: 


!t  me  also  assure  you,  my  h>rd,  of  my  deep 
sympathy  for^u  jn  the  trial  which  awaits  you 
pn  your  rotumf^wibcn  yo^'will  find  Clietwynde 
«Mtto  d<!prived  or  the  prgpence  of  that  father 
wtom  you  love.  I  feel  for  vou  iind  with  you. 
My  Jpss  IS  oi^y  second  to  yours  (  for,  jn  your 
tatber,  I  tost-l^c  ouly  frierid  whom  I  possessed. 
■'  -        ■"  Yo^,  very  respectfully, 

*r  .  .  "ZllH^AH." 

Hilda  of  course  had  to  copj-  tblj;  for  the  ob- 
jection^to  Zdlah's  writing,  was  as  strong  as  be- 
fore, and  4j»  explanation  was  ^pw  tji^jre  difficult 
to  make  (ban  ever.  ZfUah,  bbwevor,  r«{id  it  In 
Hilda's  handwriting,  and  then  Hilda  tool  it,  as 
she  always  did,  to  inclose  it  fon  the  mail. 

She  took  it  to.^er  own  r<jom,  drew  from  her  desk 
a  letter  which  was  addi-essed  to  Guy,  and  this  was 
the  ojKiMvhteh  she  lasted.  iCillah'a  letter  was 
carefully  destroyed.  Yet  Zilkb  went  with  Hiian 
to  the  post-office,  ao  anxious  was  ehe  about  her 
last  letter,  and  saw  if  dropped  in  the  box,  as  she 
suppoeed.  •    '  . 

Theii  she  felt  that  sh^  had  cot  the  last  tie. 


I'dlK/twjmi 
I  had  beetif' 
I  ed  and 
m;  fetjings 


''Curtwnvt  CMt^E,  Hanh^O,  1859. 

"■^.— Ypnr  last  Jetter  did  nbt  reach 

uiittl  after  yo4|t  dc.ir  father 

■ft     It  was  tTifll-efore  opep- 

w,l  nee4>  not'  describe  what 

Ahding  it ;  but  will  only  say. 


I  that  if  it  were  posSiblo  ibr  me  t&vfree!\ou  from 
I  the  galjing  chains  that  bind  you  to  me,'  Iwotild 
gladly  do  sOi  -  Itut,  though  it  be.  impossible  for 
I  roe  to  render  vou  free  to  marry  her  wjiora  you 
lave,  I  can  at  l«wt  rid  you  of  my  hated  presence,  j 
J  Icaa  not  dlejjbutj  c^n  be  as  good  a's  dead  tg 
l«yBu.     To-morroW  I  shp  leave  Chetivyndefi.r- 
lev*,  «nd  yod  will,  never  see  my  face  kgain. 
[Search  for  m^,  were  yotf  inclined  to  make  it,  will 
¥^  useless.     I.  shall  ptibably  depart  from  En- 
gland, and  lea««  no  tn{co  of  iny  whereabptits.    t 
shall  live  nn<lor  kn  wksitMed  aame,  so  as  not  to 
J  let  the  nolil^arae  ofChetwj^fe  suffer  any  dit- 
IJionot  from  me.  ,tf\I  4ie,  I  y,m^ak9  vfiteii  have 
1  the  news  fent"4»  ^ou.        ,.    '  t 

"I)ooot  tWA'ihat  I'blatpe  you.  A  man's 
love  w  not  undR»  his  orttff  control.  Had  I  re- 
J  rjained,  iktimibto,  bs  your  nyfo,  I  should  hajo 
lexpericitted  the  utinOit  kindness  and  consideM- 
J  tio»  Such  kinjlTOss,  however,  to  a  nature  )ik# 
I  mirt«  would  have  been  only  galling,,  Something 
■1  mare  tliMi  cold  civifity  is  necessary  <h  order  to 


li!"',i°'!..f.?1"'"   U!*"  'l^'^y'^"'*''"''""''^  of  bus-''  '^ef  amjianiiat' 
[mm  ami  *ilb.  7horofor«  J  do  iHji=^ehsoTO 'ir  brumrntiiwinTr^ 


.v    J  do  iHji=rehi50TO  ^to^ 

sq^ject  myself  to  such  a  life, 

'  In  this,  the  Um  QonNnunication  between  ns, 
I  must  V-t<S'.vou  what  I  intended  to  reserve  un- 
til I  could  say  it  in.  person.     It  needed  but  a  few 
weeks  ihjjmatofssftciation  with  your  deaf  father 
I  Whom.  I  loVWl  as  my  father,  and  whbin  L  called 
I  by  that  nmne,  to  mnve  bow  utterly  I  ha«I  bepn 


(WAPTER  XXVI. 

FLIOHT'  ANV  bEFnOE,     '"    >' 

iftiouT  a  fortnight  ftlier  the  <jvchls  narrated  in 
out  last  ch/iptcr  a  cat?!j«ge  stopped  before  the 
door  of  a  small  cottage  situated  in,  the  viHtf^ 
of  'renkQ'  on  the  «a»st  of  I'embrokeshine.  Two 
ladies  in  deep  ijiourriing  gof  out  of  it,  mid  ^tered 
the  gate  of  the  garden  wfiicB  lay  ilbctwecn  them 
end  the  house ;  .while  a  maid  descended  froiirthe 
rumble,  and  in  voluble  French,  alteniatFng  with 
broken  English,  besoughttte toechman's tender 
consideration  for  the  bo^pwt>i«h  he  was  hand- 
iiig  down  in  a  manner  expressive  of  enei:gy  and 
expedition,  rather  than  thy  regard  for  their  con- 
tents. A"  resounding  "  thump"  on  the  ground, 
cmifjcd  by  the  sudden  descent, of  one  of  her  pre- 
ciou?  chargos*  elicited  t  cry  of  agony  froin  the 
f^niit\V«maa,. accompanied  by  the  oothetic  ap' 
r*"^'  •      *  .  >  •!  ' 

" Oh, mon Diear  'Qa'ist twque vous faiteela? 
PreneigUrdodwoel" 

Tll^  outbn^  attjBctqd  tV  attention  qAe 
MdMs,  who  .turned  round  to  Witness  the  see^ 


-i::-^ 


Ori  seeing  distress-iiepicred  cA  every  UneaineSit 
of  her  «iithf«l  Abl^ifs  fa«6,.Tho  youngefrof  the 
two  said, #rith  a  faint  ■gajfi: 
^ .  *•',  I'oor  Mathilde  1  iTiat  kian'*  rough  handlTng 
•wiJI  break  the  boxes  and  Her.heartw  the  same'- 
tinjQ.  But  after  oil  it  will  only  aftticiMte  the 
unhappy  end,  f^i^  «i«p*fhat  she^w^l^Jr 

1  ..  ,      •    ■vy0j^q^ 


brongtitirerto:    apethe^i'ndrMAildPLVt- 

wyndb  that  there  were  so  few  to  see  anS  to  awr^ 
ciato  the  resitlM  of  her  skiU,  yet  even  thcxv  a  few 
could  occaaioraiy  be  foHnd  to  dress  me  for.  But 
when  she  findTlbat  I  uttony  repndiate  Flinch 
toiletlA  for  sitljng  upon  the  rQcks,  y>4  that  the 


^neumboring  fisfiovmen  are  not  as  a 
I  <Jnb0  latest  coiffure,  I  am  afraid  to 


'4 


84 


THE  CRYPTOGRAM. 


consequences.  Will  it  bo  any  thing  less  than  a 
suicide,  do  yon  think,  Hilda  ?" 

"Well,  Zillah,"  said  Hilda,  "I  advised  you 
not  to  bring  her.  A  secret  intrusted  to  many 
ceases  to  bo  a  secret.  It  would  have  been  better 
to  leave  behind  you  all  who  had  been  connected^ 
"with  Chetwynde,  but  especially  Mathilde,  who  is 
both  silly  and  taljcative." 

"I  know  that  her  coming  is  sorely  against 

J oa« judgment,  Hilda;  but  I  do  not  think  that 
run  any  i;isk.  I  know  you  despise  me  for  my 
weakness,  but  I  really  like  Mathilde,  and  could 
not  give  her  up  and  take  a  new  maid,  unless  I 


her  temerity  in  venturing  within  the  precincts  of 
the  mighty  ocean.  Hilda  always  accompanied 
her,  but  her  amusements  took  a  much  more  am- 
bitious turn.  She  had  formed  a  passion  for  col- 
lecting marine  curiosities;  and  while  Zillah  sat 
dreamily  watching  the  waves,  she  would  clamber 
over  the  rocks  in  search  of  sea-weeds,  limpcte, 
anemones,  and  Other  things  of  the  kind,  shouting 
out  gladly  whenever  she  had  found  any  thing 
new.  Gradually  she  extended  her  rambles,  and 
explored  all  the  coast  within  easy  vwlking  dis- 
tance, and  became  familiar  with  every  bay  and 
outlet  within  the  circuit  of  several  miles.  ;Cil- 
lah's  strength  had  not  yet  fully  I'etumed,  so  that 


hod  to.     She  is  very  fond  of  me,  nnd  would  rath 

er  be  with  me,  even  in  this  outlandish  place,  ^  she  was  unable  logo  on  these' long  rambles, 
than  in  London,  even,  with  any  one  else.     You  I      One  day  Zillah  announced  an  intention  of  tak- 
know  I  am  the  only  person  she  has  lived  with  in  ■  ing  a  drive  inland,  and  urged  Hilda  to  come 
England.     She  has  no  friends  in  the  countiT,  so   with  her. 

her  being  French  is  in  her  favor.  She  has  not  j  "  Well,  dear,  I  would  rather  not  imless  yon 
the  leost  idea  in  whot  county  '  ce  cher  mais  triste  really  want  me  to.  I  want  very  much  to  go"  on 
Shoteveen'  is  situated ;  so  she  could  nordo  much  the  shore  to-day.  I  found  some  beautiful  spcci- 
harm  even  if  she  would,  especially  as_Jier  pro-  '  mens  on  the  chffs  lost  night ;  but  it  was  growing 
nunciation  'of  the  name  is  more  likely  to  be-  too  late  for  me  to  secure  them,  so  I  determined 
wilder  than  to  instruct  her  hearers."  to  do  so  as  early  as  possible  this  afternoon." 

By  this  time  they  had  entered  the  house,  and        "Oh,"  said  Zilkh,  with  a  laugh,  "I  should 


Zillah,  putting  her  arm  in  Hilda's,  j)roceeded  to  not  dream  of  putting  in  a  rivalrywith  your  new 
inspect  the  mansipn.  It  was  a  very  tiny  one ;  the  passion.  I  should  not  stand  a  chance  against  a 
whole  house  coukl  conveniently  have  stood  in  the  i  shrimp ;  but  I  hope  your  new  aquarium  will  soon 
Chetwynde  drawing-room ;  but  ZiUah  declared  i  make  its  appearance,  or  else  some  of  your  pets 
that  she  delighted  in  its  simgtiess.  Evbry  thing  ;  will  come  to  an  untimely  end,  I  fear.  I  heard 
was  exquisitely  neat,  both  within  and  without,  i  the  l>ouse-maid  this  morning  vowing  vengeance 
The  pkce  had  been  obtained  by  Hilda's  diligent  j  against  '  them  nasty  smelKn'  things  as' Miss  Lor- 
search.  It  had  belonged  to  a  coast-guard  officer  i  ton  were  always  a-Utterin'the  house  with.'  " 
who  had.repently  died,  and  Hilda,  by  means  of  "She  will  soon  get  rid  of  them,  then.  -Tbo 
Gualtier,  obtained  possession  of  the  \vholc  place,  j  man  has  promised  me  the  aqui(rium  in  two  or 
fiimiture  and  all,  by  ptfying;  a  high  rent  to  the  j  three  doys,  and  it  will  be  the  glory  of  «lie  whole 
widow.     A  housekeeper  and  ser^•ants  were  in- ,  establishment.     But  now — g<XKl-by,  darling— I 


eluded  in  the  arrangements,  ^illah  was  in  ec 
stasies  with  her  drawing-roqpi/Avfuch  extended 
the  whole  length  of  the  house,  bavinnat  the  front 
an  alcove  window  looking  upom  the  nalcony  and 
thence  upon  the  sen,  and  commanding  at  the 
back  a  beautiful  view  of  the'  mountains  l)eyond. 
The  views  from  all  the  windows  were  charming, 
and  from  garret  to  cellar  the  house  was  nicely 
furnished  and  well  appointed,  so  that  after  hunt- 
ing into  every  nook  ami  .'omcr  the  two  friends 
expressed  themselves  delighted  with  their  new' 
home. 
The  account  which  they  gave  of  themselves  to 


must  bo  off  at  once,  so  as  to  have  as  much  day- 
light as  possible." 

"  You  will  be  back  before  me,  I  suppose.' 
"  Very  likely ;    but  if  I  am  not,  do  not  be  I 
anxious.  I  shall  stay  on  the  cliffs  as  fate  as  I  can."  | 
"Oil,  Hilda!  I  do  not  like  your  going  alone. 
Won't  you  take  John  with  you  ?    I  can  easily  I 
drive' by  myself." 

"Any  fate  rather  than  that,"  said  Hilda,  laugh. 
ing.     "  What  could  I  do  with  John  ?" 

"Take  AlAthilde,  then,  or  one  of  the  maidSi" 
' '  Mathilde !  My  de»r  girl,  what  are  you  think- 
ing of 'i*    You  know  she  has  never  ventured  out- 1 


those  with  whom  they  were  brought  in  contact ,  side  of  the  garden  gate  since  we  havf  been  here, 
waa  a  voiy  simple  one,  and  not  likely  to  excite  I  She  shudders  whenever  she  looks  at  '  cettc  vi- 
sospicion.     They  \#ere  sisters — the  Misses  Lor-  j  laine  raer,'  and  no  earthly  consideration  coulJ 


ton — the  death  of  their  father  not  long  before 
had  rendered  them  orphans.  They  had  no  near 
relations,  but  were  perfectly  independent  as  to 
means.  They  had  come  to  Tenby  for  the  benefit 
of  the  sea  air,  and  wished  to  lead  iw  ijuiet  riM 
retired  ft  life  as  possible  for  the  next  two  years. 
They  had  brought  no  letters,  and  they  wished  for 
no  society. 

They  soon  settled  down  int«»  theirnew  life,  and 
their  days  passed  happily  and  ouietly.  Neither 
of  them  had  ever  lived  near  the  sea  before,'  so 
that  it  was  now  a  constant  delight  to  tKem.    Zil 


induce  her  to  put  her  foot  on  the  shore.    Hut  j 
what  has  put  it  in  your  head  tliat  I  should  want 
any  one  with  m|^p-day,  when  I  Itave  gone  so  | 
often  without jl^wctor  ?" 

"I  don't  I^H>  sa><l  Zillah.     "You  spokt  I 
about  not  bei^liome  till  late,  and  I  felt  ncn'" 

"  You  nfted^)*  be  uneasy  then,  darling,  on 
that  account.     I  shall  leave  the  cliffs  early.    I 
only  want  to  be  untrammeled,  so  as  to 
about  at  random.     At  any  rate  I  simll  tie  horn  j 
in  good  time  for  dinner,  aiid  will  be  as  hungi; 


the  breakers  dashing  over  th<^  rocks  licyond, 
and  tumbling  at  her  feet ;  or  jhe  would  phiy  like 
a  child  with  the  rising  tide;  trying  how  far  she 
coiiUl  run  out  with  the  re6eding  wave  before  the 
next  white-crested  bitlgiw  should  come  seething 
and  foaming  after  bat,  as  if  to  punish  her  for 


not  to  fret  your  foolish  little-  Head  if  I  nni  act 
here  at  the  very  moment.!  jpxpect." 
■     "  Very  well,"  said  Zillah,  ^'  I  will  tu,t,  aqd  I 
must  not  keep  you  talking  amr  longer." 
"  An  revOir, '  »aid  Hildii,  kissing  her. 
nft'oir,"  she  repeated,  gayljr. 


"An. 


THE  CRYPTOGRAM. 


turing  within  the  precincts  of 
Hilda  always  accompanied 
nentg  took  a  much  more  am- 
lad  formed  a  passion  for  col- 
asities;  and  while  Zillah  sat 
he  waves,  she  would  clamber 
earch  of  sea-weeds,  limpets, 
■  things  of  the  kind,  shouting 
sr  she  had  found  any  thing 
e  extended  her  rambles,  and 
1st  within  easy  piking  dis- 
familiar  with  every  bay  and 
rcuit  of  several  miles.  Zil- 
ot  yet  fully  I'etumed,  so  that 
)  on  these  long  rambles, 
inounced  an  intention  of  tak- 
and  urged  Hilda  to  come 

rould  rather  not  unless  yon 
I  want  very  much  to  go'  on 
[  found  some  beautiful  speci- 
st  night ;  but  it  was  growing 
ecure  them,  so  I  determined 
possible  this  afternoon." 
h,  with  a  laugh,  "I  should 
;  in  a  rivalry-with  your  new 
lot  stand  a  chance  against  a 
your  new  aquarium  will  soon 
a,  or  else  some  of  your  pets , 
timely  end,  I  fear.     I  heard 

I  mominf;  rowing  vengeance 
smelUn'  things  a?  Miss  Lor-  j 

tterin'  the  house  with.' " 
:et  rid  of  them,  then.    ■Tho  i 
me  the  aquqrium  in  two  or] 
ill  be  the  glory  of  ihe  whole 
t  now — good-by,  darling— I*; 
so  as  to  have  as  much  dny-  j 

k  before  me,  I  suppose.' 
ut  if  I  am  not,  do  not  be  { 
on  tho  clilfg  as  late  as  I  can." 
)  not  like  your  going  alone. 
in  with  you  ?    I  can  eoailj  | 

han  that," said  Hilda,  laugh- 

I I  do  with  John  ?" 

then,  or  one  of  tho  maids." 
Je»r  girl,  what  are  you  think- 
she  has  never  ventured  out-  { 
Uo  since  we  hav^  been  here. 
ever  she  looks  at  '  cettc  vi- 1 
earthly  consideration  could 
cr  foot  on  the  shore.    But 
>ur  head  that  I  should  want  I 
-div,  when  I  have  gone  s 
Bctor?" 
Baid  Zillah.     "  You  spoke  j 
ne  till  kte,  and  I  felt  ncn- 

>e  uneasy  then,  darling,  on  j 
ill  leave  the  cliff's  early.    I 
rammeled,  so  as  to  tumble 
\t  any  rate  I  slmll  1)0  honw 
incr,  arid  will  be  as  liungrr  | 
tine  yuu^ — I-oaly->vaat-}:ai 


85 


'  Zillah  siifiled,  and  as  she  rose  to  go  and  dress 
I  for  the  drive  Hilda  took  her  path  to  the  clitfs. 
It  was  seven  o'clock  when  Zillah  returtied. 
"■Is  Miss  Lorton  in  ?"  she  asked,  as  she  en- 
I tered. 

"No,  miss,"  answered  the  maid. 
"I  will  wait  dinner  then,"  said  Zillah;  and 
[  after  changing  her  things  she  went  out  on  the 
balcony  to  wait  for  Hilda's  return. 

Half  an  hour  passed,  and  Hilda  did  not  como. 
I  Zillah  grew  anxious^  and  looked  incessantly  at 
her  watch.    Eight  o'clock  came— a  quarter  after 
I  eight. 

Zillah  coul4  Stand  it  no  longer.  She  sent  for 
John. 

'  John, "  said  she,  "  I  am  getting  uneasy  about 
Miss  Lorton.  I  wish  yon  would  walk  along  the 
beach  and  meet  hen.  It  is  too  late  for  her  to  be 
out  alone,"  "* 

John  depatted  on  his  errand,  and  Zillah  felt  a 
sense  of  relief  at  having  done  something,  but 
this  gave  way  to  renewed  anxiety  as  time  passed, 
and  they  did  not  appear.  At  length,  after-what 
seemed  an  age  to  tha  saiTering  girl,  John  re- 
turned, but  alone. 

"Have  you  not  found  her?"  Zillah  almost 
shrieked. 
"  No,  miss,"  said  the  man,  in  a  pitying  tone. 
"Then  why  did  you  come  back?"  she  cried. 
"Did  I  not  tell  you  to  go  on  till  yoiijnet  her?" 
"  I  went  as  far  as  I  could,  miss." 
"  What  do  you  mean  ?"  she  asked,  in  a  voice 
pitched  high  with  terror. 

The  man  came  close  np  to  her,  sympathy  and 
sorrow  in  his  face. 

"Ddti't  take  on  so^  miss," said  ho;  "and 
don'ti  be- downhearted.  I  dare  say  she  has  took 
.the  road,  and  will  be  borne  shortly ;  that  way  is 
longer,  you  know." 

"  No ;  she  said  she  would  como  by  the  shore. 
Why  did  you  not  go  on  till  you  mot  hor  ?" 

"  Well,  miss,  I  went  as  far  as  Lovers'  Ray ; 
but  tho  tide  was  in,  and  I  could  go  no  further." 
Zillah,  at  this,  turned  deadly  white,  and  would 
have  fallen  if  John,  had  not  caught  her.     He 
placed  her  on  the  sofa  and  called  Mathildc. 

Zillah'g  terror  was  not  without  cause.  Ix)vei-s' 
Bay  was  a  narrow  inlet  of  the  sea,  formed  by  two 
-  projecting  promontories.  At  low  tidel^a  nerson 
could  walk  beyond  these  promontories  alMg  the 
■  (bore ;  but  at  high  tide  the  water  ran  up  within  ; 
and  there  was  no  standing  room  any  where 
within  the  inclosure  of  the  precipitous  cliff".  At 
half  tide,  when  the  tide  was  fallihg,  one  might 
enter  here;  butif  the  tide  was  rising,  it  ^vas  of 
course  not  to  be  attempted.  Several  times  stran- 
gers had  been  entl^ppcd  here,  sometimes  with 
fatal  results.  Tto  place  owed  its  name  to  th« 
tragical  end  which  was  met  with  here  by  a  lover 
who  was  eloping  with  Ids  lady.  They  fled  by  the 
shore,  and  came  to  the  bay,"  but  fonnd  that  the 
rising  tide  had  made  the  passage  of  the  further, 
ledge  impossible.  In  despair  the  lover  seized  the 
lady,  and  tried  to  swim  with  her  around  this  ob- 
stacle, but  the  wftves  proved  stronger  than  love ; 
the  CHrrtntB  >""^^  \\\vm  out  to  aea;  -aad^Jic mmt- 


moming  their  Iwidics  were  found  floating  on  the 
water,  with  their  arms  ititi  clasped  around  one 
wiothii'  in  a  death  embrace,  f^uch  was  the  ori- 
gin of  the  name ;  artd  the  ploce  had  always  been 
looked  upon  by  the  pckjpin  hero  with  «  supersti- 
tious awe,  M  >i  pUco  tg  dIUiger  and  death.     . 


The  time,  however,  was  one  wUch  demanded 
action ;  and  Zillah,  hastily  gnlping  down  some 
restoratives  which  Matbilde  had  brought,  began 
to  take  measures  for  a  search. 

"John,"  said  she,  "you  must  get  a  boat,  and 
go  at  once  in  search  of  Miss  Lorton.  Is  there 
nowhere  any  standing  room  in  the  bay— no 
crevice  in  the  rocks  where  one  may  find  a  foot- 
hold  ?" 
^  ^  "  Not  with  these  spring-tid«s,  miss, "  said  John. 

A  man  might  cling  a  little  while  to  tho  rocks ; 
but  a  weak  lady—"     John  hesitated. 

'Oh,  my  God'"  cried  Zillah,  in  nnjigBliyj 

she  may  be  clinging  there  now,  with  ev^ino- 
ment  lessening  her  chance!  Fly  to  the  nearest 
fishermen,  John !  Ten  pounds  apiece  if  you  get 
to  tho  bay  within  half  an  hour!  .  And'any  thing 
you  like  if  you  only  bring  her  back  safe!" 

Away  flew  John,  descending  the  rocks  to  the 
nearest  cottage.  There  he  breathlessly  stated 
his  errand  ;  and  the  sturdy  fisherman  and  his 
son  were  immediately  prepared  to  start.  The 
boat  was  launched,  nnd  they  set  out.  It  was 
slightly  cloudy,  and  there  scetaed  some  prospect 
of  a  storm.  J-'illed  with  anxiety  nt  such  an  idea, 
and  also  inspired  with  enthusiasm  by  the  large 
reward,  they  put  forth  their  utmost  efforts ;  and 
the  boat  shot  through  tho  water  «t  a  mpst  un- 
wonted pace.  Twenty  minutes  after  tho  boat 
had  left  the  strand  it  had  reached  tho  bay.  AH 
thought  of  more  reward  faded  out  soon  from  the 
minds  of  these  honest  men.  They  only  thought 
of  the  young  lady  whom  they  hda  often  seen 
along  the  shore,  who  might  even  now  be  in  the 
jaws  of  death.  Not  a  wort!  was  snokeii  The 
sound  of  tho  waves,  as  theydashed|)n  tho  rocks, 
alono  broke  the  stillness.  Trembling  with  ex- 
citement, they  swept  tho  boat  *lose  mound  the 
rocky  promontory.  John,  staft^ng  up  in  the 
bow,  held  aloft  a  lantern,  so  that  every  cranny  » 
of  the  rocks  might  be  brought  out  into  full  relief. 
At  length  an  exclamation  burst  from  him. 

"  Oh,  Heavens !  she's  been  h««! ! "  he  gtbaned. 

Tho  men  turned  and  saw  in  his  hand  the  cov- 
ered basket  which  Hilda  alwayi  took  with  her 
on  hor  expedition*  to  bring  home  her  speiSmena. 
It  seemed  full  o^them  now. 

"Where  did  you  find  it?"  they  asked. 

"  Just  on  this  here  ledge  of  rock." 

"  She  has  put  it  down  to  fresher  hands.  She 
may  be  clinging  yet,"  said  the  old  fl'sherman. 
"Let  ua  call." 

A  loud  cry,  "Miss  Lorton  1 "  rang  through  the 
bay.  The  echo  sent  it  reverberating  back ;  but 
no  human  voice  mingled  with  the  sound. 

Dcspondingly  ami  fearfully  they  continued  the 
search,  still  <jilling  nt  times,  until'at  last,  as  they 
reached  the  outer  p04iif4  the  last  hope  died,  and 
they  ceased  calling. 


"  I'm  nfeard  she's  gone,"  said  Jqhn 
Tlie  men  shook  their  ho  " 
pressed  the  general  opinion. 


Jqbi 


hn  bat  ex. 


God  help  that  poor  youhg  thing  at  th<  cotr" 
tage!"  said  the  elder  fisherman.  "She'll  be 
mighty  cut  up,  I  take  It,  now." 


luy  ci 


with  a  sigh. 


^ 


*titl»  »u  each  miier,"gaid  Johu, 

Itj  this  time  they  had  ronnded  the  point, 
Suddenly  John,  who  had  sat  down  again,  called 

"  Stop !    I  (09  something  oq  the  vater  n>o> 
derl"  . 


.X 


^^.,^t.^..:.,  I.     -M    ...,•■ 


86 


THE  CRYPTOGRAM. 


SHE  CLrTe«<BBJ|>Iii,  >HM  IN  A  COKVDL8ITR  0BA8F." 


The  men  looked  in  the  direction  wherotJie 
pointed,  and  a  small  object  was  visible  on  the* 
surface  of  the  water.  ITjey  quickly  rowed  to- 
ward it  It  WHS  a  lady's  hat,  which  John  in- 
stantly recognized  as  Hilda's.  The  long  crape 
veil  seemed  to  have  caught  in  a  stake  which 
arose  frota  the  sandy  boich  above  the  water, 
placed  there  to  mark  some  water  level,  and  the 
hat  floated  there.  Reverently,  as  thohgh  they 
were  touching  the  dead,  did  those  rough  men 
disentangle  the  folds,  and  ky  the  hat  on  the 
bftdiet.  ■  '  jf 

"There  is  no  hope  n6w,"  said  the  younger 
flshermon,  itfter  a  solemn  silence.  "May  our 
dear  Lord  &nd  our  nie9sed  Lady,"  he  added, 
crossing  himself  as  he  spoke,  "have  mercy  on 
her  soul!"  '  ' 

"Amen!"  repeated  the  others,  gently. 

"  However  shall  1  tell  my  poor  little  missis," 
said  John,  wiping  his  eyes. 
The  others  made 


■what  we'd  have  done  for  ».any  po<')r  creature 
among  these  rocks.  ■  We  couldn't  take  poy  for 
this  night's  job — my  son  nor  me.  And  nil  we 
wish  is,  that  it  had  been  for  some  good ;  ifcut  it 
wasn't  the  Lord's  will ;  nhd  it  oin^t  for  us  to  say 
nothin'  agin  that ;  only  you'll  tell  your  missij, 
when  she  be's  a  bit  better,  that  we  madeLoId  to 
send  her  our  re.'^pcctful  sympathy." 

John  gave  this  promise  ta  the  honest  fellowi, 
an(J  then  went  slowly  and  sadly  back  to  make 
his  mournful  report. 

Duriiig  John^  absence  Zillah  had  been  wait- 
ing in  on  a  Jpny  of  suspense;  in  wtiich  Mathilde 
m<(de  feeble  efforts  to  console  her.  Wringing 
her  hands,  she  walked  up  and  joWn  in  front  of 
<the  house ;  ond  at  lengtli,  when  she  heafd  foot- 
stops  coming  along  the  road,  she  rushed  in  thit 
direction.  '  . 

She  recognized  John.  So' great  was  her  Ex- 
citement that  she  could  not  utter  one  word.   She 


;iionaie.     Soon  thy  -dntMiat^  fiiw  i^rm  in  n  onnvi.hiv 
rhe  old  man  whU-   Aid  irdthine.  :  It  was  easier  for  I 


John. .. 


skid  mAhing.  ;  It  was  easier  for  hiinwite  sildht. 
In  fact  he  had  something  which  was  more  elo- 
quont  than  words.  He  mournfully  held  out  the 
basket  and  tfaMat.    , 

.,  fn  an  instimt  ZiUah  recognijked  them,  Slio 
shrieked,  aMd-^Q  spewblosa  and  senseless  en  tb« 
'hanigrotinA;  ,  " 


teocked  the  shore  again,  ^fhe  ohl  mWwhlP 
pered  a  few  words  ta  his  son,  and  then  turned  to 
John:      •  .  '  ■• 

"  I  say,  comrade, "  said  ho  (  "  dori*»  let  htr—" 
a  JeHt  of  his  head  in  the  dinwtioii  of  t{ie  dipttage 
indicated  to  whom  the  prnnoun  referred^"don't 
let  htr  give  ui  that.    We've  done  naught  bot 


, 

> 

-     .n# 

> ' 

» 

-^ 

'' 

I    • 

.      j^K 

'»' 

V  '- 

t 

,■  ; , 

u  "•' 

"  '•; 

tr 

■% 

-s  % 


■*' 


'H 


,i;M     ^z; 


THE  CRYPTOGRAM. 


87 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 


AN    ASTOUNDINO    LETTEK. 

_  It  needed  tut  thU  new  calamity  to  complete 
■the  sum  of  Zillah's  griefs.  She  had  supposed  tlint 
Igbe  had  iilready  suffered  as  much  as  she  could. 
iThe  loss  of  her  father,  the  loss  of  the  Earl,  the 
Iseparation  from  Mrs.  Hurt,  were  each  successive 
■stages  in  the  descending  scale  of  her  cakmities. 
■Nor  was  tt^  least  of  these  that  Indian  letterwhich 
Rod  sent  lier  into  voluntary  banishment  from  lier 
Ihome.  It  was  not  till  all  was  over  tliut  she  learned 
Thgw  completely  her  thouglits  had  associated  them- 
selves witjjwthe  plans  of  the  Earl,  and  iiow  in- 
sensibly herjjrhole  future  had  become  penetrated 

L.>t*li      nlnna     <lKmit     (^1117  'f'hn     ^ffAl.fllf.Mir     nP     nit 


which  was  commensurate  with  her  ardent  tem- 
perament. 

Weeks  passed  on.  Recovering  from  the  first 
shock,  siie  sank  into  a  state  Of  dreamy  lisdess- 
ness,  which,  however,  was  at  times  interrupted 
by  some  wild  hopes  which  would  intrude  in  spite 
of  herself.  These  hopes  were  that  Hilda,  after 
all,  might  not  be  lost.  She  might  have  been 
fouml  by  some  one  and  carried  off  somewhere. 
Wild  enough  were  these  hopes,  and  ZiUah  saw 
tins  plamly,  yet  still  "tliey  would  intrude.  Yet, 
far  from  proving-  a  solace,  they  only  made  'her 
situation  worse,  since  they  kept  her  in  a  state  of 
constant  suspense— a  suspense,' too,  which  had 
no  shadow  of  a  foundation  in  reason.  So,  alone, 
and  struagling  witli  the  darkest  despair,  Zillah 


„„.„..,.^  ....      „        ...    ,..,...,..„.^„  „„„  .i..ugjs""K  Willi  iiio  uurKest  acspair,  ^lilali 

with  plans  about  Guy      Ihe  overthrow  of  all  passed  the  time,  without  having  sufficient  energy 

this  was  bitter ;  but  this,  and  all  other  griefs,  of  mind  left  to  think  about  her  fntmn  nr  thS' 
ere  forgotten  in  the  force  of  this  new  sorrow. 


A'bich,  while  it  was  the  last,.\vas  in  reality  the 
-greatest.  Now,  for  the  first  ti;me,  she  felt  how 
■dear  Hilda  had  been  to  her,  i^he-had  been  more 
^hon  a  f fiend — slie  had  bdbn  an  elder  sister. 
JNow,  to  Zillah 's  affectionate  heart,  there  came 
■the  recollectibn  of  all  th«  patient  love,  the  kind 
Hbrbearance,  and  the  wise /Counsel  of  this  match- 
Tjess  (rieni^  Since  childhood  they  had  been  in- 
kepftiable.  Hilda  had  rivaled  even  her  doting 
Jfather  in  perfect  submission  to  all  her  caprices, 
land  i1idulgcnce|of  all' her  whims.  Zillali  liad 
jnatiu'ed  so  rapidly;  dnd  had  changed  so  cora- 
jdetefy,  that  she  now  looked  upon  her  former  willr 
lliil  and  passionate  thildliood  with  impatience, 
lAnd  could  estimate  at  its  full  value  that  wonder- 
bul  meekness  with  which  Hilda  had  endured  her 
[wayward  and  imperious  nature.  Not  one  recol- 
bection  of  Hilda  came  to  her  but  wa«  full  of  in- 
cidents of  a  love  and  devotion  parsing  the  love 
of  a  sister. 

It  was  now,  '6ince  she  had  lost  lier,  that  she 
Penmed  to  estimate  h^,  as  she  thought,  at  her 


iflill  value.     That  loss  ___  ^ 

of  all ;  worse  than  that  Jjf  the  Earl ;  worae  eveii 
llian  that  of  her  father.  !.  Never  more  should  she 
experience  that  tender  love,  that  wise  patience, 
that  unruffled  serenity,  which  the  had  always 


of  mind  left  to  think  about  her  future,  or  thtf 
state  of  her  affairs.  ' 

As  to  her  affairs— she  was  nothing  bWr  than 
a  child.  She  had  a  vague  idea  that  she  Ms  rfch ; 
but  she  had  no  idea  of  where  her  money  might 
be.  She  knew  the  names  of  her  London  agents ; 
but  whether  they  held  any  funds  of  hers  or  not, ' 
she  could  notvtell.  She  took  it  tor  granted  that 
they  did.  CliW>^  she  was,  she  did  not  know 
even  the  common  mode  of  drawing  a  clieck. 
Hilda  had  done  that  for  her  since  her  flight  from 
Chetwynde. 

The  news  of  the  unhappy  f«tS  of  tlio  elder 
Miss  Lorton  had  sent  a  shock  through  the  quiet 
village  of  Tenby,  and  every  where  might  be  heard 
expressions  of  the  deepest  sympathy  with  the 
younger  sister,  who  seemed  so  gentle,  so  inno- 
cent, so  inexperienced,  and  so  affectionate.  All 
had  heard  of  the  anguish  into  which  she  hail 
been  thrown  by  the  news  of  the  fearful  calamity, 
and  a  respectful  commiseration  forl|ielf  so  great 
was  exhibited  by  alL  .  The  hqnest  flsnermen  who 
had  gone  first  on  the  search  qn  that  eventful 
night  had  not  been,  satisfied,  bat  early  on  the 


lemed  to  her  the  greatest  J^  following  ftioming  had  roused  all  the  fishing  pop- 
ulation, aijd  fifty  or  sixty  bo^ts  started  off  be- 
fore dawn  to  scour  the  coast,  and  to  exai^ne  the 
sea  bottom.     This  they  kept  up  for  two  or  three "" 
•days ;  but  without  success.     Then,  at  lost,  they 


■nown  from  Hilda.  -Never  more  should  she  pos-  g^vo  up  thd»8eait;h.  Nothing  of  this,  howevei^, 
iss  one  devoted  fnend-the  true  and  tried  friend 'was.  known  tp  ZiUah,  who,  at  that  parti«ufar 
if  a  hfe-to  whom  she  might  go  in  an^  sorrow,  time,  was  in  the  firet  anguish  of  her  grief,  and 
jnd  know  and  feel  tMt  she  would  receive  the  Ijyr -prostra^  in  mind  and  body.  Eveil  the 
L?".?!l/.-°  i°'*^:''Zi_'''®'.'^°'L"''®}  °^  wisdom,    chattering  Mathilde  was  awed  by  the  BOlemnity 


S evermore— no,  ne^rmore  I  Such  was  the  re- 
Ifniin  that  seemed  constantly  to  ring  iil  her  ears, 
lind  she  found  heSrself  murmuring  those  (Jespair- 
pg  lines  of  Poe,  whdie  the  solitary  word  of  the 
Raven  seems 

|"C»oeht  from  name  unhappy  mSeterwho'm  numer- 

■  '     ciAil  Diaastar 

■  Followed  fast  and  followea  faster  till  hls-eonerDne 

'  borden  bore—  » »  .  ■ 

TiH  the  (Urges  of  hl»,Hope  tlhit  melancholy  burden 

01 'Neverj-neverraore!'" 

It  WAS  awful  to" her  to-be,  f6r  the  first  time  in, 

ler  life,  alone.  In  the  world.     Hitheho,  omidst 

ler  bitterest  affliction^,  she  had  always  tiad  8om<) 

le-wSom  slTo  idted.  ^Sfter  her  father's  "death 

le  had  LonfChetwyride  and  Mh.  llart;.and 

nh  these  she  hlwiivs  had  Hilda.     But  now  all 

fere  gone,  and  Hilda  w'as  gone.   /J'o  a^passion- 

We  and  iritdtase  nature  like  hers,  sorrow  was 

|anableof|ivIn^[4)»ng8ii»l^ich  are  unknown  to 

older  heafb.  ond.  to  iho  A|ffe«wJ,;to -a-dftpee 


of  woe.  . 

The  people  of  Tenby  were,  nearly\ll'of  the 
hutnblerclass. ,  The  widow  who  owned  the  house 
^ad  moved  away,  and  thiere  wgre  none  with  whom 
Zillah  could  associate,  except  the  rector  and  hjs 
wife.  T'ley  w*r«  old  people,  and  had  no  chil- 
dren, ^The  "Rev.  Mr.  llarvey' had  lived  there 
all  his  life,  and  was  now  well  advanced  in  years. 
At  tluS  first  ttdings  of  the  monnifiri  even,t  he  had 
gone  to  Zillah 's  hpuie  to  gee  if  he  could  be  of  ahr 
assistance ;  but  finding  that  »he  was  ill  in  bed, 
he  had  setit  his  wife  tq  offer  hf  r  services;  Mp. 
Harvey  hod  watch6d  over  ^r  Zilbji  in.  her  * 
Jirie4  and'hnd  scmthed  her  too.    Ma^hild<;  wnijM— 


jiave  Booh  but  a  poor  ottrse  for  one.  in  «n<;h  a  sit- 
uation, and  Mrs,  Uarye;f's  motherly  care  and 
iwect  wordg  of  cpnsohtion  had  somethii^,  at 


leant,  tofi^  with  J^iJlah'sMcovery. 
When  shei  was  bettor,  Mrs.  Harvey  tai 


,  jW[edh«t* 

to  come  and  stay  with  tKljm  for  a  f  im«.    J*  would 
give  her  a  change  of  leciijfl,  she  iuud»  and  that 


•■■>«>•  ■ 


fn* 


J,. 
I'd' 


'•:/f->-*#'. 


:*•■ 


88  ^ 

was  ali-important.  2feih  «u  deeply  touched 
hy  her  oiliBctionata  HHetada,  bat  declined  to 
leave  her  house.  9w  Mt.  ake  wid,  as  thooRh 
solitude  wonid  be  hMK  far  her  onder  snch  cir- 
cumstances. 

"My  dear  chihl,'*;Baid  Strs.  Harrey,  who  had 

...  ftrmed  almost  a  OMtemal  affection  for  Zillah, 

aad.hM  come  to  address  her  always  in  that 

-irny — "my  uear  dUid,  you  should  "not  try  to 

Ttj-i^fepen  your  tfrief  'rrv  staying  here  and  brooding 

■:if"*lfrer  it.     Even?  tfaiag  here  only  makes  it  worse. 

■   Ton  must  really  con  with  me.  if  for  only  a  few 

g-^vv    Jays,  and  see  tf  yaBr  distrH*  wiUnot  be  light- 

*'■   '\"jBied  somevtet." 

4y^y»     But  ZiQali  ^d  that  she  could  not  bear  to 

asave,  that  tiie  hoose  seemed  lo  be  filled  with 

k  Hilda's  preeence,  and  that  as  long  as  she  was 

taere  thes  was  something  to  remind  her  of  the , 

me  she  bad  lost.     If  she  went  away  she  should 

. .    imlaJpng  to  go  back. 

*"'  '"^ut,  my  child,  would  it  not  be  batter  for 
-nju  to  go  to  your  friends  ?"  said  Mrs.  Harvey,  as 
ilaiicately  as  possible. 

"I  have  no  friends," said  Zillah,  in  a  falter- 
ing voice.     ' '  They  are  nil  gone. " 

Zillah  burst  into  tears ;  and  Mrs.  llaxvej,  aft- 
er weeping  with  her,  took  her  departare,  with 
her  heart  full  of  fresh  sympathy  for  one  lo  sweet, 
and  so  unhappy. 

Tiine  passed  on,  and  Zilloh's  grief  hard  settled 
down  into  a  quiet  melancholy.  The  r^or  and 
his  wife  were  faithful  friends  to  this  friendless 
girl,  and,  by  a  thousand  little  acts  of  sympathy, 
strove  to  alleviate  the  distress  of  her  lonely  situ- 
ation. For  all  tills  Zillnh  felt  deeply  grateful, 
but  nothing  that  they  might  do  could  raise  her 
mikid  from  the  depths  of  grief  into  which  it  had 
fallen.  But  at  length  there  came  a  day  which 
was  to  change  all  this. 

That  day  she  was  sitting  by  the  front  window 
in  tJie  alcove,  looking  out  to  where  the  sea  was 
rolling  in.its  waves  upop  the  shore.  Suddfenlv, 
to  her  surprise,  she  saw  the  villnge  paitmnn,  wno 
had  been  passing  along  the  road,  open  her  gate, 
and  come  up  the  pltth.  Her  first  thought  was 
that  her  ettncealment  had  been  discovered,  aiu) 
.  that  Gny  had  Written  to  her.  Then  a  wild 
thought  followed  that  it  was  somehow  connected 
ifith  Hilda.  But  soon  these  thoughts  were  ban- 
ished by  the  supposition  that  it  was  simply  a  note 
for  one  of  the  servants.  After  this  she  fell  into 
her  former  melancholy,  when  suddenly  she  was 
roused  by  the  ehtrance  of  John,  who  had  a  letter 
to  his  luuid. 

"A  letter  for  yon,  miss,"  said  John,  who  had 
no  idea  that  ZilUh  was  of  a  dignity  which  de- 
served the  title  of  " my  lady." 

Zillah  said  not  a  word.  With  a  trembling 
hand  she  took  the -lettar  luid  looked  at  it. 

It  was  covffi^i  with  foreign  )K>«t-marl»i  hnt 

this  she  did  Hot  notice.     It  was  the  handwriting 

vhich  exeited  her  attention 

.      "  Hilda!"  she  cried,  and  sank  back  hreathlcw 

Kin  her  chair.     Her  heart  throblied  as  thongh  it 

fould  burst.    For  a  moment  she  could  not  move ; 


THE  CRYITOGrIm. 


lyould  bui 
^  but  iticn. 


wtthi 


ahout  your  poor  Hilda,  I  can  not  imagine.    I 
know  that  you  love  me  dearly,  and  for  me  to 
vanish  from   your  si^jfit  so  suddenly  and  'Sqi 
strangCily  must/ have  caused  yon  at  feast  some, 
sorrow.      If  yoi^  have  been  sorrowitig  for  me, ' 
my  "sweetest,  do  not  do  so  any  more. '   I  am  saft 
and  almost  well,  though  I  have  had  a  f^trange 
experience. 

','  When  I  left  yon  on  that  ill-fated  evening/^ 
expected  to  be  back  as  I  said.  I  walked  up  the 
beach  thoughtlessly,  and  did  not  notice  the  tide 
or  aijy  thing  about  it.  I  tfolkcd  a  long  distance, 
and  ftt  lost  feltHired,  for  t  |wd  done  a  great  deal 
that  day.  I  happened  to  see  a  boat  drawn  up  on 
the  shore,  and  it  seemed  to  be  a  good  place  to  sif 
down  and  rest.  I  jumJMd  in  and  ^at  down  on 
one  of  the  seats.  I  tooK  off  my  hilfjSnd  scnrf, 
and  Inxnriated  ii^the  fresh  sea  breezt  that  was 
blowing  over  the  water.  I  do  not  know  how 
long  I  sat  there — I  did  not  think  of  it  at  that 
time,  but  at  last  I  was  roused  from  my  pleasant 
occupation  very  suddenly  and  painfully.  All  at 
once  I  made  the  discovery  that  the  boat  wot 
moving  under  me.  I  looked  around  in  a  panic. 
To  my  horror,  I  found  that  I  was  at  a  long  distance 
from  the  shore.  In  an  instant  the  truth  flashed 
upon  me.  The  tide  had  risen,  the  boat  had 
'floated  off,  and  I  had  not  noticed  it.  I  was  fully 
a  mile  away  when  I  made  this  discovery,  and, 
cool  as  I  am  (according  to  you),  I  assure  you  I 
nearly  died  of  terror  when  the  full  reality  of  my 
situation  occurred  to  me.  I  looked  all  around, 
but  saw  no  chance  of  help.  Far  away  on  the 
horizon  I  saw  numerous  sails,  and  nearer  to  tne 
I  saw  a  steamer,  but  all  were  too  distant  to  be 
of  any  scr^'ice.  On  the  shore  I  could  not  see  a 
living  soul. 

"After  a  time  I' rallied  from  ^ly  panic,  and 
began  to  try  to  get  the  boat  back!  But  there 
were  no  oars,  although,  if  there  had  been,  I  do 
not  see  how  I  could  have  used  them.  In  tny . 
desperate  efforts  I  tried  to  paddle  with  my  hands, 
but,  of  course,  it  was  utterly  useless.  lit-'spite 
of  all  my  efforts  I  drifted  away  further  and  fur- 
ther, and  after  a  very  long  time,  I  do  not  knovr 
how  long,  I  found  that  I  was  at  an  immense  dis- 
tance from  the  shore.  Weakened  by  an.viety 
and  fear,  and  worn  out  by  my  long-continneil 
efforts,  I  gave  up,  and,  sitting  down  again,  I 
burst  into  a  passion  of  tears.  The  dily  was  pass- 
ing on.  Looking  at  the  sun  I  saw  that  it  was 
(ho  time  when  you  would  be  expecting  me  back. 
I  thought  of  yon,  my  darling,  waiting  for  me- 
expeoting  me — wondering  at  ray  delay.  How  I 
cnrsed  my  folly  end  thonghtlexsness  in  ever  ven- 
turing into  such  danger !  I  thought  of  yonr  in- 
creasing anxiety  as  y«a  waited,  while  st^l  I  did 
not  come.  I  thought,  Oh,  if  she  only  knew 
where  her  poor  Hilda  is — what  agony  it  weald 
give  her  1  But  such  thoughts  were  h«a^t-bre«k- 
in^,  and  at  lost  I  dared  not  entertain,  them,  and 
so  I  tried  to  turn  my  attention  to  the  misery  of 
my  situation.  Ah,  my  dearest,  think — onlv  think  I 
of  me,  your  poor  Iiilda,  in  that  boat,  (iriftinf  | 
helplessly  along  over  ilie  sea  out  into  the  ocean! 


letter,  and,  in  a  wild  fevo-  of  excited  fadfaig,4reail> 
the  following :  ' 

"  N  APLn,  Junt  1 ,  1868. 
•'Mt  owi»  DEAREST  Darlixo. — What  yon 
moat  have  suffered  in  the  way  of  wonder  about 
mj  sodden  disappearance,  and  alsu  in  anxiety 


witneaen  momenfmy  angursh  grew  greai- 
«r.  I  saw  no  prospect  of  escape  or  of  kelp.  No 
ships  came  near ;  no  boats  of  any  kind  were  ris- 
ible. I  strained  my  eyes  till  they  ached,  hot  i 
could,  see  nothing  that  gave  me  hope.  Oh,  irt 
d«rUrig,.how  am  I  tell  yon  thg  miseries  of  thai 
fearful  tine !    Wona  than  lA-  do  what  I  miglit,. 


Ida,  I  can  not  imagine.    I 
me  dearly,  and  for  me  to 
si^t  8o  Buddenlr  and  •«d4>j 
)  caused  you  at  least  some , 
ve  been  sorrowitig  for  me,  " 
do  BO  an  J  more.     I  am  safe 
)Ugh  I  have  had  a  ^trengo 

on  that  ill-fated  cvcning/0 
as  I  said.  I  walked  up  the 
and  did  not  notice  the  tide 
.  I  jihUkcd  a  long  distance, 
for  i  ^d  done  %  great  deal 
sd  to  see  a  boat  drawn  up  on 
nad  to  be  a  good  place  to  s^ 
uni)|ed  in  and  s&t  down  on 
tooK  off  my  hiji'Jiod  scarf, 
e  fresh  sea  breezf  that  was 
Iter.  I  do  not  know  how 
did  ,not  think  of  it  at  that 
IS  roused  from  my  pleasant 
ertly  and  painfully.  All  at 
scovery  that  the  boat  wot 

looked  around  in  a  panic. 
I  that  I  was  at  a  long  distance 
an  instant  the  truth  flashed 
e  had  risen,  the  boat  had 

not  noticed  it.  I  was  full^ 
:  made  this  discovery,  and, 
inff  to  you),  I  assure  you  I 
when  the  full  reality  of  mv 

me.  I  looked  all  around, 
[)f  help.  Far  away  on  the 
aus  sails,  and  nearer  to  toie 

all  were  too  distant  to  be 
the  shore  I  could  not  see  a 

■allied  from  jny  panic,  and 
the  boat  back'.  But  there 
gh,  if  there  had  been,  I  do 
1  have  used  them.  In  my  • 
id  to  paddle  ^vith  my  bands, 
8  utterly  useless.  Ih-spiie 
ifted  awoy  further  and  fur- 
r  long  time,  I  do  not  kno;r 
It  I  was  at  an  immense  dis- 
e.  Weakened  by  anxiet; 
out  by  my  long-continued 
ind,  sitting  down  again,  I 
f  tears.  The  dtly  was  pass- 
the  sun  I  saw  that  it  nu 
9uld  be  expecting  me  back. 
f  darling,  waiting  for  me— 
oring  at  my  delay.  How  I 
houghtlessness  in  ever  ven- 
der !  1  thought  of  your  in- 
»n  waited,  while  still  I  did 
:ht,  Oh,  if  she  only  knew 
a  Is — what  agony  it  woaij 
thoughts  were  haaVt-break- 
t!d  not  entertain,  them,  and 
attention  to  the  miserv  of 
Y  dearest,  think — onlv  ihiok  I 
ilda.  In  that  boat,  driftini  | 
ihc  Kea  out  into  the  ocean! 
mi  ihy  anguiali  grow  greit- 
t  of  escape  or  of  kelp.  No 
boats  of  any  kind  were  rij. 
r  eyes  till  they  ached,  but 
It  gave  me  hope.  Oh,  nr 
)U  you  tht  miseries  of  that  I 
I  than  i|lf  do  what  I  miski,.  1 


DBIKTINQ   OfT   TO   SEA. 


I  Still  could  not  keep  away  from  me'  the  thoughts 

bf  you,  my  sweetest.     Still  they  would  Come^ 

Jind  never  could  I  shake  off  the  thought  of  your 

lace,  pale  with  loviT^jf^an^it^y,  as  you  waited  for 

■hat  friend  of  yours  who  Would  never  appear. 

TO),  bad  you  seen  me  aft  |  was— had  you  but 

hnagined,  even  in  the  faintest  way,  the  Iwrrors 

hat  surrounded  me,  what  would  have  been  your 

'clings !    But  you  could  never  have  conceived 

..    No.    Had  you  conceived  it  yon  would'  have 

ent  every  one  forth  in  search  of  me. 

"To  odd  to  my  grief,  night  was  coming  on. 
I  saw  the  sun  go  down,  and  still  there  was  no 
brospect  of  escape.  1  was  cold  and  wretched, 
Ihd  ray  physical  snfferings  were  added  to  those 
If  my  mind.  Somehow  I  had  lost  my  hat  and 
>arf  overboard.  I  had  to  endure  the  «hill  wind 
M  swept  over  me,  the  damp  piercinp'blast  that 
Wne  over  the  waters,  ivithout  any  possibility  of 
heker  At  last  I  grew  so  cold  and  benumbed 
UU:  lay  dw»nin^he  bottom  of  the  boat,  with 
he  hope  ofgettflng  out  of  the  way  of  the  wind. 
»  was  mdeed  somewhat  more  sheltered,  but  the 
belter  at  best  was  but  slight.     I  had  nothing  to 

'"^H"''*®"^  *'***'  ■"•*  "y  misery  was  extreme. 
'■     The  twilight  increased,  and  the  wind  grew 
>ongor  and  colder.    Worst  of  all,  as  I  lay  down 
hd  looked  up,  I  could  see  that  the  clouds  were 
hthennf,  and  knew  that  there  would  be  a  storm 
|ow  far  I  was. out  on  the  sea  I  scarcely  dared 


«B»,r 


'  tor 


lost. 


m  had  scarcely  any  htme.  The  little  hope  that 
m«  left  was  gradoally  driven  away  by  the  gath- 
m  dar'-.ness,  and  at  length  all  around  me  was 

STi  i.  .V  "'*'"•     '  ™»«^  'n^»«'*'  up.  and 
io»ea  feebly  out  upon  the  waves.'    They  were 
hidden  frnmlny  sight.     I  fell  back,  uid  lay 
1  for  a  long  time,  enduring  horrors,  which, 


in  my  wildest  dreams,  I  had  never  imagined  its 
liable  to  fall  tothe  lot  of  any  miserable  human 
being. 

"I  know  nothing  more  of  that  night,  <ir  of 
several  nights  afterward.     When  I  came  1)ack 
to  consciousness  I  found  myself  in  a  ship's  cab- 
in, and  was  completely  bewiltjer^d.     Gradually 
however,  I  found  out  aU.     This  ship,  which  wos 
an  Italian  vessel  belonging  to  Naples,  and  was 
called  the  Vittoria,  had  picked  me  uii  on  the 
morning  after  I  had  drifted  away.     I  was  uncon- 
scious and  delirious.     They  took  me  on  board, 
and  treated  mo  with  the  greatest  kindness.    For 
the  tender  care  which  was  shown  me  by  these 
rough  but  kindly  hearts  Heaven  only  can  repay 
them ;  I  can  not.     But  when  I  had  recovered 
consciousness  several  doys  had  ehipsed,  the  ship 
was  on  her  way  to  Naples,  and  we  were  already 
off  the  coast  of  Portugal.     I  was  overwhelmed 
with  astonishment  and  grief.    Then  the  question 
arose.  What  was  I  to  do?    The  captain,  who 
seemed  touched  to  the  heart  by  my  sorrow,  of- 
fered to  take  the  ship  out  of  her  course  and  land 
me  at  Lisbon,  if  I  liked ;  or  he  would  put  me 
ashore  at  Gibraltar.    Miserable  me!    What  good 
would  It  do  for  me  to  be  landed  at  Lisbon  or  at 
Gibraltar?    Wide  saas  would  still  intervene  be- 
tween me  and  m^  darling.   I  could  not  ask  them 
to  land  me  at  either  of  those  places.     B^iides, 
the  ship  waa  going  to  Naples,  and  that  sfemeJ 
quin  H  mu'  as  Lliibon,  if  not  more  so.    It 
seemed  to  me  to  be  more  accessible — moreen  the 
line  of  travel— and  therefore  I  thought  that  by 
going  on  to  Naples  I  would  really  be  more  within 
your  juach  than  if  I  landed  at  mf  intervening 
point.    So  I  decided  to  go  on. 

"Poor  mel    Iinagtna  me  on  board  a  ship, 
with  no  change  oC,clothlng,  no  comfcrta  or  d^- 

&  '"■■  0^     ■  .•  I 


■4 


,■>„ J-.  ...tiiksft'jfet^'.  „■#» 


90 


•ni 


E  CBYPTOGHIAM. 


cncies  of  any  kind,  and  nt  the  samp,  time'  pros-, 
trated  by  sickiysas  arising  from  my  first  misery. 
It  was  u  kind  of  low  fever,  combined  with  de- 
lirium, that  affected  mo.  Most  fortunately  fbr 
me,  the  captain's  wife  sailed  with  him,vttnd  to  her 
I  ^lieve  my  recovery  is  due.  Poor  dear  Mar- 
garita! Her  devotion  to  me  saved  me  from 
death.  I  gave  her  that  gold  necklace  that  I  have 
worn  from  childhood.  In  no  other  way  could  I 
fittingly  show  m^  gratitude.  Ah,  my  darling ! 
the  world  is  not  all  bad.  It  is  full  of  honest, 
kindly  hearts,  and  of  tliem  all  none  is  more  no- 
ble or  more  pure  than  my  generous  friend  the 
rtmple  wife  of  Captain  Gaddagli.  May  Heaven 
bless  her  for  her  kindness  to  the  poor  lost 
stranger  who  fell  in  her  way  ^ 

"My  sweet  Zillah,  how  doei  all  this  read  to 
you?  Is  it  not  wikHy  improbable?  Can  you 
imagine  your  Hilda  floating  ojit  to  sea,  senseless, 
picked  up  by  strangers,  carried  off  to  foreign 
countries  ?  J)o  you-  not  rejoice  that  it  was  so, 
and  that  you  do  not  have  to  mourn  my  death  ? 
My  darling,  I  fleed  not  ask.  Alas !  what  would 
I  not  give  to  be  sitting  with  your  arms  around 
me,  supporting  my  aching  Iftad,  while  I  told 
you  of  all  my  suffering  ? 

"But  I  must  go  on.   My  exposure  during  that 
dreadful  night  had  told  fparfully  upon  me.    Dur- 
ing the  voyage  I  could  scarcely  moye.     Toward 
,  ,i^  its  close,  hbwever,  I  was  able  to  go  on  deck,  and 

'    the  balmy  air  of  the  Mediterranean  revived  me. 
At  length  We  reached  Naples  Bay.    As  wo  sailed 
up  to  the  city,  the  sight  of  all  the  gJoHous  scen- 
\  en:  on  every  side  seemed  to  flfl  me  with  new 
life  and  streingth.     The  cities  along  the  shore, 
'   the  islands,  tjie  headlands,  the  mountains,  Vesu- 
Wus,  with  its  canopy  of  smoke,  the  intensely  blue 
sky,  the  clear  transparent  air,  all  made  mo  feel 
as'thoi^h  I  had  been  transported  to  a  new  world. 
"  I  went  at  once  to  (he  Hotel  de  I'Europe,  on 
the  Strada  Toledo.    It  is  the  best  hotel  here,  and 
is  rery  comfortable.     Here  I  must  stay  for  a  time, 
for,  my  darling,  I  am  by  no  means  well.     The 
doctor  tbiiks  that  my  lungs  are  afl'ected.    I  have 
a  very  bad  oough.     He  says  that  even  if  I  were 
able  to  travel,  I  must  not  think  of  going  Tiome 
yet,  the  air  of  Naples  is  my  only  hftpe,  and  he 
tells  me  to  send  fcj  England  for  niy  friends.     My 
friends!     Wh««  friends  ha\e  I?    None.     But, 
darling,  I  know  that  I  have  a  friend— one  who 
would  go  a  long  distance  for  her  jwor  suffering 
Hilda.     And  now,  darling,  I  want  you  to  come 
on.     I  have  no  hesitation  in  asking  this,  for  I 
know  that  you  do  not  feel  particularly  happy 
where  you  are,  and  you  would  rather  be  with  me 
than  be  alone.     Besidas,  my  dearest,  it  is  to  Na- 
ples (hat  I  invite  yon— to  Naples,  the  fairest,  tove- 
liest  place  in  all  the  world !  a  heaven  upon  earth ! 
where  the  air  is  balm,  and  ev,pry  scene  is  perfect 
beauty !     You  must  come  otit,  W  four  own  sake 
B8  well  as  mine.     You  will  be  nW«  lo  rduse  vour- 
self  from  your  mebncholr.    We  will  go  together 
to  *«t  the  sweet  scenes  that  lie  alt  aroufid  here ; 
and  when  I  am  again  by  your  side,  with  yoar 
hand  in  mine,  I  will  fo»^t  that  I  ii/ave  ever 


iinmediate]y  to  offer  his  jierviees.  Yon  will  n,  j 
him,  no  doubt,  very  soon  after  you  get  this  leu  I 
ter.  I?o  not  be  afraid  of  tronbling  him.  We  I 
can  compensate  him  fully  for  the  loss  of  his  time. 
"And  now,  darling,  good-by.  I  Ijavo written 
a  very  long  letter,  and  feel  very  tired.  Come  on 
soon,  and  do'  not  delay.  I  shall  count  the  dayi 
and  the  hours  till  you  join  me.  Coniit  on  soon 
and  do  not  disappoint  your  loving     '^ 

"Hilda. 
"I'.S. — When  you  come,  will  you  please  I 
bring  on  my  turquoise  brooch  and  my  green 
bracelet,  The  little  writing-desk,  too,  1  should 
like,  if  ijiot  too  much  trouble.  Of  course  voa  I 
need  not  trouble  affout  the  house.  It  will'  be 
quite  safe  as  it  stands,  under  the  care  of  yonr 
housekeeper  and  sen-ants,  fill  we  get  back  again  I 
to  England.     Qnce  more^  darling,  good-by. 

Tips  astonishing  letter  wnS^^end  by  Zillah  witL 
a  tumult  of  emotions  that  may  be  imagined  but  I 
not  described.  As  she  finished  "it  the  reaction  in 
her  feelings  was  too  much  to  be  l)onie.  A  weight 
was  taken  off  her  soul.  In  the  firk  rush  of  her  I 
joy  and  thankfulness  she  burst  intij  tears,  nnfl 
then  onco  more  read  the  letter.  Uiough  she  f 
scarce  could  distinguish  the  word^^for^he  teiui  | 
ofjoy  that  blinded  her  eyes.  \ 

To  go  to  Naples— jjnd  to  Hilda !  what  Renter  I 
happiness  ctmrohe  i^nceived  of?    AndXtlmt  | 
thoughtful  Hilda  had  actually  written  to  Go 
tier!     And  she  was  alive!     And  she  was  i\ 
Naples !    What  a  wonder  to  have  her  thus  come  i 
back  to  her  from  the  dead ! 

With  such  a  torrent  pf  confused  thoughts  Zil- 
lah's  mind  wns  filled,  until  at  length,  in.herdeep  I 
gratitude  ffi  Heaven,  she  flung  herself  upon  her 
knees  atid  poured  forth  her  soul  in  prayer. 


CHAFrER  XXVJII. 

BETRATEO. 


L 


Zillah's  excitement  was  so  great  that,  for  # j 
that  night,  she  could  not  sleep.    There  were  many  [ 
things  for  her  to  think  about.    The  idea  that  Hil- 
da had  been  so  marvelously  rescuei^^and  was  still 
alive  and  waiting  for  her,  fille<l  her  mind.    Ba^ 
it  did  not  prevent  her  from  dwelliftg  in  thonghi 
upon  the  frightful  scenes  through  which  she  had 
passed.     The  thought  of  her  dear  friend's  lonelj 
voyage,  drifting  over  the  seas  in  an  open  IxMt, 
unprotected  from  the  storm,  and  suffering  from 
\cold,  from  hunger,  and  from  sorrow  tillaenwl 
left  her,  w^  ji  painfyl  on6  to  her  loving  heatt  f 
Yet  the  pain  of  these  thoughts  did  not  disturb 
her.     Tbe.  joy  that  arose  ftom  the  conscioinnen 
of  Hilda's  safety  was  of  itself  siiiRcient  to  ooun-  J 
lerbalance  all  else.    Her  safety  was  so  unexpecF  \ 
ed,  and  the  one  fact  was  so  overwhelming,  tbit 
the  happiness  which  it  co^sed  was  «ni?cient  |o  L 
ovemfaster  any  sorrowful  sympathy  whicli  sht^l 
might  feel  for  Hilda's  mfgforfuneg.     Seb^ifhet* 


mgttt  war 


.       ,  tr^vfti  Tot  ssd, 

it  was  joyfuF;  and  often  and  often,  as  the  hours 
passed,  she  repeated  that  prayer  of  thankfukea 
which  the  first  perusal  of  the  letter  iiad  causeil. 
Besides  thi%,  the  thought  of  going  on  to  joii 
Hilda  waa  a  pleasant  dne.     Her  friend  had  beM  ' 
BO  thoughtful  that  the  had  orran^  all  for  btr. 


"  Do  not  be  alarmed  at  the  journey.  I  have 
thought  out  all  for  you.  I  have  written  to  Mr. 
Gnaltier,  in  London,  and  asked  him  to  bring 
you  on  here.  He  will  be  only  too  glad  to  do  us 
this  service.  He  is  a  simple-minded  and  kind- 
,  hearted  man.    |^have  asked  him  to  call  on  you 


0 


r  hU  j|^rvie«s.     Yoa  will  Me  1 
y  soon  after  you  get  this  let.  I 
raid  of  troi^bling  him.    We  I 
I  fully  for  tho  loss  of  his  time, 
ng,  good-by.     I  Ijnvo  written  I 
nd  feel  very  tired.     Come  on 
ilay.     I  shall  count  the  da^i 
ou  join  mo.     Comi*  on  soon, 
nt  your  loving    ^ 

"Hilda. 
yoa  come,  will  you  pkase 
oise  brooch  and  my  green  f 
!  writing-desk,  too,  I  slioulj  [ 
s\\  trotible.  Of  course  von 
?out  the  house.  It  will"  be 
ids,  under  the  care  of  yoar 
vants,  fill  wo  get  back  OKain 
morCv  darling,  good-by. 
"11." 

\  *         I 

stter  wa Wad  by  Zillah  with 
s  that  maybe  imagined  hut  I 
ho  finihhed  It  the  reaction  in 
nuch  to  be  l)Onie.    A  weight 
d.     In  the  firftt  rush  of  her  k 
s  she  burst  intii  tears,  anfl 
nd   the  letter,  though  she  [ 
lisli  the  word#^(or\he  te.irs 
jr  eyes.  \  I 

Und  to  Hilda !  what  Renter 
fcpnceived  of?    AndXthat 
1  actually  written  to  Gbnl- 1 
nlive !     And  she  was  is  ' 
iider  to  have  her  thus  conie^ 
dead ! 

it  pf  confused  thoughts  Zij- 1 
until  at  length,  in.herdeep 
she  flung  herself  upon  her 
th  her  soul  in  prayer. 


THE  CRYPTiOGRAM. 


ER  XXVJII.    ■^-"" 

tnATED.  ; 

f      1 

It  was  80  great  that,  for  all' 
ot  sleep.    There  were  mnny 
about.    The  idea  that  llil- 
lously  rescue^^and  was  still  j 
her,  filleil  her  mind.    Bni  j 
•  from  dwelling  in  tlionsht 
nes  through  which  she  had  i 
;  of  her  dear  friend's  lone);  | 
the  seas  in  an  open  Iraat, 
storm,  and  suflTering  from 
nd  from  sorrow  till  senst , 
1  on6  to  her  loving  heart. 
)  thoughts  did  not  disturb 
8se  from  the  conscionsnesj . 
of  itself  sufficient  lu  ('(iiin-  J 
ier  safety  vru  to  unexpect^  j 
vas  8o  orerwhelming,  tlut 
it  caused  was  sufficient  p 
nrfui  sympathy  whicfl  shij 
8  mfsforfunes.     Set-if  liet ' 


SfcifJ 


ir"WSH  not  sod. 
in  and  often,  as  the  ho<m  I 
hat  prayer, of  thankfulnea  ] 
of  the  letter  had  cnusctl. 
ought  of  going  on  to  joii  I 
Ine.     Her  friertd  hod  beet 
had  arranged  all  for  ber. 


companion  could  b^  more  appropriate  or 
k>ra  reliable  than  Mr.  Gnalti^,  and  he  would 
.jiinly  make/^iis  appearance  shortly.      She 
ought  also  of  Ihe  pleasure  of  living  in  Naples 
d  recalled  all  that  she-  had  ever  heard  aboiu 
B  charms  of  that  place.    Amidst  such  thoughts 
i  these  moniing  came,  and  it  was  not  until  afl- 
Jthe  sun  had  risen  that  Zillah  fell  asleep. 
riVo  days  after  the  receipt  of  that  letter  bv 
jllah,  Gualtier  arrived.    Although  he  had  been 
Jly  a  niusic-teacher,  jet  he  had  been  assofi^ed 
■  the  memory  of  Zillah  with  many  happy  Mirs 
|Chetwyode;  and  his^tructions  at  Pomft-oy 
lul,  though  at  the  tirtaJrksonTe  to  her,  were 
,  y  remembered  pleasantly,  since  they  were  con- 
Jcted  with  the  memories  of  her  father;  and  on 
Is  occasion  he  had  tho  additional  advantage  of 
Ing  specially  sent  by  Hilda.     Ho  seemed  thus 
1  her  mind  to  be  in  some  sort  connected  with 
llda.    She  had  not  seen  him  since  the  Earl's 
!ss,  and  had  understood  from  Hilda  that  he 
I  gone  to  London  to  practice  his  profession. 
\s  Gualtier  entered,  Zillah  greeted  him  with 
karmth  which  Was  unusual  from  her  to  him 
h  which  can  readily  bo  accounted  for  under 
cijcumstances.      He  seemed  surprised  and 
jased.     Ills  small  gray  eyes  twinkled,  and  his 
Bow  cheeks  flushed  with  involuntary^delight  at 
ph  marks  of  condescension.     Yet  in  his  man- 
r  and  address  he  waS  as  humble  and  as  servile 
lever.    His  stoiy  wa^^hortly  told.    Hehadre^ 
ked,  he  sold,  a  short  noto  from  Miss  Krieflf,  by 
jich  he  learned  Ihot,  owiji^to  ah  act  of  thought- 
bness  on  her  partj_she  had  gone  adiift  in  a  boat 
1  had  been  pi«lfetl  up  by  a  ship  on  its  way  to 
Dies,  to  which  place  she  had  been  carried.    He 
Herstood  that  she  had  written  to  Lady  Chet- 
hde  to  come  and  join  her.     Gualtier  hoped 
\Lady  CJhetwvnde  would -rfeel  the  same  coi>- 
nbeih  him  which  Miss  Krielf  had  expressil 
nakSng^known  to  him  that  they  ha^  been  liv- 
Kundc\an  assumed  name.     Of  course,  unless 
,  en  communicated  to  him  it  woiild 

re  been  hppossible  for  him  to  find  her.  lie 
ured  her  that  with  him  her  secret  was  per- 
hly  mviolab^,  that  he  was  perfectly  reliable, 
?  that  the  maXiy  favors  which  he  had  received 
fineral  Potaeroy,  from  the  late  Earl,  and 
hersSWi^  would  of  themselves  be  sufficient 
linake  him  gtmrd  her  secret  with  Watchful 
Wance,  and  devote  him8el||to  her  interests 
jn  the  utmost  zeal  and  fideUtc. 
To  Zillah,  however,  tho  vojuHe  assnronees  of 
Inltiers  vigilance,  Siecjecy,  and  fidelity  were 
■te  unnecessary.  It  was  enough  that  she  had 
Iwn  him  for  so  many  years. '  Her  father  had 
Tt  made  him  known  to  her.  After  him  her 
pnd  father,  Earl  Chetwynde,  had  made  him 

\'^   u-iA  ^"  °5/."'  "'  ""«  P^  hour  in 
:  life,  UiMa  hereelf  had  sent  him  to  hccom- 

ly  her.    It  mnild  have  beert  strange  Indeed 
>nd«r  such  ditnutancea,  any  doubt  what- 
irwiih  .flipird  toJrim  had  for  ♦ne  moment  en- 
J  hw  mind. 
[Ja^'ho  iliij  aftw  the.  receipt 'of  Jmida's  fattw 

lull   hull    fn\nA  At*   tk^   a A.   A*   '  .m 


91/ 


kill  sf^  I  T-T3V.  tuvuju.  u»  jAuu»»  HWier 
lull  M  mme  for  the  first  time  to  the  rectorv, 
■  tew  the  ;.^fnl  mm,  to  bur  kjnd  friends 
bhe  re^  the  tetter  tct  them,  while  they 
^ned  to  ev^ry  word  with  breathless  interest. 
r  ""eitupting  her  with  exclamations  of  pit* 
Sympathy  or  of  wonder.  Mwt  of  all  were 
7  aUocted  by  the  change  which  4ad  comaover 


Zillah,  who  in  one  night  had  passed  from  duU 
dwpair  to  lite  and  joy  and  hope.  She  seemed 
fh.  IT  "u*^' "  d'fferent  being.  Her  face  w^is 
flushed  with  excitement;  her  deep,  dwk  ey^ 
no  longer  downcast,  flashed  with  radiant  fefi 
her  voice  was  tremulous  as  she  read  the  letter 
or  spoke  of  her  hope  of  soon  rejoining  Hilda 
These  dear  old  people  looked  at  her  till  their 
ejes  hlled  with  tears;  tears  which  were  half\of 
.•Tr*''  *"*""/'«PP'neh8,  and  half  of  sadness  ot 
the  thought  that  she  was  to  leave  them. 

Ah,  my  child,"  said   krs.  Uar%ey,   in  fl 
tremulous  voice,  "how  glad  I  am   thM  you? 
dear  sister  has  been  saved  by  our  merciful  G^od ; 
but  how  sad -I  feel  to  think  that  I  shall  lose  yoi 
now,  when  I  have  come  to  love  you  so '" 
«,Jh  V"'*"""  Y  ""'''  inexpressible  sadness,  and 
'/  1^1     /  ""''  T"?  ''''^«"^"°"  '"  "«  tones,  that  - 
Zillah  w'as  tmiched  to  the  heart.     She  t;ined 
her  arms  fondly  atout  thp  neck  of  the  old  lady 
and  kissed  her  tenderly.  ^' 

^    "Ah,  ray  dearest  Mrs.  IIar>-ey,"  said  she. 
how  can  I  ever  repay  you  for  nil  your  loving 

arid  feel  all  that  yon  did  for  me.     Hut  I  was  «, 

"But,  my  poor  child,"  said  the  rector,  after 
a  long^conversation,  in  which  £hey  hod  exhaiist- 
?r.  "".  «*>«  possibilities  of  Hilda^s  "  situation," 

this  IS  a  long  jQurpey.  Who  is  this'Mr.  Gual- 
ticri'  Do  yo»  know  him?  Would  it  not  be 
better  for  mo  to  go  with  you  ?" 

■\^^h  J"^  '"'?'*  'r*"^'  ''"^^  g'>"<l  vou  are!" 
said  Zillah,  again  ferwhelmedj|gih  gratitude. 
But  there  is  no  p^cessity.  <.  I  Iffilnown  Mr. 
Gualtier  for  years.^    He  was  ny^^icteacher 
for  a  long  time  before  m»  dear  father,  left  me. 
Heisvery'goodand  veiy  faithl^."        N 
So  no  more  was  said  on  that  matter 
Before  Gualtier  came  Zillah  had  arranged  ev- 
ery thing  for  her  joui;ney.     She  decided.to  leave 
the  house  just  as  it  was,  under  the  care  of  the 
housekeeu^,  with  the  expectation  »bf  retuminir 
nt  no  ve«y  distant  dat«.     The  rector  promised 
tb  exercise  a,  general  supervision-over  her  af-) 
ftirs.     She  left  with  him  moiiej-  enough  to  pay 
the  year 8, rent  in  advance,  which  he  was  to 
transmit  to  the  owner.     Such  Arrangements  as 
thew  gave  great  comfort  to  these  kindly  souls, 
for  in  them  they  saw  signs  that  Zillah <would  re-- 
tum;^nd  they  both  hoped  that-ths  « sisters" 
would  _soon  tire  even  of  Italy,  aJtin  a  fit  of 
homwickness  come  back  again.    WRh  this  hopo 
they  bade  her  adieu. 

On  leaving  Tenbv,  Zillah  felt  nothing  but  de- 
light. As  the  coach  drove  her  to  the  station,  as 
the  railway  train  hurried  her  to  London,  as- the 
tidal  tram  took  heV  to  Southampton,  as  the  pack- 
et bore  her  across  the  Channel,  w-ery  moment  of 
the  time  was  filled  with  jogMs  anticipations  of 
her  meeting  Hilda.  mfflKefs  over  other 
losses  and  other  <-ala<^iap  in  one  instint 
faded  away,  at  the  neSJ^MRlilda  .was -safe, 
Ihat,  oni^thing  ^^ 

flUelSei 


<'•■ 


5^-l"g*j(|raJ!'!!!°t"-'\*^^{^^^ 


it' 


Arrivkg  at  Paris,  she  \^s  co^elled  to  wait 
tor  one  day  ^n  account  of  some  ^Wtotof  connec- 
tion in  the  trkihs  for  Marseffllis.  dSllti^  ktfted 
as»  cicerone,  apd  accompanM  hoi' 
through  the  chief  streets,  throu^tT*i^ .; 
la  Concorde,  the  Champs  Elvs^cs,  and 
de  Boulogne.    She  was  sufficiently,  he 


.»    - 


02 


THE  fcBTFTOaRAM. 


perience  delight  in  spite  of  her  impatience,  and 
to  feel  the  wonder  and  admimtion  which  the 
first  ,§ight  of  that  gan^  and  splendid -capital  al- 
ways excites.  But  BM  wits  not  willing  to  linger 
here.  Naples  was  the  goal  at  whicli  sjic  wished 
to  arrive,  and  as  soon  as  possibly  she  hurried 
onward. 

On  reaching  Marseilles  she  found  the  cily 
crowded.  The  great  mot'cments  of  the  Italian 
war  were  going  on,  and  everr  thing  was  af- 
fected by  it.  Marseilles  was  one  of  the  grand 
centres  of  action,  and  one  of  the  chief  depots  for 
military  supplies.  The  city  was  filled  with'  sol- 
diers. '  The  harbor  was  full  of  transports.  The 
streets  were  thronged  with  representatives  of  all 
the  difierent  regiments  of  the  French  army, 
from  .the  magnificent  steel-clad  Cuirassiers,  and 
the  dashing  Cliasseurs  de  Vincennes,  to  the  in- 
souciant Zouaves  and  the  wildTurcos.  In  ad- 
dition to  the  military,  the  city  was  filled  with 
civil  ofBciaLs,  connected  with  the  dispatch  of  the 
array,  who  filled  the  city,  and  rendered  it  ex- 
tremely difficult  for  a  stranger  to  find  lodgings. 
■  Zillnh'was  taken  .to  the  Hotel  de  France,  but 
it  was  full.    Gualticr  went  round  to  all  the  other 


hotels,  but  retMrne(;l, 

gence  that  nil 

not  very  greu 

be  on  board  tin 

found  lodgin^ 

ence  to  her 

journey.    A 

once  mote,'wii  ^ 

ceedesl  in  finding  ixioi 


h  the  unpleasant  intelli- 

~     filled.     But  this  did 

uh,  for  she  hoped  to 

l(ion;  and  whether  shQ 

A  matter  of  indiffer- 

with  prosefeuting  her 

purs  Guallicr  returned 

mation  that  ho  had  suc- 

s  for  her  in  this  hotel. 


He  had  made  an'  earnest  appeal,  he  said,  to  the 
gallantly  of  some  French  oBicera,  and  they  had 
given  up  their  rooms  for  the  use  of  the  fair  An- 
glafse.  It  was  thus  (hat  Zillali  was  able  to  se- 
ciire  accommodation  for  the  night, 

All  that  evemng'Giialtier;'»peJit^  in  searching 
for  thQ  Naples  steamer.  Wh^n  lie  Aiftde  his  ap- 
pearance on  the  following  morning  it  Vns  with 
news  that  was  very  unpleasant  tq  Zilltdi. '  He 
informed  her  that  the  rdgidar  stea^icrs  did  not 
run,  that  they  hi^d  been  taken  up  by  the  Frq^ich 
government  as  tr&nsports  for  the  troops^  amd, 
as  far  as  he  could  learn,  ^hcre  were  no  provisions 
whatever  for  carrying  the  mails.  '  He  could 
scarcely  think  it  possible  that  such  should  be  tfa$ 
case,  but  so  i^  was. 

At  this  intelligence  Zillah  was  aghast. 

"  N6,  mail  steamers ?^"  said  she.  "  Impossi- 
ble !  Even  if  they  had  taken  up  all  of  them  for 
transports,  something  would  be  put  on  the  route. " 

"lean  assure  you,  my  lody,  that  it  is  as  I 
said.  I  have  searched  every  where,  and  can 
not  find  out  any  thing, "«aid  Gualtier. 

"You  need  not  address  me  by  my  title,  ".said 
Zillah.  "At  present  I  do  not  choose  to  adopt 
it." 

"Pardon  me,"  said  Gualtier,  humbly.  "It 
is  taken  for  granted  in  France  that  every  wealthy 
English  lady  is  titled — every  French  hotel-keep- 
er will  call  you  '  mihidi,'  and  whv^hould  not  1  ? 
It  is  only  a  form. "  ..>»^ 

— i'Woll,"  gaid  Ziaaly**l<^it  pMB:  Bnt  what 
am  I  to  do,  here  ?  I  must  go  on. '  Can  I  not  go 
by  land?"  . 

''  You  forgot,  fnylod^,  the  war  in  Lombardy." 

"  But  I  tell/yon,  I  tAunt  go  on,"8oid  Zillnh, 
impatiently.  /"Cost  what  it  may^ven  if  I 
have  to  buy  a  steamer." 


Gualtier  smiled  faintly. 

"Even  if  you  wished  to  buy  a  iteamer,  njl 
lady,  you  could  not. '  The  French  govemmeDtl 
has  taken  up  all  for  transports.  Could  yon  noil 
make  np  your  mind  to  waitfor  a  few  days?"    I 

■♦*  A  few  dayi.r.'.cried  Zilluh,  in  tones  of  (le.| 

spoir — "a  few  days!'  What!  aftev  ^fau 
here  through  France  so  rapidly  I  A  few  dmi'l 
No.  I  would  rather  go  to  Spain,' and-catclith^l 
steamer  at  Gibraltar  that  Miss  Krieif  spoke  of."  f 

Gualtiersmiled. 

"Xhot  would  take  much  linger  time,"  mM 
he.  "  But,  my  lady,  I  will/go  out  again,  anjl 
see  if  I  can  not  find  some  Way  more  expeuitiouil 
than  that.  /Trust  to  mo. /It  will  be  Btranxc  if  [I 
do  not  find  some  way.  yWpukl  you  be  willing%| 
go  in  a  sailing  vessel?'/      ,  I 

"Of  course,"  said  Eillah',  without  hesitatioul 
"  If  nothing  else  can  bo  found  I  Shall  be  odIjI 
too  happy."  '  ,  .1 

Upon  this,  Gualtier  departed  with  .the  intco-l 
tion  of  searching  for  a  sailing  vessel.  .Zillah  heiT 
self  would  have  been  willing  to  go  in  ony  thin}! 
Such  was  her  anxiety  to  get  to  Hilda,  that  railJ 
or  than  stay  in  Marseilles  she  would  have  beal 
willing  to  start  for  Naples  tn  an  open  boat.  Bui 
jon  mentioning  l^er' situation  t6  Mathiide  shee 
countered,  to  her  suii>riso,  a  very  energetic  ogkl 
podtioii.  That  important  personage  expressdl 
a  very  strong  repugnance  to  any  thing  of  tbt 
kind,  first,  she  dreaded  a  sea  voyage  in  a  e 
Iqg  -vessel ;  and  secondly,  having  got  back  ttl 
F'htnae,  she  did  not  wish  to  leave  it.  If  the  rej 
ular  mail  vessel  had  been  going- she  might  ml 
have  objected,  but  as  it' was  she  did  not  wishtl 
go.  Mathiide  was  veiy  voluble,  and  vcrydtl 
tcrmined ;  but  ZiQah  tronbled  h«i^self  very  litilil 
about  this.  To  get  to  Hilda  was  her  one  atll 
only  desire.  If  Mathiide  stood  in  the  way  sltl 
would  go  on  in  spite  of  her.  She  was  willing  iil 
let  Mathiide  go,  and  set  out  unattended.  Ti| 
get  to  Naples,  to  join  Hilda,  whether  in  a  ste 
er  or  a^  sailing  ves^l — whether  with  a  maid  o 
without  one — that  was  her  only  purpose. 

On  the  following  morning  Gualticr  madeb 
appearance,  with  the  announcement  thdthe^h 
found  a  vessel.     It  was  a  small  schooner  wli 
had  been  a  yacht  belonging  to  •en  £nglisbmii| 
who  had  sold  it  at  Marseilles  for  some  reasoDi 
other  to  a  rtierchant  of  the  city.     Tliis  m- 
chant  was  willing  to  sell  it,  and  Gualtier  I 
bought  it  in  her  name,  as  he  could  find  no  otl 
way  of  going  on.    The  price  was  large,  but  "  n 
lady"  had'  said  that  she'  was  willing  to  buj i{ 
steamer,  and  to  hoir  it  woujd  be  small.     He  I 
ventured,  thercfoTer  to   conclude   the  bar£iii| 
He  had  done  more,  aijd  had  even  engaj 
crew,  so  that  all  was  in  readiness  to  start. 

At  this  news  Zillah  wa^^erjoyed.     Her  loij 
ing  to^  be  with  Hilda  wae  go  great  that  even  if 
she'h'ild  been  a  miser  sW  would  have  willinf 
paid  the  price  dentanded,  and  f4r  mure, 
funds  which  she  had  brought  with  hoi*,  and  wbi 
Gualtier  had  kindly  taken  charge  of|  amouDldj 
to  a  considerable  sum,  and  afforded  ample  mt 
far  the  purelwse  of  the  vessel.    The  vessel  i 
therefore  regularly  purchased,  and  Zillah  at  li 
saw  a  way  by  which  She  cou^  once  more  p 
ceed  on  her  journey.     Gualtier  informed  1 
that  the  remainder  of  pat  day  would  be  noe 
for  the  completion  of  (no  preparations,  and  t 
they  woold  be  ready  to  leave  at  aa  early  I 


'V% 


ft: 


faintly. 

wuhod  to  buy  a  Bteiuner,  njl 
ot. '  The  French  govemneotl 
>r  trantports.  Could  you  notl 
d  to  wait-for  ji few  days?" 
^criedZiDah,  in  tones  of  (|«.| 
ysl '  What !  aftev  ^hurp 
ice  BO  rapidly  I  A  few  dujs"! 
ergo  to  Hpain,' and- catch 'thil 
tr  that  Miss  Krieft'spoko  of," 

ike  much  l(ii\ger  time,"  uijl 
,dy,  I  will/go  out  again,  gojl 
1  some  way  more  expeuitiogjl 
;o  mo. /it  will  be  strange  ifC 
■ay.  iffouU  you  be  willing4i| 
«1?7 

lid  Eillah',  without  hesitatioD.| 
can  be  found  I  Shall  be  ot)\ 

tier  departed  with  .the  inteii'l 
r  a  sailing  vessel.  ^.Zillali  hetJ 
en  willing  to  go  in  any  thingl 
3ty  to  g6t  to  Hilda,  that  raibJ 
trseillcs  she  would  have  bai| 
Naples  fn  an  open  boat.  Bai| 
situation  tb  Mathilde  sliee 
surprise,  a  very  energetic  o|k| 
iportant  personage  cxpressel| 
jgnnnce  to  any  thing  of  tbt 
rcaded  a  sea  voyage  in  a  sai-l 
scondly,  having  got  back  it| 
t  wish  to  leave  it.  If  the  r 
d  been  g^ingshe  might mI 
as  it'was  she  did  not  wishtl 
I  vei7  voluble,  and  vcfyd^l 
ih  tronbled  hat«elf  very  littlil 
!t  to  Hilda  Was  her  one  ai^l 
athilde  stood  in  the  waj  tl«| 
oof  her.  She  was  willing  iJ 
nd  set  out  unattended.  Tt| 
in  Hilda,  whether  ih  a  ste 
iel — whether  with  a  moid  n 
was  her  only  purpose. 
;  morning  Gualtier  made  lii| 
10  announcement  that  h(rh 

was  a  small  schooner  wliidl 
)elonging  to.'on  Englishnml 
Marseilles  for  some  reason  g 
mt  of  the  city.     Tliis  dihI 

to  sell  it,  and  Gualtier  I 
me,  as  he  could  find  no  otIiBJ 
riie  price  was  large,  but  "n 
A  she' was  willing  to  buvil 
r  it  would  be  small.     lie  iuJl 
ir  to  conclude   the  bargaii| 
■V,  add  had  even  engagi 
IS  in  readiness  to  start. 
ith  wa{»«verjoyed.     Herlonf 
da  was 'go  great  that  creni| 
iscr  shfr  would  have  willini 
landed,  and  fi^r  more. 
1  brought  with  her,  and  wit 
y  taken  charge  of|  amounii^ 
m,  and  afforded  ample  I 
'  the  vessel,     'rhe-rwet 


THE  CRYPTOGRAM. 


_j  the  following  moiriing.     So  ZiUah  awaited 

kith  impatience  the'Bippointcd  time. 

I  Zillah  awaked  eptly  on  (he  following  morning, 

fat  Mathikle  was  Hot  to  be  found.     Instead  of 

Mathilde,  a  letter  was  awaiting  her,  which  stated, 

nveiy  respectful  language,  thoit  the  dread  which 

Jiat  personage  felt  at  going  in  a  sailing  vessel 

Iras  80  strong,  and  her  love  for  her  own  dear 

Jonntry  so  great,  that  she  had  decided  to  remain 

Irbere  she  was.    She  therefore  had  come  to  the 

lonclusion  to  Jeavo   "miladi"  without  giving 

jrarning,  although  «he  would  thereby  lose  what 

Iras  due  her,  and  she  hoped  that ' '  miladi"  would 

Ibrgivahcr,  and  bear  her  in  aifcctionate  remem- 

Jrance.    With  wishes  and  prayers  for  "  miladi'g" 

Ltiire  happiness,  Mathilde  begged  leavd  to  sub- 

(cribe  herself  "  naikdi's'*  most  devoted  and  gnit^^ 

id  servant.,    '  v 

Such  was  the  finol  message  of  Mathilde  to  l^er 

tadulgcnt  mistress.     But,  although  at°any  other 

ime  Zillah  would  have  been  both  wounded  and 

fcdignoHt  at  such  desertion  ijif  ^r  ot  such  a  time, 

let  now,  in  the  one  eqgi;ossing  thought  that 

■lied  her  mind,  she  thought  but  little  of  this  in- 

udent.    At  Naples,  she  thought,  she  could  very 

iasily  fill  her  place.     Now  she  would  have  to  be 

Krithoot  n  maid  for  two  or  three  days,  but  after 

Ul  it  would  make  no  veiy  great  diffejrence.    She 

loald  rely  upon  herself,  and  endure  a  few  days' 

liscomfort  very  readily  for  Hilda's  sake.    It  was 

rith  such  feelings  as  these  that  she  awaited  the 

rrival  of  Gualtier.     When  ho  came,  and  heard 

f  the  departure  of  Mathilde,^  he  appeared  to  be 

Jled  with  indignation,  and  nrged  Zillah  to  wait 

Ine  day  more  till  he  could  get  another  maid  for 

ler.    But  Zillah  refused.     She  was  determined 

)  go  on,  and  insisted  on  starting  at  once  for  the 

lacht.    Finding  his  remonstrances  unavailing, 

■be  faithful  Qualtier  conducted  her  to  the  fthoon- 

Ir,  and,  as  all  things  were' in  readiness,  they  pat 

Tit  to  sea  immediately.  ,      , 

The  schooner  was  a  very  hRndsomo  one,  and 
In  looking  over  it  Zillah  felt  delighted  withQudl- 
ner's  good' taste,  or  his  good  fortune,  whichever 
B  might  have  been.  It  was,  as  has  been  said,  a 
lacht,  which  had  been  the  property  of  an  English- 
lian  who  had  sold  it  at  Marseille!^.  Ike  cabin 
Lras  fitted  up  in  the  most  elegant  style,  Ind  was 
Wch  more  roomy  than  was  common  in  vessels 
n  thnt  size.  ITiore  was  an  outer  cabin  with  a 
lable  in  the  middle  and  sofas  on  either  side, 
Ind  an  inner  cabin  with  capacious  berths,  "riie 
fcntchful  attention  of  Gnoltier  was  visible  all 
Ironnd.  There  were  baskets  of  rare  fruits,  boxes 
If  hcinbons,  and  cake-baskets  filled  with  delicate 
Vacaroons  and  ratafias.^  There  were  also  sev- 
h-al  books— volumes  of  the  works  of  Lamdrtine 
Ind  Chateaubriand,  together  with  two  or  three 
If  the  latest  English  novels.  He  certainly  had 
leen  particular  to  the  last  degree  in  attending  to 
Ul  of  her  possible  wants. 

J  After  inspecting  the  arrangements  of  tbc  cabin, 
pllah  went  out  on  deck  and  seated  herself  at  the 
»ern,  from  whfch  she  watched  the  city  which 
py  were  fiist  leaving  behind4he!j»rr-0^rCa«tifig 
[casual  glance  around,  it  struck  her  for  a  mo- 
hent  that  the  crew  were  a  remarkably  ill-looking 
Jet  of  men ;  but  she  was  utterly  inexperienced, 
■nd  she  concluded  that  they  were  like  all  sailors, 
Ind  should  not  be  jndged  by  the  same  standard 
V  landsmen.  Besides,  was  not  her  faithfiil 
Bualtier  there,  whose  delicate  attention  was  so 


?» 


evident  even  in  the  mo«t  minute  cirenmstanco 
which  she  had  noticed  ?  If  the  tho.ught  of  the 
evil  looks  of  the  crew  came  to  her,  it  was  but  for 
a  moment ;  and  in  a  moment  it  was  dismissed. 
She  wfls  herself  too  guileless  to  be  suspicious^ 
and  was  far  more  ready  to  cast  from  her  all  evil 
thoughts  than  to  entertain  them.  In  her  rnito- 
cence  and  inexperience  she  was  bold,  when  one 
more  brave  but  more  exporiencei^wnld  have 
been  fearful.  ^^B 

The  wind.was  fair,  and  the  ya|HpIed  swifC- 
ly  out  of  the  harbor.  'J,1,e  sea  wiHwnootli,  and 
<iillah  could  look  all  around  her  upon  the  Mori- 
ons scene.  In  a  few  hours  they  had  left  the  land 
far  behind  them,  and  then  the  grander  feature 
of  the  distant  coast  became  more  plainly  visible. 
The  lofty  heights  rose  up  above  the  sea  reced- 
ing backward,  but  ever  rising  higher,  till  they 
reached  the  Alpine  •summits  of  the  inland.  AU 
around  was  the  blue  Mediterranean,  dotted  with 
white  sails.  All  that  she  saw  was  novel  and 
striking;  she  had  never  sailed  in  a  vacht  before  j 
the  water  was  sraoQth  enough  to'be  pleasant, 
and  she  gave  herself  up  to  a  childlike  joy. 

On  rising  on  the  following  morning  they  were 
far  out  of  sight  of  land.  A  delicious  repast  was 
placed  before  her  for  her  breakfast.  After  j)ar- 
taking  she  snt  on  deck,  looking  out  upon  the 
glorious  sea,  with  such  a  feeling  of  dreamy  en- 
joyment as  she  had  Scarcely  ever  known  before. 
Her  one  chief  thought  wm  that  every  hour  was 
bringing  her  nearer  to  Hilda.  When  tired  of  the 
deck  she  went  below,  and  lity  down  in  her  cabin 
and  read.  So  tlje  hours  passed.  On  that  day 
Gualtier  surpassed  himself  in  delicate  attention 
to  every  possible  wish  of  Iters.  She  herself  was 
surprised  at  the  variety  o{  the  dishes  which  com- 
posed her  dinner.  She  cpuld  not  help  express- 
ing her  thanks. 

Gualtier' smiled,  and  murmured  some  scarce 
audibly  words. 

Tijro  days  passed,  and  they  were  now  far  on 
their  way.  Gualtier  assured  her  respectfully  that 
on  the  following  morning  they  would  see  the  Ap- 
ennines on  the  Italian  shore.  The  voyage  had 
not  been  so  rapid  as  it  might  have  been,  but  it 
had  been  exceedingly  pleasant  weather,  and  their 
progress  had  been  satisfactory.  That  evening 
ZilLh  watched  the  sun  as  it  set  in  glory  below 
theVate»jr  horizon,  and  retired  for  the  night  with 
the  thought  that  in  twr^ays  more  she  woiild  b« 
with  Hilda. 
Slie  slept  soundly  l,hat  night. 
Suddenly  she.waked  with  a-strange  sensation. 
Her  dwams  had  been  troubled.  She  thought 
that  she  was  drowning.  In  an  agony  she  starte4 
up.  Water  was  all  around  her  in  the  berth 
where  she  was  lying.  The  dim  light  of  dawn 
was  struggling  through  thoslty-light,  and  she 
looked  around  bewildered,  not  knowing  at  first 
where  she  was.  Soon,  however,  she  remembered, 
and  then  a  great  horror  came  over  hpr.  The 
vessel  was  sink-in/;! 
All  was  still.  She  gave  a  wild'cry,  and  st 
Pj:rwauuij{  through  tno  water  t<v  the  door:  •  ^mf 
cried  agam  and  again,  till  her  cries  became 
shrieks.    In  vain.    No  answer  came.    Fiinffiag 


a  shawl  around  her  she  went  into  the  outer  cabin, 
and  thence  asdended  to  the  deck. 

No  one  was  there. 

No  man  was.  at  the  wheel.  No  watchers  were 
visible.    The  vessel  was  deserted! 


..^^^ifc.-i'ii*.-<5t  A'«-P«to'.i5. 


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■           .-1 

'AN   AWFUL, PEAK   CANE   OVKU   HER. 


Louder  and  loader  she  shrieked.  Her  voice, 
borne  ofar  over  the  wide  waste  of  waters,  died 
ont  in  the  distance,  but  brought  no  response. 
She  hurried  to  the  forecastle.  The  door  was 
open.  She  called  over  and  over  again.  There 
was  no  reply.  Looking  down  in  the  dim  morn- 
ing twilight  she  could  see  phunly  that  tb^ULatci' 
_h!tjj  P*'"'f"'>'^  there., 


An  awful  fear  came  over  ,i^ 

The  sails  were  lowered.  The^Kmt  was  gone. 
No  one  was  on  board  besides  herself.  The  schoon- 
er was  sinking.  She 'had  been  deserted.  She 
had  iHien  betrayed.  She  would  never  see  Hilda. 
Who  had  betrayed  her?  Was  Hilda  really  at 
Naples  ?    Had  she  really  written  that  letter  and 


sent  Gualtier  to  her  ?    A  thousand  hoirid  sus- 
picions rushed  through  her  mind.     One  thought 
predominated — she  had  been  betrayed! 
But  why  ? 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 


TWO  IfWr  CHABACTWBt 

Ik  spite  of  Gualtier's  assurances,  a  steamer 
was  running  regularly  between  Naples  and  Mar- 
seilles, and  the  war  had  made  no  disturbance  in 
the  promptituit^and  dispatch  of  its  trips.  ItMb- 
longed  to  a  line  whose  ships  went  on  to  Malta, 
touching  at  Italian  ports,  and  finally  connecting 


with  the  steal 

Company,    ' 

seilles  one  of 

former  port, 

and  variety  o 

On  the  ster 

ing  out  over 

ennines  axon 

gram}  figure 

its  smoke  cloi 

One  of  these 

sinewy,  with 

head.  Arm  cli 

pression  at  o 

no  very  rare 

for  there  arc 

and  boldest  r 

He  was  a  m 

sixty,  but  hii 

looked  like  a 

ably  dread  to 

The  other  w 

bronzed  by 

wore  a  heav 

the  nnmistal 

man,  while  i 

about  him  si 

British  office 

civilian.     Hi 

ing ;  and  a  ( 

he  manifesti 

sombre  embl 

"Well,  \\ 

long  silence, 

place  on  this 

me  like  that 

there  is  a  cit] 

Even  New  ■! 

leave  it  no\ 

couldn't  dra 

waiting  for 

must  join  th( 

soon  OS  I  cai 

country  till  '. 

pressed  out 

information 

name's  not  ( 

The  one  c 

-     "  You'll  h 

'   think,"  said 

"Why?" 

"  The  wai 

"The  wa 

that  the  wai 

American  ?" 

"  Perhapf 

the  field  an 

specters  of  p 

icans  might 

French  prist 

"  Even  so 

have  an  int 

of  the  thing 

for.    At  an; 

go  to  Loml 

me.    I  shoi 

to  do'it  in,  I 

proach  to  it 

rear  of  the  a 

take  part  in 

do  so,  for  tl 

"  Yon  rei 


e¥^ 


iJ,F/l"S=.i'iJ^-.^^ 


.,.^';.^',^i!.:<ii!i._iU.: 


THE  CRYPTOGRAM. 


95 


'^ 


lousand  horrid  sus- 
nind.  One  thought 
betrayed! 


XIX. 


AC'IKBB.  ~" 

snrancefi,  a  steamer 
en  Nap]es  and  Mar- 
io no  disturbance  in 
I  of  its  trips.  It  1k- 
I  went  on  to  Malta, 
d  flnali,r  connecting 


with  the  steamers  of  th«  Peninsular  and  Oriental 
Company.  The  day  after  Zillah  had  left  Mar-, 
seilles  one  of  these  left  Naples  on  its  way  to  the 
former  port,  having  on  board  the  usual  number 
and  variety  of  passengers.  •• 

On  the  stem  of  this  vessel  stood  two  men,  look- 
ing out  over  the  water  to  where  the  purple  Ap- 
ennines arose  over  the  Italian  coast,  where  the 
grant}  figure  of  Vesuvius  towered  eoijspicuous, 
its  smoke  cloud  floating  like  a  pennon  lii  the  air. 
One  of  these  men  was  tali,  Ijroad-shouldcrcdj 
sinewy,  with  strong  square  head,  massive  fore- 
head, firm  chin,  and  eyes  which  held  in  their  ex- 
pression at  once  gentleness  nnd  determination ; 
no  very  rare  compound  in  the  opinion  of  some, 
for  the're  are  those  who  think  that  the  strongest 
and  boldest  natures  are  frequently  the  tenderest. 
He  was  a  man  of  about  fifty,  or  perhaps  even 
sixty,  but  his  years  sat  lightly  on  him ;  and  he 
looked  like  a  man  whom  any  one  might  reason- 
ably dread  to  meet  with  in  a  personal  encounter. 
The  other  was  much  younger.  His  face  was 
bronzed  by  exix)sure  to  a  southern  sun ;  he 
wore  a  heavy  beard  and  mustache,  and  be  had 
the  unmistakable  aspect  of  an  English  gentle- 
man, while  the  marked  military  nir  which  was 
about  him  showed  that  he  was  without  doubt  a 
British  oflicer.  He  was  dressed,  however,' as  a 
Mvilian.  His  hat -showed  that  he  was  in  mourn- 
ing ;  and  a  general  sadness  of  demeanor  which 
he  manifested  was  well  in  keeping  with  that 
sombre  emblem. 

"Well,  Windham,"  said  the  former,  after  a 
long  silence,  "  I  never  thought  that  there  was  a 
place  on  this  green  earth  that  could  take  hold  of 
me  like  that  Italian  city.  I  don't  believe  that 
there  is  a  city  any  where  that  comes  up  to  Naples. 
Even  New  York  is  not  its  equal.  I  wouldn't 
leave  it  now — no.  Sir! — ten  teqm  of  horses 
couldn't  drag  me  away,  only  my  family  are 
waiting  for  me  at  Mai'seilles,  you  see — and  I 
must  join  them.  However,  I'll  go  back  again  as 
soon  OS  I  can ;  and  if  I  don't  stay  in  that  there 
country  till  I've  exhausted  it — squeezed  it,  and 
pressed  out  of  it  all  the  useful  and  entertaining 
information  that  it  can  give — why,  then,  my 
name's  not  Obed  Chute."  ' 

The  one  called  Windham  gave  a  short  laugh. 
-     "  You'll  have  a  little  difliculty  in  Lombardy,  I 
think,"  said  he. 
"Why?" 
"The  war." 

"The  war?  My  friend,  are  you  not  aware 
that  the  war  need  not  be  any  obstacle  to  a  free 
American?" 

"  Perhaps  not ;  but  you  know  that  armies  in 
the  field  are  not  very  much  inclined  to  be  re- 
specters of  persons,  and  the  freest  of  free  Amer- 
icans might  find  himself  in  an  Austrian  or  if 
French  prison  as  a  spy." 

"  Even  so ;  but  he  would  soon  get  out,  and 
have  an  interesting  reminiscence.  That  is  one 
of  the  things  that  he  would  have  to  be  prepared 
for.  At  (inyrate,  I  have  made  up  my  mind  to 
pita  T/nmhardy^  and  I'll  take  m_y  family  with 
me.  I  should  dearly  like  to  get  a  Concord  coach 
to  doit  in,  ^t  if  I  can't  I'll  get  the  nearest  ap- 
proach to  it  I  can  find,  and  calmly  trot  on  in  the 
rear  of  the  army.  Perhaps  I'll  have  a  chance  to 
take  part  in  some  engagement.  I  should  like  to 
do  io,  for  the  honor  Of  .the  flog  if  nothing  else." 
"  You  remind  me  of  your  celebrated  country- 


man, who  was,  as  he  said,  'blao^mpulded  for 
want  of  a  fight.'" 

"That  man.  Sir,  was  a  tme  representative 
American,  and[  a  type  of  our  ordinary,  everyday, 
active,  vi-vacious  Western  citizen — the  class  of 
men  that  fell  the  forests,  people  the  prairies,  ~ 
fight  the  fever,  reclaim  the  swamps,  tunnel  the 
mountains,  send  railroads  over  the  phiins,  and 
dam  all  the  rivers  on  the  broad  continent.  It's 
a  pity  that  these  Italians  hadn't  an  army  of  these 
Western  American  men  to  lead  them  in  their 
struggle  for  lit)orty. " 

"  Do  you  think  they  would  bo  better  than  the 
French  army  ?" 

"  The  French  army !"  exclaimed  Obed  Chute, 
in  indescribable  accents. 

"Yes.  It  is  generally  conceded  that  the 
French  army  takes  the  lead  in  tnilitary  mat- 
ters.    I  say  so,  although  I  am  a  British  officer." 

"  Have  you  ever  traveled  in  the  States?"  said 
Obed  Chute,  quietly. 

"  No.     I  have  not  yet  had  that  pleasure." 

"  Yon  have  never  yet  seen  our  Western  popu- 
lation. You  don't  know  it,  and  you  cnn't  con- 
ceive it.  Can  you  imagine  the  original  English 
Puritan  turned  into  a  wild  Indian,  with  all  his 
original  honor,  and  morality,  and  civilization, 
combining  itself  with  the  intense  animalism,  the 
capacity  for  endurance,  and  the  reckless  valor  of 
the  savage  ?  Surround  all  this  with  all  that  ten- 
derness, domesticity,  and  pluck  which  are  the 
ineradicable  characteristics  of  the  Saxon  race, 
and  then  you  have  the  Western  American  man 
— the  product  of  the  Saxon,  developed  by  long 
struggles  with  savages  and  by  the  animating  in- 
fluences of  a  boundless  continent." 

"  I  suppose  by  this  you  meon  that  the  English 
race  in  America  is  superior  to  the  original  stock. " 

"That  can  hardlv  be  doubted,"  said  Obed 
Chute,  quite  seriously.  "The  mother  country 
is  small  and  limited  in  its  resources.  America 
is  not  a  country.  It  is  a  continent,  over  which 
our  race  has  spread  itself.  The  race  in  the  mo- 
ther country  has  reached  its  ultimate  possibility. 
In  America  it  is  only  beginning  its  new  career. 
To  compare  America  with  England  is  not  fair. 
You  should  compare  New  York,  New  England, 
Virginia,  witlvEngland,  not  Americo.  Already 
we  show  diiferehces  in  the  development  of  the 
same  race  whiclf  only  a  continent  could  cause. 
Maine  is  as  diff'erent  from  South  Carolina  as  En- 
gland froni  Spain.  But  you  Europeans  never 
seem  able  to  get  over  a  fashion  that  you  have 
of  regarding  our  boundless  continent  as  a  small 
country.  Why,  I  myself  have  been  asked  by 
Europeans  about  the  healtli  of  friends  of  theirs 
who  lived  in  California,  and  whom  I  knew  no 
more  about  than  I  did  of  the  Chinese.  The  fact 
is,  however,  that  we  are  continental,  and  nature 
is  developing  the  continental  American  man  to 
an  astonishing  extent. 

"Now  as  to  this  Lombard  war,"  continued 
Obed  Chute,  as  Windham  stood  listening  in  si- 
lence, and  with  a  quiet  smile  that  relieved  bat 
slighdy  the  deep  mmncholy  of  his  face — "  as  to 


this  Lombard  war ;  why.  Sir,  if  it  were  possibld 
to  collect  an  army  of  Western  Americans  and 
put  them  into  that  there  territoi7"--waTing  his 
hand  grandly  toward  the  Apennines — "  Uie  way 
they  would  walk  the  Austnans  off  to  their  own 
country  would  be  a  caution.  For  the  Western 
American  man,  as  an  individnal,  is  physically  and 


^;kl,Vi^ifc^ 


\ 


\ 


96 


THE  CRYPTOGRAM, 

gpiritqally  a  yfghntic  being,  and  sn  army  of  gnch 
would  be  irresistible.     Two  week*;  would  wind 


np  the  Lombard  \rtjr.  Our  Americans,  "Sir,  are 
the  most  military  pi^ople  ip  the  wide  universe." 
"As  yet,  though,  they  haven't  done  much  to 
show  their  capacity, \'  said  Windham.  "  Vou 
don't  call  the  Kcvoluti6nnry  war  and  that  of  1812 
any  greater  than  ordinary  wars,  do  you  ?" 

"No,  Sir;  not  at  kll,"  ^aid  Obed  Chute. 
"  We  are  well  aware  thak  in  Actual  wars  we  have 
as  yet  done  but  little  in  cdtrnpiftison  with  our  pos- 
sibilities and  capabilities.  >-  In  the'^volutionary 
war.  Sir,  we  were  crude  and  unforrad«J— we  were 
infants,  Sir,  and  our  efforts  were  infaritile.  The 
swaddling  bands  of  the  colonial  systeAi.  had  all 
along  restrained  the  free  play  of  the  national 
muscle ;  and  throughout  the  war  there  wgs  not 
time  for  full  development  Still,  Sir,  from  that 
point  of  view,  as  an  infant  nation,  we  did  re- 
markable well— re-raarkable.  In  1812  we  did 
not  have  a  fair  chance.  We  had  got  out  of  in- 
fancy^ it  is  true ;  but  still  not  into  our  full  man- 
hoods ;  Besides,  the  war  was  too  short.  Just  as 
we  be^n  to  get  into  condition— just  as  our  fleets 
and  arthies  were  ready  to  do  something — the  war 
came  to  nn  end.  Even  then,  however,  we  did 
re-markable  well— remarkable.  But,  after  all, 
neither  of  these  exWbited  the  Ataerican  man  in 
his  boundless  possibility  before  ;h6  worid." 

"  You  think,  I  snp|)ose,  thi^t  if  a  war  were  to 
come  now,  you  could  do  pronbrtionally  better." 
"Think  it!"  said  Obed ;  hi  know  it.  The 
American  |)eople  know  it<  And  they  want, 
above  all  things,  to  have  a  chance  to  ^how  it. 
You  spoke  of  that  American  who  was  blu» 
moulded  for  want  of  a  fight.  I  said  that  man 
was  a  typical  American.  Sir,  that  saying  is  pro- 
foundly true.  Sir,  the  whole  American  nation 
is  blue-moulded,  Sir.  It  is  spilin  for  want  of  a 
fight— a  big  fight." 

"  Well,  and  what  do  you  intend  to  do  about 
it?" 

"  Time  will  show,"  said  Obed,  gravely.  "  Al- 
ready, any  one  acquainted  with  the  manners  of 
our  people  and  the  conduct  of  our  government 
will  recognize  the  remarkable  fact  that  our  na- 
tion is  the  most  wrathy,  cantankerous,  high-met- 
tled community  on  this  green  earth.  Why,  Sir, 
there  ain't  a  foreign  nation  that  can  keep  on 
friendly  terms  with  us.  It  ain't  ugliness,  either 
—it's  only  a  friendly  desire  to  have  a  fight  with 
somebody— we  only  want  an  excuse  to  begin. 
The  only  trouble  is,  there  ain't  a  nation  that  re- 
ciprocates our  pecooliar  national  feeling." 

"What  can  you  do,  then?"  asked  Windham, 
who  seemed  to  grow  quite  amused  at  this  con- 
Tersation. 

"  That's  a*l1iing  I've  often  puzzled  over,"  said 
Obed,  thoughtfully;  "and  I  can  see  only  one 
remedy  for  us." 

"And  what  is  that?" 

"  Well,  it's  a  hard  one — but  I  suppose  it's  got 
to  come.  Yon  see,  the  only  foreign  countries 
that  ai-8  near  enough  to  ns  to  afford  a  satisfactory 
field  of  operations  are  Mexico  and  British  Amer- 
ica. The  first  we  have  already  tried.  It  ^as 
awork,  thoHghi   Oia  armies  marched  tbroogh 


big 


foi 
e] 


exico  as  though  they  were  going  on  a  picnic. 
As  to  British  America,  there  is  no  chance.  The 
population  is  too  small.  No,  there  is  only  one 
way  to  gratify  the  national  craving  for  a  fight," 

'^^ I  don't  see  it." 


"Why,"  said  Obed,  dryly,  "to  get 
fight  among  ourselves. " 

"  Among  yourselves  ?"  .       t 

"Yes— quite  domestic— and  all  by  ourselves." 
"  You  «eem  to  mo  to  speak  of  a  civil  war." 
"That's  the  identical  circumstance,  and  no- 
thing else.  It  is  the  only  thing  that  is  suited  to 
the  notional  feeling ;  and  what's  more— it's  got  to 
come.  I  see  the  pointings  of  the  flng6r  of  Prov- 
idence.  It's  got  to  come— there's  no  help  for  it 
—and,  mark  me,  when  it  does  come  it  'II  be  the 
tallest  kind  of  flghtin'  that  this  revohing  orb  has 
yet  seen  in  all  its  revolutions." 

"You  speak  very  lighUy  about  so  terrible  a 
tmng  as  a  civil  war,"  said  Wjndham.  "  But  do 
you  think  it  possible?  In  so  peaceful  and  well- 
ordered  a  country  what  causes  could  there  be  ?" 
"When  the  whole  nation  is  pining  and  crav- 
ing and  spilin  for  a  fight,"  said  Obwl,  "causes 
will  not  be  wonting.  I  con  enumAato  half  a 
dozen  now:  First,  there  is  the  Aivery  question ; 
secondly,  the  tariffyiuestion ;  thirdly,  the  mi- 
frage  question  ;  fourfhly,  the  question  of  the  nat- ' 
uralization  of  foreigners ;  fifthly,  the  bank  ques- 
tion; sixthly,  the  question  of  denominational 
schools." 
Windham  gave  a  short  lough. 
"  You  certainly  seem  to  have  causes  enough 
for  a  war,  although,  to  my  contracted  European 
mind,  they  would  all  seem  insufficient.  Which 
of  these,  do  you  think,  is  most  likelv  to  be  the 
cause  of  that  civil  war  which  you,  anticipate  ?" 

"One,  pre-emiftently  and  inevitably,"  said 
Obed,  solemnly.  "All  others  ore  idle  beside 
this  one."  Hb  dropped  abruritki|he  half  gas- 
conading manner  in  which  heJ^Hhn  indulg- 
ing, and,  in  a  low  voice,  a^^^^^HTreal  earn- 
est, Windham,  there  is  onetlHKn  America 
which  is,  every  year,  every  montfi;  every  day, 
forcing  on  a  war  from  whitji  there  can  be  no  es- 
cape ;  a  war  which  wil^  cotivulse  the  repbblic 
and  endanger  its  existeftce ;  yes.  Sir,  a  war 
which  will  deluge  the  land  with  blood  from  one 
end  to  the  otbo-." 

Hi's  solemn  lone,  his  change  of  manner,  and 
his  intense  eametstness,  impressed  Windham  most 
deeply.  He  felt  that  there  was  some  deep  mean- 
ing in  the  language  of  t)bed  Chute,  and  that 
under  his  careless  words  therp  was  a  gloomy 
foreboding  of  some  future  calamity  to  his  loved 
country. 

"This  is  a  fearful  prospect,"  said  he,  "to  one 
who  loves  his  <»untry.  What  is  it  that  vou  fear  ? " 
"One  thing,"  said  Obed— "one  thing,  and 
one  only— slavery!  It  is  this  that  hos  divided 
the  republic  and  mode  of  our  country  two  na- 
tions, which  already  stand  apart,  but  are  every 
day  drawing  nearer  to  that  time  when  a  frightful 
struggle  for  the  mastery  will  be  inevitable.  The 
South  and  the  North  must  end  their  ditferences 
by  a  fight ;  and  that  fight  will  be  the  greatest 
that  has  been  seen  for  some  generations.  There 
is  no  help  for  it.  It  must  come.  There  arc 
many  in  our  country  who  are  trying  tolpostp^w 
the  evil  day,  bat  it  is  to  no  purpose,  'f  he'iirae 
will  come  when  it  can  be  postponed  no  longer. 
'fhen  the  war  Wnsf  come,  and  it  wBI  be  the 
slave  States  against  the  free." 

"  I  never  before  heard  an  American  acknowl- 
edge the  possibility  of  such  a  thing,"  said  Wind- 
ham, "though  in  Europe  there  are  many  who 
have  anticipated  tbitb"  J 


Ay,  "to  get  9|M(.big 


THE  CRYPTOGRAM. 


Many  Americans  feel  it  ond  feiir  it,"  said 
Ubed,  with  unchanged  solemnity;  "but  thev 
do  not  dar&to  put  their  feelings  or  their  fears  ih 
words.  One  may  fear  that  his  father,  his  mo- 
ther, his  wife,  or  his  child,  Aay  die;  bat  to  put 
such  a  fear  m  words  is  heart-breaking.  So  we 
who  have  this  fear,  brood  over  it  in  secret,  and 
in  every  shifting  scene  of  our  jiational  life  we 
ook  fearfiilly  for  those  coming  events  which  cast 
their  shadows  before.  The  events  which  we 
watch  with  the  deepest  anxiety  are  the  Presi- 
dential elections.  p:vety  four  years  now  brinjts 
a  cnsis ;  and  in  one  of  these  the  long  antagonism 
between  ^orth  and  South  will  end  in  war"    But 

f , '^^rVP^J'  "f  ">"•  What  were  wo  talking 
ot  /  Of  Lombardy  and  the  Italian,)var.  What 
do  yon  think,"  ho  addgd,  abruptly  changing  the 

wa"rr'''*"°"'  "^  ''''"'  '**  ™''  "'««*«'  of 

•  "J  '^'"^''^'d  Windham,  "that  if  any  man 
u  able  to  rfo  Lombardy  at  such  »  time,  you  are 
tnat  person.  >  .^  " 

j^f"'  ^„'!|'e"d  to  to-."  said  Obed  Chute, 
modestly  "I  ,„ay  fail,  though  I  generally  suc- 
ceed m  what  I  set  my  mind  on.  I'll  go,  I  ihink, 
as  a  fighting  neutral. "  ' 

"Prepared  to  fight  on  either  side,  I  suppose." 

GaribaTd'i  "*  ^"^  "*  ^ ''"°"'  •"*'■*  '"  ''k'"  "«»'""' 
"But,  wouldn't  you  find  your  family  a  little 
embarrassing  m  case  of  a  fight  ?" 

J^^^n  "'«^7»"\'?  ^^m  be  safely  in  the 

rear,  at  the  base  of  my  line  of  operations.    There 

will  be  no  difliculty  about  it  whatever.     Ameri-   business      Ho  .„„„;      ' 

cans  are  welcome  all  over  Italy  esneciallv  «r.hi.   .T^,^      '^°  TP'  "^"^  ' 

time,  for  these  /talians  thlnt  Ylir^'^lL"' ^''   ""*"'«'?  posseithe  Pacifi 


.  time,  for  these  /taH^nVrhirfhaVELsS!: 
pathizes  with  them,  and  wiU  help^hem ;  and  as 
U  .HM  f  :5"'=''-'^hy.  Boney.  thoi^i  an  emperor, 
IS  still  a  democrat  to  his  hearts  core,  and,  Ihave 
no  doubt,  would  give  a  warm  reception  to  a  fight- 
ing volunteer."  * 

"Have  yon  any  acquaintance  with  any  of  the 
French  generals,  or  have  ychi  any  pkn  for  getting 
access  to  Napoleon?"  i5"""k 

jy^  r°'  1 1""'  '"^'^'J'  '°  *•'«  "-eMon  and 
good  feeling  of  the  man.  It  seems  to  me  that  a 
reqaest  from  a  free  American  to  take  part  in  a 
fight  could  hardly  meet  with  any  thing  else  ex- 
cept the  most  cordial  compliance." 

fi&  ^"'  ^""  "^  "^  «'"«■."  Mid 

The  name  of  Obed  Chute  has  already  been 
ni;°^^'/T*"^  He  had  embarked  at  Bombay 
Z.  hY^f  "  same  steamer  with  Windham,  and 
they  had  formed  a  friendship  which  after  cirium- 

^rv^L^  '"•^"i"^.  ^'  '''""  Windham's  re- 
Bene  had  repelled  advances;  his  sadness  and 
preoccupation  had  repelled  any  intimacy;  but 
l>^re  many  days  an  event  happened  which 
threw  them  into  dose  association.    When  about 

.»,i  r^i  ""  ''^^  ™^"8®  '••«  steamer  was  discov- 
er^ to  be  on  fire.  Panic  arose.  The  captain 
tned  to  keep  order  among  the  sailors.  This  he 
was  very  easily  able  to  do.  But  with  the  pag- 
M^fffiLit  waa  anotlwr  thing,  Goofusioir  ire- 
^ailed  every  where,  and  the  sailors  themselves 
were  becoming  demoralized  by  the  terror  which 
mged  among  the  others.  In  that  moment  of 
danger  two  men  stood  fonh  from  among  the 
Pawengers,  who,  by  the  force  pf  their  own  slrong 
•otUs,  brought  oi«6r  out  6f  that  chaos      "        "  ' 


'  -,  97 

these  was  Obed  Chute.  With  a  revolver  in  his 
hand  he  went  about  Uying  hold  of  each  man  who 
!^Z  M  ^-  T"'?  "8»t«tea,  swearing  that  ho 
would  blow  his  brains  out  if  he  didn't  "  stop  his 

Tl^t  IT/    ^'"'  "*'''  ^""^  Windham,  who 
acted  in  a  difterent  manner.,,  He  collected  Dines 
pumps  and  buckets,  and  induced  a  tige  'u^l 
ber  to  take  part  in  the  work  of  extinguishing  the 

«  Jii  •  '^i!"'"^  u""  *=T"^'  '"<»  «»<=»»  00°  recog- 
nized in  the  other  a  kindred  spirit  ^ 

AfteHanding  at  Suez  they  were  thrown  more 
closely  together;  their  intimacy  deepened  on  the 
tT.?  M  ^!f'^'"'«l"'»i  nnd  when  they  embarked  on 
the  Mediterranean  thejl^had  beiome  stronger 
friends  than  ever.    W^jaim  ^ad  told  the  oZr 
that  he  had  recently  heard  of  the  death  of  a 
fiiend,  and  was  going  hbme  fc  settle  his- affairs. 
He  hinted  also  that  he  w*8  in  some  govemmen 
employ  in  India;  and  Obtd  Chute  did  not  seek  ' 
to  kno^V  more.     Contrary  to  the  generally  re- 
ceived view  of  the  Yaiikee  characteT/ he  did  not 
show  any  curu^ity  whatever,  but  received  the 
slight  information  which  was  given  witli  a  deli- 
cacy which  showed  no  desire  to  learn  more  than 
Windham  himself  might  choose  to  tell 

But  for  his  own  part  ho  was  as  fmnk'and  com- 
municative as  though  Windham  had  bc€li  an  old 
friend  or  a  blood  relation.  He  had  been  kept  in 
New  York  too  closely,  he  «ud,  for  the  lust  twenty 
yms,  aijd  nCw  wished  to  have  a  little  breathing 
spSce  and  elbow-room.  So  he  had  left  New  York 
tor  ban  Francisco,  partly  on  pleasure,  partly  on 
business.    .He  spent  some  months  in  California. 


nf  n„„„i  I ^r»; ""''"'^  '"  China,  touching 

at  Honolulu  and  Nangasaki.  He  had  left  direc- 
uons  for  his  family  to  bo  sent  on  to  Europe, Td 
meet  him  at  ^certain  time  at  Marseilles.  He 
was  expecting  to  find  them  there.  He  himself 
had  gone  from  China  to  India,  where  he  had 

h^r  .Tf",'°;""  i'"'°«*'  ">«  <=»»""-v.  nnd  then 
had  embrtrked  for  Europe.     Befoi*  gl.ing  back' 

hUfZ^r  ""I  '?'^^*'^  "^  "P*""'  ""'"e  '^e  with 
his  family  in  Italy,  France,  and  Germany. 

Ihere  was  a  grandeur  of  view  in  this  man's 

waj  of  looking  upon  the  world  which  surprised 

FnJ'oiIl'?'r.?'*'  '°  "'""'  '^«e'^'  nmused  him. 
For  Obed  Chute  regarded  the  wliolo  world  ex- 
actly as  another  man  might.regard  his  native 
county  or  town;  and  spoke  about  going  from 
San  F  rancisco  to  Hong-Kong,  touching  at  Nan- 
gasaki, just  as  another  might  speak  of  going 
from  Livenwol  to  Glasgow,  tonchhigat  Roths./ 
He  seemed,  in  fact  to  regard  our  planet  as  rathir 
a  small  aftair,  easily  traversed,  and  a  place  with 
which  he  >vas  thoroughly  familiar.    He  had  writ- 
ten fiom  San  Francisco  for  liis  family  to  meet 
liira  at   Marseilles,  and  now  approached  that 
place  with  the  fullest  confidence  that  his  famUy 
would  bo  there  according  to  appointment.     This 
tyi)e  of  man  is  entirely  ahd  exclusively  the  prod- 
uct of  Amenca,  the  country  of  magnificent  dis- 
tances, and  the  place  where  Nature  works  on  so 
grand  a  scale  that  human  beings  insensibly  catch 
her  s^je  of  expression.    Obed  Chute  wa/aja.^^  _ 


jvho  ftit  in  every  fibre  the  oppressive  weight  of 
his  country's  gmndejif. '  Yet  sb  generous  was  his 
nature  that  he  fortwVe  to  overpower  others  by  any 
allnsions  to  tlvit  grandeur,  except  where  it  wu 
absolutely  ^possible  to  avoid  it. 

Ona  of  I  ~ZIiT"f  ''°  '"*''  8™''"'^')'  come  to  form  a  Hvmt 
One  of  IrpBBTrtl  for  one  another,  and  Obed  Chute  did 


,(  f t /'  " 


?' 


bot  hesitate  to  express  his  opinion  about  his 
fnend.  ' 

i  "  I  do  not  generally  take  to  Britishers,"  said 
ne,  once,  "for  they  are  too  contracted,  and  never 
seem  to  me  to  have  taken  in  a  full  breath  of  the  free 
«ir  of  the  universe.  They  seem  usually  to  have 
been  in  the  habit  of  inhaling  an  enervating  moral 
and  intellectual  atmosphere.  But  you  suit  me, 
you  do.  Young  man,  your  hand." 
And  grasping  Windham's  hand,  Obed  wrung 
r  It  so  heartily  that  he  forced  nearly  all  feeling  out 
of  It.  , 

"  I  suppose  living  in  India  has  enabl^ed^me  to 
breathe  a  broader  moral  atmosphere, "said  Wind- 
ham, with  his  usual  melancholy  smile. 

"I  suppose  so,"  said  Obed  Chute.  "Some- 
thing has  done  it,  any  how.  You  showed  it  when 
the  steamer  was  buminir." 

"How?" 

"By  your  eye." 

"  Why,  what  effect  can  one's  moral  ntmos- 
pnere  lirtve  on  one's  eyes  ?" 

*'An0normou8efftct,"saidObedChute  "It's 
the  same  in  morals  as  in  nature.  The  Fellahs  of 
tne  JViIo,  exposed  as  they  are  to  the  action  of  the 
hot  rnys  of  the  sun,  as  they  strike  on  the  sand, 
are  universally  troubled  with  ophthalmia.  In 
«ur  Mammoth  Cave,  in  Kentucky,  there  is  a  inb- 
terranean  lake  containing  fishes  which  have  no 
eyes  at  all.  So  it  is  in  character  and  in  morals. 
1  will  point  you  out  men  whose  eyes  are  inflamed 
by  the  hot  rays  of  passion ;  and  others  who  show 
by  their  eves  that  they  have  lived  in  moral  dark- 
ness OS  dense  as  thaf  of  the  Kentucky  cave, 
lake  a  thief.  Do  you  not  know  him  by  his 
eye  ?  It  takes  an  honest  man  to  look  you  in 
the  face" 

"  You  have  done  a  great  many  rhinfs,"  said 
Windham,  at  another  time.  "Have  you  ever 
preached  in  your  country?" 

"No,"  said  Obed  Chute,  with  a  laugh ;  "  but 
1  ve  done  better— I've  been  a  stump  onrtor:  and 
stump  oratory,  as  it  is  practiced  in  America,  is  a 
little  the  tallest  kind  of  preaching  that  this  green 
earth    (he  was  fond  of  that  expression)  "has 
ever  listened  to.     Our  orb^Sir,  has  seen  strange 
expenen^;  but  it  is  getting  rayther  astonished 
..  "  Penonnances  of  the  American  man," 
GeoemHy,"  said  Windham,  "I  do  rtbt  be- 
lieve in  preaching  so  much  as  in  practices  but 
When  I  see  a  man  like  you  who  can  do  both,  I'm 
willing  to  listen,  even  if  it  be  a  stump  Speech  that 
I  hear.    SUU,  I  think  that  von  are  decidedly 
greater  with  a  revolver  in  the' midst  of  a  crowd  1 
than  you  could  be  on  a  stump  with  a  crowd  be- 
fore  yon."  I 

Obed  Chute  shook  his  head  solemnly, 
"niere,"  said  he,  "  is  one  of  the  pecooliari- 
ties  of  yon  Europeans.  You  don't  understand 
our  nauonal  ways  and  manners.  We  don't 
separate  saying  and  doing.  With  us  every  man 
who  pretends  to  speak  must  be  able  to  act.  No 
man  is  listened  to  nnless  he  is  known  to  be  ca- 
pable of  knocking  down  any  one  who  interrupts 
him.  In  a  conntir  like  ours  speaking  and  act- 
ing go  together.  The  Stump  and  the  Revolver 
are  two  great  American  forces— twin  bom— the 
JMMoiato^powerof  the  Great  Republic.  There's 
no  help  for  it  It  must  be  so.  Why,  if  I  give 
offense  in  a  speech,  I  shall  of  course  be  called  to 
account  afterward ;  and  if  I  can't  take  care  of 
myself  and  setUe  the  account— why— where  am 


THE  CKYPTOGKAM. 


IL.    f       ^°"  '^?    Onrs,  Sir,  is  a  singular 
^tate  of  society;  but  it  U  the  last  development 
of  the  human  race,  and,  of  course,  the  best  " 
(.onverMtions  like  these  diverted  Windham 

Obed  Chutes  fancies  were  certainly  whimsical; 
he  had  an  odd  love  for  paradox  ind  extraval 
gance ;  he  seized  the  idea  that  happened  to  suir- 
gest  Itself,  and  followed  it  out  with  a  dry  Lwf; 
tZt^r.  n°  ""  °f.,«»'7'«'tness  which  made  aft 
Th..  '  'u  '**'"  '■''^  •'''  profound  conviction. 
f»ii!fi  .'"  ■  «=°"^e''«>'>on8  Windham  never 
Jvl™  1.^  ''^""^"■''  entertainment,  and  to  bo  roused 
trom  his  preoccupying  cares. 


^•.> 


CHAPTEB  XXX. 

PICKED    UP   ADUIFT. 


Two  davs  passed  since  the  steamer  left  Na- 
ples, and  they  wore  now  far  on  their  way.  On 
the  morning  of  the  third  Windham  came  on 
deck  at  an  torly  hour.  No  ona  was  up.  Th« 
nwn  at  the  whwl  was  the  only  one  visible. 
Windham  looked  around  upon  the  glorious 
scene  which  the  wide  sea  unfolds  at  such  a  time. 
The  sun  had  not  vet  risen,  but  all  the  eastern 
sky  was  tinged  with  red ;  and  the  wide  waste  of 


was  coioreu  with  the  ruddy  hues  which  the  ulrir 
can  downward^.  But  it  was  not    hi^  ^ne^ 

te°S    inlfo   '""•/"  '^  "Z*^  °"  'he  quar- 

far^irL^^ht„ttr.fd'^''e"wSb 


THE  CRYITOGRAM. 


99 


uejeciea  attitude  and  with  a  deiertml   f..„.. 

to  turn  his  thought*  to  any  thiniTelle  Th! 
steamer  Apedihrouiih^***-™  .?  *'**•,, -^ne 
her  machineiy  wiS8it&\r«^T''u  "' 
made  the  soliTude'Xe^cSS^r  Tht  tn' 
goS'To'EnTj'''  rf-^'**^  though  he":^^ 
mhfr  ikpnn^^^  ""  '^"y  i^y^""  e^nd,  but 
formnnce^f  '^^'^  """"  «"'"«  homp  to  the  per- 
tormnnce  of  some  mournful  duty  which  W, 
never  absent  from  his  thoughts 


hemently  than  ever.  ""Wham,  more  ve- 

''?Ji  m"ust'fu™'?f  ^'«"P°«'«n  fi-'h-wife." 

"n^mn.-^    W*  Shall  he  belhind  time." 

with  the  lifelf'a  hum5„''wr?'"Tr'"P'»r." 
tum.hosteamerVheaT/H^?^^  "  ^''"  ''°»» 
.,,.;."'"'  <="ed  the  paptain,  angrilv  "n«m„ 
it?  •^•^i^y'^l^  "^'^^  ^•-•'iie  to^^Vou  S;t 

indTgiTatr'"  "^  ^  ^**''  -•'"  -PP-sed 


"oKw  IvhTi?^  ?^  ^°"  ''-^  «"•"-»•  Do 
He  stepped  forward,  and  whispered  in  the  «.«. 
in's  ear  some  words  whi.h  .»?:rJ A"..  "*  *»P- 


distinguish  it  moreTwnV      It  w^  a  scL  J"""   ^  '"""'■  *■"«  "»e  captai„rface     l^hSr  wf  T 


--  —  ..........uggcu.     unt  there 

there  which  drew  all  his  thoughts.  By  the  for^ 
rn^t,  as  he  looked,  he  sawl  figui^VtindtT 
^n^l  ,f  '''"'"•^^'-''  ^"""8  "on^ething  as  if  fo 
attract  the  attention  of  the  passing  staJner 
The  lignre  looked  like  a  woman,  A  Io^m^ 
ghmce  connnced  him  that  it  warf^  i„°X 
deed  and  that  this  lonely  figure  was  sbine  wo 
Z?  '".'««'^''.«-    It  seemed^o  aS  to  hfm' 

leS  ^J^r''.  t"**'  '^«''  ^h«  mute  y" 
eloquent  signal,  and  those  despairing  gestures 

ll"*"^  P''"«  ^'""  'hrough  Ms  he«rt-™„ 
sharp  and  unaccountable-something  more  Zn 

Seneofmisi!:^''^'^  '^"^^  ""^  ""^  «=°^"on 
scene  of  misery  ;  n  was  a  pang  of  deep  pitv  and 

frl°""fjl^'"r''^  with  thi!  IdneWsi^erer 
troa  whbm  the  steamer's  course  wV  tS 

rX"l 'wT  ,"'•'  ''"*""^"  had  n^  rS- 

in  «i  ^iT"J'"'  "'«''''  ""'»  'he^vo- 
Thri^  .  *^""  *o  him  out  of  her  desoair 

mastery ;  but  there  seemed  a  sort  of  connection 

SrFa!^  d  "r  •"  "•?"«"  i-isiWe  y« 'i^! 
sistiess  J.  ate  had  shown  them  to  one  another 


er  s  head  was  turned 
last  It  had  ironB  hAvnn<i  -„j  „iz^.  ?•  .""'.V-  <>' 


of  more  touching  in  its  m,^«  iTr^.l!-'^^.!™ 


Th«  n«r»  •       "-^H'-oneu  wnat  Had  occurred. 
.itfeStjr^-^^ 

c  x  co.;^  r''  »'*■">'  --httvrd  tt 

captam  could  not  see  very  distinctly  any  thing 
»!.\h«n  the  outline  of  a  boat.  ^      ^ 


of  more  touching  in  ir^l^^^eSe'ZftS 

s7tS«f  ^?'  ^'"T  '^"'«"'  «tSi  had  tid 
so  tragical  a  story.     N„,v  „ii  .hig  excited  Wind- 


Iv  !  jka 


■<«m 


100 


THE  CHYl^l'OGKAM. 


should  not  perish  unseen  anJ  jinknoivn.  This 
part  wliich  he  hnU  been  tivtletl  on  to  piny  of  sav- 
ior and  rescuer— this  sudden  vision  of  woe  and 
despair  appealing  to  his  mercy  foi-  aid-.-}i«d 
chased  away  all  customary  thoughts,  so  that  now 
his  one  idea  was  to  complete  his  work,  and  save 
this  poor  castaway. 

Hut  meanwhile'  he  had  not  been  idle.     Tlie 
captain,  who  had  been  so  strangely  changed  by 
a  Jew  words, Tiad  called  up  tlie  sailors,  and  in  an 
instant  the  fact  was  known  to  the  whole  ship's 
company  that  they  were  goinjj  to  save  a  woman  ' 
lu  distress.     The  gaUant  fellows,  lik^  true  sail-  ■ 
.  ors,  entered  into  the  spirit  of  the  time  with  the 
greatest  ardor.      A  boat  was  got  ready  to  be 
lowered,  Windham  jumped  in,  Chute  followed, 
and  lialf  a  dozen  sailors  took.|he  oars.     In  a 
short  time  the  steamer  had  como  up  to  the 
Ijlace;     She  stopped;    the  boat  was  lowered; 
down  went  the  oars  into  the  water ;  and  away 
pped  the  boat  toward  the  schooner.    Obed  Chute 
steered.   •  Windham  was  in  the  b<Jw,  looking  ea- 
gerly at  the  schooner,  which  lay  there  in  the 
same  condition  as  before.      The  sun  was  now 
just  rising,  and  throwing  its  radiant  b^ams  over 
the  sea.     The  prostrate  figure  lay  at  the  foot  of 
the  mast. 

Kapidly  the  distance  between  the  boat  and  the 
schooner  was  lessened  by  the  vigorous  strpkes  of 
the  seamen.     They  themselves  felt  an  interest  in 
the  nesttlt  only  less  than  that  of  Windham.    Near- 
er and  nearer  they  came.     At  length  the  boat 
touched  the  schooner,  and  Windham,  who  wivs 
in  the  bow,  leaped  on  board.     He'%rried  ^o 
the  prostrate  figure.      He  stooped  down,  and 
with  a  strange  unaccountable  tenderness  and-rev. 
eience  he  took  her  in  his  arms  and  raised  her  tip. 
1  erh^ps  it  was  only  the  reverence  which  any 
great  calamity  may  excite  toward  the  one  tha't 
experiences  such-  calamity;  perhaps  it  was  some- 
thing more  profound,  more  inexplicable— the  out- 
going of  the^soul— which  may  sometimes  have  a 
forecast  of  more  than  may  l')e  Indicated  to  the 
material  senses.    This  mfly  seem  like  mysticism, 
but  It  18  not  intended  as  such,    'it  is  merblv  a 
statement  pf  the  well.kno\vti  fact  that  sometim'es, 
under  certain  circupistances,  ther«  arise  within 
tis  unaccountaWo  presentiments  and  forebodings, 
winch  seem  to  airticipate  the  actual  future. 

Windham  tlien .  stooped  down,  and  thus  ten- 
derly and  reverently  raised  up  the  figure  of  the 
woman.  The  sun  was  still  rising  and  gTeaming 
over  the  waters,  and  gleaming  thus,  it  threw  its 
f\ill  rays  mt»-the  face  of  the  one  whqtti  he  held 
sdpjKirted  m  his  amis,  whose  head  lias  thrown 
back  as  it  lay  on  fcis  breast,  and  wa^  upturned 
so  that  he  couW  see  it  |)lainly. 

And  never,  in  all  his  dreams,  had  any  fece 
appeared  before  him  which  bore  so  rare  and  ra- 
diant a  beauty  as  this  one  of  the  mysterious 
stranger  whom  he  had  rescued.  The  complex- 
ion was  of  a  rich  olive,  and  still  kept  "its  hue 
where  another  would  have  been  changed  to  the 
pal  or  of  death ;  the  closed  eves  were  fringed 
with  long  heavy  lashes ;  the  eyebrows  were  thin, 
and  loftily  arched;  the  hair  was  full  of  waves 
and  nndijlations.  black  as  night,  gleatning  with 
its  jetty  gloss  in  the  sun's  rays,  and  in  its  disorder 
falling  m  rich  luxuriant  ma.sses  over  the  arms  and 
the  shoulder  of  him  who  supijorted  her  The 
features  were  exquisitely  beautiful;  her  nose  »' 
sUght  departure  from  the  Grecian ;  her  lips  small  | 


and  exquisitely  shapen  ;  hei  chin  rounded  fault- 
essly.      1  be  face  was  thinner  than  it  might  have 
been,  like  the  face  of  youth  and  beauty  in  the 
midst  of  sorrow ;  but  the  thinness  was  not  emaci- 
ation;  It  had  but  refined  and  spiritualized  those 
matchlessouthnes,  giving  to  them  not  the  voluptu- 
ous beauty  of  the  C^jeek  ideal;  but  rather  the  an- 
gelic or  saintly  beauty  of  the  medieval.     She  wa« 
young  too,  and  the  bloom  and  freshness  of  youth 
were  there  beneath  all  »he  sorrow  and  the  grief. 
More  than  this  the  refined  gmce  of  that  face! 
tlio  nobility  of  those  features,  the  stamp  of  high 
breeding  which  was  visible  in  every  lineament 
show,ed  at  ouce  that  she  coujd  be  no  common 
person      fhis  was  no  fisherman's  wlfe-no  peas- 
ant  girl,  but  some  one  of  high  rank  and  breed- 
ing— some  one  whose  dress  proclaimed  her  sta- 
°!!'w  ■^'l''",'"""  features  had  told  him  nothing. 
My  God!"  exclaimed  Windham,  in  bewil- 
derment.    ' '  Who  is  she  ?    IIow  came  she  here  ? 
What  IS  the  meaning  of  it?" 

But  there  was  no  time  to  be  lost  in  Avonder 
pr  in  vague  conjectures.  The  girt  was  senseless. 
It  was  necessary  at  once  to  put  her  under  care- 
ful treatment.  For  a  moment  Windham  lin- 
gered gazing  upon  that  sad  andisxquisite  face- 
and  then  raising  her  in  his  arm's,  he  went  back 
to  the  boat.  "Give  way,  lads!  "he  cried;  and 
the  saijors,  whe  saw  it  all,  pulled  *ith  a  will 
Ihey  were  soon  bock  again.  The  sen.seles3  one 
was  lifted  into  the  steamer.  Windham  carried 
Her  in  lus  own  arms  to.  the  c^bin,  and  placed  her 
tenderly  in  a  berth,  and  committed  her  to  the 
caio  of  the  stewardess.  Then  he  waited  impa- 
tiently for  news  of  her  recovery. 

()bed  Chute,  however,  insisted  on  ioing  back 
to  the  schooner  for  the  sake  of  making  a  general 
investigation  of  the  vessel.     On  going  on  Tioaid  ' 
he  found  that  she  was  water-logged.    She  seemed 
to  have  been  ke|)t  afloat  either  by  her  cargo,  ok 
else  by  some  peculiarity  in  her  constructio/ 
whidi  rendered  her  incapable  of  sinking      Ho 
tore  open  the  hatchway,  and   pushing  an  oar 
down,  he  saw  that  there  was  no  carco,  so  that 
It  must  have  been  the  construction  of  the  vessel 
which  kept  her  afloat.    Wliat  that  was,  he  could 
not  then  find  out.     Hp  was  compelled,  tlieie- 
lore,  to  leave  the  question  unsettled  for  the  pres- 
ent, and  he  took  refuge  in  the  thought  that  the 
one  who  was  rescued  might  bo  abje  to  solve  the 
mystery.     This  allayed  for  a  time  his  eager  curi- 
osity.    Kut  he  determined  to  save  the  schooner 
so  as  to  examine  it  afterward  at  his  leisure,     A 
hasty  survey  of  the  cabins,  into  which  he  plunged 
showed  nothing  whatever,  and  so  he  w-as  com- 
pelled to  postpone  this  for  the  present.     JJot  he 
had  a  line  made  fast  between  the  steamer  and 
the  schooner,  and  the  latfw  was  thus  towed  all 
the  way  to  Marseilles.     It  showed  no  signs  of 
sinking,  but  kept  afloat  bravely,  and  reached  the 
port  of  destination  in  about  the  same  condition 
m  which  it  had  been  first  found. 

The  stewardess  treated  the  stranger  with  the 
utmost  kindness  and  the  tenderest  solicitude 
and,  at  length,  the  one  who  had  thus  been  so 
strangely  rescued  came  out  of  that  senselessness 
mto  which-she  had  been  thrown  br  the  loss  of 
the  hope  of  rescne.  On  reviving  she  told  a  brief 
story.  She  said  that  she  was  English,  that  her 
name  wm  Lorton,  and  that  she  had  been  trav- 
eling to  Morseilles  in  her  own  yacht.  That  the 
day  before,  on  awaking,  she  found  the  yacht  f  jU 


01-  cliin  rounded  fault- 
ier than  it  might  have 
ith  and  beauty  in  the 
liiiness  wan  not  emaci- 
md  spiritualized  those 
I  them  not  tlie  voluptu- 
lalj  but  rather  the  nn- 
e  medieval.     She  wag 
ind  freshness  of  youth, 
sorrow  and  the  gi-ief. 
d  grace  of  that  faeei 
Bs,  the  suunj)  of  high 
i  in  every  lineament, 
;oaJd  be  no  common 
man's  wife — no  pens- 
ilgh  rank  and  breed- 
I  proclaimed  her  eta- 
d  told  hini  nothing. 
Windham,  in  bewil- 
IIow  came  she  here  ? 

»  be  lost  in  wonder 

lie  girJ'  was  senseless. 

put  her  under  cnre- 

ment  Windham  lin- 

aml  Exquisite  face ; 

arms,  he  went  back 

ids!"  hq  cried;  and 

pulled  \frith  a  will. 

The  senseless  one 

Windham  carried 

^bin,  and  placed  her 

rnmitted  her  to  the 

en  he  waited  impa- 

ery. 

isted  on  going  back 
3f  making  a  general 
On  going  on  lionid  * 
sgged.    She  secimfd 
ler  by  her  cargo,'<Ms 
I  her  construction 
le  of  sinking.     He 
id  pushing  an  oar 
s  no  cnrsro,  so  that 
action  of  the  vessel 
that  was,  lie  could 
compelled,  tlierc- 
iettled  for  the  prcs- 
le  thought  that  the 
w'able  to  solve  this 
lime  his  eager  curi- 
save  the  schooner, 
at  his  leisure.    A 
I  which  he  plunged, 
id  so  he  was  coni- 
5  present.     Put  ha 
n  the  steamer  and 
ras  thus  towed  all 
lowed  no  signs  of 
V,  and  reached  the 
lie  same  condition 
d. 

stranger  with  the 
iderest  solicitude, 
had  thus  been  so 
that  senselessness 
mi  by  the  loss  of 
ng  she  told  a  brief 
Knglish,  that  her 
le  had  been  trav- 
yacht.  That  the 
und  the  yacht  fall 


THE  CRYPTOGRAM. 


/ 


WIN-DUAM   TE.Nl>Ul.l.l-   A.SU 


--■<ii^V  liAJa., 


^mm  and  abandoned.  She  had  beeii  a  day 
and  »  night  alon^  in  the  vessel,  without  either 
food  or  shelter.  She  had  suffered  much,  and 
JVM  in  extreme  pro^ration,  both  of  mind  and 
Wdy.  But  her  snwjigest  delire  wag  to  get  to 
Noples,  for  her  ijsrtu:  was  there  in  ill  health, 


and  >he  had  been  making  the  journey  to  visit 

Windham  and  Obed  Chute  heard  this  verv 
strange  narrative  from  the  stewarfes*.  and  talked 
It  over  between  themselves,  considering  it  in  all 
us  bearings.    The  opinion  of  each  of  tiiem  was 


/ 


102 


that  there  had  been  foul  play  lomewhere.  Bnt 
then  the  question  aro»e:  why  should  there  hove 
l)een  foul  play  upon  an  innocent  young  gi;-l  like 
this  ?  She  was  an  English  lady,  evidently  of  the 
higher  claasM^  her  look  was  certainly  foreign, 
hut  her  EnglislPnccent  was  perfect.  In  her  sim 
jile  story  she  seemed  to  have  concealed  nothing. 


THE  CRYPTOGRAk. 


The  cxqiU||6e  beauty  of  the  young  girfhad  "flll"^ 
d«  of  both  of  these  men  with  a  strong 


the  mind 

desire  to  find  out  the  cause  of  her  wrongs,  nnd 
to  avenge  her.  But  how  to  do  so  was  the  diffi- 
culty. Windham  had  important  business  in  En- 
gland which  demanded  immediate  attention,  and 
would  hardly  ollow  him  to  delay  more  than  a  few 
<lay8.  Obed  Chute,  on  the  contrary,  hod  plenty 
of  time,  but  did  not  feel  lilte  trjing  to  intrude 
himself  on  her  confidence.  Yet  her  distress  and 
desoktion  had  an  eloquenco  which  swayed  both 
of  these  men  from  their  common  purposes,  and 
each  determined  to  postpone  other  designs,  and 
do  all  that  was  possible  for  her. 

In  spite  of  an  hour's  delay  in  rescuing  Miss  Lor- 
ton,  the  steamer  arrived  at  Marseilles  at  nearly 
the  usual  time,  and  the  question  arose,  what  was 
to  be  done  with  the  one  that  they  had  rescued  ? 
Windham  could  do  nothing;,  but  Obed  Chute 
could  do  pomething,  nnd  did  do  it.  The  young 
lady  was  able  now  to  sit  up  in  the  saloon,  nnd 
here  it  was  that  Obed  Chute  waited  upon  her. 

Have  you  any  friends  in  Marseilles?'  he 
asked,  in  a  voice  full  of  kindlv^sjlmpathy. 

"No,"  said  Zillah,  in^a  mournful  voice ;  "  none 
nearer  than  Naples." 

^^  "I  have  my  family  here,  ma'am,"  said  Obed. 
1  am  an  American  and  a  gentleman.     If  you 
have  no  friends,  would  you  feel  any  objection  to 
I       stay  with  us  while  you  are  here?    My  family  con- 
sists of  my  sister,  two  children,  nnd  some  serv- 
ants.    We  are  going  to  Itnlv  as  soon  as  possible, 
and  If  yon  have  no  objection  we  can  take  you 
there  with  us— to  Naples— to  your  sister." 
Zillah  looked  up  at  the  large  honest  face, 
^  Whose  kindly  eyes  beamed  down  upon  her  with 
"^'  parental  pity,  and  she  read  in  that  lace  the  ex- 
pressibn  of  a  noble  and  loyal  natuiv. 

"Yon  are  very— very  kind,"  said  she,  in  a 
faltering  voice.  "You  will  lay  me  under  very 
great  obl.^tions.  Yes,  Sir,  I  accept  vour  kind 
otter.  1  shall  be  only  too  happy  to  put  mvself 
under  your  protection.  I  will  go  with  you,"  and 
may  Heaven  bless  you  '." 

She  held  out  her  hand  toward  him.  Obed 
Chute  took  that  Uttle  hand  in  his,  bnt  restrained 
lus  great  strength,  and  only  pressed  it  lightly 

Meanwhile  Windham  had  come  in  to  congrat- 
ulate the  beautiful  girl,  whose  face  had  been 
launung  him  ever  since  that  time  when  the  sun 
lighted  It  up,  ^  it  lay  amidst  its  glory  of  ebon 
hair  npon  his  breast.    He  heard  these  last  words 
nnd  stood  apart,  modesUy  awaiting  some  chance 
to  sjieak. 
Zillah  raised  her  face. 
Their  eyes  met  in  a  long  earnest  gaze. 
Zillah  was  the  first  to  speak. 
"  Yousavedmefrom  ttfea»fulfate,"shesaid,in 
«?•"  ju™™"'""*  '""**•    "I  ''card  all  about  it. " 
Windham  said  nothing,  but  bowed  in  silence. 
^lUah  KH«  firbm  her  chair,  and  advanced  to- 


ify  of  gaie.  On  the  schooner,  while  her  head  lay 
on  his  bi-east,  thoMj  eyes  were  closed  in  sense- 
lessness— now  they  were  fixed  on  his. 

"  Will  you  let  me  thank  yon.  Sir,"  she  said,  in 
a  voice  which  thrilled  thnnigh  him  in;  musical 
vibrations,  "formy///e,  which  you  snatched  from 
a  death  of  horror?  To  thank  you,  is  but  a  cold 
act.  Believe  me,  you  have  my  everhutina  Brat- 
itude."  ■ " 

She  held  out  her  hand  to  Windham.  He  took 
It  in  both  of  his,  and  reverentially  raised  it  to  his 
hps-  A  heavy  sigh  burst  from  him,  and  he  let  it 
full. 

"  Miss  Lorton,"  said  ho,  in  his  deep  musical 
voice,  which  now  trembled  with  an  agitation  to 
which  he  was  unused,  "if  I  have  been  the 
means  of  saving  you  from\any  evil,  my  own  jo v 
IS  so  great  that  no  thanks  itre  needed  ffom  you" 
or,  rather,  all  thankfulness  ought  to  belong  to 
me. 

A  deep  flush  ovei-spread  Zillah's  fcce.  Her 
large  dark  eyes  for  a  moment  seemed  to  read 
Ins  inmost  sou!.  Then  she  looked  down  in  si- 
lence. 

As  for  Windham,  ho  turned  away  with  some- 
thing like  abruptness,  and  left  her  with  Obed 
Chute. 


CHAPTER  XXXr. 

THE   PHEFtCT  OF  POLICE. 


ward  him,  her  face  expressing  strong  emotion. 
«ow  he  saw,  for  the  first  time,  her  wondrous  eyes 
in  all  their  magnificence  of  beauty,  with  their  deep 
imfuthomable  meaning,  and  their  burning  intens- 


Obed  Chute  had  requested  his  business  agents, 
Messrs.  Bourdonnais  Frdres,  to  obtain  a  suitable 
place  for  his  family  on  their  arrival.  He  went 
first  to  their  ofiice,  and  learned  that  the  family 
were  then  m  Marseilles,  and  received  their  ad- 
diess.  He  then  went  immediately  for  Zillah. 
and  brought  her  with  him.  The  family  consist- 
ed of  two  small  girls,  aged  respecUvely  eight  and 
ten  two  maids,  a  nurse,  and  a  falet  or  courier, 
or  both  combined.  A  sister  of  Obed's  had  the 
responsibility  of  the  party. 

Delight  at  getting  among  any  frieiids  would 
have  made  this  party  welcome  to  her;  but  Miss 
Chutes  thorough  respectability  made  her  posi- 
tion entirely  unobjectionable    Obed  Chute's  feel- 
ings were  not  of  a  demonstrative  character.    lie 
kissed  his  sister,  took  each  of  his  little  giris  up 
m  his  arms,  and  held  them  there  for  about  an 
hour,  occasionally  walking  up  and  down  the  room 
with  them,  and  talking  to  them  all  the  time.    He 
had  brought  presents  from  all  parts.of  the  world 
for  every  member  of  his  family,  and  when  at 
length  they  were  displayed,  the  children  made 
the  house  nng  with  their  rejoicings.    Zillah  was 
soon  on  a  home  footing  with  this  little  circle. 
Miss  Chute,  though  rather  sharp  and  very  an- 
Kular,  was  still  thoroughly  kind-hearted,  nnd 
sympathized  deeply  with  the  poor  waif  whom 
Providence  had  thrown  ander  her  protection. 
Her  kind  care  and  rairemitting  attention  had  a 
favorable  effect;  and  Zillah  grew  rapidly  better, 
and  regained  something  of  that  strength  which 
she  had  lost  during  the  terrors  of  her  late  ad- 
venture.    She  was  most  anxious  to  go  to  Na- 
ples ;  bnt  Obed  told  her  that  she  troiild  havB  Mr- 
wait  for  the  next  steamer,  which  would  prolong 
her  stay  m  Marseilles  at  least  a  fortnight. 

As  soon  as  Obed  had  seen  Zillah  fairiy  settled 
in  the  bosom  of  his  family,  he  set  oat  to  give 
information  to  the  police  about  the  whole  mat^ 


•ttentlon.     Windham,  who  was  prex  iil  c^3!. 

to  be  of  such  importance  that  the  chi  ;f  of  Mi™ 
determined  to  pay  Zillah  a  vi«t  on  th,  f"  lE 

80  ini  stenous  on  affair.     This  official  spoke  Fn 
gli  .  very  weU  indeed,  and  had  spent  XhLi  We 

»t?h«  in^^-^"""?.""'*  Windham  wtre  pre«„t 

litLyiUr""?.*'''".''  ,"*  <*i«f  offpoli^ad 
*ith  Zillah  and  heard  all  that  she  hJdto  sav  in 
^nswer  to  his  many  questions.  The  ihief  C 
lV>«8sunng  her  that  the  cw  was  aCeX 
Loth  as  affecting  her,  and  also  as  affect Cf™^"^  ' 
fnd  more  particularly  Marseilles.  HjaSolSi 
for  bemg  forced  to  ask  a  g,«,t  manfoSS 
.and  hoped  that  she  would  undersdd  Lis  mol 
lives,  ana  answer  freelv.  f 

Zillah  told  her  stoi^'  in  very  much  the  samn 
C  'h-itshe  had  told'  it  on  Zard  Vb^7t 
Her  father  had  died  some  years  a  J,  ,hV«Ud 
She  and  her  sister  had  been  livinAoirethrto 

lenby.     She  then  gave  a  minute  »ccount  of 
the  accidetit  which  Jiad  happened  t«  Hild.^  a^d 

ixapies      This  the  chief  of  police  banned  vb™ 
cano,u.ly  and  closely,  examln^^ng' tlTenveloM 
'^?,P?8'-T'''"^  and  the  stamps;      f    ""''•""I*' 
-Zillah  tf^en  proceeded  to  give  4  account  of 


THE  C9YPT0GHAM. 


103 


trutt- 


herjoumejiA  until  the  arrivai  atMr/seilles  <!h« 
•^'J  him  (f\the  confusion  which  Bp^^aileS 
and  how  ^hiftail  steamers  bad  C  tJken  off 
the  route  ho*  Qnaltler  had  fouX  yacht  and 
purchased  it  W  her,  and  how  MShilffi  d^ 
X;hen  she  i-ecountetf  h6r  voyage  up 


•erted  her 


"Why'  then,  did  she  think 

I  to '.!.  .!!^i'  '  '"PP","",  because  he  had  been  known 
I  to  n.  so  long,  and  had  been  apparently  a  hum 
ble,  deroied,  and  Industrious'la,     Ve  worn 

<!  ^°"''  '.'*""■  '■  '^'^''W.  *hen  ?" 

hlmsifint'h^ught  •=''"''  "'''^°''' ';««>-•«" 

yourSeS-?^  "  "'"  ''•'  '^-'ftHl.^hice 
"About  Ave  years  " 

his'dSlh r"''  *"^"  ®'^'«'-  '"">  JO"  before 
I'About  six  months." 

conflSLChfrn  r   *"'  """^  ""^  P""'*^'^ 

"  No.       H«  n.«»l..  .!.-_.... 


er, 


ir!ll~"!f"'""°"  '°  '•'•  work.     He  S 

I 


««  S-I  .•  n""'",''"^  i-ecounte<f  h6r  voyarn  up 
to  the  ,m.  wh^n  she  had  seen  (he  steamerf a^d 
hod  fallen  prosirate  ttl  the  foot  of  the  mast 

«,ill«r'''te  .r  'l''.'^"'"  y"«'  •"^«»I  at  Mm. 

"WhoisGualtier?"  / 

I'He  is  a  teacher  of  music/and  di^wlng." 

Where  does  he  live  ?"     ,'  * 

"In  London." 
^J^Do  you  knowViny  thind  about  his  anteced- 
"No.",  \ 

"  Have  yon  known  him  loiig  ?"  -^     ' 

'•Yes;,  for  five  years."       \  » 

^ilW.  hesitated.    She  was  thUing  rfChet- 

"Well— afterward— ?"  \      * 

"Afterward,"  said  Zillah,  "bit  is  after  mr 
fajher's  death,  he  still  co„'ti„«JJ  ilk  Tsl^^ 

,','  V '^  ,^®  *«"<='>  yo"  »wter  also  ?* 

1 68.  V 

'  flj"^°?'"  *l'"^''  »««n>8  to  have  h 
"  Us' "    "^  JuJff B«  fi«m  her 

totir^  ^be  ever  moke  use  of  his 
'No."  , 

V  Might  she  not  have  done  so  ?" 
T I  don  t  see  how.    No  occasion  eve 


great  con- 
Qrvices  be> 


'. —  J-— '-.v."iuua  lu  HIS  work 
..«,"/  Panwular  notice  of  him." 

What-was  your  father?" 
.A  landed  gentleman." 
'Where  did  he  live?" 

Idon-Tdih"-^''"'  '^"'•"™<»  «»  I-O"- 
!.kilV  1^1  .  "'  '"  Koneral  terms.    But  the 

lurtner.  It  would  haVe  resulted  in  nothing  if  ha 
had  done  so,  for  Zilkh  was  detennined  at  «» 
hazards,  to  guard  her  secret.       '"■^'°^'''  *'  *" 

nnnfjn  i^.k"  7?'"  notice  Gualtier's  manner  V" 
continued  the  chief,  after  another  pause  ' 

^v.r,ll     "'''«^P»''^  "ny  attention  to  him.  nor 

hl^^'ill'*^""'''?"''*  °f  »"y  thini  abo« 

klMltiS^'"  '^'^^  *  l"^"  and  inoffensive 

]^at  do  you  think  of  him  now?"    ^ 

Tt.  n mjlste"."'^'  "■•  *'^'  ^^  ^'^'^  »W.V 
"Do  yon  remember  any  thing  that  von  can 

with  me."  '"«'  '"'•  "'"  '"  'he  trouble 

with?^'  oK^r""^  ""^  *»"'^'  °f  -y  ^M 

"Nerer,''^  ,-i*-"^ 

"Was  any  thing  ever  done  which  he  ^ 

nave  taken  as  an  insult  or  an  injury?" 
^•.1.^*  ''"  "**"  '™«ted  in  any  other  way  than 
irith  the  mostscrupulous  politeness.  Mrlt^ 
^y  sister,  an  J  myjelf  were^aU  incapableof  tS^ 
inghrni  many  other  way."  wi  ireai- 

him  ?"*"*' '"'"'  ^*™''  '"**"''  ""^  """""«'  »<>»««1 

e.v  «f  !''i"?"?*'"^  P'''  *«  »"»>  dignified  court. 
««y,of  a  lady  to  an  inferior." 

Did  heseemtobe^aientlematf?"^      i    — = 
J^  gentleman?    <3f  conree  not. " 


\ 


arose."  j 


„ — .-__„.     v/i  uuurse  not. 

ed  thITv    "«".  have  imagined  himself  slight- - 
™>  then,  by  any  humiliation  ?"  * 

Certainly  not." 

"Could  Gualtier  have  had  any  knowleto  of 
yonr  pecuniary  affairs?"  """lej^  oi 

"Possibly— in  a  genenU  way." 


*» 


IM' 


^. 


THE  CRTFTOORAM. 


"  Yon  are  rich,  are  vob  not  ?" 
.     "Yob."    •  .  *, 

"  Might  he  not  haire  had  some  design  on  your 
money  r* 

"I  hare  thought  of  that;  bnt  thercTare  insa- 
perable  difficolties.    There  is,  first,  my  sister: 
and,  again,  even  if  she  had  not  escaped,  how 
~ vonid  he  ttmmt  poneisTon  of  the  propertj^' 

The  chieir  did  not  answer  this.    He  wentolMo 
ask  his  own  questions. 

"  Did  you  ever  hear  of  the  loss  of  any  of  your 
money  in  any  way —by  theft,  or  by  forgery  ?" 


"No."  - 

"  Did  any  thing  of  the  kind  take  place  in  yqnr 
father'ti  lifetime?" 

"-Nothing  of  the  kind  whatever. " 

"  Do  you  know  any  thing  about  the  anteced- 
ents of  your  maid  Matjiilde  ?" 

"No;  nothing  except  what  liftle  information 
she  may  have  votanteei^.  I  never  had  any  curi- 
osity about  the  matter." 

•'^ What  is  her  full  name?" 

"  Mathilde  Louise  Glassier. " 

"  le^hero  does  she  belong  ?" 


nke  place  iil  yqnr 


'THE  Cryptogram: 

"?•»«  *^/^  on«s  thot  the  wu  born  in  Rouen  • 
•nd  I  «P5i,«,  .he  w..  brought  up  he^  t™  * 
from  Jier  U,uont  reference.", o. that  pl^e  i 
believe  the  wejirt  from  there  to  P«ri..  u  lajv'.- 

') ''"%  '^'l'^  yo  happen  to  get  her V'  ^ 


lOB 


What ,.  her  chamcter?    I.  ^e  cunning  r 
Not  as  f«c  as  I  have  ever  ^„.    She  always 


t«.I!lV''''''''''^"'=?  "■"  "'"'  •"«»"  <»nJ  medi- 
tative for  wimo  timoj 

"  Vouriii»,er,"»oid  he  at  length— "  liow  much 
oilier  is  she  lliaii  you  ?"  ■ 

"Abdut  four  yean." 

•I.'^i?",'"''"  ■"''*  "■"'  •he  i»  clover?" 
bhe  is  very  clever." 


14    I.     •  ....  " 


'.'  ^r.*'  "'?'  •'">^'»noK08  the  afluirs  ?'  , 
,I„lL^^'!""'l    ^  ''r'  "°"""K  al'o^'t  them. 


^       "Nota8f«r.aslhavoever«»r.    She  alwavs    I  ,Io^,  „       'i    ^  "T'  """""g  al.o.u  them, 
•truck  me  a.  being  quite  w^ak  out  of  her  oZ  SwM^   *T "  ^""^  "•"  »"""«"'  '^^  "'/  "'^wc 
|.ar.,cular  departmenl     She  fUs  L  exceZ^cSTd  r^r"""'"'  ""^  ""'"'^  ""  "'«  P""- 
'•  M^I  4'5*  *n  oftwr  „,^quite  a  ch Ud" '   iuo  "  -  '    P"^'°«""'-'»'«t  is,  of  co-U.^e/she 


-h.  J  .  I^W'We.  I  am  not  much  of  a  judge  of 
diameter;  bu^  a.  far  a.  I  could  sc?,ihe  w^ 
.imply  a  weak,  good-natured  ^roaturZ  fdon^ 
think  8ho  would  willingly  do  wrong;  but  I  think 

I  think  h|ir  flight  from  me  was  the  work  of  Gual 


"VVhfit  i»  her  character  othtfrwlso?     U  she 

."srSnr'*"*''«^°^''^'-'-'--i? 

ou«s;;a\s.!i^"'''' ^•'^^ '»"''=''' --^ -«-- 

cai'tlTifn^ose  uiS^"  °"«  ^^"''™  ''  "-"'^  »<» 

..  ,^• .  u  I  »v  diflil^.?r  'iih'  "•""''  "  ''■'"«  ''■""'^  f*"  e'^'^'^'no- 

Did  she  ever  have  any  thing  to  do  with  him  ?"  J^i^thriUrpmL"'  '"^t."^  ^^"^  '^'■*°"='  "''"  '«-- 
I  never  saw  them  together,  in  fact,  when-  r^tLr^l"  .  T^/''''™^"'''  "I'o  Koc.  She  is 
ever  he  was  in  the  houw  .the  wm  alwavs  in  mv  fZ  ^"^i^f  "<=»'^.  f«r  more  accomj-lished,  and 
room.  I  don't  see  how  it  i,  poTsihXtoZl  t  ShJtT  "^"i  ."^  °'  **»  «^'^'-  '■» '« "o 
could  have  been  any  undei^ndlnff  Z,  v„»^  „  i"  ~^''*'* '='?""-''««ded  Ihd  clear-sighted,  wiih 
them.  Tor  several  yeir.  she  was  undl  my  ^^  Lr  Sri^r  ffl '"r.";^"'*- '  '^'°  ''^Po««  "po 
stant  supervision,  and  if  .any  thing  of  th7k°n^  verv  mHnl  .  h'""'  1^  "'"  inipossiblc.  She  is 
had  bap,«ned  I  woulrf  certiinly  rocaU  it  nmv  "  ^  a  ^  u"*'^™  character."  . 
even  if  I  had  not  noticed  it  at  the  Hme  "  '        < "  ^"'^  i^^l'  ^^olrusted  this  Gualtier  ?" 

■  ■  ■  Pli<rabkt„^!,""f*"".''''''"8^^'"«»'"i"«-    - 

piiciable  to  me.     I  can  only  account  for  it  on  the 

gmund  tha;  she  had^kno^,.  him  so  long    aS 

ind  an™  J^.*''*"?"'.*'  *»  ^^  ol.«,.,uiousnes. 
^ni^!^'"!"'  «°n«='entionsness,  tfot  her  usual 


„_      ~..^^  .V  a*  uid  time.' 

thilde?"  ^"^  ^J^'^'"  any  double  with  Ma- 
"None  whatever." 
r,.'Z,?2'' "!!'"■'"  "■?  "O"'"!'"''''  vengefuk    Did  I 


Mathilda  ever  ex"pen^^  ^rTn^X  fw^^^^^  con'scientiousne^:  rfJ-l^TS 

nught  have  excited  velfgeful  Llings  ?'■       .  "*  C  a   i  LZ  if'  ^"a"'     ^  "''"''  «»»«  '^'""«» 

_     !,he  never  experienced  any  th^-  but  'kind-  S'no  oVer^^'d'^i^Iro^^^^^^^^^  ''"" 

ni.i : /  wll^^"'  '"**  ^T^^y  ^"^  "«'  "'»'"«  o<^he  place  , 

-  "Tenby." 

"ICo  "  ^""'''^^  '"'"e  in  Ao  place ?" 

"^T-I^Vherewashe?" 
In  London." 

:;frnSelL""'"'^"°"'l":''''-^ '''«"'?•'" 

'  u'  ??  ^°°  ''"•'*  '^''«™  ''e  was  ?" 

X  knew  nothing  about  hinh  B»t  mv  sister 
managed  o«r  affairs;  and  when  GuaUieTleft  us 
I^are  say  he  gave,  his  address  to  my  ss  or  ?n 
case  of  our  wanting  his  services  aatin  "         ' 


ness.  , 

ne^?-''  ^'""'  ""*'■  "**'  ''*'■  *•"*  "'«  **«">  kind. 

"Ohyes— quit9  80." 

"When  she  lived^in  England  did  she  ever 
jWk^aboat  leaving  you,  and  going  CtZ 

"No,  never." 

"Siie  seemed  quite  contented  then  ?" 
Quite." 

"^"t  she  left  you  very  suddenly  at  last.    How 
do  you  account  for  that?" 

Jf?ni:^'°  ""P'*  «''°""'**  ">»'  ■''e  found  her- 
Sveit.^nnTh"  '=''7»'y.  *nd  did  not  wish  to 
^ve  It ;  and  then,  also,  her  dread  of  a  sea  voy- 
W.   But,  in  addition  te^  this,  I  think  that  Gual 
Uer  must  hav^  worked  upon  her  in  wiLe  way^' 
"Uow?    By  bribery?"  """io  way. 

off  witr^r  H*'^  think  that,  for  she  was  better 
Off  with  ffle.     Her  situation  was  very  profitable  " 

-pen  her '"'n^'  '•"">•  4"''l  h«%»ve  Worked 
apwineri'-  Br  menaces?"        y  :  - 

"Perliapsso." 

'  J'  ^  • '  ''".'^  ^    <^*"  y<ft  think  of  any  thinir  in 
your  situation  which  wpuld,  by  any  Mssibultr 

JMger,  or  m  any  fear  of  some  imaguuuy  dan- 


^-.fc..-   .J. 


»f  wT'  '*"*'i^°°  Zaial.  tfconght  immediatel? 
W  her  assumed  name,  and  the  possibility  that 

tiMltier  might  have  reminded  Mathildfl  of  th).    .  -  "•*  "7  "*'"^''  *  "*""'  ">ere  was  a  gna 

«d  terrified  her  in  some  way.     B„    .he  cr^lHv  t  "°°"""'  °"^''"'  ^^  '«<*  *«  coSntfy 

"No."  '  """ewMtwgly,      ,  |  He  is  not  now  in  England,  then  ?" 


ud 
not 


„  ^      - ".  wanting  his  services  again. 
You  dismissed  Gualtier,  I  suppose  because 
^°)  Y^""    "^'  •'ee<ifor  J^s  se^li^sF 

'You  saf  that  she  never  treated  him  with  nnv 
particnkr  attention?"      — ,      '"•/"•n  ^ (^tn  any 

h„r^"  {''« '=?""*'7.  she  never  showed  anv  thing 
but  njprked  hauteur  toward  him.    I  was  indiffe^ 
ent-she  took  troublp  to  be  dignified." 
JIave  you  any  living  relatives  ?" 
"No— none." 

therS""^"  ""  ^  ^^^''  '^'^^  "«'  *«•"«>■ 


'  Have  you  no  guardian  ?" 
At  my  father's  death  there  was  a  gnaidian—  * 

•minal  onn— hnf  hn  i.ft  .t »    S"»™ian       * 

and  we 


..>>• 


^,isA«S 


106 


THE  CRYPTOGRAM. 


.»> 


The  chief  of  police  seemed  now  to  have  ex- 
haasted  his  questions.  He  rose,  and,  with  renew- 
ed apologies  for  the  trouble  which  he  had  given, 
.left  the  room.  Obed  and  Windham  followed, 
and  the  former  invited  him  to  the  library— a  room 
which  was  called  by  that  name -from  the  fact  that 
there  was  a  book-shelf  in  it  containing  a  few 
French  novels.  Here  thev  sat  in  silence  for  a 
time,  and  at  length  the  chief  began  to  tell  his 
conclusions. 

•'I  ^nerally  keep  my  mind  to  myself,"  siiicj 

he,  "buf  it  is  very  necessary  for  you  to  know 

rtWhat  I  conceive  to  bo  the  present  aspet^t  of  this 

very  important  case.    Let  us  sec,  then,  how  I 

would  analyze  it 

"  In  the  first  place,  remark  the  position  of  the 
girls.  «t 

"Two  young,  inexperienced  girls,  rich,  alone 
in  the  world,  without  any  relatives  or  any  connec- 
tions, managing  their  own  affairs,  living  in  dif- 
ferent p'aces— such  is  the  condition  of  the  prin- 
cipals in  this  matter.  The  guardian  whom  their 
father  left  has  disappeared — gone  perhaps  to 
America,  perhaps  to  India — no  matter  where. 
He  is  out  of  their  reach. 

"These  are  the  ones  with  whom  this  Gualtier 
comes  in  contact  He  is  apparently  a  very  or- 
dinary man,  perhaps  somewhat  cunning,  and  no 
doubt  anxious  to  make  his  way  in  the  world. 
Ho  is  one  of  those  men  who  can  be  honest  as 


ijj  — il    ■   1. —  J      ,       .         .       .  ""■""■•  "»   '"  K"  •"  »  yuciii.     anis,  ot  course,  placed  her 
Idhg  as  he  is  forced  to  be ;  but  who,  the  moment  .alone  in  his  power.     He  picked  up  a  crew  of 


the  pressure  is  taken  off,  can  perpetrate  crime 
for  his  own  interests,  without  pity  or  remorse. 
I  know  the  type  wdl — cold-blooded,  cunning, 
selfish,  hypocritical,  secretive,  without  much  in- 
tellect, cowardly,  but  still,  under  certain  circum- 
stances, capable  of  great  boldness.  So  Gualtier 
seems  to  me. 

"He  was  in  constant  connection  with  these 
girls  for  five  or  six  years.  During  that  time  he 
must  have  learned  all  about  them  and  their  af- 
faire. He  certainly  must  have  learned  how  com- 
pletely they  were  isolated,  and  how  rich  they 
were.  Yet  I  do  not  believe  that  he  ever  had  any 
thought  din-ing  all  that  time  of  venturing  upon 
any  plot  against  them. 

"  It  was  Fate  itself  that  threw  into  his  hands 
an  opportunity  that  could  not  be  neglected.  For, 
mark  you,  what  an  unparalleled  opportunity  it 
was.  One  of  these  sisters — the  elder,  the  man- 
ager of  affairs,  and  guardian  of  the  other— meets 
with  an  accident  so  extraordinary  that  it  would 
be  incredible,  were  it  not  told  in  her  Own  hand- 
writing. She  finds  herself  in  Naples,  ill,  friend- 
less, and  but  recently  saved  from  death.  She 
can  not  travel  to  join  her  sister,  so  she  writes  to 
ber  sister  to  come  to  her  in  Naples!  But  how 
can  that  young  sister  come  ?  It  is  a  long  jour- 
ney, and  dilBcnl^for  a  friendless  giri.  She  has 
no  friends,  so  the  elder  Miss  Lorton  thinks  very 
naturally  of  the  faithful  music-teacher,  whom  she 
baa  known  so  long,  and  who  is  now  in  London. 
She  writes  him,  telling  him  the  state  of  affairs, 
and  no  doubt  offers  him  a  suflScient  sum  of  mon- 
ey to  reward  him  for  giving  up  his  practice  for  a 
time.  The  same  d§y  that  her  sister  received  her 
tetter,  he  also  i^ceives  his. 

"Can  you  not  see  what  effect  this  startling 
situation  would  have  on  such  a  man  ?  Here,  in 
brief,  he  could  see  a  chance  for  making  his  for- 
tune, and  getting  possession  of  th«  wealth  of  these 
two.    By  making  way  with  them,  one  after  the 


other,  it  conld  easily  be  done.  He  bad  no  pity 
in  his  nature,  and  no  conscjence  in  p^cular  to 
trouble  him.  Nor  w<ire  there  any  fears  of  future 
consequences  to  deter  him.  These*  friendless 
girls  would  rtever  be  missed.  They  could  pass 
away  from  the  scene,  and  no  avenger  could  pos- 
sibly rise  up  to  demand  an  account  of  them  at 
his  hands.  No  doubt  he  was  forming  his  plans 
from  the  day  of  the  receipt  of  his  letter  all  the 
way  to  Marseilles. 

"  Now,  in  the  plot  which  he  formed  and  car- 
ried out,  I  see  several  successive  steps. 

"The  first  step,  of  course,  was  to  get  rid  of 
the  maid  Mathilde.  Miss  Lorton's  description 
of  her  enables  us  to  see  how  easily  this  could  be 
accomplished.  She  was  a  timid  creature,  whe 
does  not  seem  to  have  been  malicious,  nor  does 
she  seem  to  have  had  any  idea  of  fidelity.  Gual- 
tier  may  either  have  cajoled  her,  or  terrified  her. 
It  is  also  possible  that  he  may  hayp  bought  her. 
Tliis  may  afterward  be  known  when  we  find  the 
woman  herself. 

"  The  next  step  is  evident  It  was  to  get  rid 
of  the  younger  Miss  Lorton,  with  whom  he  was 
traveling.  It  was  easy  to  do  this  on  account  of 
her  friendlessness  and  inexperience.  How  ho 
succeeded  in  doing  it  we  have  heard  from  hor 
own  lips.  He  trumped  up  that  story  about  the 
steamers  not  nmning,  and  obtained  her  consent 
to  go  in  a  yacht     This,  of  course,  placed  her 


scoundrels,  set  sail,  and  on  the  second  night  scut- 
tled the  vessel,  and  fled.  Something  prevented 
the  vessel  from  sinking,  and  his  intended  victim 
was  saved. 

"  Now  what  is  his  third  step^ 

"Of  course  there  can  be  only  one  thing,  ana 
that  third  step  will  be  an  attempt  of  a  similar  kind 
against  the  elder  Miss  Lorton.  If  it  is  not  too 
late  to  guard  against  this  we  must  do  so  at  once. 
He  is  probably  with  her  now.  He  can  easily 
work  upon  her.  He  can  represent  to  her  that 
her  sister  is  ill  at  Marseilles,  and  induce  her  to 
come  here.  He  can  not  deceive  her  about  the 
steamers,  but  he  may  happen  to  find  \\iv  juat 
after  the  departure  of  the  steamer,  and  she,  ia 
her  impatience,  may  consent  to  go  in  a  sailing 
vessel,  to  meet  the  same  fate  which  he  designed 
for  her  sister. 

After  this,  to  complete  my  analysis  of  thia 
man's  proceedings,  there  remains  the  fourth 
step. 

"  Having  got  rid  of  the  sisters,  the  next  par- 
pose  will  be  to  ob&in  their  property.  Now  if 
he  is  left  to  himself,  he  will  find  this  very  eiisy. 

"I  have  no  doubt  that  he  has  made  himself 
fully  acquainted  with  all  their  investmenU ;  or, 
if  he  has  not,  Jie  will  find  enough  among  their 
papers,  which  will  now  be  open  to  him.  He  can 
correspond  with  their  agents,  or  forge  drafts,  or 
forge  a  power  of  attwney  for  himself,  and  thua 
secure  gradually  a  control  of  all.  There  an 
man^  wavs  by  which  a  man  in  his  situation  cu 
obtam  all  that  he  wishes.  Their  bankers  seem 
to  be  purely  business  agents,  and  they  have  sp. 
parenUy  no  one  who  (aketA^e^ar  intetett  a 
them. 

"And  now  the  thing  to  be  done  is  to  heid 
him  off.    This  may  be  done  in  various  waya. 

"  First,  to  prevent  the  fulfillment  of  his  deaign 
on  the  elder  Miss  Lorton,  I  can  send  off  a  met- 
sage  at  once  to  the  Neapolitan  government,  and 


.V 


■^^>|i»jL  J|to..-j/j,f.,at^_<gft.^it.j.g  1 


.As*t[t  ■f^^^^tV'-  A^    ■4*'i  - 


before  this ;  but  there  is  a  chance  that  he  ig  »,» 

in  il.e  ca«,      If  «^„  "  "'o^t^portant  witness  i 
«-:l^£PneiLf„V^.e\^t-t^^^^^^^ 
this  sent  tn'M-"  ™r""'  '"J''*'  information  of  all ' 

and  communicate  to  her  where  her  t-.?^^^'''' 
.hat  she  can  join  her.  or  ^rite  her     aT^v*^.'" 

.-Aotd^oJghr^hTv^^^^^^^  T" '"  "'*''«" 

^\.ion.  beca«S"thepriri,^'s"oTr  Her"" 

cunning  would  hkre  been  proSn '...^r""" 
l<»ve  doneT?  ^'  ""^*""^'  "'''J'  "•'ou'd  he 

4'?irfflfe'rstts'''i:« '"  rT- 

•nd  the  water  had  flowed  o«ft^mh  '^'"^  '''^''• 
.'"'r  open  for  inspect^oiT  ZUlS  t^I'Jf"""* 
••ken  out  and  coiiv«..«h  »„  i,  ?  trunks  were 
Wnu  were  not  In  n-..*?  •*"■•  ""ongh  their  con- 

^^STEer  trunk,  gave  heT^T^STdt 

»^*'b7th°SSi!!f?f'"'!?''''°".°'  'he  yacht  was 
im!  InZ^n!      ^  P''"'*'  ""'l  his  two  comnan! 


THE  CRYPTOGRAM. 


•  ror 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 

TOO    MUCH    TOOETHEB. 

in  ^{".l"**'  H  exhibited  the  deepest  int««« 
called  an31^^"lm^W^LV"'  '^« 


p^SiJrwte  hr  ^"^'  •her^.ot  cots 

WM  .«i«r        .   "*  "**'«'y  afforded  her.    ^ha 
.hemSrrL"dilv"1nJ   "*"  *"'7«-  ^''P''*^ 


.<?». 


108 


THE  CKYPTOGHAM. 


1 

dulged.     He,  on  his  part,  revealed  to  Zillah  nn- 
mistakably  the  same  profound  melancholy  which 
has  already  been  mentioned.     She  tried  to  con- 
jecture what  it  was,  and  thought  of  no  other 
thing  than  the  bereavement  which  was  indicated 
by  the  sombro  emblem  on  his  hat.     Between 
these  two  there  was  never  laughter,  rarely  levity ; 
but  their  conversation,  when  it  turned  even  on 
trifles,  was  earnest  and  sincere.     Day  after  day 
passed,  and  each  inten-iew  grew  to  bo  more 
pleasant  than  the  preceding  one.     Often  Obed  ! 
Chnto  joined  in  the  conversation ;    but  their 
minds  were  of  a  totally  diflferent  order  from  his ; 
and  never  did  they  feel  this  so  strongly  as  when 
some  hard,  dry,  practical,  and  thoroughly  sensi- 
ble remark  broke  in  npon  some  little  delicate 
flight  of  fancy  in  which  they  had  been  indulging. 
One  day  Windham  cdme  to  propose  a  ride. 
Zillah  assented  eagerly.     Obed  did  not  care  to 
go,  as  he  was  anxious  to  call  on  the  chief  of  po- 
lice.    So  Zillah  and  Windham  rode  out  togeth- 
er into  the  countiy,  and  took  the  road  by  the  sea 
coast,  where  it  winds  on,  commanding  magnifi- 
cent scf^  vie»«8  or  sublime  prospects  of  distant 
mqunfains  at  almost  ereiy  turning.     Hitherto 
they  had  always  avoided  speaking  of  England. 
Each  seemed  instinctively  to  shun  the  mention 
of  that  name ;  nor  did  either  ever  seek  to  draw 
the  other  but  on  that  subject     What  might  be 
tlie  rank  of  either  at  home,  or  the  associations  or 
connections,  neither  ever  ventured  to  inquire. 
Kaeh  usually  spoke  on  any  subject  of  a  general 
nature  which  seemed  to  come  nearest.    On  this 
occasion,  however,  Windham  made  a  first  at- 
tempt toward  speaking  about  himself  and  his 
past.    Something  happened  to  suggest  India.    It 
was  only  with  a  mighty  eflFort  that  Zillah  kept 
down  an  impulse  to  rhapsodize  about  that  glori- 
ous land,  where  all  her  childhood  had  been  passed, 
and  whose  scenes  were  still  impressed  so  vividly 
upon  her  memory.    The  effort  at  self-restraint 
was  successful ;  nor  did  she  by  any  word  show 
how  well  known  to  her  were  those  Indian  scenes 
of  which  Windham  went  on  to  speak.    H«^lked 
of  tiger  hunts ;  of  long  journeys  thronj^h  the  hot 
plain  or  over  the  lofty  mountain ;  of  desperate 
fights  with  savage  tribes.     At  length  he  spoke 
of  the  Indian  mutiny.     lie  had  been  at  Delhi, 
and  had  taken  partA  the  conHict  and  in  the  tri- 
umph.    What  particular  part  he  had  taken  he  did 
not  say,  but  ho  seemed  to  have  been  in  the  thick 
of  the  fight  wherever  it  raged.     Carried  away  by 
the  glorious  recollections  that  crowded  upon  his 
memory,  he  rose  to  a  higher  eloquence  than  any 
which  he  had  before  attempted.     The  passion  of 
the  fight  came  back.     He  mentioned  by  name 
glorious  companions  in  arms.     He  told  of  heroic 
exploits— dashing  acts  of  almost  superhuman 
valor,  where  human  nature  became  ennobled  and 
man  learned  the  possibilities  of  roan.     The  fer- 
vid excitement  that  burned  in  his  sonl  was  com- 
mnnicated  to  the  fiery  nature  of  Zillah,  who  was 
always  so  quick  to  catch  the  contagion  of  anv 
noble  emotion ;  his  admiration  for  all  that  was 
elevated  and  true  and  pure  found  an  echo  in  the 
heart  of  her  who  wai  the  daughter  of  General 


for  many  an  age,  had  shared  the  dangers  and 
the  triumphs  of  those  who  had  fought  and  con- 
quered there.  No,  never  before  had  Zillah 
known  such  hours  as  these,  where  she  was 
brought  face  to  face  with  a  hero  whose  eve, 
whose  voice,  whose  manner,  made  her  whole 
being  thrill,  and  whose  sentiments  found  an  echo 
in  her  inmost  soul. 

And  did  Windham  perceive  this  ?  Could  he 
help  it?  Could  he  avoid  seeing  the  dark  olive 
face  which  flushed  deep  at  his  words— the  large, 
liquid,  luminous  eyes  which,  beneath  those  deepl 
fringed  lids,  lighted  jip  with  the  glorious  fires  of 
that  fer\id  soul— the  delicat^  frame  that  quiv- 
ered in  the  strong  excitement  of  impassioned 
feelings  ?  Could  he  avoid  seeing  that  this  (feat- 
ure of  feeling  and  of  pasnon  thrilled  or  calmed, 
grew  indignant  or  pitiful,  became  stem  or  tear- 
ful, just  as  he  gave  the  word  ?  Could  he  help 
seeing  that  it  was  in  his  power  to  strike  the  key- 
note to  which  all  her  sensitive  nature  would  re- 


Fomeroy  and  the  pupil  of  Lord  Chetwynde. 
Having  herself  breathed  all  her  life  an  atmos- 
phere of  noble  sentiments,  her  nature  exnlted 
in  the  words  of  this  high-souled,  this  chivalrio 
man,  who  himself,  tnth  from  a  scene  which 
liod  tried  men's  seals  as  they  hod  not  been  tried 


spond  ?  ^ 

Yet  in  all  Zillah's  excitement  of  feeling  she 
never  asked  any  questions.  No  matter  what 
might  be  the  intensity  of  desire  that  filled  her, 
she  never  forgot  to  restrain  iher  curiosity.  Had 
she  not  heard  before  of  this  regiment  and  that 
regiment  from  the  letters  of  Guy  ?  Windham 
seemed  to  have  been  in  many  of  the  places  men- 
tipnedtin  those  letters.  This  was  natural,  as  ho 
belonged  to  the  army  which  had  taken  Delhi. 
Buj(  in  addition  to  this  there  was  another  won- 
dorSthcto  were  those  hill  stations  in  which  she 
haMived,  of  which  Windham  spoke  so  familiar- 
ly. Of  course — she  thought  after  due  reflection 
—every  British  officer  in  the  north  of  India  must 
be  familiar  with  places  which  are  their  common 
resoi|t ;  but  it  affected  her  strangely  at  first ;  for 
hearing  him  speak  of  them  was  like  bearing  one 
speak  of  home. 

Another  theme  of  conversation  was  found  in 
his  eventful  voyage  from  India.  He  told  her 
about  the  outbreidc  of  the  flames,  the  alarm  of 
the  passengers,  the  coward  mob  of  panic-strick- 
en wretches,  who  had  lost  all  manliness  and  ail 
human  feeling  in  their  abject  fear.  Then  he  de- 
scribed the  tall  form  of  Obed  Chute  as  it  towered 
above  the  crowd.  Obed,  according  to  Wind- 
ham's account,  when  he  first  saw  him,  had  two 
men  by  their  coUars  in  one  hand,  while  in  the 
other  he  held  his  revolver.  His  voice  with  its 
shrill  accent  rang  out  like  a  trumpet  peal  as  he 
threatened  to  blow  out  the  brains  of  any  maa 
who  dared  to  touch  a  boat,  or  to  go  off  the  quar- 
ter-deck. While  he  threatened  he  also  taunted 
them.  "You  Britishers  I"  he  cried.  "If  you 
are — which  I  donbt — ^then  I'm  ashamed  of  the 
mother  country." 

Now  it  happened  that  Obed  Chute  had  al- 
ready given  to  ZHhth  a  full  description  of  hi« 
first  view  of  Wiidham,  on  that  same  occasion. 
As  he  stood' witly  his  revolver,  he  saw  Windhani, 
he  said — pale,  mem,  self-possessed,  but  activp, 
\dth  a  line  of  passengers  formed,  who  mpre  baij 
jAssing  buckets  along,  and  he  was  just  detailr 
in£jii^«^4<Men(o  relieve  the  sailors  atTthe^ 
pnnps.  "That  man,"  concluded  Obed  Chnte, 
"  had  already  got  to  work,  while  I  was  indnlg- 
ing  ii»A  'spread-eagle."' 

Windham,  however,  said  nothing  of  himself 
so  that  Zillah  mi^t  have  Supposed,  for  all  that 
he  said,  that  he  Mimself  was  one  of  that  ponie- 


stricken  crowd 

and  threatened 

Nor  was  thii 

every  day.     01 

the  best  thing  f 

must  go  out  a 

made  no  objec 

iiewed  from  da 

ppeak  of  other  i 

nnd  sudden  dea 

erature.     He  Ic 

dor.     All  Engli 

The  early  Engl 

Si^nser,  the   E 

Mar>ell,  and  O 

were  all  apprec 

tion  for  the  poe 

no  words  to  expi 

for  Milton;  Graj 

Thomson  and  C 

appreciation;  wh 

olutionary  poets  i 

ration  which  thej 

ion  and  the  Bror 

his  thoughts ;  am 

Zillah,  they  met 

struck  Zillah  mos 

•tray  bits,  which  s 

had  treasured  in  I 

and  equally  loved 

peat  them.to  her 

/(iving  thus  a  new 

to  words  whose  i 

ready  felt  to  the 

meaning,  as  Wind 

ever  known  before. 

felt  the  meaning  o 

conid  have  caused  i 

its  deep  musical  \ 

ring  deep  within  h 

profounder  meanin, 

whose  dark  eyes  re 

nnfethomable  depth 

-those  eyes  which  1 

power  that  even  wht 

•he  could /«/ them 

that  he  was  looking 

erence!  wth  what 

what  despair!    Yes, 

face,  with  all  the  re^ 

opressed,  there  was 

never  any  look  of  intj 

mate  reverence — sile 

<m  may  cast  npon  i 

oner  of  adoration,  bi 

torn. 

The  days  flew  by  111 
tnem  in  a  kind  of « 
«»«ke  when  Windhni 

[  *«  barrenness  and 
l>«  she  thought  nothi 
Mplainod  to  her  the  n 

!  wiles  tm  fresh  news 

he  had  been  pemiiaH 
\mmSk  seemed  to 
MPhereofherthoughti 
where  those  thoughts  i 
«"itent  to  remain  hen 
"re,  and  wait  for  any 
«« thought  of  the  en< 
Mm  must  one  day  dc 


'  ^i:'tifew'»i.^«^")i-*MJ6^^^^te^s4tSsS^  -x  -i^^w.-. 


aK^LaS  "'"*  °*^  ^'«"«  '««'  "vileU 

must  go  out  as  often  as  was  Doisiblfl  yiiiK 
macle  no  objection.  So  th^  KSe\a1  ^ 
iiewed  from  day  to  dav      R..»  urt^Su  '*' 

dor  All  Wn„i"  k  P**'*^/  *""  passionate  ar- 
uor.  All  fcnglish  poetry  was  familiar  t»  hi!!! 
The  early  English  ^t/cal  romance  cLje^' 
.SjMinser,  the  Elizabethan  dramS;  Waller' 
Marvel     and  Cowley,  I^velaee  S  'socW  n,,' 

oiutionaiy  poets  rivaled  ill  the  re^  „  th«  „?^  •' 
ntion  which  they  extorted  froiThim  "'V^""- 
»n  and  the  Brownin/w  werL  J^»n  ^*""^ 
hi.  thonghts ,  andrfhel^'i^'eXS-r r  lo" 

»aroVrtr?:ct«thH  R 

«-y  bits,  which  she  had  t?  i  l"ga~  and 
IS  ISir  o'v"edX'S  Z^  X?'^  "r "' 

:^titTo^Z7fiSS^^^^^ 

felt  the  meaning  of  some  of  these     What  «u! 

».' "r  i<»k  or  in,„i„  .(S'Sr,???.  S 

■o.  mereoto-Haien,  ido.uioi ,  Vh, Li  IS 
one  mav  c««t  nnnn  .  ji  ■  .    '""  >  •""  looit  that 

o.rof^art?o7bnt''Sl7CS:?ll^ 

.h^''^r£Wri''"*"j5;e  ^'r ""-' 

X  tUl  Lh  ntvs  Sy  "^''"""K  «'  Mar- 

•Pkere  of  he^thZrh?  ■?  "^^P^^ed  out  of  the 
•iWtKJhouAu^  '"'"  "T"  •'»'*"'  '««'"> 
««tent  rremaft-T^f  ""*"''""^:    She  was 

"^^  «.d  waTfor  at'^S  W"' ^"^  "^T"- 
*•  thonght  of  the  end  o?  an '  hf.     iW^f 

■^--'-""l-y  depart.""  S.hJd"to''en3- 


THE  CRYPTOGRAM. 


^  109 

the?l^''sh°«''"^^^"'*'«'''«'"'e"?   Then?   Ah 

pean^  to  her  th  JaSth'e f^SLn^'^LrcoT 

-^s^;e£rjt!~^rs- 

politeness.     He  never  ^H.,^''  °'  conventional 

l«t  attempt ara.^mSime„1.%'Lt?"  ''"'  ^T'' 
this  much  it  would  E„^h  ^'"^  ''°  *='■"'"  done 
mssment  She  would  h»  ^"  ",P"'"''"'  «='"''«■•- 
back  in^  hSiTa"  3  t  d^S  'and  """ 

had  rece  ved  an  answer  tn  l,i.^!^  •  ■    V      ''"'"■"« 

then  nothing  furXri^J  .""  '"*''*''  *""  **"«» 

S'fSc?^^^^^^^^^^^^^ 

OlwiTi?^'  *°™!>'"'e  unsuccessful,     lie  ur^^l 

oi.j«.«i-  ST!;,  ,2!'?.  a'.cs»t; 

flrst-rate  s^r      y*V"/'''««' «''owed  himself  a 


yacht,  and  to  know  all  about  it. 

«i-sLJt.'Sorir  s; 


.'A-,: 


no 


THE  CRYPTOGRAM. 


^ 


it ;  Windham  certainly  was  not  the  one  to  re- 
gard it ;  and  Zillah  wag  willing  to  shut  her  eyes 
to  it.  And  «o  for  many  days  they  were  thrown 
together.  Cruising  thus  over  the  Mediterra- 
nean, that  glory  of  seas — the  blue,  the  dark,  the 
deep — where  the  transparent  water  shows-  the 
sea  depths  far  down,  witli  all  the  wonders  of  the 
sea ;  where  the  bright  atmosphere  shows  sharply 
defined  the  outlines  of  distant  objects — cruising 
here  on  the  Mediterranean,  where  i>ahce  stretch- 
es out  her  hand  to  Italy ;  where  on  the  horizon 
the  purple  hills  arise,  their  tops  covered  with  a 
diadem  of  snow ;  where  the  air  breathes  balm, 
and  the  tideless  sea  washes  evermore  the  granite 
base  of  long  mountain  chains,  evermore  wearing 
awny  and  scattering  the  debris  along  the  sound- 
ing beach.  Cruising  over  the  Mediterranean — 
oh !  what  is  there  on  earth  equal  to  this  ?  Here 
was  a  place,  here  was  scenery,  which  might  re- 
main forever  fixed  in  the  memories  of  both  of 
these,  who  now,  day  after  day,  under  these  cloud- 
less skies,  drifted  along.  Drifting?  Yes,  it  was 
drifting.  And  wheref  were  they  drifting  to  ? 
Where  ?  Neither  of  them  asked.  In  fact,  they 
were  drifting  nowhere ;  or,  rather,  they  were 
drifting  to  that  point  where  fate  would  interpose, 
and  sever  them,  to  send  them  onward  upon  their 
diflerent  courses.  They  might  drift  for  a  time ; 
but,  at  la.st,  they  must  separate,  nnd  then — what  ? 
Would  they  ever  again  reunite?  Would  they 
ever  again  meet?    Who  might  say? 

Drifting! 

Well,  if  one  drifts  any  where,  the  Mediterrane- 
an is  surely  the  best  place ;  or,  at  least,  the  most 
favorable ;  for  there  all  things  combine  to  favor, 
in  the  highest  degree,  that  state  of  moral  "drift- 
ing" into  which  people  sometimes  full. 

The  time  passed  quickly.     Weeks  flew  by. 
Nothing  new  had  been  discovered.    No  infontta- 
tion  had  come  from  Naples.    No  letter  had  come 
from  Hilda.      While  Zillah  waited,  Windham 
also  waited,  and  thus  passed  six  or  seven  weeks 
in  Marseilles,  which  was  rather  a  long  time  for 
one  who  was  hurrying  home  on  important  busi- 
ness.   But  he  was  anxious,*  he  said,  to  see  the 
result  of  the  investigations  of  the  police.     That 
result  was,  at  length,  made  known.     It  was  no- 
thing;  and  the  chief  of  police  advised  Obcd 
Chute  to  go  on  without  delay  to  Naples,  and 
urge  the  authorities  there  to  instant  action.     He 
seemed  to  think  that  they  had  neglected  the  busi-  I 
ness,  or  else  attended  to  it  in  ^ich  a  way  that  it  I 
had  failed  utterly.     He  assured  Obed  Chute  that ' 
he  would  still  exert  all  his  power  to  track  the  ' 
villain  Gnaltitr,  and,  if  possible,  bring  him  to  ' 
justice.    This,  Obed  believed  that  he  would  do ;  j 
for  the  chief  bad  come  now  to  feel  a  personal  ns 
well  as  a  professional  interest  in  the  affair,  as 
though  somehow  his  credit  were  at  stake.     Un- 
der these  circumstances,  Obed  prepared  to  take 
bis  family  and  Miss  Lorton  to  Naples,  by  the 
next  steamer. 

Windham  said  nothing.  There  was  a  pallor 
on  the  face  of  each  of  them  as  Obed  told  them 
his  plan— telling  it,  too,  with  the  air  of  one  who 
i«  communicating  the  most  joyful  intelligence,^ 
snd  thinking  nothing  of  the  wav  in  which  such 
jeyous  news  is  received.  Zillah  made  no  ob- 
servation. Involuntarily  her  eyes  sought  those 
of  Windham.  She  read  in  his  face  a  depth  of 
despair  which  was  without  hope — profound — 
nualterable — nninoTabI& 


That  day  they  took  their  last  ride.  But  few 
words  passed  between  them.  Windham  was 
gloomy  and  taciturn.  Zilhih  was  silent  and  sad. 
At  length,  as  they  rode  back,  they  came  to  a 
place  on  the  shore  a  few  miles  away  from  the 
city.  Here  Windham  reined  in  his  horse,  and, 
as  Zilhih  stopped,  he  pointed  out  to  the  sea. 

The  sun  was  setting.  Its  rich  red  light  fell 
full  upon  the  face  of  Zillah,  lighting  it  up  with 
radiant  glory  as  it  did  on  that  memorable  morn- 
ing when  her  beautiful  face  was  upturned  as  her 
head  lay  upon  his  breast,  and  her  gleaming  ebon 
hair  floated  over<his  shoulders.  He  looked  at 
her.  Her  eyes  were  not  closed  now,  as  they 
were  then,  but  looked  back  into  his,  revealing  iii 
their  unfathomable  depths  an  abyss  of  melan- 
choly, of  sorrow,  of  longing,  and  of  tenderness. 

'_' Miss  Lorton, "said  Windham,  in  a  deep  voice, 
which  was  shaken  by  an  uncontrollable  einiotinn, 
ana  whose  tremulous  tones  thrilled  through  nil 
Zillah 's  being,  and  often  and  often  afterward  re- 
carred  to  her  memory — "  Miss  Lorton,  this  is 
our  last  ride — our  last  inten-iew.  Here  I  will 
say  my  last  farewell.  To-morrow  I  will  see  yoii, 
but  not  alone.  Oh,  my  friend,  my  friend,"  my 
sweet  friend,  whom  I  held  in  my  arms  once,  as  I 
saved  you  from  death,  we  must  now  part  forever! 
I  go — I,mustgo.  My  God!  where?  To  a  lifa 
of  horror !  to  a  living  death !  to  a  future  without 
one  ray  of  hope  I  Once  it  was  dark  enough,  God 
knows ;  but  now — but  now  it  is  intolerable ;  for 
since  I  have  seen  you  I  tremble  at  the  thought  of 
encountering  that  which  awaits  me  in  England !'' 

He  held  out  his  hand  as  he  concluded.  Zil- 
lah's  eyes  fell.  His  words  had  been  poured  forth 
with  passionate  fervor.  She  had  nothing  to  say. 
Her  despair  was  as  deep  as  his.  She  held  out 
her  hand  to  meet  his.  It  was  as  cold  as  ice.  He 
seized  it  with  a  convulsive  grasp,  and  his  frame 
trembled  as  he  held  it. 

Suddenly,  as  she  looked  down,  overcome  by 
her  own  agitation,  a  sob  struck  her  ears.    8I10 
looked  up.     He  seemed  to  be  devouring  her  with 
his  eyes,  as  they  were  fixed  on  her  wildly,  hun- 
grily, yet  despairingly.     And  from  those  eves, 
which  had  so  often  gazed  steadily  and  proudly 
in  the  face  of  death,  there  now  fell,  drop  by  drop, 
tears  which  seemed  wrung  out  from  his  very! 
heart.    It  was  but  for  a  moment.    AshecaughKJ 
hereyes  he  dropped  her  hand,  and  hastily  brusM 
his  tears  away.     Zillah's  heart  throbbed  fust  and 
furiously;  it  seemed  ready  to  burst.     Her  breiilh 
failed  ;  she  reeled  in  her  saddle.     But  the  par- 
oxysm passed,  and  she  regained  her  self-corn- ' 
miind. 

"Let  ns  ride  home,"  said  Windham,  in  a 
stem  voice. 

They  rode  home  without  speaking  another 
word. 

The  next  dav  Windham  saw  them  on  board , 
the  steamer.    lie  stood  oa  the  wharf  and  watched 
it  till  it  was  out  of  sight.    Then  he  departed  in 
the  train  for  the  north,  nnd  for  England. 


CHAPTER  XXXTTT"         "^ 

THB     agent's     REPOBT. 

Ox  the  south  coast  of  Hampshire  there  ii  • 
little  village  which  looks  towqrd  the  Isle  of 
Wight.     It  consists  of  a  single  street,  and  >» 


|['°"ti8ngpncioiig| 
r  ."^ohaimingp 
Jfontopassthesn 
pnnsarpassed,  am 
I  JMhting  excellent. 
l?"«.andhasnot 
l»«ux  of  wealthy  s 
I'Mtous  hotueg  wfa< 


last  ride.  Bot  few 
m.  Windham  was 
li  was  silent  and  sad. 
ick,  they  came  to  a 
niles  away  from  the 
xl  in  his  horse,  and, 
1  out  to  the  sea. 
ts  rich  red  light  fell 
,  lighting  it  up  with 
at  memorable  mom- 
was  uptarncd  as  her 
d  her  gleaming  ebon 
lers.  He  looked  at 
ilosed  now,  as  they 
into  his,  revealing  iii 
an  abyss  of  melan- 
and  of  tenderness, 
ham,  in  a  deep  voire, 
ontrollable  etnotinn, 

thrilled  through  nil 
I  often  afterward  le- 
Miss  Lorton,  tliix  is 
irview.  Here  I  will 
jrrow  I  will  see  you, 
end,  my  friend,'  my 
I  my  arms  once,  as  I 
ist  now  part  forever! 
!  where?  To  a  lifo 
'  to  a  future  without 
18  dark  enough,  God 
it  is  intolerable ;  for 
)le  at  the  thought  of 
its  me  in  England !'' 
he  concluded.  Zii- 
id  been  poured  forth 
I  had  nothing  to  sny. 

bis.  She  held  out 
s  as  cold  as  ice.  He 
rasp,  and  bis  frume 

down,  overcome  by 
•uck  her  ears.  She 
)  devouring  her  with 

on  her  wildly,  hun- 
id  from  those  eyes, 
teadily  and  proudly 
w  fell,  drop  bv  drop, 

out  from  hiB  very, 
lent.    As  he  caught' I 

and  hastily  brushed 
rt  throbbed  fust  and 

burst.  Her  breath 
idle.  But  the  par- 
alned  her  self-com- 

dd  Windham,  in  i 

t  speaking  another 

saw  them  on  board , 
3  wharf  and  watched 
'hen  he  departed  in 
for  England. 


I  E  r  O  H  T. 

impshire  there  is  t 
towqrd  the  Isle  of 
ingle  street,  and  ii 


[fch^'^'"""  fa<"<''' which  «vf„,iB  for  mil^ 
1  So  i'Tfh"//'"*  fortK«»S„veSr- 

h'"'"»KSC    '-??.''^1"«».<■o'•  boating  oT 
I'l-I*.  and  hL  not  vet  ^^  ^""^  '""  *'  "'o™'""- 

I        .     ^*  *"•"»*»«»"  may  secure  quiet 


I  HccommodBtrons  arid  a 

of  ilild^  "„n?r  ^  ''''^^'  ""«'  ">«  disappearance 
JaS™ V^ "^"'//'"^"'Kht  after  'ILwsZ 

which  w^„,  ,h"  ^^T""'  "P  *"  "  •''""» 


112 


THE  CRYPTOGRAM. 


r:'i 


in ;  and  after  waiting  for  a  few  minuten  in  the 
«nug  parlor^  a  lady  entered.  The  slender  and 
elegant  figure,  the  beautiful  features,  and  well- 
bred  air  of  thiu  lady,  need  not  be  again  described 
to  those  who  have  already  become  acquainted 
with  Miss  Krieif.  Nor  ueed  Gualtier's  personal 
appearance  be  recounted  once  more  to  those  who 
have  already  a  sufficient  acquaintance  with  his 
physiognomy. 

She  shook  hands  with  him  in  silence,  and  then, 
taking  a  chair  and  motioning  him  to  another,  she 
sat  for  some  time  looking  at  him.  At  length  she 
uttered  one  single  word : 

"Well?"  . 

"  It's  done,"  said  Goaltier,  solemnly.  *'  It's 
all  over."' 

Hilda  caught  her  breath — giving  utterance  to 
what  seemed  something  between  a  sob  and  a 
sigh,  but  she  soon  recovered  herself. 

Gualtier  was  sitting  near  to  her.  Ho  leaned 
forward  as  Hilda  sat  in  silence,  apparently  over- 
/come  by  his  intelligence,  and  in  a  low  whisper 
he  said : 

"Do  you  not  feel  inclined  to  take  &  walk 
Bomewhere?"  '  ' 

Hilda  said  nothing,  bnt^  rising,  she  went  np 
stairs,  and  in  a  few  minutes  returned  dressed  for 
a  walk.  The  two  then  set  out,  and  Hilda  led 
the  way  to  tha  beach.  Along  the  beach  they 
widked  for  a  long  distance,  until  at  length  they 
came  to  a  placetwhich  was  remote  from  any  hu- 
man habitation.  Behind  was  the  open  country, 
before  them  the  sea,  whose  surf  came  rolling  in 
in  long,  low  swells,  and  on  either  side  lay  the 
beach.  Here  they  sat  down  on  some  rocks  that 
rose  above  the  sand,  and  for  some  time  said  no- 
thing. Hilda  was  the  first  to  speak.  Before 
saying  any  thing,  however,  she  looked  all  around, 
as  though  to  assure  herself  that  they  were  out  of 
the  reach  of  all  listeners.  Then  she  spoke,  in  a 
slow,  measured  voice : 

" Is  *Ae  gone,  then?" 

"She  is,"  said  Gualtier. 

There  was  another  long  silence.  What  Hil- 
da's feelings  were  could  not  be  told  by  her  face. 
%o  outward  appearance  she  was  calm  and  un- 
moved, and  perhaps  she  felt  so  in  her  heart.  It 
was  possible  that  the  thought  of  Zillah's  death 
did  not  make  her  heart  beat  faster  by  one  throb, 
or  give  her  one  single  approach  to  a  pang  of  re- 
morse. Her  silence  might  have  been  merely  the 
meditation  of  one  who,  hanng  completed  one 
part  of  a  pUin,  was  busy  thinking  about  the  com- 
pletion of  the  remainder.  And  yet,  on  the  ottier 
hand,  it  may  have  been  something  more  than 
tJiis.  Zillah  in  life  was  hateful,  but  Zillah  dead 
was  another  thing ;  and  if  she  had  any  softness, 
or  n\iy  capacity  for  remorse,  it  might  well  have 
made  itself  manifest  at  such  a  time.  Gualtier 
sat  looking  at  her  in  silence,  waiting  for  her  to 
speak  again,  attending  on  her  wishes  as  usual ; 
for  this  man,  who  could  be  so  merciless  to  others, 
in  her  presence  resigned  all  his  will  to  hers,  and 
seemed  to  be  only  anxious  to  do  her  pleasure, 
whatever  it  might  be. 

"Tell me  about  it," sddHim&attengtYs,  with- 
out moving,  and  still  keeping  her  eyei  fixed  ab- 
stractedly on  the  sea. 

Gualtier  then  began  with  hb  visit  to  Zillah  at 
Tenby.  •  He  spoke  of  Zillah's  joy  at  getting  the 
letter,  and  her  eager  desire  to  be  once  more  with 
her  friend,  and  so  Mceot  on  till  the  time  of  their 


aikrival  at  Marseilles.  He  told  how  Zillah  all  the 
>ray  could^talk  of  nothing  else  than  Hilda ;  of 
her  feverish  anxiety  to  travel  as  fast  as  possible ; 
of  her  fearful  anticipations  that  Hilda  might 
have  a  relapse,  and  that  after  all  she  might  be 
too  late;  how  excited  she  grow,  and  how  de-- 
spairing,  when  she  was  told  that  thd  steamers 
had  stopped  running,  and  h6w  eagerly  she  accept- 
ed his  proposal  to  go  on  in  a  yacht.  Tlie  story 
of  such  affectionate  devotion  miglifr  have  moved 
even  the  hardest  heart,  but  Hilda  gave  no  sign 
of  any  feeling  whatever.  She  sat  motionless — 
listening,  but  saying  nothing.  Whether  Gual- 
tier himself  was  trying  to  test  her  feelings  by 
telling  so  piteous  a  story,  or  whether  some  re- 
morse of  his  own,  and  some  compassion  fur  bo 
loving  a  heart,  stUl  lingering  within  him,  forced 
him  to  tell  his  story  in  this  way,  can  not  bo 
known.  Whatever  his  motives  were,  no  effect 
was  produced  on  the  listener,  aJs  far  as  outward 
signs  were  concerned. 

"  With  MathUde,"  said  he,  "  I  had  some  dif- 
ficulty. She  was  very  unwilling  to  leave  her 
mistress  at  such  a  time  to  make  a  voyage  alone, 
but  she  was  a  timid  creature,  and  I  was  able  to 
work  upon  her  fears.  I  told  her  that  her  mis- 
tress hwl  committed  a  crime  against  the  English 
]awa  in  running  away  and  living  under  an  as- 
sumed name ;  that  her  husband  was  now  in  En- 
gland, and  would  certainly  pursue  his  wife,  have 
her  arrested,  and  punish  severely  all  who  had 
aided  or  abetted  her.  This  terrified  the  silly 
creature  greatly ;  and  then,  by  the  offer  of  a 
handsome  sum  and  the  promise  of  getting  her  a 
good  situation,  1  soothed  her  fears  and  gi^ined 
her  consent  to  desert  her  mistress.  She  is  now  , 
in  London,  and  has  already  gained  a  new  situa- 
tion." 

"  Where?"  said  Hilda,  abruptly. 

"  In  Highgate  Seminary,  the  place  that  I  ^-as 
connected  with  formerly.  She  is  teacher  of 
French,  on  a  good  solary." 

"  Is  that  safe?"  said  Hilda,  after  some  thouglit 

"Why  not?" 

"  She  might  give  trouble." 

"  Oh  no.  Her  situation  is  a  good  one,  ond 
she  need  never  leave  it." 

"I  can  scarcely  see  how  she  can  retain  it 
long ;  she  may  be  turned  out,  and  then — we  may 
see  something  of  her." 

"You  forget  that  I  am  aware  of  her  movement^ 
and  con  eadlypntastop  to  any  efforts  of  that  kind." 

"  Still  I  should  be  better  satisfied  if  she  were 
in  France— or  somewhere." 

"Should  you?  Then  I  can  get  her  a  place  in 
France,  where  von  will  never  hear  of  her  again." 

Hilda  was  silent 

"My  plan  about  the  yacht,"  said  Gualtier, 
"was  mode  before  I  left  London.  I  said  no- 
thing to  you  about  it,  for  I  thought  it  might  not 
succeed.  The  chief  difficulty  was  to  obtain  men 
devoted  to  my  interests.  I  made  a  journey  to 
Marseilles  first,  and  found  out  that  there  were 
several  vessels  of  different  sizes  for  sale.  'Ihe 
jacht  was  the  bew  and  most  suitable  for  onr 
purposQS,  and,  fortmuttelj,  It  remained  nnso1crti& 
I  had  reached  Marseilles  again  with  her.  I  ob- 
tained the  men  in  London.  It  was  with  some 
difficulty,  for  it  was  not  merely  common  ruffisna 
that  I  wanted,  but  seamen  who  could  sail  a  vet- 
sd,  and  at  the  same  time  be  willing  to  take  p«rt 
in  the  act  which  I  contempUted.    I  told  ttwo 


_^'jiij*..-V.j 


tjjifj.M';r',iL:Lret^iuiitifdA'jAl{ii0 


r  some  thought. 


that  an  which  wu  reqnlred  of  them  was  to  tail 
for  two  dayi  or  so,  and  then  leave  the  veuel.  I 
think  they  imagined  it  was  a  plan  to  make  mon- 
ey by  insuring  the  vessel  and  then  deserting  her. 
Such  things  are  often  done.  I  had  to  pay  the 
rascals  heavily;  but  I  was  not  particdar,  and, 
fortunately,  they  all  turned  out  to  be  of  the  right 
sort,  except  one— but  no  matter  about  him." 

"  Except  one !"  said  llUda.     "  What  do  yon 
mean  by  that?"  ^''"-  ' 

"  I  will  explain  after  a  while, "/tsid  (}ualtier. 
"If  she  had  not  been  so  innocent, "  said  Gual- 
tier,  "  I  do  not  see  how  my  plan  could  have  suc- 
ceeded.    But  she  knew  nothing.      She  didn't 
even  know  enough  to  make  inquiries  herself. 
She  accepted  all  that  I  said  with  the  most  im- 
plicit trust,  and  believed  it  all  as  though  it  were 
Gospel.    It  was,  therefore,  the  easiest  thing  in 
the  world  to  manage  her.     Her  only  idea  was 
to  get  to  you." 
Gualtier  paused  for  a  moment. 
"  Go  on,  '•  said  HUda,  coldly. 
"Well,  all  the  preparations  were  made,  and 
the  day  came.     Mathilde  had  left.     She  did  not 
seem  to  feel  the  desertion  much.     She  said  no- 
thing at  all  to  me  about  the  loss  of  her  maid,  al- 
though after  three  or  four  years  of  service  it 
must  have  been  galling  to  her  to  lose  her  maid 
BO  abruptly,  and  to  get  such  a  letter  as  that  silly 
thing  wrote  at  my  dictation.    She  came  on  board, 
and  seemed  verv  much  satisfied  with  all  the  ar- 
rangements;   I  had  done  every  thing  that  I  could 
thmk  of  to  make  it  pleasant  for  her — on  the  same 
principle,  I  suppos^"  he  added,  dryly,  "  that  they 
have  in  jails— wheA^  they  are  8ut«  to  give  a  good 
breakfast  to  a  pooi>1SBvil  on  the  morning  of  his 
executioa." 

"  Voi^ay  as  well  omit  allusions  of  that  sort." 
toid^Hilda,  sternly. 

Gualtier  made  no  observation,  ftnt  proceeded 
with  his  narrative. 

"  We  sailed  for  two  days,  and,  at  length,  came 
to  within  about  fifty  miles  of  Leghorn.  During 
•11  that  time  she  had  been  cheerful,  and  was  much 
on  deck.  She  tried  to  read,  but  did  not  seem  able 
to  do  so.  She  seemed  to  be  involved  in  thought, 
M  a  general  thing;  and,  by  the  occasional  ques- 
tions which  she  asked,  I  saw  that  all  her  thoughto 
were  about  y<m  and  Naples.  So  passed  the  two 
days,  and  the  second  night  came. ' 

Gnaltier  pansed. 

Hilda  sat  motionless,  without  saying  a  word. 
Gnaltier  himself  seemed  reluctant  to  go  on ;  but 
he  had  to  conclude  his  narrative,  and  so  he  forced 
himself  to  proceed. 

'  It  wot  midtaight"— he  went  on,  in  a  very  low 
TOice—"  it  was  exceedingly  dark.  The  day  had 
been  line,  but  the  sky  was  now  all  overclouded. 
The  sea,  however,  was  coniparatively  smooth, 
Md  every  thing  was  faTmble  to  the  undertak- 
ing. The  boat  was  all  riJMy.  It  was  a  good- 
sued  boat,  which  we  had  towed  behind  us.  I 
had  prepared  a  mast  and  a  sail,  and  had  put 
•ome  provisions  in  the  kicker.  The  men  were 
all  expecting^" 


ME  CaYPTOGBAM. 


113 

;"It  was  mfdnlght,"  said  Gualtier,"  resumina 
JU  story  once  more,  and  speaUng  with  percepti- 
ble  agitotion  in  the  toii«  of  his  roice-"  it  !n» 
"f  "^S  *^  *""*  ^'!*^*^T  d*rk.  The  men  were 
at  the  bow,  waiting.  AU  was  ready. '  In  the 
Mbin  aU  had  been  stiU  for  some  dmc  Her 
Iighu  had  been  pat  out  an  hoar  previons- 

■"  WeU?"  J-W  Hilda,  with  feverish  impatience. 
as  he  again  hesitated.  i»»«u«.o, 

.t.!!^""'"  '^^  ^'^''•''  "»"'»8  himself  with  a 
h»  h  aTI,  *  '"T?"?7  •b'tracUon  into  which 
he  had  fi«Uen-"the  first  thing  I  did  was  to  go 
down  into  the  hold  with  some  augers,  and  bore 
holes  through  the  vessd's  bottom." 

Another  silence  fi^eired. 

"Some  angers,"  saH  Hilda,  after  a  time. 

Did  yon  need  mora  than  one  ?" 

"One  might  bi«ak." 

'J  Did  any  one  go  Uriih  yon  ?"  she  pewisteA  • 
*  .u  T^"!™  ."  men--the  greatest  ruflUn 
of  the  lot.  'Black  Bill,' he  wi  caUed.  ™e 
got  something  to  teU  you  abont  him.  I  to<Jk 
him  down  to  help  me,  for  I  was  afraid  that  I 
might  not  make  a  snre  thing  of  it  Between  us 
we  did  the  lob.  The  water  began  to  rush  {4 
through  half  a  doienJioIes,  which  we  succeeded 
in  making,  and  We  got  out  on  deck  as  the  vacht 
was  rapidhr  filling."      ,  .    ' 

Again  Gualtier  pansed  for  some  time. 
Whv  do  you  hesitate  so?"  asked  Hilda, 

GualUer  looked  at  her  for  a  moment,  with 
soinething  like  surprise  in  his  fine ;  but  without 
making  anpr  reply,  he  went  on : 

"  I  humed  into  the  cabin  and 


allexpectii 


Hilda,  fiercely.     "Omit  aU  that— go  on,  and 
don  t  kill  meirith  your  long  preliminaries." 

'If  yon  bad  snch  a  story  to  tell,"  said  Gual- 
Uer, humbly,  "you  would  he  gbid  to  take  refUse 
nr  a  little  while  in  prelhninariea." 
Hilda  said  nothing. 

H 


and  listened.    Th^ 

was  no  sound.  I  put  my  ear  close  to  the  inner 
door.  AU  was  utterly  and  perftcdy  stilL  She 
WM  evidently  sleeping.  I  then  hurried  out  and 
ordered  the  men  into  the  boat  Before  embark- 
ing myself  I  went  back  to  the  hold,  and  reached 
my  hands  down.  I  felt  the  water.  It  was  with- 
in less  than  three  feet  of  the  deck.  It  had  fiUed 
vey  rapidly.  ■  I  then  went  on  board  the  boat 
unfastened  the  line,  and  we  liulled  away,  steer- 
ing tM%  as  nwly  as  possibk||  toward  Lahore. 
We  had  rowed  for  about  half  an  hour,  when  I 
recollected  that  I  ought  to  have  locked  the  cabin 
door.  But  it  was  too  htte  to  return.  We  could 
never  have  found  the  schponer  if  w«  had  tried. 
The  night  was  intensely  dark.  Besides,  by  that 
time  the  schooner— iwm  at  tk»  bottom  of  th» 
tea/  •' 

A  long  silence  followed.  Hilda  looked  stead- 
ily  out  on  the  water,  and  Gualtier  watched  her 
with  hungry  eyes.  At  hut,  as  though  she  felt 
his  eyes  upon  her,  shis  turaed  and  looked  at  him. 
A  great  change  had  come  over  her  face.  It 
was  fixed  and  rigid  and  haggard— her  eyes  had 
soinething  in  them  that  was  awfuL  Her  lips 
were  white— her  £»ce  was  ashen.  She  tried  to 
speak,  but  at  flnt  no  sound  escaped.  At  last  ^ 
she  spoke  in  a  hoarse  voice  utterly  unlike  her 
own. 

"^Sfeig  gone,  then." 


-iK-rar  ■»  ^waai^    »aaKua*. -— 

"For  evermore /"  said  Crualtier. 

Hilda  turned  her  stony  face  once  more  toward 
the  sea,  while  Gualtier  looked  all  around,  and 
then  turned  his  gase  back  to  this  woman  tai 
whom  he  had  done  so  much. 

"After  a  while"— he  he^n  once  more,  in  a 
stow,  dull  voice— "the  wind  came  up,  and  we 


iHV-*"/ 


fim 


THE  CRYPTOGRAM. 


"black  Bttl,  HAB  KEPT  OK  KT  TBAOK," 


hoisted  sail.  We  went  on  oar  way  rapidly,  and 
by  the  middle  of  the  foUowing  day  we  arrived  at 
Leghorn.  I  paid  the  men  off  and  dismissed 
them.  I  myself  came  back  to  London  immedi- 
ately, over  the  Alps,  throngh  Germany.  I  thought 
it  best  to  avoid  Marseilles.  I  do  not  know  what 
the  men  did  with  themselves ;  but  I  think  that 
they  would  have  made  some  trouble  for  me  if  I 
had  not  harried  away.  Black  Bill  said  as  much 
when  I  was  paying  them.  He  said  that  when 
he  made  the  bu^in  he  thought  it  was  only  some 
•bloody  insurance  business,'  and,  if  he  had 
known  what  it  was  to  have  been,  he  would  have 
made  a  different  bargain.  As  it  was,  he  swore 
I  ought  to  double  the  amount  I  had  promised. 
I  refused,  and  we  parted  with  some  high  words- 
he  vowing  vengeance,  and  I  saying  nothing." 

"  Ah !'  said  Hilda,  who  had  succeeded  in  re- 
covering something  of  her  ordinary  calm,  "  that 
was  foolish  in  you— you  ought  to' have  satisfied 
their  demands." 
=^-"  Lh*yc^thoBt^t«  since." , 

"  They  may  create  trouble.  You  should  have 
stopifed  their  months." 

"  That  is  the  very  thing  I  wished  to  do ;  bat 
I  was  afraid  of  being  too  lavish,  for  fear  that 
they  would  sospcct  the  importance  of  the  thing. 


,J  think  he  is  tiying  to  work  this 


1 1  thboght  if  I  appeared  mean  and  stingy  '|tnd 
poor  they  might  conclude  tlint  I  was  some  very 
ordinary  person,  ai^  that  the  affair  was  of  a. 
very  ordinary  kindf- concerning  very  common 
people.  If  they  sitspected  the  true  nature  of 
the  cage  they  would  ibo  sure  to  inform  the  police. 
As  it  is,  they  will^bld  their  tongues ;  or,  at  tlie 
worst,  they  will  tr;^:and  track  me." 

"  Track  you  ?"  M^d  Hilda,  who  was  struck  by 
something  in  Gunltiefr's  tone.'" 

".Yes;  the  fact  is— I  suppose  I  ought  to  tell 
you— I  have  been  tracked  oil  the  way  from  Leg- 
horn." 

"Bvwhom?" 

'*Blnck  Bill — I  don't  know  how  hof  managed 
it,  but  he  has  certainly  kept  on  my  track.  I  snw 
him  at  Brieg,  in  Switzerlond,  fli-st ;  toext  I  saw 
him  in  the  railway  station  at  Strasbon/g ;  and  yes- 
\terday  I  saw  him  in  London,  standing  opposito 
f he  door  of  my  lodgings,  as  I  was  leaving  for 
■his  place. "  / 

"That  looks  bad,"  said  Hildai  seriously. 
He  is  determined  to~find  out  what  this  busi- 
is,  and  so  he  watches  me.      He  doesn't 
thireaten,  he  doesn't  demand  money — he  is  Kim- 
plj^  watching,     His  game  is  a  deep  one. " 

Do  you  suppose  that  the  others  are  with 
him\?" 

•«Not  at  nil. 
up  for  himself.' 

"  I^  is  bnd, "  sold  Hilda.    "  How  do  you  know 
tipt  be  is'  not  in  this  village  ?"  ^ 

"As  to  that,  it  is  quite  impossible— and  I 
never  expect  to  see  him  again,  in  fact." 

"VVbynot?"  V 

"  Befiiiuse  I  have  thrown  him  off  the  track 
completely.    While  I  was  going  straight  to  Lon- 
don it  wiw  easy  for  him  to  follow — especially  as 
I  did  not  care  to  dodge  him  on  the  continent; 
but  now,  ifrhe  ever  catches  sight  of  me  again  ho 
is  much  (Reper  than  I  take  him  to  be." 
"But  pj^rhaps  he  has  followed  you  here." 
" That  i* impossible," said  Gunltier,  confident- 
ly.   "  My  mode  of  getting  away  from  London  was 
peculiar.   At  soon  as  I  saw  him  opposite  ray  lodg- 
ings ipy  mind  was  made  up ;  so  I  took  the  train 
for  Bristol,  and  went  about  forty  miles,  when  I 
got  out  and  came  back ;  then  I  drove  to  the  Great 
Northern  Statilpn  immediately,  went  north  about 
twenty  miles,  and  came  back ;  after  this  I  took 
the  Southampton  train,  and  came  down  last  night 
It  would  be  rather  diflicult  for  one  man  to  follow 
another  on  Such  a  journey.     As  to  my  lodgings, 
I  do  not  intend  to  go  back.     He  will  probably 
inquire,  and  find  that  I  have  left  all  my  things 
there,  and  I  dare  tey  he  will  watch  that  place  for 
the  next  six  months  at  least,  waiting  for  my  re- 
turn.   And  so  I  think  he  may  be  considered  as 
finally  disposed  of.  \ 

"  Yon  do  not  int^d  to  send  for  your  thinsi, 
then?" 

' '  No.  There  are  articles  thereof  considerohla 
value ;  but  I  will  let  them  all  go — it  will  be  ttdceii 
as  a  proof  that  I  am  dead.  My  friend  Black  Bill 
will  hear  of  this,  and  fall  in  with  that  opinion.  I 
may  also  arrange  a  'distressing  casualty'  pata-/ 
iqA  to  insert  in  thr pipen  for  hlsfaenefiL  "?^ 
Hilda  now  relapsed  into  nlenoe  once  more, 
and  seemed  to  lose  herself  in  a  fit  of  obstrftction 
so  profound  that  she  was  conscions  of  nothing 
around  Iwr.  Gaaltier  sat  r^^arding  her  silently, 
and  wonaering  whither  her  tUsnghts  were  tead- 


Jng.    Alonj 

on  the' shore 

gently  over 

dotted  with  i 

passing  in  a 

sizes  leaving 

Over  two  t 

down  here,  a 

had  all  the  w 

them,  until  ai 

within  a  few  i 

notice  it;  bu 

chance  to  inte 

"The  tide 

next  wave  will 

It  was  with 

Then  she  rose 

with  Gualtier. 

"I  should  1 

at  length,  in  i 

any  thing  mor 

"I  have  be( 

hesitation,  "oi 

have  decided  t 

"ToChetwj 

"Yes,  and  t 

"To-morrov 

"There  is  r 

"The  time  has 

"ToChetwy 

scarcely  undersi 

"  Perhaps  no 

that  need  not  b< 

reveal  itself  in  t 

cnmstances." 

"But  you  ht 
going  there.  ^ 
take  up  your  abi 
"  I  do  not  int 
sponse.  "  You 
pose.  I  am  goi 
sary  arrangemen 
wynde." 

"Lady  Chetw 
a  kind  of  gasp. 

"Yes,"  said  I 

covered  all  her  u 

all  her  old  force 

her  ^oolness,  whii 

»n  ascendency  oi 

Peated,  quietly  r 

amazement,  "an 

Chetwynde  has  b 

it  not  natural  tha 

preperations  for  I 

She  pr^rs  it  to  I 

"Good  God  I" 

himself,  as  a  thoi 

n™  wiA  bewildei 

purpose?   Wasth 

verydeedtheonev 

"be?   And  was  it 

"IsLordChetTi 

M  at  length,  as  : 

•Hnnge  expression, 

'LordChetwva 

'•'nlynot." 

,"|^«>  you  know  1 

No.    I  have  i 

Iwt  have  found  out 

jome  which  could 

**  wpposing  that  i 


THE  CRYPTOGRAM. 


sizes  leaving  behind  them  great  traiiro"smokf  Ln  i  r    /  ^'L'  •'"*  ™"«spondence  between  him 
Over  two  hours  had  paswd  since^th^v  Z»    \     "'^  ^^^  Chetwynda  haTfor  v«ra  bin  "  r 

Pllrlnra  Ul^  — :^^  _i  ....  •*^'^U 


-icei.:b.;^'th.^e;Zc-L^:£?^ 

chance  tointerrupt  her  meditations  "  " 

iJie  tide  is  rising,"  said  ho,  abruntlv  "tha 

twr^'i"'°"P'°'"'-   WehadSi,ove" 
ThiT  '""'  ".'"*"*  ""»'  ""da  roused  KV 

any  thing  more  that  I  calll  jusf  ^ow! "  """"'  " 
hesititfoT.^?"  thinking,"  said  Hilda,  without 
fc!l       "i  '°f™y  next  course  of  action  and  I 

'7fTr<5&;fe^''°^''«»-^"^-'^ 

.*!m°''  *"^  to-morrow  momini;  " 
"To-morrow  I"  " 

«Ti7'l^'*  'u  "°  "^""^  f"""  ^elay,"  said  Hilda. 
"TorT.'""  ",'   If  '=°"'«  wh/„'  I  can  act  " 

ica,Jw?n!,  "^"''^^    "^"^'^^  G»«'tier. 
icarcely  understand  your  purpose." 

,h.f  „!I5*P*  "/"• "  ^'^  "'Wa.  drylv ;  "  it  is  one 
SaS'- "  '•"  """"^  °f '™°  "°der  any  cir- 

«)in?"thf,^°  V^  *°'°''  ostensible  purpose  for 
ping  there.  You  can  not  go  there  merelv  tn 
take  up  your  abode  on  the  old  footing  "      ^ 

sponJe      '  "yI.?"''-  '°k^°  '•'"v  '^'^ '^e  cool  re-  ' 
Te      T  .J    ■  ™"^  '^  "■"*  ""»»  I  have  a  pur- 
pose.    I  am  going  to  make  certain  rerv  neces 
jajy^arrangements  for  the  advent  of  LaTy  S 

akin^oCp''"^'*'-'"  "^''"^  ^"'•"'''"•'  -'" 
o^KlS"!:f?;:^^l«'l«-';a;'.re: 


«.Te.;d 'all  her  «  :KlK"aJd"'e  b'^^'^       •"."""  ''^  -"•eTsS.^  ] 

!:!!.':!!:,5'i^-^of  cSrWarTni^^^^^^ 


have  s^d   ttrif-  '"  '"'^  '»  "P""  °f  «»  "-Tt^n 
h^me     Thi         121™^"  °"'  "f  '«»  ^ould  come 

G.«It,er  heard  this  with  fresh  suiirfsa 
.„  „  ".°'  ^"""^  ''^'"re  that  there  had  been 

so  very  peculiar  a  correspondence,"  sSd  he. 
^,J  think  that  It  will  decide  hiii  to  stajtn  In- 

sh^iiSlmeTom'J-    ^'""'  ''  '"  """'^  '"«'  »«• 

si^ht'^f  "tr.  h'i/'"'''  "'""•'''  "«^-'"-  be  lost 
signt  of,     said  Hilda,  very  gravely— "  nor  i«  if 
ever  lost  sight  of;  one  must  be  prepared  to  J 
counter  such  a  thing  as  that  "     '^^^"'^  *°  ™- 

;; But  how?"    *•"""•«• 

''H«'.!n''JI  are  various  ways,"  said  Hilda. 
Ixualtier,     but  how  can  he  be  encountesed?" 


J|U  her-  old  fo;ce"TeKr«arTnf  3  ■'-'"- -ided  nor "Jhurned.""^  w  S'be  m^? 

rrlT.:;  '^''''=''  t'  '-«VSven Tef  s2  /r"Ji'^  encountered-and  that,  too.  ^J^t 

an  ascendency  over  Giinltipr      "  v~,  ••    ,"■"-"  J"'-"- 

.„,!    „..:..i'..          "nmtier.         les,     she  re-  Gimltior  l^i.»j  _»  i._     .      .     . 


—  y~^.,.^^a,  niiiun  iiaa  long 
«n  Ascendency  over  Gnnltier.  "  ""Ves"  """she'"rp" 
peated,  qnietly  returning  the  others'  look  of 
•miuement,  "and  why  should  I  not?     Ldv 

WmiSr'  ^'^r  ""'•'  ^""'«er,  quite  foivettinir 
himself  as  a  thought  struck  him  whichfilM 

«2^  .u"^"'  *•'*  ■'^**  ""at  occurred  to  him  in 
^deed  the  one  which  was  in  her  mind  ?  S  3 

^L  W  Ch'^tt^di''"  "?•'  t**  ''"•'  '-^^-^  ?  he-re,  and  H 
•trange  expression.  ^^  *"*  »   *'"'"«  ?f  or 


V„?"''l"K^'?''^'^.''*  her  in  fi^h  porplexitr 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

KEMODELINO  THBH0U8EH0LD. 


Two  or  thr^,r\l<5j2^ftenva,d,  Hilda,  attended 
Itier  drove  up  to  the  inn  of  the  little  vil- 
ir  ChetwvnHn  n>.»i«.      /-. i...  " 


*^ioiitrwy;  mort  (Ser- 


•trange  expression. 

/'Lord  Chetwradef 
twnlynot." 

bnt  W-  *'  ''t™  "arrowly  watched  the  paMrs. 
w  supposmg  that  the  very  last  thing  that  Lord 


by  Gualtiei,  ,..„,„  up  «,  me  i 

wl"n'!!'i  «m'."^!J''''  ^*"''^  GualtieVs"t7p,;;d 
hertj,  and  Hilda  drove  onto  the  Castle  it^ 
Her  luggage  JSM. with  her,  but  it  was  small  con- 


though  it wf  mm uimuut^aadre iryguhiiit 

stay.    Onherandv«lthegeiTant8aUOTeete3l«»r 

wyndfe      Her  ladyship,  Hilda  informed  them 

te?\hn'„'  "^  '""'e"  ^'i'*^''  ""*  '^"^  "•»*  toil 
mlt„  rj!""  "''•'  '*'^-  ^he  had  sent  her  to 
make  certain  arrangements  for  the  reception  of 
Lord  Chetwj-nde,  who  vaa  expec<ed  from  India 


m 


116 


THR  CRTPTOORAM. 


I«- 


at  no  rery  distant  date.  She  did  not  aa  yet 
know  tlie  time  of  hit  probable  arrival ;  but  when 
(he  bad  learned  it  iheherielf  would  come  to 
Chetwynde  Caitle  to  reCMVe  him ;  but  until  thnt 
time  she  would  stay  away.  The  place  where 
she  was  staying  just  at  present  was  particularly 
healthy.  It  was  a  small  village  on  the  coast  of 
Brittany,  and  Lady  Chetwynde  wa^  anxious  to 
defer  her  return  to  the  latest  possible  moment 
Soch  was -the  information  which  Hilda  conde- 
scended to  give  to  the  servants,  who  received  the 
news  widi  anfeigned  delight,  for  they  all  dearly 
loved  that  gentle  girl,  whose  presente  at  Chet- 
wynde had  formerly  brightened  the  whole  house, 
4^and  with  whose  deep  grief  over  her  last  bereave- 
ment thev  had  all  most  sincerely  sympathized. 

Hildy  had  many  things  to  Ad.  Her  flrst  duty 
was  to  call  on  Mrs.  Hart.  The  poor  old  house- 
keeper still  continued  in  a  miserable  condition, 
hovering,  apparently,  between  life  and  death,  and 
only  conscious  at  intervals  of  what  was  going  on 
aronnd  her.  That  consciousness  was  not  strong 
enoagh  to  make  her  miss  the  presence  of  Zillnh, 
nor  did  her  faculties,  even  in  her  most  lucid  in- 
tervals, seem  to  be  fully  at  >^-ork.  Her  memdry 
did  not  appear  io  suggest  at  any  time  those  sad 
events  which  had  brought  her  down  to  this.  It 
was  only  at  times  that  she  exhibited  any  recol- 
lection of  the  past,  and  that  was  confined  alto- 
gether to  "  Guy ;"  to  him  whom  in  whisperad 
words  she  called  "  her  boy. "  Mrs.  Hart  was  not 
at  A\  neglected.  Susan,  who  had  once  been  the 
upper  house-maid,  had  of  late  filled  the  place  of 
housekeeper,  which  she  could  easily 'do,  as  the 
family  was  away,  and  the  duties  were  light.  She 
also,  with  her  sister  Mary,  >ifho  was  the  under 
house -maid,  was  assiduous  in  watching  at  the 
bedside  of  the  poor  old  creature,  who  lay  there 
hovering  between  life  and  death.  Nothing,  in- 
deed, could  exceed  the  kindness  and  tenderness 
of  these  two  humble  but  noble-hearted  girls ;  and 
even  if  Zillah  herself  could  have  been  brought  to 
that  bedside  the  poor  sufferer  could  not  have  met 
with  more  compassionate  affection,  and  certainly 
could  not  have  found  such  careful  nursing. 

Hilda  visited  Mrs.  Hart,  and  exhibits!  si^ch 
tenderness  of  feeling  that  both  Susan  and  Mary 
were  touched  by  it  They  knew  that  Mrs.  Hart 
had  never  loved  her,  hut  it  seemed  now  as  if 
Hilda  had  forgotten  all  that  former  coldness, 
and  was  herself  inspired  bv  nothing  but  the  ten- 
derest  concern.  But  Hilda  had  mOch  to  attend 
to,  and  after  about  hiilf  an  hour  she  left  the  room 
to  look  after  those  more  important  matters  for 
which  she  had  come. 

What  her  errand  was  the  sen-ants  soon  found 
out  It  was  nothing  less  than  a  complete  change 
in  the  household.  That  household  had  never 
been  large,  for  the  late  E^rl  had  been  forced  by 
his  cmsamstances  to  be  economical.  He  never 
enteruined  company,  and  was  satisfied  with  keep- 
ing tne  place,  inside  and  outside,  in  an  ordinary 
Rtate  of  neatness." 

The  servant*  who  now  remained  may  easily  be 
mentioned.     Mathilde  had  gone,  away.     Mrs. 

- Hart  lay  oniTlcS-heff.~ 'Hieni  was  Snsan,  the 

upper  honse-mMd,  and  Mary^her  sister,  the  un- 
der house-maid.  There  was  Roberts,  who  had 
been  the  lat^  Eari's  valet,  a  smart,  active  young 
man,  who  was  well  known  to  have  a  weakness 
^>  for  Susan ;  there  was  the  cook,  Martha,  a  formi- 
dable personage,  who  considered  herself  the  most 


important  member  of  that  household';  and  be* 
sides  thesp  ihere  were  the  coachman  and  the 
groom.  These  composed  the  entire  establish- 
ment. It  WHS  for  the  sake  of  getting  rid  of  these, 
in  as  quiet  and  inoffensive  a  way  as  possible,  that 
Hilda  had  now  come ;  and  toward  evening  she 
began  her  work  by  sending  for  Roberts. 

' '  Roberts, "  said  she,  with  dignity,  aa  that  very 
respectable  person  made  his  appeorancg);  carry- 
ing in  his  face  the  consciousness  of  one  who  had 
possessed  the  late  Earl's  confidehce,  "I  am  in- 
trusted with  a  commission  from  her  ladyship  to 
you.  Lord  Chetwynde  is  coming  home,  jind 
great- changes  are  going  to  be  made  here.  But 
her  ladyship  can  not  forget  the  old  household ; 
and  she  told  me  -to  mention  to  you  how  grateful 
xhe  felt  to  you  for  all  your  unwearied  care  and 
assiduity  in  your  attendance  upon  your  hite  mas- 
ter, especially  through  his  long  and  painful  ill- 
ness ;  and  she  is  most  anxious  to  know  in  what 
way  she  ran  be  of  service  to  you.  Her  ladyship 
has  heard  Mathilde  speak  of  an  understanding 
which  exists  between  you  and  Susan,  the  upper 
house-maid ;  and  she  is  in  hopes  that  she  may 
be  able  to  further  vour  yiews  m  the  way  of  set- 
tling yourself:  BX\i  so  she  wished  me  to  find  out 
whether  you  had  formed  any  plans,  and  what 
they  were. " 

"It's  like  her  ladyship's  thoughtftilness  and  con- 
sideration, "said  Roberts,  gratef^dly,  "to  think  of 
the  likes  of  me.  I'm  sure  I  did  nothing  for  my 
lord  beyond  what  it  were  my  bounden  dooty  to  do ; 
arid  a  pleasanter  and  afTabler  spoken  gentleman 
than  his  lordship  were  nobody  need  ever  want  to 
see.  I  never  expect  to  meet  with  such  another. 
As  to  Susan  and  me,"  continued  Roberts,  look- 
ingsheepish,  "we wasa-thinkin'ofapublic,  when 
so  fa^  as  we  could  see  our  way  to  it 

"  Where  were  yon  thinking  of  taking  one?" 

' '  Well,  miss,  tou  see  I'm  a  Westmor^ndshire 
man ;  and  somehow  I've  a  hankerin'  after  the  old 
place." 

And  you're  <{nite  right,  Roberts,"  sitid  Hilda, 
inNm  encouraging  tone.  "A  man  is  always 
hamtier  in  his  native  pfaice  among  his  own  peo- 
ple: Have  yon  heard  6f  an  opening  there? 
(^Roberts,  at  this,  looked  more  sheepish  still, 
and  did  not  answer  until  Hilda  l^d  repeated  her 
question. 

"Well,  to  be  nlidn  with  Vop,  miss,"  said  he, 
"  I  had  a  letter  this  very  weekfron^  my  brother, 
telling  me  of  ak.public  in  Keswick  as  was  for  sale 
— good-will,  stock,  and  all,  and  \  capital  sitto- 
tion  for  business — towerists  the  irhole  summer 
through,  and  a  little  soroethin'  n-ddin'  in  wiiiter, 
Susan  and  me  was  a-regrettin'  the  Vmitation  of. 
our  means,  miss." 

"  That  seems  a  capital  opening,  R«ikbert0,''taid 
Hilft^  venr  graciously.  "  It  would  be  a  pity  to 
lose  it    What  is  the  price?" 

"  Well,  miss,  i^'s  a  pretty  penny,  Uut  it's  the 
stand  makes  It,  nuta — ^right  on  the  shores  of  the 
lake — ^boats  to  let  a^>-«ll  hours,  inqui^  within. 
They  are  a-askin'  five  hundred  p<)und,  miss." 

"Is  that  nnrtasonable?"  f 

"Mttoktion  conrideratf,  oif  the  contrsry,  iiM**r~ 
and  Susan  and  me  haa  two  hundred  pounabe- 
tween  us  in  the  |aTings-bank.  My  lord  wak  » 
generous  master.  Now  if  her  ladyship  would 
len4  me  the  extrr  money  I'd  pay  her  bock  ti 
fiwt  OS  I  made  it*^ 

"There  is  no  necessity  for  that,"  lAid  Ililda. 


lT  ,  , ' — ••■■"•'  •i"i'i«}"»  lu  uo  Ilia  wm% 
•nm  which  her  ladyship  mofitioned  tp  me.  80  now 
I  commiRsion  you  in  her  mjae  to  make  all  the  nec- 
ewary  arrangements  with  jfe>ur  bmtheri  or,  better 
.  •"".  KO  at  once  yqnrself-ja  man  can  always  ar- 
range thme  matters  more  i^atUfaclorilr  hiratelf— 
anU  I  wijllet  you  have  thii  money  in  three  days, 
with  Lady  Chetwjrndes  beit  wishes  for  the  succes^ 
of  your  undertaking;  and  f  A  will  see,"8he  added, 
with  a  smile,  "if  Av^can  hot  get  pretty  Kusan  a 
wedding-dress,  and  any  tHing  else  she  may  neail. 
Before  a  week  is  over  yoJ  shall  1^  mine  host  of 
the  Keswick  Inn.  -And  now,"  she  concluded, 
,g«y'yi  go  and  make  yiur  arrangements  with 
Suwin,  and  don't  let  any^  foolish  boshfulness  on 
her  part  prevent  you  fnid  hastening  matter*  It 
would  not  do  foryoii  fo  ledthischance  slip  thronnh 
Toiir.flngers.  I  will  see  jhat  she  is  ready.  Her 
advship  has  something  fbr  her  too,  ju»«HrtlKnot 
let  her  go  to  you  emptv-''      '   *  " 

"  I  never,  never,  can 
you  enough,"  said  Bobe 
done  for  me  this  day/ 
to  write  a  letter  to  her 
respectful  dooty  ?" 

T  'u'^fl'  ^Ifi"-do  SOI  and  give  me  the  letter. 
I  shall  be  whting  to-nigtit,  and  will  inclose  it. 

^VrJJJ"^'  '^  ""'  Mar>-  and  Susan  sisters?" 
..  Af^?  "^  miss— sistets  and  orphelins." 
"Well,  then,"  snidsh'^  '■ 
take  more  than  you  are 
her  ladyship  lets  you  ca 
not  cast  bovetous'ovcs  o 
I  allow  she  would  make 
moid,  she  is  a  particular! 
we  can't  spare  her." 

Roberts  grinned  from  Ait  to  e/lf. 

"  [can't  pretend  tomaiJage  tife  women,  miss," 
said  he ;  "vpu  mus^  speak  to  Mary ;"  and  *en. 
with  a  low  bow,  Koberts  Withdrew. 

Hilda  gave  a  sigh  pf  relief.  •»  There  are  three 
disposed  of,  she  murmured.  "This  is  a  fair 
b^innifig." 

On  the  following  day  she  gave  Roberts  a  check 
for  the  money,  drawn  hyZiliahChetwynde}  Wav- 
mg  off  his  thanks,  she  dismissed  him,  and  sent 
for  the  cook.  That  functionary  quickly  appeared 
She  was  short  of  stature,  large  of  bulk,  red  of 
6ce,  fluent  of  speech,  hasty  of  temper— an  rule, 
she  WM  a  good  cook  and  faithful  servant  She 
DobBed  to  Hilda  on  entering,  and,  closing  the  door, 
•tood  with  folded  arms  and  belligerent  aspect,  like 
a  porcupine  armed  for  defense  on  the  slightest 
appearance  of  hostilities. 

"Cfood-moming,  -Martha,"  said  Hilda,  with 
grear  suavity.  "I  hope  your  rheumatism  has 
not  bwn  troubling  you  since  the  warm  weather 
iet  in  r 

I,  Martha  bobbed  with  a  more  mollified  air. 

"Whicji,  exceptin'  the  elher  jints,  where  It's 
•rttled,  hkewist  the  knee  jints— savin'  of  your 
presence,  miss— it's  the  same ;  for  to  go  dow-n  «n 
my  bended  knees,  miss,  it's  what  I  couldn't  do, 
not  If  you  was  to  give  me  a  thousand-pun  note 
»my^^  hmd,^  aad  my  Easter  4ooty  iiot 
Wii  Ute  to  perform,  miss,  which  it  be  the  first 
«nle  It  aver  wor  the  case;  an'  it  owing  to  the 


■landed 

hank  her  ladyship  nor 
ts,  "  for  what'you  have 
light  I  make  so  bold  as 
dyship,  to  offer  her  ray 


'  see  that  you  do  not 
entitled  to^  for  though 
W,  Susan  off,  you  must 
I  Mary  too  j  for  though 
}  very  pretty  little  bar- 
i  good  house-maid,  and 


.1.  ^fLi^f^P  i*.  ""y  wny.  continued  H^I. 
«a.  She  is  unable  to  Qrtam  herself  just  yeL 
bat  sha  has  asked  me  to  attend  to  sereral  mau 


vou,  Martha.  She  has  received  a  letter  from  his 
lordship  string  that  he  was  bringing  with  hinui 
Staff  of  servanu,  and  among  them  a  FrenA 

Here  Martha  turned  the  porcupine  again, 

though  Hilda  paused  for  an  instant.  Marthi 
wished  to  commit  Miss  Krieff  to  a  piDposition,. 

U«t  she  m,gl.,  have  the  gloiy  of  wjectiniTt  with 
•com.     bo  Hilda  went  on : 

"  Your  mistress  was  afraid  that  von  might  not 
care  about  taking  the  place  of  under-cook  where 
you  have  l>een  head,  and  as  she  was  anxious  to 
avwd  hurting  your  feelings  in  any  way,  *»  wished 
me  to  tell  you  of  this  beforehand."    J^ 

Another  moment  and  tlb  apoplex/which  had 
been  thrMtening  since  the  moment  when  "un- 
Uer-cook  had  l.ee»  mentioned  would  have  been 
a  fact,  but  luckily  fpr  Martha  her  overcharged 
feelings  here  broke  forthwith  accents  of  bitter- 
est scorn  : 

.,  *j^'''u!' ■*''*>  ""^  ^^^-     Hnnder-cook,  in-- 
deed!  which  its  w1m«  I  never  abore  yet,  and 
never  will  abear.      fve  lived  at  Chetwyn  this 
twenty  year,  gurf  and  woman,  and  hopes  as  I  'avo 
done  my  dooty  and  giv  satisfaction,  which  mv 
.   ,\"?  '  gentleman,  an'  found  no  fault  with  his 
wittle^dt  ate  them  like  a  Christian  and  a  no- 
bleman, >B-thankin'  the  Lord,  and  a-sayin'    'I 
never  askk  to  seeji  tidier  or  a  'olesomer  din- 
ner than  MArtha  sends,  which  she's^  be  depend- 
ed on  as  neve>  bein'  raw  nor  yet  done  to  rags-' 
an   now  when,  as  you  may  sny,  getUn'  on  in 
years,  though  not  that  old  neither  as  to  be  de- 
pendent or  wantin'  in  sperrit,  to  have  a  French 
cook  set  over  me  a  talkin'  furrin  languidgis  and 
*  j^'"  "P  BJodneM  ony  knows  what  messes  as 
nd  iSson  a^hristian  stomach  to  as  much  as 
look  sit,  nnd  a  horderin'  about  Marthar  here  and 
Marthar  there,  it's  what  I  can't  consent  to  put 
op  with,  and  nobody  as  wasn't  a  mean  spereted 
creetnr^could  expect  it  of  me,  whicih  its  not  as  I 
wish  to  speak  disrespectful  of  her  ladyship,  which 
I  considers  a  la^f  and  as  allers  treated  me  as  sich 
only  expectin'  to  bend  my  di^ys  in -Chetwyn  it's 
come  sudden  like;   but  thanks  to  the  blessed 
sainu,  which  I  'avo  pat  by  as  will  keep  me  from 
the  wukkns  and  a  charge  on  nobody ;  and  I'd 
like  to  give  wamin',  if  you  please,  miss,  and  if 
so  be  as  I  could  leave  before  monseer  arrive." 

Here  Martha  paused,  not  from  lack  of  mate- 
rial, but  from  sheer  want  of  breath.  She  woiild 
have  been  invincible  in  conversation  but  for  that 
fatalconstitutional  infirmity— shortnessof  breath 

■Tha  brought  her  to  a  pause  in  the  full  flow  of  her 
eloquence.^  ^ 

Hilda  took  advantage  of  the  lull. 

"Your  mistress,"  said  she,  " feared  that  yort      . 
would  feel  us  you  do  on  the  subject,  and  her  in- 
structions to  me  were  these:   "IVy  and  keep 
Martha  if  yon  possibly  can— we  shall  not  easily 
replace  her ;  but  if  she  seems  to  fear  that  this  ' 
"^  *"'*"9''  cook  may  be  domineering' "  (fresh  . 


aad^IanBing  sy  upioiM  OfljI^iexT),  ""'wrtmy 
make  it  uncomfortable  for  b *       


__ „.„.„.  her,  we  most  think  of 

her  instead  of  ourselves.  She  has  been  too  fitith- 
fal  a  servant  to  allow  her  to  be  trampled  upon 
now ;  i^id  if  yoa  find  that  she  will  not  nallr  con- 
sent to  stop,  you  must  get  her  a  good  place—' " 

"Which,  if  you  please,  mum,"  said  Martha, 
interrapting  her  excitedly,  "  we  won't  talk  aboot 


■■■»£..■;.■'- 


ilB 


THE  CRTPTOORAM. 


■  pUc«— it  ik  ntter-Ijr  nielMi,  •mi  I  might  (w  for- 
ffglUn'  myaolf;  but  I  mver  thought,"  the  "xm- 
llMMMit,  Vnishing  awaj  a  haaty  ie«r,  "  aa  ti  ^t« 
Miuter  Uiiy,  meaning  my  lord,  as  would  send 
ol<l  Mnrt^A  awny. " 

'*  Oil,  I  am  lure  he  did  not  mom  to  do  that," 
Miid  Hilda,  kindly;  "but  gontlemon  have  not 
)ilnch.considoration(  you  know,  nnd  ho  is  accus- 
tomed to  French  co}]kery. "  The  softer  Inood 
vanished  at  the  bated  finmu. 

"And  he'll  never  grdw  to  be  the  man  his  fa- 
ther were,"  said  she,  excitedly,  "on_thcm  fiirrin 
l^imcrncks  and  kickshaws  as  wouldn't  nourish  a 
Imbhy,  let  alone  a  full-growed  man,  and  'e  a  Hen- 
glishmnn.  But  it's  furrin  parts-  as  does  it.  I 
never  approved  of  the  harmy." 

"  Her  ladyship  told  me,"  said  Hilda,  with  her 
usual  placidity,  and  without  takingany  notice  of 
tlie  excited  feeling  of  the  other,  "  that  if  you  in- 
sisted on  going  I  was  to  give  you  twenty  pounds, 
with  ber  kind  regards,  to  buy  some  remembrartce. " 

■^ Which  she's  very  kind,"  rejoined  Martha, 


.       KiiK.li    alias    »oijr    iviliu,       lOJUIIICU    inaiTIin, 

.  rather  quickly,  and  with  soma  degree  of  asper- 
ity ;  "  and  if  you'll  give  her  my  grateful  dooty, 
I  d  like  to  leave  as  sooii  OS  may  b«." 

"  Well,  if  vou  are  anxiqus  to  do  so,  I  snppoee 
yon  can.     what  kitchen-maids  are  there  ?" 

"Well,  miss,"  said  Martha,  with  digtiity,  yet 
severity,  f  sich  dr^bs  of  girls  as  I  'ave  'ad  wouM; 
'ave  provoked  a  saint,  and  mnyhnp  I  was  a  ifMHT 
hasty;  but  takiik'  up  a  sauce-pan,  and  <]n(£#it 
that,  dirty  as  were  scandlus  tjKbe'oFd,  I  throwod 
the  water  as  were  hin  it  over  'er,  nnd  the  sauce- 
part  with  it,  an'  she  declared  she'd  go,  which  as 
the  'onsekeeper  bein'  in  bed,'  as  you  know,  miss, 
an'  there  likely  to  remain  for  hevermore,  she  did, 
an'  good  riddance  to  her,  soy  I— ungrateful  hus- 
sy 08  had  jist  got  her  wages  the  day  before,  and 
"ad  a  comfortable  'ome." 

"  It  does  not  matteh    1  suppose  the  French 
cook  will  bring  his  own  subordinates." 
",  ^  *'  Wery  liko,  miss,"  said  Martha,  sharply.    "  I 
^iMive  this  very  day.     Good-momin',  mi^s." 
'  "  Oh  np ;  don't  be  in  such  a  hurry,"  said  Hil- 
d.i.     "Yon  have  a  week  before  yoH.     Lot  me 
««e  you  before  evening,  so  that  I  may  give  yop 
what  your  mbtress  has  sent."  < 

Martha  sullenly  assented,  nnd  withdrew.  fifeS 
The  most  difficult  part  of  Hilda's  business  had 
thus  been  quietly  accomplished.  Nothing  now 
remained  but  to  see  the  coachman  nnd  groom, 
each  of  whom  she  graciously  dismissed  with  a 
hy^me  presept  She  told  them,  however,  to 
iln  "^r  about  a  week,  until  their  successors 
The  large  present  which  the  liber- 


a  heat  little  speech.  She  had  never  been  popular 
among  tliein ;  but  now  the  thought  that  ilioy 
would  never  see  her  again,  together,  perliniw, 
witti  the  very  handsome  presents  wliich  she  had 
made,  and  her  very  kind  words,  oflected  them 
deeply,  and  they  showed  some  considerable  feel- 
ing. 

Under  such  circumstances  Hilda  took  her  d». 
narture  {torn  Cliotwynde  Castle,  leaving  Gualtier 
jn  charge.  In  a  few  days  the  new  servants  ar- 
rived, and  those  of  the  old  onds  who  had  thus  far 
remained  now  took  their  departure.  The  house- 
hold^as  entirely  remodeled.  The  new  onas  took  . 
up  thoii;  places ;  and  there'was  not  on^sfngle  ppr- 
son  tl\ere  who  knew  any  thing  whatever  about^^ 
the  late  Kari,  or  Hilda,  or  Uualtier.  '  T^  old 
ones  were  scattered  abipad,  and  it  was  njttt  with- 
in  the  bounds  of  ordinary  (lossibility  that  any  of 
them  would  ever  come  near  the  place. 

In  thus  remodeling  the  household  it  was  some- 
what enlarged.     Tliera  wasthe  new  housekeep- 
er, a  staid,  matronly,  respettablp- looking  wo- 
man ;  three  house-maids, .who  had  formerly  lived 
in  the  north  of  Kngland ;  a  coachman,  who  had 
never  before  been  out  of  Kent ;  a  butler,  who  had 
■formerly  served  in  a  Scotch  family ;  two  footmen, 
one  of  whom  had  served  in  Yorkshire,  and  the 
other  in  Cornwall ;  two  grooms,  who  had  been 
bred  in  Yorkshire;  a  cook,  Aho  had  hitherto  pass- 
'ed  all  her  life  in  London ;  oYid  three  kiichen-ioaids, 
who  also  had  served  in  thot'city.    Thus  the 
household*  was  altogether  new,  and  had  been 
carefully   collected    by   Gualtier  with   a   view 
rather  to  tbe  place  from  which  they.had  come 
than  to  any  great  excellence  on  the  port  of 
any  of  them.     For  so  largo  a  place  It  was- but 
a  small  number,  but  it  was  larger  than  the 
household  which  had  been  dismissed,  and  they 
soon  settled  down  into  their  places. 
'  One  only  was  left  of  the  old  number.     This 
was  Mrs.  Hart.    But  she  ky  on  hf  r  Bick-b«d,  and 
Hilda  looked  upon ,  her  as  one'  ^hose  life  was 
dooiiied.    Had  any  thought  of  her  itossible  recov- 
ery entered  her  mind,  she  would  Have  contrived 
in  some  way  to  get  rid  of(ber.     In  spite  of  her 
illness,  she  did  not  lacjjg|||(aygj^j|  for  the  new 
housekeeper  attached  MMlraR^|^nd  gave 
her  the  kindliest  care  w^teMMBfifflUMthy. 

Last  of  all,  so  compMnH^HpSKla's  pre- 
cautions in  view'of  iMBBHHpiTmffibulties 
that  when  Gualtier  came  as  the.  hew  steward,  he 
came  under  a  novf  name,  ond  was  known  to  the 
household  as  Mr.  M'Kenzie. 


(^hetnynde  had  given  them  enabled 
L.a.1..^^  'th  patieiice,  and  even 

I' '  'f 

..^.  rualtier,  camo  np  to 

had  beeivaiuiy  to  Loij- 

to  Hildi^HiR>Mflne  of 

.     expected  Wre.  few  days. 

.  tnomi  to  Roberts,  Susan,  and  Mary 

iltier  had  bten  made  steward  by  Lady 

nde.    He  took  posseMioa  of  one  of  the 

rooms,^^d  at  once  entered  upon  the  duties  of 

-UuaoffiM.    0b41w  day ufhia  arrival  Htida^ieft', 

«aying  td.  the  remaining  servants  that  she  w6uld 

never  code  back  again,  as  she  intended  to  livfe  in 

the  south  of  France.   She  sho<^k  hands  with  each 

of  them  ver^gracioosly,  making  each  one  a  pres- 

.  tnt  in  her  own  name,  and  accompaajring  it  with 


CHAl'TER  XXXV. 

THE  LABT  OP  THE  CASTLE. 


The  new  household  had  been  led  to  expect 
the  arri>-al  of  Lady  Chetiyynde  at  any  moment. 
'They  understood  that  the  old  houscJiold  had  not 
given  satisfaction,  that  after  the  death  of  the 
late  Earl  Lody  Chetwynde  Had  gone  away  to  re- 
cruit he{  health,  and,  now  that  she  was  better, 
she  had  determined  t»  make  a  oimpl^te  changei 
When  slw  herself  ■ntT^Tother  (^ingiSi  WouKT 
be  nuide.  This  much  GaaMer  managed  to  com- 
municate to  them,  sojw  tojgive  them  somqi  tan- 
gible idea  of  the  aifairs  of  the  fiunily  and  prevent 
idle  conjecture.  He  let  them  know,  also,  that 
Lord  Chetwynde  was  in  India,  and  might  ciims 

t 


^% 


home  at  any  moment,  though  hU  enM«m.n.. 
.iJY""".."  '■«*.''"y»  ^^ndy  <^hotwyndo  arriied  .t 

i^i—^afaH""-..  *>•'«  wn,  ,ery  boa.i.i- 


THE  CnTPTOORAlf. 


/ 


■ould  havo  been  wTlIinr.„  '^1*','™  «"•?  thftt  not 

Btlfl.  nilnr  rw^m  m  <k».._^   .    .  ^    . 


-  exrfctufg,  and  who  shut  herself  off  all  „ih»,        ""-''  """^  '"  Kng'n"<l,  looked  im  to  «• 

t'i:ltT'^'^''-'T!^jw^^^       z  s^.rs  j"i"':L''>»'  -ahh  could 


.i.7whi;h".;,m;"i:;„Ti7crt'ed"Lr'r^'"','^'^if- 

•ome  cold  innni,i„.  „k„,..  L.  „^./". ""««  made 


mote  from  .ho  ieat.  of  tEitv  f  milir nlTj 

or»ett^s:ar«LS 

ence  arising.  The  maid  at^buT^  Vhis  g^^^" 
»eclu«on  to  the  effects  of  grief  over  her  S 
bIrTht'  tKl!""  ""^"'^  «^"t "her'hTs-' 

-ir  rtt£LXTserarS"rr  ^ 

«)me  quarrel  with  a  wife  whose  Cuv  and  iT 
penous  demeanor  they  all  had  c-SVot^l 

Now  Jh,»  .hi  K  ,"  """^P'^  ■"**  '•■"^  «>  much, 
^ow  that  she  had  attained  it,  there  waa  no*  nn 
hour,  not  a  moment  of  the  da y,Tn  whfch  .CdW 
n  i^^^s'^ToTo^L^""-  'I:."  "^'  "^ ?  Jh-ta'd 

in  that  boudoir  wiiere  she  spent  so  much  of 
KiT^/:  ""*  °t«"P««on  conristed  of  but 


cdfetwvndVcasUe^.l^rover:^'"''  "■"  '""^^  »' 

with  an-f.d 
Hut  s.iir.Si''^  'hat  wealVh  cisS.' 

anrHra'';LKarna'?hr;t'':;S 

mont  m  Bht  full      wk.;.  '""ruinat  at  any  mo- 

.ions  to  the  cCM^''th„riii?;r^  '^t''-- 

«?ain  ,0  En„landr'An,?'..*'"J?':  .«>«?.  ^-ck 


—    ......cu  i,,fH.  riart,  out  onci»  nr  »•,.:»«  _    ,      i"'"'""id,  hi  Hpiie  ot 

which  it  was  imno««il.I«  .„^  .".?"""* '^J'""*' 


t,-^!^    --««*^1»  <nMmiiHUhm  (^^wieni* 

.xi?.tfjn.n;^-tirb;o:rhrtf^^^^ 

l'r„"T'?P*"  bSh^m  homeland  Sbroij" 
»«  WW  printed  in  remote  towns  in  the  north. 


.«.«■»,&...- .&!-..    ......        _>.  t 


=  (f 


wv^*?!*  ^f?*"  'i''"':^  •'^'^'f  A"*  boldly  into  Chet. 

rai  and  It  mjght  give  many  advantages  I„  the 
V  I,?!?*^'  *ere  would  be  no  poSitv  th.? 
Lord  Chetwy„de,\even  if  he  dW  Sf^^'t^! 
dia,  would  ever  sdek  h«r  nn»  .i.o~.  ""'  '"jm  in- 

et^s'hlZr"'  ?".•'  ""'^  kn^wn  to  hSwh^    . 
ever  she-chose,  without  be  nir  comMlIn)  tn.^L 

AH  thiftJiad  occurred  to  her  lonir  before  «nd 
«he  haii^^ed  it  in  all  its  hS^NeZ 
theless,  „she  had  det-ided  aga^Xond  had 

«ro*f-!n?.i.   V""*  '^^  »  «'«rt«in  profound  in- 

S  forllit  te^^"  thought^hat  it  wL 

Cwtlf  n^fffp"*^^''  **>«"*«  Chetwynde 
castle,  not  to  Pomeroy  Court.    Bv  sarh  «n  «/.» 

^eandal  would  be  avoided.    It  i^ri  Chetwrnl  ^ 

d^  not  come,  well  and  good;  if  he  dl? wS 

then  he  must  be  met  fcce  to  fiice;  and  in  s^J 


»»  TO|jitfiil!>.4aiii«.  ^^lafq 


onffil^  *'?J'*  •*  '""""»«'.  "d  the  fear 
"fSJSlThf' T'i^"""''-  For  thut  reason, 
„J;X  ,?  °',''"'^'  *''®  determined  to  go  to  Chfct! 
wvnde  Castle,  run  eve^r  mk,  and  mf^t  her  &S: 


ISO 


THE  CRYCTOGRAM. 


While  Hildli  was  thus  hanghty  and  repellent 
to  her  servants,  there  was  one  to  whom  she  was 
accessible  ;  and  this  was  the  new  steward,  Gaal- 
tier,  with  whom  she  had  frequent  communica- 
tions about  the  business  of  the  estate.  Their  in- 
terviews generally  took  place  in  that  morning- 
room  which  has  already  been  described,  and 
which  was  so  peculiarly  situated  that  no  prying 
servants  could  easily  watch  them  or  overhear 
their  conversation,  if  they  were  careful. 

One  day,  after  she  had  dined,  she  went  to  this 
room,  and  ordered  hisr  maid  to  tell  the  steward 
that  she  woidd  like  to  see  him.  She  had  that 
day  received  a  number  of  Indian  papers,  over 
which  she  had  passed  many  hours;  for  there 
was  something  in  one  of  them  which  seemed  to 
excite  her  interest,  and  certainly  gave  occupa- 
tion to  all  her  mind. 

Gualtier  was  prompt  to  obey  the  mandate.     In 
a  few  minutes  after  Hilda  had  entered  the  room 
he  made  his  appearance,  and  bqwed  in  silence. 
Hilda  motioned  him  to  a  chair,  in  which  he 
-•w-«uMated  himself.    The  intercourse  of  these  t^vo 
nad  now  become  remarkable  for  this,  that  their 
attitude  toward  one  another  had«  undergone  a 
change  corres^nding  to  their  apparent  positions. 
Hilda  was  Lady  Chetwynde,  and  seemed  in  re- 
ality, even  in  her  inmost  soul,  to  feel  herself  to 
,  be  so.     She  had  insensibly  caught  that  grand  air 
which  so  lofty  a  position  might  be  supposed  to 
give ;  and  it  was  quite  as  much  hsr  own  feeling 
as  any  power  of  consummate  acting  which  made 
her  carry  out  her  part  so  well.     A  lofty  and  dig- 
nified demeanor  towardtherest  of  the  household 
might  have,.^n  bnt  the  ordinary  act  of  one  who 
was  playing  ajiart ;  but  in  Hilda  this  demeanor 
i        extended  itself  even  to  Gualtier,  toward  whom 
she  exhibited  the  same  air  of  conscious  social 
superiority  which  she  might  have  shown  had  she 
been  in  reality  all  that  she  pretended  to  be. 
Gualtier,  on  his  part,  was  equally  singular.     He 
seemed  quietly  to  accept  her  position  as  a  true 
and  valid  one,  and  that,  too,  not  only  before  the 
servants,  when  it  would  have  been  very  natural 
;      for  him  to  do  so,  biit  even  when  they  were  alone. 
This,  however,  was  not  so  difficult  for  him,  as  he 
had  always  been  in  the  habit  of  regarding  her  as 
his  social  superior;  yet  still,  considering  the  con- 
fidences which  existed  between  this  extraordinary 
pair,  it  was  certainly  strange  that  he  should  have 
preserved  with  such  constancy  his  attitude  of 
meek  subservience.     Here,  at  Chetwynde,  he  ad- 
dressed  her  as  the  steward  of  the  estates  should 
have  done ;  and  even  when  discussing  the  most 
delicate  matters  his  tone  and  demeanor  corre^ 
sponded  with  his  office. 

On  this  occasion  he  began  with  some  intelli- 
gence about  the  state  of  the  north  wall,  which 
bounded  the  park.  Hilda  listened  wearily  till 
he  had  finished.  ITien  she  abruptly  brought 
forward  all  that  was  in  her  thoughto.  Before 
doing  80,  however,  she  went  to  the  door  to  see 
that  no  one  was  present  and  listening  there,  as 
she  had  herself  once  listened.  To  those  whe 
were  at  all  on  their  guard  there  was  no  danger. 
The  morning-room  was  only  approached  by  a 


•-long,  nttiTow  hall,  in  which  no  one  coald  eoine 
without  being  detected,  if  any  one  in  the  room 
chose  to  watch.  Hilda  now  took  her  seat  on  a 
chair  from  which  she  could  look  up  the  hall,  and 
thus,  feeling  secure  from  obsen-ation  or  from 
listeners,  she  began,  in  a  low  voice : 


"  I  received  the  Indian  papers  to-day." 

"  I  was  aware  of  that,  my  lady,"  said  Gualtier, 
respectfully.  "  Did  you  see  any  thing  in  them 
of  importance  ?" 

'*  N^ing  certain,  but  something  sufficient  to 
exciw  concern." 

'>^bout  Lord  Chetwynde?" 

"Yes." 

"He  can  not  be  coming  home,  sorely?"  said 
Gualtier,  interrogativelv. 

"  I'm  afraid  that  he  is." 

Gualtier  looked  serious. 

"  I  thought,"  said  he,  "  my  lady,  that  you  had 
nearly  given  up  all  expectation  of  seeing  him  for 
some  time  to  come." 

"  I  have  never  yet  given  up  those  expectations. 
I  have  all  along  thought  it  possible,  though  not 
probdblo ;  and  so  I  have  always  watched  all  the 
paperl  to  see  if  he  had  left  his  station. "     " 

"I  suppose  he  would  not  write  abont  his  in- 
tentions. 

"Towiom  could  he  think  oT writing?"  asked 
Hilda,  with  a  half  sneer. 

"I  thMght  that  perhaps  he  might  write  to 
Lady  ChetWynde." 

"  Lady  Chetwynde's  letters  to  him  have  been 
of  such  a  character  that  it  is  not  very  likely  that 
he  will  ever  write  to  her  again,  except  upd'er  the 
pressure  of  urgent  necessity." 

"  Have  you  seen  an^  thing  in  particular  in  any 
of  the  papers  about  bim  ?"  asked  Gualtier,  afte'r 
some  silence.  - 

"Yes.  In  one.  It  is  the  Allahabad  iVeip«. 
The  paragraph  happened  to  catch  my  eye  by  the 
merest  accident,  I  think.  There  is  nothing  about 
it  in  any  of  the  other  Indian  papers.  See ;  I  will 
show  it  to  you." 

And  Hilda,  drawing  a  newspaper  from  her 
pocket,  unfolded  it,  and  pointing  to  a  place  in  one 
of  the  inside  columns,  she  handed  it  to  Gualtier. 
He  took  it  with  a  bow,  and  read  the  following: 

"  Pkmomai — We  regret  to  learn  that  Lord  Chet- 
wynde hasirecenUy  resigned  his  position  as  Resident  it 
Lahore  The  recent  death  of  hla  father,  the  late  Bart 
of  Chetwynde  and  the  Uuxe  interesta  which  demand 
his  petmpsl  attention,  are  lasisnedas  the  causes  for  this 
step.  His  departure  for  England  wUl  leave  a  vacancy 
In  our  Anglo-Indian  service  which  wlU  not  easUy  be 
flUed.  Lord  Chetwynde^  career  In  this  hnportant  part 
of  the  empire  has  been  so  brilliant,  that  It  la  a  matter 
for  sincere  regret  that  be  la  prevented,  Inr  any  canae, 
from  himalnlng  hero;  In  the  late  war  be  made  hla 
name  consplcuoos  by  hla  valor  and  consommate  mil- 

which  win  place  his  name  high  on  the  roll  of  tlKxe 
whom  RngUnd  loves  to  honor.  Afterwaitl,  In  the 
operaUons  anlnst  Tantla  Tonpl,  bla  bold  exploits  wlU 
not  soon  beloiigotten.  His  appohitment  to  the  Reel- 
draicy  at  Lahore  was  made  only  a  few  montha  alnce; 
vet  In  that  ahort  time  ha  has  ahown  an  admlnlatnUre 
talent  which,  without  any  reflection  on  our  other  able 
offlclato,  we  mn  aafely  pronounce  to  be  very  rare  in  the 
departmeaU  of  our  civil  aervlcei  He  la  but  a  yoniv 
inan  yet ;  but  seldom  has  It  happened  that  one  so  yonng 
has  (nhlblted  sach  mature  Intetfeclnal  powers,  andsocE 
firai  deoMon  In  the  management  of  the  moat  delicate 
cmea.  A  nllant  soldier,  a  wiae  ruler,  and  a  eenlal 
friend,  UM  Chetwynde  will  be  mtsMd  In  all  thorn  de- 
-partmenta  of  puMIc  and  private  life  of  which  he  haa 
been  ao  consplcaons  an  ornament  As  joomallata,  we 
wtah  to  record  this  estimate  of  hit  vlrtnM  and  hie  gen- 
las,  and  Wefeel  anre  that  It  will  be  ahaiwl  by  aU  who 
have  b««n.%  W  waffamlllar  with  th,  w        "     " 


^Sg^S^nSSSlS^^Ie^  we  wl«  OS 
SSfif^'^V'  a  proaperons  voyage  home;  and  we  an- 
H^S5^*  -L^LIi"  Sf  "??**  fomitr,  a  career  corns. 
5i?k^i!l?.S'  "•]•  "'«w»»«oo;,'Mk.  and  oooimenaante 
jith  the  brilliant  opeidnc  which  he  made  In  this  coon, 
try  daring  those  recent '  tlinea  which  tried  men^  aonia' ' 

Gualtier  read  thia  paragraidi  over  twice,  and 


.    then  sat  for  so 

looked  up  at  I 

intently  watch i 

"That's  bad, 

"  It  seems  th 

Hilda. 

"Have  you  i 
of  passengers  ?" 

"Then  he  ha 

"I'erlmpsnoi 
altogether.     Hji 

"Would  suci 
omitted  ?" 

"I  suppose  n( 
India  as  yet— un 
an  assumed  nam 

"An  assumed 
of  that?  Andil 
have?" 

"Ah!  therela 

afraid  I  have  be 

by  that."  And  I 

the  youijig  officer, 

place.   „"  Years  : 

not  made  allowan 

that  this  Low!  Chi 

from  that  Guy  M( 

this  assailant  of '. 

licer,  who  is  at  or 

the  social  circle ; 

«l|  this,  has  prove 

with  ft  'genius  for 

I  confess,  dawns 

gives  me  a  shock. 

innocent  boy.    I  f 

he  ft  great,  brave, 

wink,  is  the  first  n 

Hilda's  words  w( 

Gualtier  fblt  that  n 

"  You  have  an  ai 

"What  is  that?' 

You  need  not  e 

*"What!    Run  , 

Ma  Hilda,  scomfu 

»»ce  before  I  even 

wming?    That,  at 

"  rhere  is  Pomer 

.'No.     Chetwynt 

i  live  here,  or— n( 

counter  him,  it  shni 

in  this  house— perl 

I  »een  this  a  mont 

Mve  been  diflTerent, 

"»';  but  now,  und 

too  Nte  to  go  back, 

w««lth  from  the  pn 

for  myself,    itbwel 

»o  Me  pointed  to  t 

PTOi  me  A  new  view 

•ohkely  to  underrate 

Wmed  I  will  be  forei 

Jw«|htfolly,  "that  | 

«l'yj  but  It  is  not  1 
«  «ct  performed  by  o 

Moold  he  remain  the* 
«we  him  to  resign,  en 
wmtaghome?    No;  i 


of  piXr?-'*'"  ^^  ""■""  '»  «"y  «>f  the  li.u  ' 
''No." 

•4*  P*i"  ''®  *"**  ""'  'eft  '■ct. " 

altogeSr  iT '„!^'  ""'  ^  ^"  "»'  '"«'  '0  that 
"wnf-M    "'2  ""tne  may  be  omitted." 

omitt'Ji  r**  ""='•  "  """"  ■«  "»  be  likely  to  be 
an  «8,um^  nftme^."'  '"'^'^'  ""^ '««  «^ome  under 

of 'thatV  ATd?nr:.i  ^""'''  "^ »"  -p-M« 

have  ?"  ^  *®™'  ^hat  motive  could  ho 

f-^id^'fc J±:":::^"«»»«"«!«n.m,wer.  r™ 


THE  cryptogham: 


121 


•ft-ii  V  u        f     "  unaoieto  Hnd  an  answnr    I'n. 

not  mad'e  aulln'e  7oSKi' V".*?  [  have 
that  this  Lord  ChetwvnH»  m..!!^    '  """''  "o* 

I  confess,  dawns  nnon  !•.„         '  "*n'an  who, 
gives  me'a  sh^k.Tha™  ^n'^^ll'i:!^  """  *' 

U^nJ^tl'-rrsTJsMffirJ^^^^^^  I 

"m.t'i;rt?'"'™""*'»'"^"'^'jhe. 

"  WK  r?^«"""  ^^y  here." 
.raereisPoraeroy  Court,"  hinted  Gualtier 

I  li-  het^'oSth^r:"'  %rr''  '«'-• 

counter  him  it  .h«n  k!^'  ^^  l  h«'e  to  en- 
in  this  houi/LSS',^  J«^«  •«  '••ee,  and  here 
I  nwii  thi.        I^™"P»   m   this   room.      Had 

formy«5lf     iti/^^,'fjhich  '  have  laid  down 

M«i  the  Minted  to  hln     '"'"' •"" "t" thi«"- 
gi^en  me^new  view^?  newspaper-"  f„r  it  ha, 

»  Ukely  to  SndeSte  him  n"""'     '."''""  "°t  he 


«lon.  Y«thatc«n^»^^,'*  ff^*'  '"  I^n- 
down  at  al.  and^f  h„  h  ^'  '^'"  '"''^  ""™«  »  "ot 
like  his  co"id^tt'[;",;"t"r  •l'"';"'-^  »  "■"»«» 
No,  he  can  not  ha\ZoTe  C t!  "^  ^  T'"""'- 
no  doubt,  come  in  rheTxCtU^'^r  •?""'^  "'"' 
"  St7/:  tC?"""""-  ''•"'"-."  -d  Gualtier. 
hereto  SCdV"  ^'"^'"''  -"•'  y«  "»» "^on-e 

deed;  but  now  a  «u  /ri-  u  T*"y  P^ohable  inl 
my  mind,\S,d  /s"^^  "K  '""'  hee"  let  into 
is.  ThatW'-a^Z"'  '"?""«^«f  man  he 
Fortrait-''wMthe~,f„i.  **•",  ?°'""^  »»  the 
one  as  he  mTX  havT  bZ.„°r"'^  """^  ^uch  a 
that  he  rtSfkeeD  It-v  *°  ""'n^ted  by  hate 
to  see  hirdetest^PwT^  ZT.T  *°  ^  '""'^ 

Xor^:ts^P•^^^S^s?m"2;rm^:J- 
Te^s  •'ifr^^urj'sT^'^!^^^^ «' - 

Hilda's  eyes  lighted  np. 

she,  «XrTj''"r'^''""''«l»'^y."««id 
an5  whe'IjL  h^ ^.^'esT^j, '^1"  he  is, 
meet  hiin  "  "«nes,  i  wm  be  prepared  to 

le  "iio'^TfrfurrarmtS'*^  '"•'  •' 

Btmnce.    Nor  did  GuXr'aSrany  "^^Z 


-•— 


CHAPTER  ;CXXVI. 

FACE   TO  FACE. 


t»K.'2tK";i,i«p^^^^^^ 

...? ..  "'V'     that  he  may  not  come  to  Enl 
«  ict  performed  bv^T^"'^:'"*'''  '"  ''"^ided 

Mior    pio,  there  can  not  bo  the^Hght- 


HIM.™ ,.  i.=r"Udrsinr«zr*tf 

noiselessness  of  her  actions,  hir  manner    and 

habitT""?"',  ^"^  •^•"^  intenS  ;,rj 
habit  of  motionless  repoM,  accomoani^  hv  fnJ 
<l»^\  fits  of  deep  ahsSorX The  pi^ 
occasion  she  was  reclining  on  her  couch  wh^!?, 
fclSellm'"'?'"''^?'-  ^hi^'S'lvSh:: 

SmiL  .„H  .K   "tt't"de  she  remained  till  evening 
rjeSo  aSstrerHr'"  ""«  "^'''■Kht.  "ho  sank  in,^ 

roi  to^hr^'Ll  *^'  "'.'l'  """*'"°"».  that  .he 
row  to  her  feet  as  a  sadden  noiw  struck  her 

««.    ''waathen^seofacrriage^moX; 


122 


THE  CRYPTOGRAM. 


rapidly  np  throngh  the  avenne  toward  the  house. 
Fora  carriage  to  come  to  Chetwynde  Castle  at 
any  time  was  a  most  unusual  thing ;  but  for  one 
to  come  after  dark  was  a  thing  unheard  of.  At 
once  there  came  to  Hilda  a  thought  like  light- 
ning as  to  who  it  might  be  that  thus  dmve  up  ; 
the  thought  was  momentous  and  overwmhning ; 
it  might  have  been  sufficient  to  have  destroyed 
all  courage  and  all  presence  of  mind  had  her 
nerves  been,  by  the  slightest  degree,  less  strong. 
But  as  it  was,  her  nerve  sustained  her,  and  her 
courage  did  not  fiilter  for  one  single  instant. 
Wfth  a  calm  face  and  firm  step  she  advanced 
to  the  window.  With  n  steady  hand  she  drew 
the  curtains  aside  and  looked  out  Little  could 
be  seen  amidst  the  gloom  at  first ;  but  at  length, 
as  she  gazed,  she  was  able  to  distinguish  the  dim 
outline  of  a  caniage,  as  it  emerged  from  the  shad- 
ows of  the  avenue  and  drove  np  to  the  chief  door. 
Then  she  stepped  back  toward  the  door  of  her 
boudoir,  and  listened,  but  nothing  could  be  heard. 
She  then  lighted  two  lamps,  and,  turning  to  a 
cheval-glass  at  one  end  of  her  room,  she  put 


one  lamp  on  each  side,  so  that  the  light  mightkr  crisis,  whose  full  meaning  and  import  she  must 


strike  on  her  to  the  best  advantage,  and  then 
scrutinized  herself  with  a  steady  and  critical 
glance.  Thus  she  stood  for  a  long  time,  watch- 
ful and  motionless,  actuated  by  a  motive  far  dif- 
ferent from  any  thing  like  vanity ;  and  if  she  re- 
ceived gratification  from  a  survey  of  herself,  it 
was  any  thing  but  gratified  pride.  It  was  a  deeper 
motive  than  girlish  curiosity  that  inspired  such 
stem  self-inspection ;  and  it  was  a  stronger  feel- 
ing tiian  vanity  that  resulted  fropa  it.  It  was 
something  more  than  things  like  these  which 
inade  her,  at  so  dread  a  monunt,  look  so  anx- 
iously at  her  image  in  the  glass. 
As  she  stood  there  a  tap  came  at  the  door. 
"Come  in,"  said  Hilda,  in  her  usual  calm 
tone,  turning  as  she  spoke  to  face  the  door. 
It  was  the  maid. 

"My  lady,"  said  she,  "his  lordship  has  just 
arrived." 

To  her,  at  that  moment,  such  intelligence  could 
have  been  nothing  less  than  ti-emertdons.  It  told 
Jier  that  the  crisis  of  her  life  had  come ;  and  to 
meet  it  was  inevitable,  wiiatever  the  result  might 
he.  He  hod  come.  He,  the  one  whom  she 
must  face ;  not  the  crude  boy,  but  the  man,  tried 
in  battle  and  in  danger  and' in  judgment,  in  the 
cami)  and  in  the  court ;  the  man  who  she  now 
knew  well  was  not  surpassed  by  many  men  amonjc 
that  haughty  race  to  which  he  belonged,  'lljf 
man  was  accus)jmed  to  face  guilt  and  fear  ;  he 
had  learned  to  read  the  soul ;  he  had  become 
familiar  with  all  that  the  face  may  make  known 
of  the  secret  terrors  of  conscience.  And  how 
could  she  meet  the  calm  eyes  of  one  who  found 
her  here  in  such  a  relation  toward  him  ?  Yet 
all  this  she  had  weighed  before  in  her  mind  ;  she 
was  not  unprepared.  The  hour  and  the  man  had 
come.    iSlie  was  found  ready. 

She  regarded  the  maid  for  a  few  moments  in 
lilence.     At  last  she  spoke. 

"Very  well,"  she  said,  coldly,  and  without 
any  pereepttbte  emotion^rf  mry  kind.  ^1  will 
go  down  to  meet  his  lordship. 

His  lordship  has  just  arrived !  The  words  had 
been  spoken,  and  the  speaker  had  departed,  but 
the  words  still  echoed  and  re-echoed  through  tlie 
•aul  of  the  hearor.  What  might  this  involve  ? 
and  what  would  he  the  end  of  this  arrival  ? 


Suddenly  she  stepped  to  the  door  and  called 
the  maid. 

"  Has  any  one  accompanied  his  lordship  ?" 

"No,  my  lady." 

"He  came  alone?" 

"Yes,  myladv." 

"  Did  Mr.  M'Kenzie  see  him  ?" 

"  No,  my  lady.     He  is  not  in  the  house." 

Hilda  closed  the  door,  went  back,  and  agnin 
stood  before  the  mirror.  Son^e  tinie  elapsed  us 
she  stood  there  regarding  herself,  with  strange 
thoughts  passing  through  Her  mind.  She  did  not 
find  it  necessary,  however,  to  make  any  altera- 
tions in  her  appearance.  .  She  did  not  change 
one  fold  in  her  attire,  or  vary  one  hair  of  her  head 
from  its  place.  It  was  as  though  this  present 
dress  and  this  present  appearance  had  been  long 
ago  decided  upon  by  her  for  just  such  a  meeting 
as  this.  Whether  she  had  anticipated  such  a 
meeting  so  suddenly — whether  she  was  amazed  or 
not — whether  she  was  at  all  taken  by  surprise  or 
not,  could  not  appear  in  any  way  from  her  action 
ytjikr  demeanor.     In  the  face  of  so  terrible  a 


haVe  felt  profoundly,  she  stood  there,  q^lm  and 
self-contained,  with  the  self-poise  of  one  who  has 
been  long  preparecl,  and  who,  wljen  the  hour  big 
with  fate  at  last  may  come,  is  not  overwhelmed, 
but  rises  with  the  occasion,  goes  forth  to  the  en- 
counter, and  prepares  to  contend  with  destiny. 

It  was,  perhaps,  about  half  an  hour  before 
Hilda  went  down.  She  went  with  a  steady  step 
and  a  cqlm  face  down  the  long  corridor,  ^wn 
the  great  stainvay,  through  the  chief  hall,  and 
■at  length  entered  the  drawing-room. 

On  entering  she  saw  a  tall  man  standing  there, 
jvith  his  back  turned  toward  'the  door,  looking 
up  at  a  portrait  of  the  late  Earl.     So  intently  was 
he  occupied  that  he  did  not  hear  her  entering; 
but  a  slight  noise,  made  )>y  a  chair  as  she  passed 
it,  startled  him,  and  he  turned  and  looked  at  her, 
disclosing  to  her  curious  yet  apprehensive  gaze 
the  full  features  and  figure  of  the  new  Lord  Chet- 
W7nde.     On  that  instant,  as  he  turned  and  faced 
her,  she  took  in  his  whole  face  and  mien  and 
statnre.      She  saw  a  broad,  rintellectual  brow, 
covered  vrith  ijark  clustering  hair ;  a  face  bronzed 
by  the  suns  of  Ipdia  and  the  exposure  of  the  cam- 
paign, the  lowSr  part  of  which  was  hidden  by  a 
heavy  beard  and  mustache ;   and  a  tall,  erect, 
stalwart  frame,  with  the  unmistakable  air  of  a 
soldier  in  everj-  outline.     His  mien  had  in  it  s 
certain  indescribable  grace  of  high  breeding,  and 
the  commanding  air  of  one  accustomed  to  be  the 
ruler  of  men.     His  eyes  were  dark,  and  full  of 
quiet  but  resistless  power;   and  they  beamed 
upon  her  lustrously;  yet  gloomily,  and  with  « 
piercing  glance  of  scrutiny  from  under  his  dait 
brows.     His  face  bore  the  impress  of  a  sadneu 
deeper  than  that  which  is  usually  seen — sadneta 
0iat  had  reigned '  there  long — a  sadness,  too^ 
1^-hieh  had  given  to  that  face  a  more  sombre  cut 
than  common,  from  some  grief  which  had  been 

f.dded  to  former  ones.     It  was  but  for  a  moment 
hat  he  looke<l  at  her,  and  then  he  bowed  with 

veeoiiHeBy.  Hildanlsobowedwithonta'i 

nd  then  waited  for  Lord  Chetwynde  to  speak. 

But  Lord  Chetwynde  did  not'  speak  for  some 

ime.     His  earnest  eyes  were  still'  fixed  upon  the 

no  before  him,  and  though  it  might  have  been 

rudeness,  yet  it  was  excusable,  from  the  weight 

which  lay  on  his  soul. 


Iho  door  nnd  called 
ed  liis  lordship  ?" 


im?" 

t  in  the  house." 
snt  back,  and  agnin 
>rae  ti;ne  elapsed  as 
ersclf,  with  strange 
mind.     She  did  not 

0  make  any  altera- 
he  did  not  change 
one  hair  of  her  head 
though  this  present 
ance  had  been  long 
just  such  a  meeting 
anticipated  sucii  a 
r  she  was  amazed  or 
taken  by  surprise  or 
ivay  from  her  action 
ice  of  so  terrible  a 
id  import  she  must 
od  there,  qilra  and 
oise  of  one  who  hng 

,  w^en  the  hour  big 
J  not  overwhelmed, 
oes  forth  to  the  cn- 
«nd  with  destiny, 
alf  an  hour  before 
:  with  a  steady  step 
ong  corridor,  ^wn 
the  chief  hall,  and 
[-room. 

nan  standing  there, 
'the  door,  looking 
'1.  So  intently  wu 
hear  her  entering; 
chair  as  she  passed 
and  looked  at  her, 
apprehensive  gaze 
he  new  Lord  Chet- 
e  turned  and  faced 
ace  and  mien  and 
rintellectnal  brow, 
lir ;  a  face  bronzed 
posure  of  the  cam- 
h  was  hidden  by  a 
and  a  tall,  erect, 
listakable  air  of  a 
mien  had  in  it  a 
high  breeding,  and 
customed  to  be  the 

1  dark,  and  full  of 
and  they  beamed 
imily,  and  with  • 
)m  under  his  dark 
press  of  a  sadnesi 
ally  seen — sadnea 
— a  Badness,  too^ 
I  more  sombre  cait 
ef  which  had  been 

I  but  for  a  moment 
len  ho  bowed  with 
ed  without  a  wofd,^ 
twyndo  to  speak, 
nt' speak  for  some 
till  tlxed  upon  tlw 
:  might  hare  been 
i,  from  the  weight 


THE  CRYPTOGRAM. 


I  Iko^JJST^'^'-  ,'^'*  •'«"«'«'  and  Sul 
T^^t  *^  """P'Vnd  e'egant  dressTwhich 


Which  had  dwelt  in  his  memory.    Her  eves  did 

rhone"hn" ""' r  "u«  «^'ho«e  ofrimJ 

wnom   he  had  married;  but  deep,  dark    and 

into  h  8,    The  hair  was  now  no  lonwr  dii 
onlenHl,  but  enfolded  in  its  dark.  To3inJ,« 


124 


THE  CBYFTOORAM. 


masses,  so  as  to  let  ofTto  the  best  advantage  the 
well-Bhaped  head,  and  slender,  beautifully  ronnd- 
ed  neck.  The  one  whom  be  remembered  had 
been  hideous ;  this  one  was  beautiful.  B6t  the 
beauty  that  he  saw  was,  nevertheless,  hard,  cold, 
and  repellent.  For  Jlilda,  iii  her  beauty  and 
grace  and  intellectual  subtilty,  stood  there 
watchful  and  vigilant,  like  a  keen  fencer  on 
guard,  waiting  to  see  what  the  first  spoken  word 
might  disclose ;  waiting  to  see  what  that  grand 
lordly  face,  with  its  air  of  command,  its  repressed 
grief,  its  deep  piercing  eyes,  might  shadow  forth. 

A  singuhir  meeting;  but  Lord  Chetwynde 
seemed  to  think  it  natural  enough,  and  after  a 
few  moments  he  remarked,  in  a  quiet  voice : 

"  Lady  Chetwynde,  the  morning-room  will  be 
more  suitable  for  the  inter\-iew  which  I  wish,  and, 
if  you  have  no  ohjectionjswe  will  go  there." 

At  the  sound  of  these  vtords  a  great  revulsion 
took  place  in  Hilda's  feelings,  and  a  sense  of  tri- 
umph succeeded  to  that  intense  anxiety  which 
for  BO  long  a  time  had  consumed  her.  The 
sound  of  that  name  by  which  he  had  addressed 
her  had  shown  her  at  once  that  the  worst  part 
of  this  crisis  had  passed  away.  He  had  seen 
her.  He  had  scrutinized  her  with  those' eyes 
which  seemed  to  read  her  soul,  and  the  end  was 
that  he  had  taken  her  for  what  she  professed  to 
be.  He  hod  called  her  "Lady  Chetwynde!" 
After  this  what  more  was  there  which  could  ex- 
cite fear?  Was  not  her  whole  future  now  se- 
emed by  the  utterance  of  those  two  words? 
Yet  Hilda's  self-coptrol  was  so  perfect,  and  her 
vigilance  so  consummate,  that  no  change  what- 
ever expressed  in  her  face  the  immense  revolu- 
tion of  feeling  within  her.  Her  eyes  fell — that 
was  all ;  and  as  she  bowed  her  head  silently,  by 
that  simple  gesture  which  was  at  once  natural 
and  courteous,  she  effectually  conc^led  her  face ; 
so  that,  even  if  there  had  been  a  change  in  its 
expression,  it  could  not  have  been  seen.  Yet, 
after  nil,  the  triumph  was  hut  ipstantaneonk.  It 
passed  away,  and  soon  thert  came  another  feel- 
ing, vague,  indefinable — a  premonition  of  the 
future — a  presentiment  of  gloom;  and  though 
the  intensity  of  the  suspense  had  passed,  there 
■till  remained  a  dark  anxiety  and  a  fear  which 
were  unaccountable. 

Lord  Chetwynde  led  the  way  to  the  mbming- 
room,  and  on  arriving  there  he  motioned  her  to 
a  seat.  Hilda  sat  down.  He  sat  opposite  in  an- 
other chair,  not  far  off.  On  the  wall,  where  each 
could  see  it,  hung  his  portrait— the  figure  of  that 
beardless,  boyish,  dashing  young  officer — very 
different  from  this  matured,  strong-souled  man ; 
BO  diflTerent,  indeed,  that  it  seemed  hardly  po^i- 
ble  that  they  could  be  the  same.  - 

Lord  Chetwynde  soon  b^^. 

"Ladv  Chetwynde, "said  he,  again  addressing 
her  by  that  name,  and  speaking  in  a  firm  yet 
mehincholy  voice,  "it  is  not  often  that  a  hus- 
band and  a  wife  meet  as  you  and  I  do  now ;  but 
then  it  is  not  often  that  two  people  became  hus- 
band and  wife  as  you  and  I  have.  I  have  come 
from  India  for  the  sake  of  having  a  full  under- 
■tondiiig  with  yon.  T  had,  until  lately,  an  idea 
ofeomingfaere  under  an  Hmnned  nurne,  wltli  tSe 
wish  of  sparing  you  the  emb«nnssment  which  'I 
supposed  that  the  presence  of  Lord  Chetwynde 
Jiimself  might  possibly  cause  you.  In  hct,  I 
traveled  most  of  the  way  home  from  Indw  under 
an  assumed  name  with  that  intent.    But  before 


I  reached  England  I  condnded  that  there  was  no 
necessity  for  tiding  toguard  against  any  embar- 
rassment on  your  part,  and  that  it  would  be  in- 
finitely better  to  see  you  in  my  own  person  and 
talk  to  you  without  disgui«e." 
He  paused  for  a  moment 
"  Had  you  chosen  to  come  all  the  way  in<your 
own  name,  my  lord,"  said  Hikla,  speaking  now 
for  the  first  time,  "  I  should  have  seen  your  name 
in  the  list  of  passensgcs,  and  should  have  been 
better  prepar^^>All"tlielionor  of  your  visit." 

would  have  been  impossible," 
continue  Lord  Chetwynde,  gloomily,  half  to 
himself,  and  without  appearing  to  have  heard 
HildiJb  words,  "here.  In  my  home.  Though 
all  tlip  old  servants  are  gone,  still  the  old  scenes 
remain  ;  and  if  I  had  come  here  as  a  stranger  I 
should  have  shown  so  deep  an  interest  in  mv 
home  that  I  might  have  excited  suspicion.  But 
the  whole  phin  was  impossible,  and,  after  all, 
there  was  no  necessity  for  it,  as  I  do  not  see  that 
your  feelings  have  been  excited  to  madness  by 
my  appearance.  So  far,  then,  all  is  well.  ■  And 
now  to  come  to  the  point ;  and  yon,  I  am  sure, 
will  be  the  first  to  excuse  my  abruptness  in  do- 
ing so.  The  unfortunate  bond  that  binds  us  a 
painful  enough  to  you.  It  is  enough  for  me  to 
say  that  I  have  come  home  for  two  reasons :  first, . 
to  see  ray  home,  possibly  for  the  last  time ;  and 
secondly,  to  announce  to.  you  the  decision  at 
which  I  have  arrived  with  regard  to  the  position 
which  we  shall  hereafter  occupy  towaixl  one  an- 
other." 

Hilda  said  nothing.  Awe  was  a  feeling  which 
was  almost  unknown  to  her ;  but  something  of 
that  had  come  over  her  as,  sitting  in  the  presence 
of  this  man,  she  heard  him  say  these  words ;  for 
he  spoke  without  any  particular  reference  to  her, 
and  said  them  with  a  grand,  authoritative  air, 
with  the  tone  of  one  accustomed  to  rule  and  to 
dispense  justice.  In  uttering  these,  concluding 
words  it  seemed  to  be  his  wil^  his  decision,  that 
he  was  announcing  to  some  inferior  being. 

"First,"  he  went  on  to  say,  "let  me  remind 
you  of  onr  unhappy  betrothal.  Yon  were  a  child, 
1  a  boy.  Onr  Mrenta  are  responsible  for  that 
They  meant  well    Let  us  not  blame  them. 

"Then  came  our  marriage  by  the  death-bed 
of  your  father.  Yon  were  excited,  and  veiy 
naturally  so.  Yon  used  bitter  words  to  me  then 
which  I  have  never  foigotten.  £verT  taunt  and 
insult  which  you  then  ottered  has  bved  in  mv 
memory.  Why  ?  Not  because  I  am  inclined  to 
treasure  np  wrong.  No.  Rather  because  tob 
have  taken  such  extreme  pains  to  keep  alive'the 
memory  of  that  event  Yon  will  remember  that 
in  every  one  of  thoM  letters  which  yon  hsre 
written  to  me  since  I  lefk  England  there  has  not 
been  one  which  has  not  been  filled  with  innn- 
endoes  of  the  most  cutting  kind,  and  insults  of 
the  most  galling  nature.  My  father  loved  von. 
I  did  not  But  could  you  not,  for  his  sake,  hsre 
refrained  from  insult  ?  Why  was  it  necessoiy  to 
torn  what  at  first  was  merely  coolness  into  hste 
and  indignation  ? 

"  I  speak  bitterihr  about  thoee  letters  of  voon. 
It  was  thoie;  wBfcn  Kept  me  so  long  in  tedit 
I  could  not  come  to  see  my  father  because  jroa 
were  here,  and  I  should  have  to  come  and  tee 
von.  I  could  not  give  him  trouble  by  letting  him 
know  the  truth,  because  be  loved  you.  Tbu 
yon  kept  me  away  fh>m  him  wd  fh>m  my  home 


at  a  time  when 

finally,  to  crowi 

concealed  from  n 

till  it  was  too  la 

you  wrote  that  h 

of  insult  and  vim 

srdly  stab,  which 

wrung  by  the  grie 

letter  which  you 

and  almost  intolei 

that  my  father — t 

M  loved  you  and  i 

less  gentleman,  th 

ed  ^011,  and  that 

inflicted  by  Provii 

made  a  cunning  j 

for  the  sake  of  y< 

hit  accomplice ;  an 

ance  of  Divine  iu 

ofus!"  ■' 

Deep  and  low  g 

wyndes  voice  as 

tad  low,  yet  restra 

is  put  over  the  fee 

yet  can  not  hide  t 

underlies  all  the  « 

with  intensest  heat 

dignation  seemed  i 

and  withering  powi 

herself  involuntaril 

teirific  dennnciatioi 

lord  Chetwynde 

"Calm  yourself* 

joar  nature.     Do  - 

th»t  I,  by  any  poss' 

nttion?    Not  at  all 

the  first  and  for  the 

letters  were  lying  b 

breathe  one  word  ah 

whom  I  kept  no  othe 

that,  while  he  loved  3 

lore  and  his  trust  w 

not  add  to  his  troubl 

dnncterofthewon 

ud  bound  me  fast, 

with  affection.      Th 

spare  hini,  and  sol] 

I  alwavs  spoke  of  n 

•pect,  knowing  well 

«lf  did  not  deserve 

deeened  it,  and  I  qu, 

for  his  sake.    But  i 

rewn  why  I  should  i 

speak  of  these  thing! 

yon  know  how  your  CO 

limated  by  one  whose 

honorable  gentlemen. 

Even  afler  his  det 

*V>ie,  "Imightpos 

BdWBtion  for  you,  am 

""M'uch  plain  Ungua 

»M  could  take  advai 

Mier  to  give  vent  to 

«>  one  who  had  never 

^^ration.     Such 

J*?*''y'">e,  toward  mi 

K"»  ever  for^given  oi 

»"l_no  doubt  say,  with 

foiJPTenessisnotdesin 

To  your  father,  1 

ntdeavowthatlwoul 
J<MW  happiness    I  „, 


I  »•• 


THE  CRYPTOGRAM. 

less  eentleman.  th«  «„.i  Je  u"'.^.  '"*  '.'*'"- 


.ret  can  not  hide  that  consuming  wuwion  whi^h 
underbes  all  the  words,  and  niak^h»™  k 

lOTd  Chetwynde  ^e  a  slight  gestnre. 

To^  ■SSir'^''"'""*''^'  "yoS^Hothelp 
iw  T  i!^        ^  y*^  suppose  for  one  moment 

fi^JV^VoTarS'^f^h'  """  '""^*  -"""'"- 
Zfll.     J  ,      ."•    ^  ""''«  mentioned  this  for 

£«  t«™  i*^'  ""ti?"  ^^"""^  *:^«"  "hi  e  your 
h^r^^  '^'H?  ^*'"'  "■"  I  did  not  deiCT  to 
breathe  one  word  about  them  to  my  father  fW.m 

S?1!h '^'•^'"^'^  y°"  """^ '"""«» youfboth  h.^ 

Z^^  ^  hi»  trouble*  by  showing  h^m  the  ?Se 
d«u»tter  of  the  woman  to  whom  he  had  wJd  ™ 
Md  bound  me  fast,  and  whom  he  loolTed  on 
wth  affection  That  sorrow  I  detemin^  to 
f^  him,  and  so  I  kept  silent  So  it  wm  th!^ 
liJways  spoke  of  you  with  th*  fomuw'Jt 
«pect,  knowinir  wnl    .n  .i._  .« ,t™        "'  '^ 


Jit'Z  ;"*f  t'*  «le»"'."eontlnued  Lord  Chet- 
Sinni"'*''"  ^"^^y  '"'^«  hadl^me  con^ 

»fco  r^^i/.  I.      T"^  ■'!"'"'«'<>•     But  one 
Sw  tolvl^"  r*^""*^  of  the  death  of  my 

QlWB^^  ^^^  *=°?**"*=*  ••  y««««.  Lady 

i  "«>••  »ow UiS1t;.,M ''f  f^hetwynde,  I  once 
m  han„7n^*  '  r""."'T».''f  •*  ?««"•»>  -bout 


your  father  or  mihe  anticipated"   hnT?*' 
..SS!? '^""'''"'8  me  for  years. 

S^th  mV  a°nd^;t,d;r".Strre"."SecW^ 

J:^ii'r;-  •*•  "^  '•-»''e^th^m^onen''hlh  w« 
needed  to  disencumber  the  estate/ It  was  to 
fact,  your  dowry,  advanced  beforehand         '  ^ 

mentZKa.'^'i-'^!;rr.r"r 
£ts^:««nrat^u" 

That  wrong  I  inten«f  to  undo  as  far  m  DoJhi«" 
I  have  long  ago  decided  upon  'the  w"y     Kl^j 

let  ?t^  t„':?rV''*,*"*?"'  «'"  Chetwynde,  and 
let  It  go  to  the  hands  of  strangers.  Mv  nnpipni 
line  ends  in  m«      b»  :.  .„  * ,  ^    "•?  nncient 


•pect,  Uwing  well  iSl  the  time  thTv    "^  ^  I?'  ''  ««  »»  «''«  h. 


m  happiness. 


nation.  Ne^  .^i;! 'sha^l  yourLT  Si" 
Znf^'M^'"'  •'>«,.P0''«  Of  flingii^g  ,t^e  tha^ 
tount  which  you  have  so  often  flung.  VoughaU 
shave  vour  money  back,  to  the  last  forthing  aSd 

r»?«.'"T'l>  ""'  "f""'*  "-"e  since  hi  ad- 
vance.    In  this  way  I  can  also  best  keep  my  vow 

r™n"r.'  '^""""'l'  '■"^  '•^^  ""'J'  mo^e'ly  which 

JfTinry7urT;„ar '" "  ^^''^  '^"^  -- 

cJtEUtFn-^SSlrsar  Sy^ffiS: 
seem,  quite  adapted  to  make  you  hTppv^  You 
seem  to  have  appropriated  it  quite  to  voursetf 

It  T  ""•*  ""«  of  tho*e  faithV..!  °M  d^m.S 
with  whom  my  boyhood  wai  passed     vZw 
surrounded  /out^lf  with  yKin  ^"^.i-r 
Unni  your  money  is  paid  yon  will  be^^?e  at 
l.berty  to  live  heit,,  or  at  Pomeroy  Court  Twch 
ever  you  prefer.     Both  are  your.  „ow,The  Casi 


.  ^u'^Sl^-X  S^="4S::i^f-i"i«Z5!' 


196 


A* 


"  And  noafc"  said  Lord  Chetwynde,  in  conclu- 
sion, "we  unaerstnnd oneanotlier. ' llie  time  for 
taunts  and  sneers,  for  you,  is  over.  Any  letter!' 
hereafter  that  may  come  to  me  in  your  hand- 
writing will  be  returned  unopened.  The  one 
aim  of  my  life  hereafter  shall  be  to  undo,  as  far 
as  possible,  the  wrong  done  to  us  both  by  our 
parents.  That  can  never  l>e  all  undone ;  but,  at 
any  rate,  you  may  bo  absolutely  certain  that 
you  will  get  back  every  penny  of  the  money 
which  is  so  precious  to  you,  with  interest.  As 
to  my  visit  here,  do  not  let  it  disturb  you  for 
one  moment.  I  have  np  intention  oT  makin;;  a 
scene  for  the  benefit  of  jOur  gaping  servants. 
My  business  now  is  solely  to  see  about  my  fa- 
ther's papers,  to  examine  them,  and  take  awny 
with  me  those  that  are  of  immediate  use.  While 
I  am  hero  we  will  meet  a|  the  same  table,  and 
will  be  hound  by  the  laws  of  ordinary  courtes}-. 
At  all  other  times  we  need  not  be  const  ioua  of 
one  another'^  existence.  I  trust  that  you  will 
see  the  necessity  of  avoiding  any  opfen  demon- 
strations of  hatred,  or  even  dislike.  Let  your 
feelings  be  confined  to  yourself,  Lady  Chet- 
wynde; and  do  not  make  them  known  to  the 
servants,  if  you  can  possibly  help  it." 

Lord  Chetwynde  seemed  to  have  eniid ;  for 
he  arose  nnd  sauntered  up  to  the  portrait,  which 
he  regarded  for  some  time  with  fixed  attention, 
and  (Appeared  to  lose  himself  in  bis  thoughts. 
During  the  remarks  which  he  had  been  making 
Hilda  had  sat  looking  at  the  floor.  Unable  to 
encounter  the  stern  gaze  of  the  man  whom  she 
felt  to  be  her  master,  she  had  listened  in  si- 
lence, with  downcast  eyes.  There  was  nothing 
for  her  to  say.  She  therefore  did  the  very  best 
thing  that  she  could  do  under  the  circumstances 
— she  said  nothing.  Nor  did  she  say  any  thing 
when  he  had  ended.  She  saw  him  absorb  him- 
self in  regarding  his  own  ])ortruit,  and  appar- 
ently lose  himself  in  his  recollections  of  the  past. 
Of  liRr  he  seemed  to  have  now  no  consciousness. 
She  sat  looking  at  him,  as  his  side  face  was  turn- 
ed toward  her,  and  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  pic- 
ture. The  noble  profile,  with  its  clear-cut  feat- 
ures, showed  much  of  the  expression  of  the 
face — an  expression  which  was  stem,  yet  sad 
and  softened — that  face  which,  just  before,  had 
been  before  her  eyes  frowning,  wrathful,  clothed 
with  consuming  terrors — a  face  upon  which  she 
could  not  look,  but  which  now  was  all  mourn- 
ful and  sorrowful.  And  now,  as^he  gazed,  the 
hard  rigidity  of  her  beautiful  features  relaxed, 
the  sharp  glitter  of  her  dark  eyes  died  out, 
their  stony  lustre  gave  place  to  a  soft  light, 
whidv  l)eamed  upon  him  with  wonder,  with 
timid  nwe — with  something  which,  in  any  other 
woman,  would  have  looked  like  tenderness.  She 
had  not  been  prepared  for  one  like  this.  -In  her 
former  ideas' of  him  he  had  been  this  boy  of 
the  portrait,  with  his  boyish  enthusiasm,  and 
his  warm,  innocent  temperament.  This  <ldea 
she  had  relinquished,  and  had  known  that  ho 
had  changed  during  the  years  into  the  heroic 
soldier  and  the  calm  judge.  She  had  tried  to 
familiarize  herself  with  this  new  idea,  and  Jiad 
BtRceefledTn  Bioiiig  so  to  a  certain  extent. 


THE  CRYPTOGRAM.  . 

tionless  before  him.*  All  the  sneering  speechei 
which  she  had  prepared  in  anticipation  of  the 
meeting  were  useless.  She  found  no  place  for 
them.  But  there  was  one  result  to  this  inter- 
view which  affected  her  still  ntere  deeply  than 
this  discovery  of  hts  moral  superioritv.  The  one 
great  danger  which  she  had  always  "feared  had 
passed  away.  She  no  longer  had  that  dread 
fear  of  discovery  which  hitherto  had  harassed 
her ;'  but  in  the  place  of  this  there  suddenly 
arose  another  fear  —  a  fear  which  seemed  as 
terrible  as  the  other,  which  darkened  over  her 
during  the  course  of  that  scene  till  its  close,  and 
afterward  —  such  an  evil"  as_  she  never  before 
could  have  thought  herself  capable  of  dread- 
ing, yet  one  which  she  had  brought  upon  her- 
self. 

What  was  that? 

His  contempt— his  hate — his  abhorrence— this 
was  the  thing  which  now  seemed  so  terrible  to  her. 
Tor  in  the  course  of  that  interview  a  sudden 
change  had  come  over  all  her,  feelings.  In  spite 
of  her  later  judgment  about  him,  which  she  had 
expressed  to  Gualtier,  there  had  been  in  her 
mind  a  half  contempt  for  the  man  whom  she 
had  once  judged  of  by  his  picture  only,  and 
whom  she  recollected  as  the  weak  agent  in  a 
forced  marriage.  That  paragraph  in  the  Indian 
paper  had  certainly  caused  a  great  change  to 
take  place  jn  her  estimate  of  his  chajacter; 
but,  -Hi  spite  of  this,  the  old  contempt  still  ^ 
mained)  and  she  had  reckoned  upon  finding  be- 
lieath  the  mature  man,  brave  though  he  was, 
and  even  wise  though  he  might  be,  much  of 
that  boy  whom  she  had  despised.  But  all  this 
passed  away  as  a  dream,  out  of  which  she  had 
a  rude  awakening.  She  awoke  suddenly  tif-ihe 
full  reality,  to  find  him  a  strong,  stern,  pVoud 
jnan,  to  whom  her  own  strength  was  as  weak- 
ness. Wliile  he  uttered  his  grand  maledictions  | 
against  her  he  seemed  to  her  hke  a  god.  He 
was  a  mighty  being,  to  whom  she  looked  up 
from  the  depths  of  her  soul,  half  in  fear,  half  in 
adoration.  In  her  weakness  she  oidmired  liis 
strength ;  and  in  her  wily  and  tortuous  subtlety 
she  worshiped  this  straightfijrward  and  upright 
gentleman,  who  scorned  craft  ~and  cunnitig,  and 
who  had  sat  in  stem  judgment  upon  her,  to 
make  known  to  her  his  wiU. 

For  some  time  she  sat  looking  at  him  os  he 
stood,  with  her  whole  nature  shaken  by  these 
new,  tMfesq  unparalleled  emotions,  till,  finally, 
with  a  Wirt,  she  came  to  herself,  and,  rising 
slowly,  Bho  glided  out  of  the  room. 


But, 
after  all,  the  reality  had  been  too  much  for  her. 
She  had  not  been  prei>ared  for  one  like  this,  nor 
for  such  an  effect  as  the  sight  of  him  had  pro- 
duced. At^this  first  interview  he  had  overpow- 
ered her  utterly,  and  she  had  sat  dumb  and  mo- 


CHAPTEK  XXXVII. 

AN  EFFORT  AT  CONCILIATION. 

Lord  Ciietwyndb's  occupations  kept  him  for 


V 


the  greater  part  of  his  time  in  his  father's  library, 
where  he  busied  himself  in  examining,  papers. 
Many  of  these  he  read  and  restored  to  their 
places,  but  some  he  put  aside,  in  order  to  take 
theni  with  him.  Of  the  new  steward  ho  tootiio 
notice  whatever.  He  considered  the  dismissal 
of  the  old  one  and  the  appointment  of  Gualtier 
one  of  those  abominable  acts  which  were  con- 
sistent with  all  the  other  acts  of  that  woman  whom 
he  supposed  to  Ije  his  wife.  Besides,  the  papers 
which  he  Sought  had  reference  to  the  past,  and 


X ; .. 


^11  the  sneering  speeches 
kI  in  anticipation  of  the 
She  found  no  place  for 
one  result  to  this  inter- 
r  still  iii)»re  deeply  than 
iral  superiority.    The  one 
J  had  always  fenrcd  had 
loiiger  had  that  dread 
h  hitherto  had  harassed 
of  this  there  suddenly 
L  fear  which  seemed  as 
-•liich  darkened  over  her 
It  scene  tiU  its  close,  and 
vil  as  she  never  before 
srself  capable  of  dread- 
had  brought  upon  her- 


te — his  abhorrence^this 
seemed  so  terrible  to  her. 
that  interview  a  sudden 
ill  her,  feelings.  In  spite 
l)Out  Him,  which  she  had 
there  had  been  in  Iter 
for  the  man  whom  she 
f  his  picture  only,  and 
as  the  weak  agent  in  a 
paragraph  in  the  Indian 
lused  a  great  change  to 
mate  of  his  chaj'actcr; 
le  old  contempt  still  Re- 
ckoned upon  finding  be- 
,  brave  though  he  was, 
he  might  lie,  much  of 
despised.  But  all  this 
1,  out  of  which  she  had 
5  awoke  suddenly  tqrtlie 
I  a  strong,  stern,  pVpud 
I  strength  was  as  wcjik- 
l  his  grand  maledictions 
to  her  like  a  god.     He 

0  whom  she  looked  up 
loul,  half  in  fear,  half  in 
ikness  she  admired  liis  • 
ily  and  tortuous  subtlety 
ightfijrward  and  upright 

1  craft ^nd  cunnifig,  and 
judgment  upon  her,  to 
viU. 

at  looking  at  him  as  he 
nature  shaken  by  these 
i  emotions,  till,  finally, 
to  herself,  and,  rising 
'  the  room. 


XXXVII. 

COSCILIATION. 

jccupations  kept  liira  for 
ne  injiis  father's  librarr, 
f  in  examining,  papers. 
i  and  restored  to  their . 
aside,  in  order  to  take 
new  steHord  he  tooLao 
onsidered  the  dismissal 
ippointment  of  Gualtier 
3  acts  which  were  con- 
cts  of  that  woman  whom 
re.  Besides,  the  papers 
ferenco  to  the  past,  and 


THE  CRYFrOGBAM. 


HE  BOUGHT  OOT  BI8  FATHER'S  OBAVE,  AND  BIOOO  MUSING  THEBE." 


it  "e/f""?"'""  yi*  the  affair,  of  the  pres- 
to «>  I^^f  T"^"^"  °/  ^'^  occupation  he  used 
hiT  1?  J  ""'  8^""'J«.  ^i«"ng  eve^r  one  of 
^Me  well-knovm  places  which  were  lisociated 

I  o«  hi,"f„tb'''^''°"^  ""*^  ^y^°^-  H«  "o-S 

I  h  Li^n'^K?^™'  ""•I  "'"^  """"K  there 
wth  feehngs  which  were  taade  np  of  sadness, 

I  S^^  w"^  something  like  r^pr^ch  for  Z 

teen^nonfl/'"'  ''°"^'^«'"i"y•  True,  he  had 
fiw  Av«  1^°  consenting  parties;  but  when  he 
nt  ga^e  that  consent  he  was  little  more  than  a 

rKn  ml"'."'  "I'  •="?»"«  "f  comprehending 
m«  full  meanmg  of  such  an  engagement.  His 
£«l.er  had  ever  since  solemnly  held  him  to  il! 


and  had  appeiJed  to  his  sense  of  honor  in  order 
to  make  him  faithful.  But  now  the  father  was 
aead,  the  son  won  a  mature  man,  tried  in  a  thou- 
sand scenw  of  difficulty  and  danger-one  who 
had  learned  to  think  for  hijffclf,  who  had^incd 
his  manhood  by  a  life  of  stoiSs,  in  which  !f  late 

mw    y  ^"''  V  ^  '■^^  '^^^ht  in  the  develoftr  r 
ment  of  his  character.     They  had  left  him  a 


---.  _.  ...„  't-imiuLier.  xney  naa  iett  him  a 
calm,  strong,  resolute  man-a  man  of  thought 
and  of  aotion-a  graduate  of  the  school  of  In- 
dian affairs-a  sch<K,I  which,  in  times  that  tried 
men  s  souls,  never  failed  to  supply  men  who  were 
equal  to  every  emergency. 
I     At  the  veiy  outset  he  had  found  o3  tha  condi- 


.«3" 


1^ 


THE  CRYPTOGRAM. 


tion  of  Mrs.  Hart.  The  sight  of  his  loved  nurse, 
thus  prostrated.  Ailed  him  with  grief.  The  house- 
keeper who  now  attended  her  knew  nothing  what- 
ever of  the  cause  of  her  prostration.  Lord  Chet- 
wynde  did  not  deign  to  ask  any  questions  of 
Hilda ;  but  in  his  anxiety  to  learn  about  Mrs. 
Hart,  he  sought  out  the  doctor  who  had  attend- 
ed his  father,  and  from  him  he  learned  that  Mrs. 
Hart's  illness  had  been  caused  by  her  anxiety 
about  the  E^rL  The  knowledge  of  this  increasecf, 
if  possiltle,  his  own  care.  He  made  the  closest 
inquiry  as  to  the  way  in  which  she  was  treated, 
engaged  the  doctor  to  visit  her,  and  doubled  the 
housekeeper's  salary  on  condition  that  she  would 
be  attentive  to  his  beloved  nurse.  These  meas- 
ures were  attended  with  good  results,  for  under 
this  increased^ care  Mrs.  Hart  began  to  show 
signs  of  improvement.  Whether  she  would  ever 
again  be  conscious  was  yet  a  question.  Tlie 
doctor  considered  her  mind  to  be  irretrievably 
affected. 

Meanwhile,  throughout  all  these  days,  Hilda's 
mind  was  engrossed  with  the  change  which  had 
come  over  her — a  change  so  startling  and  so 
nnexpected  that  it  found  her  totally  unprepared 
to  deal  <with  it  They  met  every  day  at  thv  din- 
ner-table, and  at  no  other  times.  Here  Lord 
Chetwynde  treated  her  with  scrupulous  courtesy; 
yet  beyond  the  extreme  limits  of  that  courtesy 
she  found  it  impossible  to  advance.  Hildas 
manner  was  most  humble  and  conciliatonr.  She 
who  all  her  life  had  felt  defiant  of  others,  or 
worse,  now  found  herself  enthralled  and  subdued 
by  the  spell  of  this  man's  presence.  Her  wili- 
ness,  her  stealthiness,  her  constant  self-control, 
were  all  lost  and  forgotten.  She  had  now  to 
struggle  incessantly  against  that  new  tenderness 
which  had  sprung  up  unbidden  within  her.  She 
caught  herself  looking  forward  wistfully  every 
day  to  the  time  when  she  could  meet  him  at  the 
table  and  hear  his  voice,  which,  even  in  its  cold, 
constrained  tones,  was  enough  for  her  happiness. 
It  was  in  vain  that  she  reproached  and  even 
cursed  herself  for  her  weakness.  The  weakness 
none  the  less  existed ;  and  all  her  life  seemed 
now  to  centre  around  this  man,  who  hated  her. 
Into  a  position  like  this  she  had  never  imagined 
thaf  she  could  possibly  be  brought.  All  her  cun- 
ning and  all  her  resources  were  useless  here. 
TliSs  man  seemed  so  completely  beyond  her  con- 
trol that  My  effort  to  win  him  to  her  seemed 
useless.  .He  believed  her  to  be  his  wife,  he  be- 
lieved himself  bound  by  honor  to  secure  her  hap- 
piness, and  yet  his  abhorrence  of  her  was  so 
strong  that  he  never  made  any  effort  to  gain  her 
for  himself.  Now  Hilda  saw  with  bitterness 
that  she  had  gone  too  far,  and  that  her  plans 
and  her  plots  were  recoiling  upon  her  own  head. 
I'hey  had  been  too  successfuJ^^The  sin  of  Ix)rd 
Chetwynde's  wife  had  in  his  eyc»j>roved  unpar- 
donable. 

Hilda's  whole  life  now  became  a  series  of  al- 
ternate struggles  against  her  own  heart,  and  long- 
ings afker  another  who  was  Vorse  than  indiffer- 
ent to  her.  Her  own  miserable  weakness,  so 
unespeetCuf  sod  yet~to  complete  and  hopeless, 
filled  her  at  once  with  anger  and  dismay.  To 
(ind  all  her  thoughts  both  by  day  and  night  filled 
'with  thh  one  image  was  at  once  mortifying  and 
terrible.  The  mty  intensity  of  her  feelings. 
Which  would  not  stQp  short  at  death  itself  to 
gain  their  object,  now  made  her  own  sufferings 


all  the  greater.  Every  thing  else  was  forgotten 
except  this  one  absorbing  desire ;  and  her  c(:>m- 
plicated  schemes  and  far-reaching  phins  we(e 
thriistaway.  'I'hey  had  lost  their  interest.  Henc&'° 
forth  all  were  reduced  to  one  thought — how  to 
gain  Lord  Chetwynde  to  herselt 

As  long  as  he  staid,  something  like  hope  re- 
mained ;  'but  when  he  would  leave,  what  hope 
cpuld  there  be?  Would  he  not  leave  her  for- 
ever? Was  not  this  the  strongest  desiv  of  his 
heart?  Had  ho  not  said  so?  Every  day  she 
watched,  with  a  certain  chilling  fear  at  her  heart, 
to  see  if  there  were  signs  of  his  departure.  As 
day  succeeded  to  day,  however,  and  she  found 
him  still  remaining,  she  began  to  hope  that  he 
might  possibly  have  relented  somewhat,  and  that 
the  sentence  which  he  had  spoken  to  her  might 
have  become  modifi^  by  time  and  further  ob- 
servation of  her. 

So  at  the  dinner-table  she  used  to  sit,  looking 
at  him,  when  his  eyes  were  turned  away,  with 
her  earnest,  devouring  gaxe,  which,  as  soon  as 
he  would  look  at  her  again,  was  turned  quickly 
away  with  tl^e  timidity  of  a  young  bashful  child. 
Such  is  the  tenderness  of  love  that  Hilda,  who 
formerly  shrank  at  nothing,  now  shrank  away 
from  the  gaze  of  this  man.  Once,  by  a  great  ef- 
fort, as  he  entered  the  dining-room  she  held  out 
her  hand  to  greet  him.  Lord  Chetwynde,  how. 
ever,  did  not  seem  to  see  it,  for  he  greeted  her 
with  his  usual  distant  civility,  and  treated  her 
as  before.  Once  more  she  tried  this,  and  yet 
once  again,  but  with  the  same  result ;  and  it  wu 
then  that  she  knew  that  Lord  Chetwynde  refuted 
tQ  take  her  hand.  It  was  not  oversight — it  was 
ai  deliberate  purpose.  At  another  time  it  would 
have  seemed  an  insult  which  would  have  filled 
her  with  rage;  now  it  seemed  a  slight  which 
filled  her  with  grief.  So  humiliated  had  she  be- 
come, and  so  completely  subdued  by  this  man, 
thot  even  this  slight  was  not  enough,  but  she  still 
planned  vague  ways  of  winning  his  attention  to 
her,  and  of  gaining  from  him  something  mors 
than  a  remark  about  the  weather  or  about  the 
dishes. 

At  length  one  day  she  formed  a  resolution, 
which,  after  much  hesitation,  she  carried  oat. 
She  was  determined  to  make  one  bold  effort, 
whatever  the  result  might  be.  It  was  at  their 
usual  pUce  of  meeting— the  dinner-table. 

"  My  lord,"  said  she,  with  a  tremulous  voice, 
"  I  wish  to  have  an  interview  with  you.  Can 
you  spare  me  the  time  this  evening  ?" 

She  looked  at  him  earnestly,  with  mute  in- 
qciiry.  Lord  Chetwynde  regarded  her  in  some 
surtinse.  He  saw  her  eyes  fixed  upon  him  with 
a  timid  entreaty,  while  her  face  grew  pale  with 
suspense.  Her  breathing  was  rapid  from  the  sg- 
itatiori  that  overcame  her.  . 

"  I  hndiiome  bu'siness  this  evening,"  said  Lord 
Chetwvnde,  coldly,  "  but  as  you  wish  an  inter- 
view, t  am  at  your  service." 

"At  what  time,  my  lord?" 

"At  nine,"  said  Lord  Chetwvnde. 

Nine  o'clock  came,  and  Hilda,  was  in  the 
moming-Foom,  which  she  had  mentioned  at&e 
place  of  meeting,  and  Lord  Chetwynde  caiiM 
there  punctually.  She  was  sitting  near  tho  win- 
dow. Her  pale  face,  her  rich  black  locks  *r- 
ranged  in  voluminous  masses  about  her  held, 
her  dark  penetrating  eyes,  her  slender  and  grace- 
ful figure,  all  conspireH  to  make  Hilda  beantiAl 

* 


i,*..,- 


Hirnea  toward  hun,  and  a  •oft,  timid  lust™  in 

»an^^*'si.*'''"'  "''«'"  '«^«  affect^  aivo^he? 

Zfh   ^^\™'*.  "  ^"1  Chetwynde  entered 

and  bowed  her  beautiful  head,  while  her  »^Z 

fularms.  and  smaU.  dBii~.».ir7u-_ "f  J"*',  «?»<=»■ 


THE  CRYPTOGRAM. 


TSZ'i^fs^^T^^'SSi 


down  at  her  side. 
?^M   ?''^"^J'n<^e  boiyed  in  silence. 

tr«™!l^  '•"■-?'  "^"^  "'•^  «  a  voice  which  waa 
toemu  ou.  from  an  uncontrollable  emotion  '^l 
wished  to  see  vou  here.  We  met  hero  once  be^ 
fore ;  you  sa..f  what  you  wished ;  I  made  no  r^ 
^jr;  I  had  nothing  to  say ,  I  fel  yowrep^cT 

rtea,  biu  I  might  have  said  sometliing-onlv  I 

H  ™  Hifi  rr*'  »"f  r  «iK'"ened  i" 
n*r  «t  .•       P*^'  ""'I  'I'ew  n  long  bi«ith 
Herjmouon  neaily  choked  her,  but  the  S 

daci:'  ^rhrsi"d«e;r^jre  tt"ii'7r- 

S^to/ri„g\7rt.^t5LS'i 
?s:^aui;^s;:j:-^^ 

to  look  upon  me  with  leniency.  Whatl  d!H  ii. 
theact  of  athonghtless  girl,  nWat finSin^he^ 


120 

the  feelings  of  others.     Besi^M  ti.!.'  i.»  k  j 

TaSJ  Mi?  '•'^"^  •'"^-^  '"an  Sn  So':; 
nature  the  lofty  sentiments  of  a  knieht-enW 

espouse  the  cause  of  any  one  in  distress  wiThilT 
warmest  enthusiasm      In  ii  u.-.  *"»«>« 


ever  seen  any  one  at  once  so  beautifuUnd  sS  de!" 

sucn  total  self-immoktion  as  this  Hi«  nBf,,~ 
could  not  have  changed,  for  the  Indian  paZ'aJ^, 

iua  hies  ""  «r'"':i^'^f^^  ""'J  h"^^^^^^^^^ 
?h»„         , ,  "."  •""*'  ^  «''"  the  same.     What 
then,  could  there  be  which  would  be  powerful 
enough  to  harden  his  feelings  and  sted  Kilrt 

Xh\r'  "  "•'^'i".\pd^i'«ous'Sht  L'tT^ 
which  was  now  exhibited  to  him?    AH  these 

&  ^''"^  ""'"«'" '"  "''«  ""«1«  her  appeal  a^ 
thTn,^  »°""  r  «"»P'etely  at  its  close;  h^ 
things  too,  she  thought  as  the  tears  stream^ 
from  her  eye«.  and  as  her  frame  was  sh^b^ 

Lord  Chetwynde  sat  looking  at  her  in  sileflM 
for  a  long  time.  No  trace  whStever  of  "ommu! 
eration  appeared  upon  his  face;  but  he  cS 
ued  as  stem,  as  cold,  and  as  unmoved,  win  thw 


,-..  I  had  only  .e^ryoT'for 'a  mome„Ta"d  S^t"?  ?""?'  ""  '^Z'^' --^-^'^^oy^ZTZ 
di(fno  knowyon.  1  wm  mad.  I  Z  "  .'ikv  hrLT"" «■*''*"  *■«  •"^^  ^old  hw  how  h" 
bnt  stdl  It  is  a  thing  that  may  beTnfiS  ^  ^'''-     "•""'  '"""-^ " 

nances.  And,  after  all,  t  was  not  sincer«— W 
WM  piqne,  it  was  thoughtiessneT-U  ,'^70 
that  deep-seated  malice  which  yoa  have  kdd  to 
my  charge.  Can  yon  not  think  of  tlTu?  Can 
pu  not  imagine  what  may  have  been  "he  fSl- 
ings  of  a  wild,  spoiled,  untutored  girl,  one  X 
:S?«h,!it^."".f  '^r  *  $"«»' »"«  ^ho  found  he N 
at  a^l  restraint  ?  Can  ycfc  not  nnderstand.  or  at 
fe«t  imagine,  «,ch  a  ^a,  this,  and  beSeve 
that  the  one  who  once  sinnld  has  now  repented 

T.^«  »'''v  *^  '"'  y°"  forgiveness  ?^  ' 
.!„  I  •  /?'.  *^""  '^ere  in  the  eyes  of  this 
angular  girl,  this  girl  whose  nfttuw  wkT so  mado 
op  of  strength  and  weakness.  Her  eyes  were 
Mffu«Kl  w-jth  tears  as  she  looked  at  lid  cTe™ 
jrnde,  and  flnaUy,  as  she  ceased,  she  buried  her 
fiwe  in  her  hands  and  sobbed  aloud 

Now,  nothing  in  nature  so  move^  a  man  as  a 
woman  s  tears  If  the  woman  be  beautiful  and 
rf  «he  loves  the  man  to  whom  sheiks  thev 
rn^Tl^^    Anl  hero  the  woman'^i'i^ 

WTc  indications  of  any  response  on  his%m 

S?rteSr™"''T'^''''''»"^*ingnkeCft 
piiy  or  tender  conaiHamt^n  u_:i  _  ?./.   ,    . 


Pity  ?r  tendT-conStrhara  S £  V^'^^r^'^t^^^y^?-'^^'-^^^^ 


Mnrit.  «f  I-    --"■»'""'•"">•  lau  moditied  the 

-  not  ha^\  Jt^d^d  SSSS;JSir 

g^heard  from  evety  quarte^-frem  the  Earl! 
«{*„  »      ^"^  *"•*  fro°>  the  servants— tale^ 

3  huSSei°«S^«!?*'™''''y'  ^*^^^" 
"«.  nu  londhiUM,  and  tender  coMidemtion  for 


hated  her     Bitte7ind^"m„rt 'thariiate  ha^' 

LitulI^'^V''""'**  ^  '"^^  ""'  "»  those  naS 
.  mpulses  of  generosity  which  belonged  to  hhn^ 

bitter  must  the  hate  have  been;  andbitter  Si 
must  have  been  the  whole  of  his  past  oSe^ 
n  connection  with  this  woman,  w-hich  S  e„^ 
m  such  pitiless  relemlessness.  «--"'"«  ena 

At  length  ho  answered  her.  His  tone  was 
calm,  cool,  and  impassive,  like  his  facT  !h^ 

«hich°'ht  'T  "'  ""/,  "^hangefrom  th^'toS 
Which  he  always  addressed  her;  and  makina 

wCh**  '■,r\'".*''\*"'  ^""'  her  face  hSta 
her  hands,  hat  whateW  hopes  she  had  indnliwd' 
m  dunng  his  silence,  thoseh*^  weiTaltoS 

"Lady  Chet^vynde,"  he  began,  "all  that  you 
have  just  said  I  have  thought^r'long  a^?  fC 
beginning  to  end.     It  has  aU  been  in^  S 

whe-nT«-,l  '^  ^^  '"•^  ''^  alwav/hS 
when  the  days  dnties  were  over,  and  the  mind 

From  the  very  first,  you.  Lady  Chetwynde  were 
naturally  the  subject  of  those  thougWto  a' J^^ 

We  to  be  soon  forgotten,  and  the  revelation  of 
your  character,  which  I  then  had,  waHhe  fi«t 
thing  which  showed  me  the  full  'weight  of  Ae 

Mn.f K?r  :i'",'^  ^  *"^  ■«  thoughtiessl/accepted? 
Most  bitterly  I  kmented,  on  my  voyage  out,  thai 
I  Imd  not  contrived  some  plan  to  eVade  so  has? 
a  fulfillment  of  my  boyisl,  promise,  and  that  1 
had  not  satisfied  theGeaeksfin  «,™»  „..."v.--u 


i':^^"'  i 


Avni,i,i  ..^TT       •      V"".""'"  '"  some  way  which 

vroMld  not  have  involved  sach  a  scene.    B«  Jr 

could  not  recall  the  past,  and  I  felt  bound  by  my 

}  on  hat  m  spite  of  your  malice  and  your  insults 
1  telt  most  considerately  toward  yon.  I  pitied 
yon  for  be  ng,  like  mysdf,  Uie  n/wUUng  K 
of  a  father  8  promise  and  of  a  sick  man's  whim, 
and  leanied  to  make  allowance  for  eveiy  woid 


iM'.i^K 


180 


and  action  of  yoon  at  that  time.  Not  one  of 
those  words  or  actions  had  the  smallest  effect  in 
imbittering  my  mind  toward  yon.  Not  one  of 
Uiose  words  which  you  have  just  ottered  has  tug- 
giBsted  an  idea  which  I  have  not  long  ago  consid- 
ered, and  pondered  over  in  secret,  in  silence, 
and  in  sorrow.  I  made  a  large  allowance  also 
for  that  hate  which  you  must  have  felt  toward 
one  who  came  to  you  as  I  did,  in  so  odious  a 
character,  to  violate,  as  I  did,  the  sanctities. of 
death  by  the  mockery  of  a  hideous  marriage. 
An  this— all  this  has  been  in  my  mind,  and  no- 
thing tha^  you  can  say  is  able  in  any  way  to 
bring  any  new  idea  to  me.  There  are  other 
things  far  deeper  and  far  more  lasting  than  this, 
which  can  not  be  answered,  or  excused,  or  ex- 
phiined  away — the  long  persistent^  expressions 
of  unchanging  hate." 

Lord  Chietwyndd  was  silent  Hilda  had  heard 
all  this  withoi4t  moving  or  raising  her  head. 
Every  word  was  ruin  to  her  hopeSi  But  she 
still  hoped  against  hope,  and  now,  since  she  had 
an  opportnnity  to  speak,  she  still  tried  to  move 
this  obdarate  heart. 

"Hate!"  she  exclaimed,  catching  at  his  lost 
word— "hate!  what  is  that?  the  fitful,  spjteful 
feeling  arising  out  of  the  recollection  of  one'  mis- 
erable scene — or  perhaps  out  of  the  madness  of 
anger  at  a  forced  marriage.  What  is  it  ?  One 
kind  word 'can  dispel  it." 

As  she  said  this  she  did  not  look  np.  Her 
face  was  buried  in  her  hands.  Her  tone  was 
half  despairing,  half  imploring,  and  broken  by 
emotion. 

"True,"  said  Lord  Chetwynde.  "All  that 
I  have  thought  of,  and  I  used  to  console  myself 
with  that.  I  used  to  say  to  myself,  '  When  we 
meet  again  it  will  be  different  When  she  knows 
me  she  can  not  hate  me.' ^' 

"Yon  were  right,"  faltered  Hilda,  with  a  sob 
Which  wag  almost^  groan.  "And  what  then? 
Say — was  it  a  wonder,  that  I  should  have  felt 
hate  ?  Was  there  ever  any  one  so  tried  as  I  woaf 
My  father  was  my  only  friend.  He  was  father 
'  and  mother  and  all,  the  world  to  me.  He  was 
brought  home  one*  day  suddenly,  injnred  by  a 
frightful  accident,  and  dying.  At  that  unpar- 
alleled moment  I  was  ordered  to  prepare  (ot  mar- 
riage. Half  crazed  with  anxiety  and  sorrow, 
and  anticipating  the  very  worst — at  such  a  time 
death  itself  would  have  been  preferable,  to  that 
ceremony.  But  all  my  feelings  were  outraged, 
and  I  was  dragged  down-to  that  horrible  scene. 
Can  you  not  see  what  effect  the  recollection  of  this 
might  afterward  have  ?  Can  you  not  once  again 
m^e  allowances,  and  think  those  thoughts  which 
you  used  to  think?  Can  you  not  still  see  that 
yon  were  rij^t  in  supposing  that  when  we  might 
meet  all  woold  be  different,  and  that  she  who 
might  once  have  known  you  could  not  hate 
-•■yon?" 

"No,"  said  Lord  Chetwynde,  coldly  and  se- 
verely. 

HUda  raised  her  head,  and  tooked  at  him  with 
mate  inqniry. 

"  I  will  expUin,"  said  Lord  Chetwynde.  "  I 
r already^ said  all  that  Z  onght  to  say;  bat 


Ci  force  me  to  say  more,  though  I  am  unwill- 
.  Year  letters,  Lady  Chetwynde,  were  the 
things  which  quelled  and  finally  killed  all  kind- 
ly feelings." 


; 

THE  CBYFTOO&All- 

mence.  "  They  wer^  the  lettsn  of  a  hot-tempered 
girl,  blinded  by  piqai  and  self-conceit,  anfl  oare< 
lessly  indulging  In  a  foolish  spite  which  in  her 
heart  sha  did  not  seriously  feel." 

"Pardon  me,"  said.  Lord  Chetwynde,  with 
cold  politeness,  "  I  think  von  are  forgetting  the 
circi^stances  under  which  they  werewritten — 
for  this  must  be  consldoi^d  as  well  as  the  nature 
of  the  compositions  themselves.  They  wore  the 
letters  of  one  whom  my  father  loved^,  and  of/* 
whom  he  always  spokA  in  the  tenderest  language, 
but  who  yet  was  so  faithless  to  him  that  she 
never  ceased  to  taunt  me  with  what  8h#«called  ' 
our  baseness.  She  never  spared  i^  old  man 
who  loved  her.  For  months  ana  for  years 
these  letters  came.  It  was  someAiiiMiiQre  than 
pique,  something  more  than  self-coh^^  or  spite, 
which  lay  at  the  bottom  of  such  M^^tontinued 
insults.  The  worst  feature  about/|1iegi  teas  their 
cold-blooded  cruelty.  Nothing  in  gny  circum- 
stances or  condition  could  prevent  ttiis-^not  even 
that  long  agony  before  Delhi" — added  Lor^  Chct- 
w](nde,  in  tones  filled  with  a  deeper  indignation— 
"  when  I,  lost  behind  the  smoke  and  clond  and 
darkness  of  the  great  struggle,  was  unable  to 
write  for  a  long  time ;  and,  finallv,  was  able  to 
givQ  my  account  of  the  assault  and  the  triumph. 
Not  even  that  could  change  the  course  of  the 
insults  which  wflre'W)  freely  heaped  upon  me. 
And  yet  it  w(ni(|{^||^ve  been  easy  to  avoid  all 
this.  MHiy  writ4»at  all  ?  There  was  no  heavy 
necessity  (aid  upon  yoo.  "  That  was  the  question 
which  I  used  to  put  to  myself.  But  you  per- 
sisted in  writing,  and  in  sending  to  me  over  the 
seas,  with  diabolical  pertinacity,  those  hideous 
letters  in  which  every  word  was  a  stab."  . 

While  Lord  Chetwynde  had  been  sp^afeini 
Hilda  sat  looking  at  him,  and  meeting  his  stern 
glance  with  a  look  which  would  have  softened 
any  one  less  bitter.  Paler  and  paler  grew  her 
face,  and  her  hands  clutched  one  another  in 
tremulous  ogitation,  which  showed  her  strong 
emotion.  * 

"Oh,  my  lord!"  she  cried,  as  he  ceased,' 
"  can  yon  not  have  mercy  ?  Think  of  that  black 
cloud  that  came  down  over  my  young  life,  filling 
it  with  gloom  and  horror.  I  confess  that  you 
and  your  father  appeared  the  chief  agents ;  but 
I  learned  to  love  Aim,  and  then  all  my  bittemeu 
turned  on  you — ^you,  who  seemed  to  be  so  pros- 
perous, so  brave,  and  so  honored.  It  was  yon 
who  seemed  to  have  blighted  my  life,  and  so  I 
was  animated  by  a  desire  to  make  you  feel  some- 
thing of  what  I  had  felt  My  disposition  is  fiery 
and  impetuous;  mv  father's  training  made  It 
worse.  I  did  not  know  you ;  I  only  felt  spite 
against  too,  and  thus  I  wrote  those  fatal  letters. 
I  thought  that  vou  could  have  prevented  that 
marriage  if  yon  had  wished,  and  therefore  could 
never  feel  any  thing  but  animosity.  But  now 
the  sorrows  through  which  I  have  passed  hare 
changed  me,  and  you  yourself  have  made  me  tee 
how  mad' was  my  action.  But  oh,  my  lord, 
believe  me,  it  was  not  deliberate,  it  was  hastj 
passion !  and  now  I  would  be  willing  to  wipe  out 
every  word  in  those  hateful  lettets  with  m^ 
heart's  blood!" — 


Hilda's  voice  was  low  but  impassioned,  livitha 
certain  bumiag  fervor  of.  entreaty ;  her  trordi 
had  become  words  almost  6f  prayer,  so  deepwu 
her  humiliation.     Her  face  was  turned  tdlttti 


"  Letters  1 "  burst  in  Hilda,  with  eager  rehe- 1  him  with  an  imploi^ng  expression,  and  her  tja 


iiSffiW 


5"'^' 


THE  CRYPTOGRAM. 


"■  ■•*""•>.  nor  those  evM  with        ..ii-i-_ 


their  overtowing  tS'tv  th.t  ,'!^  '^"^  J^*^"* 

ISeitmnnlann.. -r  .  J 


Am 


181 
Her  h«nd«^4^ere  clenched 


He  loves  another,  "»heim»n«d.  "/..i.      , 
f^never,  never,  nev^  couKvl-beent^S 


-    "  "«'"«"'« language.  Lair  Chetwynde," 
^•.nsualtono.     " ^u  fo^seTthat  t 


•aiu  he,  in  his  usuai  tone      "  vx..  r .'.i.''. 

that  hideous  letter  which  ySu  wro^ZhS  i«i. 
every  word  of  which  is  still  !n^~"*  '*"*'"• 
ri«»  nn  between  us  to  Sder  K*"""^'  T*^ 

rjofr/oWte-^tM^  r 

when  f  nil  tlCtLTtUn  ^    y**"  "'""•i*-    ^"t ' 

that  the^e  whVwt  c«™fr  ""!,'  "'"■^"«Wy 
cnmstanceii  nf  C^-)^     "^P^^e,  under  snch  cir- 

Lord  Chetwynde  sat  stem  and  silent 
You  are  inflexible  in  yonr  crueltv  "  b«m 

not  ««k  me  something?    Have'vo^lr"  ^°'* 

tsi  z  htrhrsiasTrrdS^^Ss-d^' 

eyes  were  fixed  on  me  I"  "  ''^'"« 

tough  htr  '^''  *'■'''  *  "''"'T  •'"«'<'«'  parsed 

"  r»  «,.«  .k       ^' f  *"*•  "smorselcssly. » 
^It  was  the  angiMh  of  bereavement  and  de- 


No2yelLTo..Sl,'^*"""y  "'f  *«  Evil  One. 
«wn    In  rlTi^J^''''P~"P''^  "">«»  hideous 

j^AM,  with  a  bow,  Lord  Chetwynde  wjth- 


•  CHAPTER  XXXVIir 

«KTI,NO  THE  DOO  OK  THE  UON^a  THACK. 

unde"tand?ng  SSLo'^?Lf  °"  ^  ??"«  '»  - 

into  de.pond/ncTshe.SK'„^'''T" '''»"'' 
was  to  be  done  whenst^h^^  ^"^^  *•■"'  'h""^' 
failed     She  had  hilmb^  h";,;^'/^."'  t^"  harf 
fore  him— she  had  nmnifo..!^         j     .  ^'""  "^ 
iove.  ;Ket  he  hadTs^M  ^7^!^)^''  'l'"- 
rema/ned  ?    It  was  Suto  L     v«t  .!*  'l'"" 
?elf,  she  still  looked  forwMti  to^■l,„^''•','^'■''«'■- 
'ng  with  him :  Blad  of Vhf.  .■        ,     ^''^  "»««'- 
her  nothing  better     Th«   i!   """'  '?*"'  "'»"'*1  Sive 
over  her  wis  no!  ;„«    t-^u''"«^  '^''i'^''  ^ad  cqme 
the  sem^t"  r  tZ  tS  w«?„*'  eT' "'•  "^ 
her  secret  being  discovered  by"hem-  but?h  "' 
was  another  at  Chetwvn.lA  n.Jiy      iT '     "'  '"^f^  - 

tomed  to  havefi^n-n*  •  .     ••  ''"^  ^"  a^cn*- 
Now  they  wire  I^ov^r  '"'".""«"«  *i'h  Hilda. 

of  the  sen-ante   hat  TZ^^^V'"^?°''  "Pini*"* 
get  some  general  idea  of  theZtlT    Ye.  A- 

ng  a  dMD  rml"  •'°"  r,"'  *'"'' »"«»» »"  p^^   ■ 

'ug  a  aeep  game  in  order  to  win  r>irii  rhJ* 

*,7,S?  "°!^  *hut  out  from  her  confidence. 

"^*  '^''-    She  8  got  a  long  head,  and  I 


/- 


n$ 


THE  CRTFTOGRAII. 


V   -r 


can  onljr  gnen  whmtit  U  that  tli«  is  up  to.  Shell 
never  tell  me. "  And  he  thought,  with  some  pen- 
siveness,  upon  the  sadness  of  that  one  fact,  that 
she  wonld  ner^  tell  him.  Meapwhile  he  con- 
tented himself  with  watching  until  ^neihing 
more  definite  could  be  known.  * 

Lord  Chetwynde  had  much  to  occupy  him  in 
his  father's  papers.     He  spent  tlje. greater  part, 
of  his  time  in  the  librai^,  and  though  weeks^ 
passed  he  did  not  seem  to  be  near  the  end  of 
them.    At  other  times  he  rode  »bout  the  grounds 
or  sauntered  through  the  groves.     The  seclusion 
in  which  the  Castleliad  always  be^n  kept  was  not 
disturbed.     The  county  families  were  too  remote 
for  ordinary  calling,  or  e^tfi  they  did  not  know  of 
his  arrival.     Certain  it  is  that  no  one  entered 
these  soliUiy  precincts  except  the  doctor.    The 
state  ttC  things  here  was  puzzling  to  hipi.     Ho 
saw  Lord  Chetwynde  whenever  he  came,  but  Jio 
never  saw  Lady  Chetwynde.    On  his  asking  anx-- 
iously  about  her  he  was  told  (hat  shb  was  well. 
It  wns  surprising  to  him  that  she  never  showed 
herself,  but  he  attributed  it  to  her  grief  for  the 
dead.    Ha  did.  not  know  what  had  become  of 
Miss  Krieff,  whose  zeal  in  the  sick-room  had 
won  hh  admiration.     Lord  Chetwynde  was  too 
haughty  for  him  to  question,  and  the  servants 
were  all  new  faces.     It  was  therefore  witl^mnch 
pleasure  that  he  one  day  saw  Gualtier.     Him  he 
accosted)  shaking  hands  with  him  earnestly,  and 
with  a  familiarity  which  he  had  never  cared  to 
bestow  in  former  days.     But  curiosity  was  stron- 
ger than  hij9  sense  of  personal  dignity.     Gualtier 
allowed  himself  to  be  questioned,  and  gave  the 
doctor  that  information  which  he  judged  best  for 
the  benefit  of  the  worl(f  without.     Lady  Chet- 
wynde, he  told  him,  was  still-mourning  over  the 
loss  of  her  best  friend,  and  even  the  return  of  her 
husband  had  not  been  sufficient  to  fill  the  vacant 
place.    Miss  Krieif,  he  said,  had  gone  to  join  her 
•  friends  in  North  Britain,  and  he,  Gualtier,  had 
been  appointed  steward  in  place  of  the  former 
one,  who  had  gone  away  to  Londpn.     This  in- 
formation was  received  by  the  doctor  with  great 
satisfaction,  since  it  set  his  mind  at  rest  com- 
plete}; about  certain  things  ^hich  hod  puzzled 
him. 

That  'evening  one  of  the  servants  informed 
Gualtier  that  Lady  Chetwynde  wished  to  see 
him  in  the  library.  His  pale  foco  flushed  up, 
and  his  eyes  lightened  as  he  walked  there.  She 
was  alone.  He  bowed  reverentially,  yet  not  be- 
fore he^had  out  toward  her  a  look  full  of  unutter 
able  devotion.  She  was  paler  than  before.  There 
was  sadness  on  her  face.  She  had  thrown  her- 
self carelessly  in  an  arm-chair,  and  her  hands 
were  nervously  clntchii|g  one  another.  Never 
before  had  he  seen  any  thing  approaching  to 
emotion  in  this  singulwr  being.  Her  present 
agitation  surprised  him,;  for  he  had  not  sus- 
pected the  possibility  of  arty  thing  lik«  this. 

She  returned  his  greeting  with  a  slight  bow, 
and  then  fell  for  a  time  into  a  fit  of  abstraction, 
during  which  ahe  did  not  take  any  farther  notice 
of  him.  Chialtier  was  more  jmpressed  by  this 
than  by  any  other  thing.  Always  before  she 
Juid  been  mlC-poMeaaedf  with  all  her  iaenlties 
alive  and  in  fall  activity.    Now  she  seemed  so 


dull  and  so  changed  that  he  did  not  know  what 

to  think.    He  began  to  fear  the  approach  of    ^...^  .. 

■oma  calamity  by  which  all  hi<  plans  would  be  I  investigate  something'  for  me^  and  here  is  an 
'''*''*^  I  occasion  on  which,  if  you  feel  inclined,  you  con 


"Mr.  M'Kenzie,"  satd  Hilda,  rousing  herself 
at  length,  and  speaking 'in  a  harsh,  constrained 
voice/  which  yet  was  low  and  not  audible  except 
to  one  who  was  near  her,  "  have  you  seen  Lord 
Chetwynde  since  his  arrival  ?" 

"No,  mv  lady,"  said  Gualtier,  respeotfulW, 
yet  wondering  at  the  abruptness  with  which  slie 
mtroduced  the  subject.  For  it  had  always  hith- 
erto been  bur  fashion  to  lead  the  opnversatioa  on 
by  gradual  approachp  ttSwaJJ-d  the  particular 
thing  about  wlubfa  she  might  wish  to  make  in- 
quiries. 

"I  thought," she  continued,  in  the  same  tone, 
"that; he  might  have  called  you  up  to  gnin  In- 
formation about  the  condition  of  the  estate." 

"No,  my  lady,  he  has  never  shown  any  such 
desii^.  In  fact,  he  does  not  seem  to  be  con- 
scions  Uiat  there  is  such  a  person  as  myself  in 
existence." 

"Since  he  came,"  said  Hilda,  dreamily,  "he 
has  been  altogether  absorbed  in  the  investiga- 
tion of  papers  relating  to  his  father's  business 
affairs;  and  as  he  has  not  been' here  for  many 
years,  during  which  great  changes  must  have 
taken  place  in  the  condition  of  things,  I  did  not 
know  but  that  he  might  have  sought  to  gain  in- 
formation from  you. " 

^"  No,  my  h«dy,"  said  Gualtier  once  more,  still 
prwerving  that  unfaltering  respect  with  which  he 
alwky^  addressed  her,  and  wondering  whither 
.these  inquiries  might  be  tending,  or  what  they 
might  mead.  That  she  should  ask  him  any 
thing  about  Lord  Chetwvnde  filled  him  with  a 
vagne  alarm,  and  seemed  to  show  that  the  state 
of  things  was  unsatisfactory,  if  not  critical  He 
was  longing  to  ask  abopt  that  first  meeting  of 
hers  with  Lord  Chetwynde,  and  also  about  the 
position  which  they  at  present  occupied  toward 
one  another — a  position  most  perplexing  to  him, 
and  utterly  inexplicable.  Yet  on  such  subjects 
as  these  he  di4  not  dare  to  speak.  He  could 
only  hopQ  that  she  herself  would  speak  of  them 
to  him,  and  that  she  had  chosen  this  occasion  to 
make  a  fresh  confidence  to  him.    ^ 

After  his  last  answer  Hilda  did  not  say  any 
thing  for  some  time.  Her  nervousness  seemed 
to  increase.  Her  hands  still  clutched  one  an- 
othOT ;  and  her  bosom  heaved  and  fell  in  quick, 
rapid  breathings  which  showed  the  agitation  that 
existed  within  her. 

"  Lord  Chetwynde, "  said  Hilda  at  last,  rousing 
herself  with  a  visible  effort,  and  looking  round 
with  something  of  her  old  stealthy  watchfuhiets 
— "  Lord  Chetwynde  is  a  man  who  keeps  his  ova 
cqunsel,  and  does  not  choose  to  give  even  w 
mnch  as  a  hint  about  the  nature  of  his  occup- 
tions.  Ho  has  now  some  purpose  on  his  mind 
which  he  does  not  choose  to  confide  to  me,  aad 
I  do  not  know  how  it  is  possible  for  me  to  find 
it  out.  Yet  it  is  a  thing  which  must  be  of  im- 
portance, for  he  is  not  a  man  who  would  stnj 
here  so  long  and  labor  so  hud  on  a  merQ^pfle. 
His  ostensible  occupation  ■  the  business  of  tlio 
estate,  and  certain  plans  Msing  in  connection 
with  this ;  but  beneath  tmf  ostensible  occupa- 
tion there  is  some  pnipose  i^ich  it  is  impoasi- 
bte  fer  ma  to  fiuhoss^  Yet  Z  most  find' it  out) 
whatever  it  is,  and  I  have  invited  yon  here  to 
see  if  I  could  not  get  your  assistance.  Ton 
once  went  to  work  keenly  and  indefatigably  to 


"K^'. 


•««ln  exerelie  your' talent..    It  may  result  in 
Mmet^ing  of  the  pate.t  Impbmnoe^'  " 

H  Ida  had  Ifcoken  in  low  tones,  and  a>  she 
eoncladed  she  fooked  at  Guahier  ^ith  a^ne! 
trating  glance.     Such  a  req,««t  showed  hlm'rtw 

fast,  and  h  s  face  lighted  up  with  joy. 

"it  ^IX''^^^  I""'  '"  »  '«'^.  ««n,e8t  voice, 
vo ,  th»?/  ,"°'  ^  necMsary  for  me  to  tell 
jou  that  1  am  always  ready  tb  do  your  bidding 
whatever  u  may  be.  There  is  no^  nece  si,;  fo 
remind  me  of  the  past.     When  shall  I  b4  „ 

of  action  which  yootrouia  like  riie  to  follow?" 

^  not  at  Chetwynde  that  Iwarit  you  to  work 
But  elsewhere  You  can  do  nothing  hero  I 
myself  have  already  done  all  that  you  could  pos- 

li^i^'J^'^K  '"*"■"  'r  '"  '^  4»y  of  i^uvestS- 
non  m  this  house.    But  in  spite  «f  all  my  effoVta  ' 
I  have  found  nothing,  and  i,  I  »ee  pSy  that 
the  search  must  be  carried  on  in  linotCXe  " 
J  And  where  may  that  be??  asked  Gnal. 

w^l^l^^  «Ome  purpose  in  his'; mind,"  Hilda 
went  on  to  say-"  someone  engh)ssing  object 
I  know  not  wfiat,  which  is  far  S<or«  impoXit 
thwtany  thing  relating  to  busings,  and  wWch 
ishw  one  great  aim  in  life  at  pt^m.     This  is 

tnlrf  '°r  "I'l'""-     ^'  """y  ?hre,ten  dan- 
ger and  If  so  I  wish  to  guard  agifeist  it  " 

^^U  there  any  danger?"  asked  fcualtior,  cau. 

in.Sh^Ljr  ''"''^'  ''"^  ^^■'«^"  "^d  Gustier, 
"Nothing."  ,  '■: 

"  You  seem  agitated.  "1 

lr.""m!'K'" UK  •"''""  '  '««'n."8«id  Hilda,  cold- 
^  "  my  health  is  not  good.  As  to  Lerd  Chet- 
wjmde,  he  IS  going  away  in  a  short  time,  and  the 
pice  to  which^he  goes  will  afford  the  best  op! 
portunity  for  Undi^g  out  what  his  punTol  i^ 
Iwish  to  Icnow  if  it  is  possible  for  you^in  any 
way  to  follow  him  so  ns  to  watch  Lim.  You 
Jd«,mething  once  before  that  was  not  more 

Gualtiersrailed. 

that  I  will  do  all  that  you  desire.     I  only  wish 
f^M^T  «°™thing  more  difficult,  so  Tha    i 
conlddo  the  more  for  you." 
J'lX"',^*  ^T  '^»'',"8ai(l  Hilda,  gloom- 

falnMs  and  patidnt  obssrvation. " 

•jii*'!'."^'' ''  °*  ""  """»  ever  did  it  before  " 
^HlGualtier     »  Yon  shaU  know  the  evenuoV 

^hat"wm^^''^^«  *=»"'««  »"«=k  again." 
^That  will  d^m.  Be  ready  to  leave  when- 
«w  he  does.     Choose  your  own  way  of  ob^rv 

?ow  ^?^'-  °P«"'y  °'  ««'«'y.-  you  yoSf 


THE  CBYPTOgWm. 


JlMa  qwkg^Tg 


irtxr. 


,  imr  »»  to  wfth- 


ker  w{tl,^„  1     ?°?*^'  .®'^'"  "'^  '°oking  at 

S  W  Wh"''*^'*"^  'T-    ^''«  «»»'e»«ly  held 
Mt  her  hand.    He  snatched  it  in  both  of  his  and 


PW**  it  to  his  lips. 

.  "My  God!"  he  cried, 
"Ae  matter?"  ,      ' 


"it's  like  ice!    What 


IM 

..o'wi;;^uiX  ;:::.'«'!-''•».'''«  walked 
hisliTprur''  ""^r ''"  '^"'  ^''«"^«'^«'  ^^ 

CHAPTEU  XXXIX 

OBED    STANDS    A  T    B  A  T. 

Os  leaving  Marseillesall  ZlllahVtroubles  seem 
ed  to  retura46  her  once  more.  The  presoncTof" 
Windham  had  dispelled  them  for  a'  me;  now 
hat  he  was  present  no  longer  there  was  nothing 
TZl^V *^™'"  '^"'^-  ^'•^had  cert«i^yc3 
to  wngh  down  any  one,  and  among  all  her  sorrows 

the  Cf  fh'*''^'''^.r-«'"'"«"'  '^"hed^rof 
the  Karl,  he  cruil  discovery  of  thosa  papers  in 
her  fathers  drawer  by  whfch  there  slewed  o 
bea  sain  on  her  father's  memory,  ZfntoU 
erable  msult  which  sh>  had  endur  J'in  that  e  . 

ludoITto  fl?  ^h""  '"'^l'-  '^J'  despemte  Jeso- 
lution  to  fly    the  anguish  which  she  hud  en- 

ny  of  that  lone  voyage  in  the  drifting  schooner 
-all  these  now  came  back  to  her  with  fresher  vi- 
olence, recurring  again  with  overpowering  force 

iZ  '  V  l"!  '""^  '""^  '"^  ^^  kept^off  ^ 
in^L  "'  «h«re  was  not  one  memory  amonjt 
all  these  which  so  subdued  her  as  the  memo^ 
ot  the  parting  scene  with  Windham.  This  was 
the  great  sorrow  of  her  life.  Would  she  eVer 
meet. hira  again?  Perhaps  not.  Orwhy-should 
she?    Of  what  avaU  woul^  it  be ? 

1,»   !!l'"if  °''°''  ""^  **"  ».he  gave  herself  np  to 
her  recollections,  and  to  the  mournful  thought' 
that  crowded  in  upon  her.  Among  other  thinra! '  ' 
^e  could  not  help  thinking  and  wSnderingaboW 
Windham  s  despair.     What  was  the  reasSn  that    ^ 

Sf  ?    wrr  •'"Pi"""'' "  *'•"«'»  w««h  over  him- 
self?   What  was  the  reason  why  he  nerer  ven- 
tured to  utter  in  wonls  that  which  had  s^  oft^ 
been  expressed  in  his  eloquent  face  ?  Above  aJI 
what  was  the  cause  of  th2t  despairing  ciTHhS 

?a«^lf™"'ir  *«y  exJhangll  tirr Zt 
lareweiic    It  was  the  recognition  on  his  Dart 

obsScM^V  "^^  T'^^-  "^«*  what  could  the 
obstack^e?  Clearly,  it  could  not  have  been 
the  kn>%dp  of  her  own  position.    It  wUs 

fvh^f  1*'k''*"'u*'"'  Windham  knew  nothing 
vhateyet  about  her,  and  could  have  not  even 

fo™  r*^"'  k"*  °^  ""'  "*"••  I'  •»"«»  theZ 
nnZ  ^  "'  "•'^.^aw.  that  this  obstacle  could 
only  be  one  which  was  in  connection  with  him- 
self. And  what  conid  that  be?  WasheapriSt 
under  vows  of  celibacy?    She  smiled  at  the  pre- 

in  England,  and  was  he  now  5n  the  way  to  his 
bnde?  Could  this-be  it?  and  was  hKguish 
he  result  of  thj^onflict  between  love  and  hCr 
in  h  breast?  This  may  have  been  the  ca^. 
*inally,/was  he  married  already?    She  conId 

^Tutfl  ".°i?  ?""^«??  L  «nd  i'  ^-as  in  thjs 


ri.»V.Ki.L  u  •""'""««'  ana  It  was  in  this 
that  sh^  thought  she  conld  find  the  meaning  df 
his  passionate  and  despairing  words, 


Passing  over  those  waters  wher«  once  she 
n^  l^^'^u  "^  ?"  hittemess'of  death.'she  m 

I  hCl  %  once  had  caused.    Behind  the 

I  black  memory  cfcthat  l,onr  of  anguish  rose  up  an- 


^ 


^^ 


<m 


( 


184 


THE  CRYPTOGRAM. 


u 


.«  " 


other  memory  which  engrossod  all  her  thoughu. 
^^  If  she  had  tears,  it  was  for  Ais.  It  was  Wind- 
■^  ham,  whose  image  filled  all  her  soul,  and  whose 
last  words  echoed  through  her  heart.  For  as 
—she- gazed  on  these  waters  it  was  not  of  the 
drifting  schooner  that  she  thought,  not  of  the 
hours  of  intense  watchfulness,  not  of  the  hope 
deferred  that  .gradually  turned  into  despair;  it 
was  rather  of  the  man  who,  as  she  had  often 
heard  since,  was  the  one  who  first  recognized 
her,  and  came  to  her  in  her  senselessness,  and 
bore  her  inliis  arms  back  to  life.  Had  he  done 
well  in  rescuing  her  ?  Had  ho  not  saved  her  for 
a  greater  80ht)w  ?  Whether  he  had  or  not  mat- 
tered not.  He  had  saved  her,  and  her  life  was 
his.  That  strange  rescue  constituted  a  bond  be- 
tween them  which  could  not  be  dissolved.  Their 
lives  might  run  henceforth  in  lines  which  should 
never  meet,  but  sjill  they  belonged  hencefortii 
to  one  another,  though  they  might'never  possess 
one  another..  Out  from  amotig  these  waters  there 
Aune  also 'sweeter  memories — the  memories  of 
voj^ges  over  calm  seas,  tinder  the  shadow  of 
th^' hoary  Alps,  where  they  passed  away  those 
golden  hours,  knowing  that  the  end  must  come, 
*"  yet  resolved  to  enjgy  to  the  full  the  rapture  of 
the  present.  I'hese  Were  the  thoughts  that  sus- 
tained her.  No  grief  could  rob  her  of  these ; 
but  in  cherishing  them  her  soul  found  peace. 

Those  into  whose  society  she  had  been  thrown 
respected  her  grief  and  her  reticence.  For  the 
first  day  she  had  shut  herself  up  in  her  i-oom ; 
but  the  confinement  became  intolerable,  and  she 
was  forced  to  go  out  on  deck.  She  somewhat 
dreaded  lest  Obed  Chute,  out  of  the  very  kind- 
nes»  of  his  heart,  would  come  and  try  to  enter- 
tain her.  She  did  not  feel  in  the  mood  for  talk- 
ing. Any  attempt  at  entertaining  her  she  felt 
would  be  unendurable.  But  she  did  not  know 
the  perfect  refinement  of  sentiment  that  dwelt 
beneath  the  rough  exterior  of  Obed.  He  seem- 
ed at  opce  to  divine  her  state  of  mind.  With 
the  ntnibs^  delicacy  he  found  a  place  for  her  to 
sit,  but  said  Uttle  or  nothing  to  her,  and  for  all 
the  remainder  <Jf  the  voyage  treated  her  with  a 
silent  deference  of  attention  which  was  most 
grateful.  She  knew  that  he  was  not  neglect- 
ful. She  saw  a  hundred  times  a  day  that  Obed's 
mind  was  filled  with  anxiety  about  her,  and  that 
to  minister  to  her  comfort  was  his  one  idea.  But 
it  was  not  in  words  that  this  was  expressed.  It 
was  in  helping  her  up  and  down  from  the  cabin 
to  the  deck,  in  fetching  wraps,  in  speaking  a 
cheerful  word  from  time  to  time,  and,  above 
all,  in  keeping  his  family  away  from  her,  that 
he  showed  his  watchful  attention.  Thus  the 
time  (Mssed,  and  Zillah  was  left  to  brood  over 
her  griefs,  and  to  conjecture  hopelessly  and  af 
random  about  thejature.  What  would' that 
future  bring  forth?  Would  the  presence  of 
Hilda  console  her  in  any  way?  She  did  not 
see  how  it  could.  Afker  the  first  joy  of  meet- 
ing, she  felt  that  she  would  relapse  into  her 
usual  sadness.  Time  only  conid  relieve  her, 
and  her  only  hope  was  patience, 

—  *»*  Anon  Luojr  jiuiumx  ar  zispwK^      ^joefl   WOli 

the  party  to  a  handsome  house  on  the  Strada 
Nuova,  where  he  had  lodged  when  he  was  in 
Naples  before,  and  where  he  obtained  a  suite  of 
apartments  in  fh>nt,  which  commanded  a  mag- 
nificent view  of  the  t>ay,  with  all  its  unrivaled 
icenety,  together  with  the  tumultuous  life  of  the 


street  below.  Here  he  left  them,  and  departed 
himself  almost  immediately  to  b^giti  his  search 
afier  Hilda.  Her  letter  mentioned  that  she  was 
stopping  at  the  "H6tel  de  I'Europe,"  in  the 
Strada  Toledo ;  and  to  this  place  he  firat  direct- 
ed his  way.  » 
On  arriving  here  he  found  a  waiter  who  could 
speak  English,  which  was  a  fortunate  thing,  in 
his  opinion,  as  he  could  not  speak  a  word  of  any 
other  language.  He  at  once  asked  if  a  lady  by 
the  name  of  Miss  Lorton  was  stopping  here. 

The  waiter  looked  at  him  with  a  peculiar 
glance,  and  surveyed  him  from  head  to  foot. 
There  was  something  in  the  expression  of  his 
face  which  appeared  very  singular  to  Obed— a 
mixture  of  eager  curiosity  and  surprise,  which 
to  him,  to  say  the  least,  seemed  uncalled  for  un- 
der the  circumstances.  He  felt  indignant  at 
such  treatment  from  a  waiter. 

"If  you  will  be  kind  enough  to  stare  less 
and  answer  my  question,"  said  he,  "I  will  feel 
obliged ;  but  perhaps  yon  don't  understand  En- 
glish." 

"I  beg  pardon,"  said  the  other,  in  very  good 
English ;  "  but  what  was  the  name-of  the  lady 't" 
"Miss  Lorton,"  said  Obed. 
The  waiter  looked  at  him  again  with  the  same 
peculiar  glance,  and  then  repUed : 

"I  don't  know,  but  I  will  ask.  Wait  here  a 
moment."  '  -• 

Saying  this,  he  departed,  and  Obe4  saw  him 
speaking  to  some  half  a  dozen  persons  in  the 
hall  very  earnestly  an{l  hurriedly ;  then  he  went 
oflj  and  in  about  five  minutes  returned  in  com- 
pany with  the  master  of  the  hotel. 

"Were  you  asking  after  a  lady?"  said  he,  in 
very  fair  English,  and  bowing  courteously  to    • 
Obed. 

"I  was,"  said  Obed,  \vho  noticed  at  the  same 
tifne  that  this  man  was  regarding  him  with  the 
same  expression  of  eager  and  scrutinizing  curi-  ^. 
ositv  which  he  had  seen  on  the  face  of  the  other. 
"And  what  was  the  name?" 
"Miss  Lorton." 

"Miss  Lorton?"  repeated  the  other;  "yes, 
she  is  here.  Will  you  be  kind  enough  to  follow 
me  to  the  parjor  until  I  see  whether  she  is  at 
home  or  not,  and  make  her  acquainted  with  vour 
arrival?" 

At  this  information,  which  was  communicated 
with  extrema  politeness,  Obed  felt  such  immenso 
relief  that  he  forgot  altogetherabont  the  very  pecul- 
iar manner  in  which  he  had  been  scrutinized.  A 
great  weight  seemed  suddenly  to  have  been  iified 
oflT  his  soul.  For  the  first  time  in  many  weeks 
he  began  to  breathe  freely.  He  thought  of  the 
jov  which  he  would  bring  to  that  poor  young  girl 
who  had  been  thrown  so  strangely  under  his  pro- 
tectltfti,  and  who  was  so  sad.  For  a  moment  he 
hesitateo  whether  to  wait  any  longer  or  not. 
His  first  irapidse  was  to  hurry  away  and  bring 
her  here ;  but  then  in  a  moment  he  thought  it 
would  be  far  better  to  wait,  and  to  take  back 
Miss  Lorton  with  him  in  triumph  to  her  sister. 
The  othepR  watched  his  momentary  hesitation 
-with  Boow  appMwif  MixiMjr;  irat  at  length 
was  dispelled  by  Obed's  replv : 

"  Thank  you.    I  think  I  had  better  wait  and 
see  her.    I  hone  I  won't  be  detained  long." 

"Oh  no.    She  is  doubtless  in  her  room.    Too 
will  only  have  to  wait  a  tern  minntei." 
Saying  thia,  they  led  the  way  to  a  pleaiut 


^  B    If'. 


.M. 


■<"^^4 


apartment  looking  ont  on  the  Strada  Toledo,  and 
here  Obed  took  a  Beat,  and  lost  himself  in  specu- 
tations  as  to  the  appearance  of  the  elder  Miss  Lor- 
ton.  In  abont  five  minutes  the  door  was  opened, 
and  the  master  of  the  hotel  made  his  appearance 
again.  "^ 

"I  find,"  said  ho,  politely,  "that  Miss  Lor- 
ton  is  not  m.  She  went  out  only  a  few  minutes 
before  you  came.  She  left  word  with  her  maid, 
however,  that  she  was  goini  to  a  shop  up  the 
btrada  Toledo  to  buy  some  jewelry.  I  am  goins 
to  sefid  a  messenger  to  hasten  her  return.  ShaU  I 
I  send  your  name  by  him  ?" 

*'  Well,"  said  Obed,  "  I  don't  know  as  it'sW- 
*"rSI7',   S*'ter  wait  till  I  see  her  myself." 

The  landlord  said  nothing,  but  looked  at  him 
with  strange  earnestness. 

!.'Sr"t'?,°"'™>''"  ^^  Obed,  "hoflr  ia  she?" 
"hne?"      ^ 

"Yes;  MissLorton." 
"Oh,"  said  the  landlprd,  "very  well." 
*  She  recovered  from  her  illness  then  ?" 
"Oh  yes."  » 

"  Is  she  in  good  spirits  ?" 
"Goodspirito?" 

!!X?'  is  she  happy  ?" 
"Oh  yes." 

J2  ^  '^i"^  u^i^'tf  '**     '  '^  «'"«i'l  "he 
might  be  melancholv." 

"Oh  no,"  said  the  landlord,  with  some  ap- 
pearance of  confusion;  "oh  no.  She's  very 
well.     Oh  yes.  ^ 

His  singular  behavior  again  struck  Obed  rath- 
er oddly,  and  he  stared  at  him  for  a  moment. 
Bat  he  at  last  thought  that  the  landlord  might 
not  know  much  about  the  health  or  the  happi- 
ness of  his  guest,  and  was  answering  ftom  gen- 
eral impressions.  " 

"I  wUI  hasten  then,  Sir,"  said  the  Undlord. 
sdvancing  to  the  door,  "  to  send  the  messenger 
jnOjf  you  will  be  kind  enough  to  wait,  she  wiU 
be  here  soon. 

He  bowed,  and  going  out,  he  shut  the  door 
behmd  him.    Obed,  who  had  watched  his  em- 
ojrrasnnent,  thought  that  he  heard  the  key  turn 
The  thing  seemed  very  odd,  and  he  stepped  up 

..«.^5?""±?y*'-    Jt  was  locked  I  ^ 

tl^tu'  ^^  ^  d*™edl"  cried  Obed,  standing 
briore  the  door  and  regarding  it  with  astonUh- 

hir,K-  I.  "  ^«  **?*  '""^°"»  '<"«•«[»  fashions, 
but  his  here  /talian  fashion  of  locking  a  man  in 
h  a  httle  the  cnrionsest.  And  what  in  thunder 
uthemeamngoflt?" 

,y.^  '°*'^?*  *'  i^o^oo""  with  a  frown,  while 
mS!.i;".^!l'  *"•  .''*'  ^"^^  *'•'«''  "'•owed  that  he 
^t  lie  deliberating  whether  to  kick  through  the 
pi^eu  or  not  Bat  his  momentary  indignation 
ioon  snbdded,  «.d,  with  a  short  langh,  he  tmi- 

i„j.'«r^  f"^  •*"'"l^  "P  *®  *•>«  wind"''  with  an 
.™  1  r*  •«P«»«««>-  There  he  drew  np  an 
•raijclialr,  and  seaUng  himself  in  this,  he  looked 

ZZ  ^  "IT*-  ^"  f*""  ^i""  hi.  attention 
and  h  s  thoughu  were  aU  engaged  by  the  busy 
'.  "i.'i  'ongth  he  came  to  bibself,  and 
tn^  irnS '''^*''"  ^  *"  •'^'  time  for  the^». 
^rf  *"»  ^rt«?-  He  paced  up  and  down 
tto  room  impatiently,  till  growing  tired  of  this 
mfter  monotonous  employment,  he  sought  the 

«M  Obedi  padenee  was  fast  failing.  Bdll  he 
Jri  i..**^  Md  anothwr  halfbour  passed.  Then 
t»  deliberated  whether  it  would  not  be  better  to 


THE  CBYFTOGRAM. 


US 

go  bacTc  to  his  rooms,  and  bring  t»  younger  Miss 
I/)rton  here  to  see  her  sister.  But  this  thought 
he  soon  dismissed.  Having  waited  so  long  for 
the  sake  of  carrying  out  his  first  plan,  it  seemed 
weak  to  pve  it  np  on  account  of  a  little  impa- 
th«Tn-ii  ^  ''«!«™i'>ed,  however,  to  question 
the  landlord  again ;  so  he  polled  at  the  bell. 
ao  answer  came. 

He  puUed  again  and  agaip  for  some  minutes, 
otm  tnere  was  no  answer. 
Hp  now  began  to  ifeel  indignant,  and  determ- 
ined to  resort  to  extreme  measures.    So  going  to 
the  door,  he  rapped  upon  it  with  his  stick  several 
times,  each  time  waiting  for  an  answer.    But  fto 
answer  came.     Then  he  beat  incessantly  agaiUst 
fte  door,  keeping  up  a  long,  roUing,  rattliii|  vol- 
1?  "^f  ^"J*""  w'thout  stopping,  and  making  noise 
enough  to  rouse  the  whole  house,  even  if  every 
body  in  the  house  shonld  happen  to  be  in  the 
deepest  of  slumbers;     Yet  even  now  for,  some 
time  there  was  no  response;  and  Obed  at  length 
was  beginning  to  think  of  his  first  purpose,  and 
preparing  to  kick  through  the  panels,  when  his 
attention  was  aroused  by  the  sound  of  heavy  foot- 
steps m  thehall.     They  came  nearer  and  nearer 
fW,„f„*r*^  waiting,  and  at  length  stopped  in 
front  of  the  door.    His  only  thought  was  that 
this  was  the  lady  whom  he  sought ;  so  he  stepped 
back,  and  hastily  composed  his-face  to  a  ple^ant 
smile  of  welcome.     With  this  pleasant  unite  he 
awaited  the  opening  of  the  door. 

But  as  the  door  opened  his,  eyes  were  greeted 
by  a  sight  very  different  from  what  he  anticipa- 
ted.  No  graceful  Indy-like  form  was  there—no 
elder  and  maturer  likeness  of  that  Miss  Lorton 
Whose  face  was  now  so  famUiar  to  him,  and  so 

♦if  I"  ji^'J  "^"^l"  ?•■  *<•  ««"■  d'armes,  headed  bv 
the  landlord.  The  latter  enteredthe  room,  whUi 
the  others  stood  ontoide  in  the  halL 

"  ^ell,"  said  Obed,  angrily.  "  What  is  the 
meaning  of  this  parade  ?  Where  is  Miss  Lorton  ?" 
These  gentlemen,"  said  the  landlord,  with 
much  politeness,  "will  convey  yoa  to  the  resi- 
dence of  that  charming  lady. ''^ 

"It  seems  to  me,"  said  Obed,  sternly,  "that 
yon  have  been  humbugging  me.  Give  me  a 
civil  answer,  or  I  swear  I'll  wring  your  neck.  Is 
Miss  Lorton  here  or  not?" 

The  landlord  stepped  back  hastily  a  pace  or 

A^  »  .  ™*^*  *  "*"*•»»  to  *«  «e«w  dWmea. 
A  half  doxen  of  these  filed  into  the  room,  and 
arranged  themselves  by  the  windows.  The  rest 
remained  in  theJtelL 

"  What  U  the  meaning  of  this?"  said  Obed. 
"Areyoacraiy?"  ^ 

"The  meaning  U  this,"  said  the  othep,  shacp- 

SA'"f'/'XS?'y-  '  •"  "0*  *•>«  landlord  of  the 
Hfltel  de  IXarope,  bnt  sub-agent  of  the  Neapoli- 
tan pohce.*  And  I  arrest  you  in  the  name  of  tlie 
king.' 

"  Arrest  m«/"  cried  Obed.  "What  the  deuce 
do  you  mean  ?" 

"It  means,  Monsienr,  that  you  are  trapped  at 
'"»*• .  I  have  watched  ibr  yoa  for  seven  weeks. 

and  have  got  yon  now.     Yon  need  not  I 

sist.     That  is  impossible." 


f  I'i 


Obed  looked  round  in  amazem^t.  What  was 
the  meaning  of  it  all?  There  were  the  gens 
darmes— six  in  the  balL  and  six  in  the  room. 
All  were  armed.  All  looked  prepared  to  fidl  on 
him  at  the  slightest  signal. 

"  Are  yoa  a  bom  fool  ?"  he  cried  at  lau,  tarn- 


*»ft(i>, 


186 


•    THE  CBTFTOGBAH. 


^_  _  jilbfl^ " flgent"  " T)o  Toa  know  what  yoa 
are  doing  ?  I  am'an  Amerfcan,  a  native  of  the 
Kt«at  republic,  a  ft^  man,  and  a  gentleman. 
What  do  70a  mean  by  thii  insnlt,  and  diete 
beggarly  policemen?" 

"I  mean  this," said  the  other,  "that  yon  are 
my  priioner.'' 


,  '•  I  am,  am^  ll"«ald  Obed,  with  «  grim  wnifc 
"A  prisoner!   My  fHend,  that  is  a  difficnlt  thing 
to  com*  to  pass  without  mr  consent" 

And  saying  this,  he  quietly  drew  a  rerolrer 
from  his  breast  poeket. 

"  Now,"  said  he,  *'my  good  fHend,  look  hera. 
I  have  this  little,  instrument,  and  I'm  a  dead 


"And  so  there  is 
ton  here?" 

"Na-" 

||Hasn't  she  been 
No ;  no  such  p« 

"ThafUdo,"sVi 
jome  sadness  in  his 
jMk  his  revolver  in 
fnend,"  said  he,  "y 
ix«  me  to  some  anno 
gwr  duty  I  fcgiv, 
gMWer  whom 


shot     I  don'tlntend  to  be  hnmbngged.    If  anv 

hUfuf  r"  *T  '"  *"■''''  *  movement  I'll  put  a 
bnUet  through  you.     And  you,  vou  scoundrel 

Wv^lTh^M"  ri°'y°"'^  ^^''^he  first  bulS: 
Yonve  got  hold  of  the  wrong  man  this  time,  but 
rnS,^"i"L^  **,'  """"fi*"'""  for  this  out  of  your 
infernal  beggarly  government.  As  to  you  an- 
swer my  quesuons.    First,  who  the  deuce  do  yon 

S:  o^r,^}  ^°°  ^^  "^^  --^^  '"f-»'  "^^ 
n»S°  ag?nt  cowered  beneath  the  stem#ye  of 
Obed  He  felt  himself  covertid  by  his%tol 
and  d,d  not  dare  to  move.  The  gens  d'ames 
looked  disturbed,  but  made  no  eftbrt  to^mer! 
fere.  They  felt  that  they  had  to  do  with  a  de^ 
perate  man,  and  waited  for  orders 

Obed  "VwirS  "^  fl"*?"""?"  thundered 
.n7»i,  .y^  f  *•'*  ^*'"=«  "  'he  meaning  of  this, 
and  who  the  deuce  do  yon  take  me  for  ?    Don' 

Zm-a  h    T^,  '**t'!I«  *  '■"''"  "novement  of  the 

ffbyttte;"^!:?'*"'^^"'''---^! 

th:ss':ir„f^,Tu?;'..'''^^'-«- 

«r  ,£l?lli    ^M."  y""""  ^^eKa^'y  Po'ice  to  me, 
K  I~  ^^''^.'''"f  ^'""'''  ""''«"  his  court 
TTiere  are  a  couple  of  Yankee  frigates  out  there 

^l^"^^  ^""?  f?*^  'he  wholfc^ncem  in*™ 
hiUf  hour  s  bombardment.     You've  made  a  miJ^ 
t^e,  you  poor,  pitiful  concern ;  but  I'min  se^ch 
.--Of  mfonnation,  and  I'm  bound  to  g"  uTn 

^m'^.^fK""*  ''^."^'"  »"y  "o™  htunbugghg 
What  s  the  meaning  of  this  ?"  "KK"* 

«irj» '""'  ordered  to  watch  for  anv  one  who 

might  come  here  and  ask  for  'MUs  Loi-ton  '"  raid 

e  agent,  who  spoke  like  a  criming  a  jud« 

I  have  watched  here  for  seven  weeks      You 

upon  him    -.W^„;:rJ!."«''*  **«""*«  «««h 
^"l5.e  prefect  "  ""''"^  ^"'^  *"  '^«'«=''  ?" 

wh^^yorwe'reT^t?-"^  ''""'  ^''^  f^- 
"No."  •' 

1(2*"*''  y°°  ''"*"'  his  crime  ?" 
^No.   It  had  something  to  do  with  the  French 

"  Do  you  know  Us  name  ?" 
"Yes." 

"What  watit?" 

."G^*»«-."»aid  the  agent 

"Ym  •^*"*  *"*  ^  «n  Gnaltier?" 

ton' w!!°  *•"  *"  "°  "'=''  P«™°  "  Miss  Lor- 
"Na-" 

« v""'  ■*'"  h««"  here  at  all ?" 
"  Thl  M?  ^'"'"  '*:'3T  '^  •'^"  heen  here. " 

".-.."idnrS  hiScS'^i.T''^""^.  '^•"' 

a'C-hI^;V^  '.  7  "°t  thji  man 

Tiarfi  aBi^  ii.£     iT*.*"*':  wt  I  wn  the  man 

hmJ,f  ""i     "rhaps  it  would  have  been 

5«^for  me  to  have  gone^tndght  to  the  poH^" 

"«2  However,  I  can  go  there  now.  I  have  • 
»«««•  «id  a  letter  of1ntn>dacrton  to  the  n?J? 
J«  of  police  here  from  the  prefect  at  KifiiT 
•kich  i  am  «n«ou,  now  to  deUver  a.  i^^ 


THE  CRYPTOGRAM^ 


187 

^fp'itn-    ^'  "^  y*"""*  '■'^^'J.  in  Ko  with  vou 
o?me!"'  """^  ^°"  "•**"'''  ^  '»  *e  least  af^S 
The  agent  still  looked  dubious  •  but  Ohp,l 
indignation,  took  from  his  pockel-bJok  soma  T 

entenng  a  cab,  they  drove  to  the  prefecture! 


i 


CHAPTER  XL. 


OLIUrSES  OP  THE  TRUTH. 

Meanwhile,  during  Obed's  absence  7iii»h 
remained  in  the  Strada  Nuov^     The  tinjJws 
l°f  «*  °«  "Pon  the  street  and  upon  tbe  C 
commanding  a  view  of  the  most  glorious  s«n^?; 

«!.?",''•  *"u^.  "J"**  «'f  'he  mostVcHgS 
spectacles  which  any  city  can  offer      Full  „f 

unaffected  by  that  first  glimpse  of  NnpX  whth 
she  then  obtained  from  those  JndHby  wh  ch 

iJeauty,  life,  laughter,  gayety,  all  have  thoir 
home  here.  Theair  iielfls  intoxicat^n  T^I 
gidd^,crowds  that  whiri  along  in  every  dTrecSn 

re'^^th^nn'f "«  '•"  %'««•'"•«"'  and  amUTolou" 
^.  K^""  f T°'^'"K  humanity.  For  ages  Naples 
es  tSfLl!?'  captivating,'' and  still  shTpo^.sS^ 

The  scene  upon  which  ZiUah  gazed  was  one 
So^. «""*•"  ^"''^  hroughtdistmction  andX"! 
nZ  hadTh^'*  «^*^''  r*"  heavier  than  h^. 

'Jep.jj3l-,^rbe«lr":^^^^^^^^ 
the  deep  blue  waters  of  Naples  Bay,  dot.^  bv 

hesZS  '"  i^^'  ''f  «"»•«•«««  /e^b  froij 
the  small  fishing-boat  up  to  the  giant  ship  of  wa/ 

o  the  m,^«™i."!'."°"'!'^  "^K®'^  'ateen  sloop, 
sL  th«  «v-  ."'^•-packet  Turning  from  t& 
lhort\Z\Z^^t  """  "J^"  *he  surroundtog 

iSL.^  5  "«•"•  "'•*«  hy,  was  the  p?o- 
cWn^t^l;  a^d  .weening  beyond  this  the  fong 
^nir^b  f^""^  Z^^^'  ^^  "'^ay,  rose  thf 
green  tree,  of  the  gardens  of  the  V^lla  Reale. 
»^» .  V?^!^  *he  hUU  on  whose  slope  S. 
what  1.  chdmed  to  be  the  gnve  of  VirJu  whow 
pictnre«,ue  monument,  whether  It  b^  reklTy  liU 
or  not,  .nggett.  hU  weU-known  epitaphV    ^ 

"M?!ge"'BSJHila^  herow.    Muitna  gave 
«e  Ufe,  Brundnrfum  death;  Naples  a  gnive.- 

Throngh  those  hill.  nm.  the  Titanic  grotto  of 

S^??;  utVf"^  '%  •'»*  hisZicttl^ 
y°"  .""'»  •*»<»  of  the  Cumaian.  and  Oscan.- 
or,  still  more,  the  land  of  thelnxuri^  iS^ 
or  the  empire;  where  SylU  lived  and  noTm 
loved  to  retire ,  which  Julin.  lonj  mS  hSS^S' 
and  every  Roman  of  taate  or  refinement     Th^« 

S%l*relt  «.ra;eS7erTrec^l^?Cre" 
wa.  M&nnm,  where  once  the  Bon^rjl^ 


188 


THE  CRYPTOGRAMT" 


% 


at  anchor ;  Baite,  wlfero  once  all  Boman  lax> 
ury  loved  to  pass  the  sumnier  season ;  Fateoli, 
where  St  Paul  landed  when  on  his  way  to  Casar's 
throne.  There  were  the  waters  in  which  Nero 
thonght  to  drown  Agrippinai  and  over  which 
another  RoiOan  emperor  bnilt  that  colossal 
bridge  which  set  at  defiance  the  prohibition  t)f 
nature.  There  was  the  rock  of  Ischia,  termina- 
ting the  line  of  coast;  and  out  at  sea,  immedi- 
ately in.  front,  the  isle  oY  Capri,  forever  aMo- 
ciated  with  the  memory  of  Tiberius,  with  his 
deep  wiles,  his  treachery,  and  his  remorseless 
cruelty.  There,  too,  on  the  left  and  nearest 
Capri,  were  the  shores  of  Sorrento,  that  earth- 
ly paradise  whose  trees  are  always  green,  whose 
fruits  always  ripe ;  there  the  cave  of  Polyphemus 
penetrates  the  lofty  mountains,  and  brings  back 
that  song  of  Homer  by  which  it  is  immortalized. 
Coming  nearer,  the  eye  rested  on  the  winding 
shores  of  Castellamare,  on  vineyards  and  mead- 
ows and  orchai'ds,  which'  fill  all  this  glorious 
land.  Nearer  yet  the  scene  was  dominated  by 
the  stupendous  form  of  Vesuvius,  at  once  the 
glory  and  the  terror  of  all  this  scene,  from 
whose  summit  there  never  ceases  to  come  that 
thin  line  of  smoke,  the  symbol  of  possible  ruin 
to  all  who  dwell  within  sight  of  it.  Round  it 
lie  the  buried  cities,  whose  charred  remains  have 
been  exhumed  to  tell  what  may  yet  be  the  fate 
of  those  other  younger  cities  which  have  arisen 
on  their  ashes. 

While  the  scene  beyond  was  so  enthralling, 
there  was  one  nearer  by  which  was  no  less  so. 
This  was  the'  street  itself,  with  that  wild,  never- 
ending  rush  of  riotous,  volatile,  multitudinous 
life,  which  can  be  equaled  by  no  other  cityi 
There  the  crowd  swept  along  on  horseback,  on 
wheels,  on  foot ;  gentlemen  riding  for  pleasure, 
or  dragoons  on  duty;  parties  driving  into  the 
country ;  tonrists  on  their  way  to  the  envirohs ; 
market  farmers  with  their  rude  carts ;  wine-sell- 
ers; fig-dealers;  peddlers  of  oranges,  of  dates, 
of  anisette,  of  water,  of  macaroni.  Through 
the  throng  innumerable  calashes  dashed  to  and 
fro,  crowded  down,  in  true  Neapolitan  fashion, 
with  inconceivable  numbers ;  for  in  Naples  the 
calash  is  not  full  unless  a  score  or  so  are  in 
some  way  clinging  to  it — above,  below,  before, 
behind.  There,  too,  most  marked  of  all,  were 
the  laxaroni,  whose  very  existence  inr  Naples  is 
«  sign  of  the  ease  with  which  life  is  sustained 
in  so  fair  a  spot,  who  are  bom  no  one  knows 
where,  who  live  no  one  knows  how,  but  who 
secure  as  much  of  the  joy  of  life  as  any  other 
human  beings ;  the  strange  result  of  that  end- 
less combination  of  races  which  have  come  to- 
gether in  Naples — the  Greek,  the  Italian,  the 
Norman,  the  Saracen,  and  Heaven  only  knows 
what  else. 

ISuch  scenes  as  these,  such  crowds,  such  life, 
such  universal  movement,  for  a  long  time  attract- 
ed Zillah's  attention;  and  she  watched  them 
with  childish  eagerness.  At  last,  however,  the 
novelty  was  over,  and  siM  began  to  wonder  why 
Obed  Chute  had  not  returned.  Looking  at  her 
"^wneb,  ih«  fouBd,  to  her  unuement,  that 
hours  had  passed  since  his  departure.  He  had 
left  at  ten ;  it  was  then  mid-day.  What  was 
keeping  him  ?  She  had  expected  him  back  be- 
fore hdf  an  hour,  but  he  had  not  yet  returned. 
She  hod  thought  that  it  needed  but  a  journey  to 
the  Hotel  de  I'Earope  to  find  Hilda,  and  bring 


her  here.  Anxiety  now  began  to  arise  in  her 
mind,  and  the  scenes  outside  lost  all^  charm  for 
her.  Her  impatience  increased  till  it  biecame  in- 
tolerable. Miss  Chute  saw  her  agitation,  and 
made  some  attempt  to  soothe  her,  but  in  vain. 
In  fact,  by  one  o'clock,  Zillah  had  given  herself 
up  to  all  sorts  of  fears.  Sometimes  she  thought 
that  Hilda  had  grown  tired  of  waiting,  and  had 
gone  back  to  England,  and  was  now  searching 
through  France  and  Italy  for  her;  again  she 
thought  that  perhaps  she  had>  experienced  a  re- 
lapse and  had  died  here  in  Naples,  far  awav  from 
all  friends,  while  she  herself  was  loitering  in 
Marseilles;  at  another  time  her  fears  took  a 
more  awful  turn — her  thoughts  turned  on  Gual- 
tier — and  she  imagined  that  he  had,  perhaps, 
come  on  to  Naples  to  deal  to  Hilda  that  fate 
which  he  had  tried  to  deal  to  her.  Thesq 
thoughts  were  all  maddening,  and  filled  her 
witlf  uncontrollable  agitation.  She  felt  sure  at 
last  that  some  dread  tiuag  had  happened,  which 
Obed  Chute  had  discovlred,  and  which  he  feared 
to  reveal  to  her.  Therefore  he  kept  away ;  and 
on  no  other  grounds  could  she  account  for  his 
long-continued  absence. 

Two  o'clock  passed — and  three,  and  four,  and 
five.  The  suspense '  was  fearful  to  Zillah,  so 
fearful,  indeed,  that  at  last  she  felt  that  it  would 
be  a  relief  to  hear  any  n^s — even  the  worst 

At  length  her  Buspenw'%as  ended.  About 
half  past  five  Obed  returned.  Anxiety  wai  on 
his  face,  and  he  looked  at  Zihah  with  an  expres- 
sion of  the  deepest  pity  and  commiseration.  She 
on  her  part  advanced  to^meet  him  with  white 
lips  and  trembUng  framed  and  laid  on  his  hand 
her  own,  which  was  like  ice. 

"  Yon^ave  not  found  her  ?*'  she  faltered,  in  a 
scarce  audible  voice. 

Obed  shook  his  head, 

"She  isidead.  then!"  cried  Zillah;  "she  is 
dead  t  Sbv  died  here  —  among  strangers  —  in 
Naples,  anf  I — I  delayed  in  Marseilles  1" 

A  deep  groan  burst  fix>m  her,  and  all  the  an- 
guish'of  self-reproach  and  keen  remorse  swept 
over  her  soul. 

Obed  dilute  looked  at  her  earnestly  and  monm- 
fully.    " 

"My  child,"  said  he,  taking  her  little  hand 
tenderly  in  both  of  his — "  my  poor  child — ^yotj 
need  not  be  afraid  that  your  sister  is  dead.  She 
is  alive — as  much  as  you  are'." 

"Alive!"  cried  Zillah,  rousing  herself  from 
her  despair.  "Alive!  God  be  thanked)  Have 
you  found  out  that  ?    Dot  wbere  is  she  ?" 

"Whether' God  is  to  be  thanked  or  not  I  do 
not  know,"  said  Obed ;  "but  it's  my  solemn  be- 
lief that  she  is  as  much  alive  as  she  ever  was." 

"But  where  is  she?"  cried  Zillah,  eagerly. 
"Have  yon  found  out  that?" 

"  It  would  take  a  man  with  a  head  as  long  u 
a  hdrse  to  tell  that,"  said  Obed,  sententioualy. 

"What  do  you  mean?  Have  you  not  found 
out  that  ?  How  do  you  know  that  she  is  alive? 
Yon  only  hope  so — as  I  do.  You  do  not  know 
so.    Oh,  do  not,  do  not  keep  me  in  suspense." 

"  m«aii«"HMid  Obed«  jlewty"^ 
"that  this  sister  of  yours  has  never  been 
Naples ;  that  there  is  no  such  steamer  in  exist- 
ence as  that  which  she  mentions  in  her  letter 
which  yon  showed  me;  that  there  it  no  sodi 
ship,'  and  no  such  captain,  and  no  such  captain'i  _^^^^ 

wife,  asthoM-whick  she  writes  about;  tnatM     ■     ^^' 


such' person- V 
way,  and  brou 
iiinocent,  trus 
dear  child,  whi 
assassins.  "  A: 
with  a  deeper  i 
at  the  same  tin 
ed  fist  to  heai 
I'll  trace  all  thi 
these  infernal  d 
"Oh,  my  Go 
mean?  Do  yc 
here  at  all  ?" 

"No  such  p« 

^     "Why,  was 

where,  could  th< 

"She  never  1 

No  such  ship  as 

been  here." 

'  "Then  she 

mistake,"  cried 

through  her  at  ( 

"No,"  said  C 

liberately,  and  w 

etitionofthatnai 

of  Naples,  show 

Besides,  your  ei 

stamps  and  the 

mailed  here,  wh( 

It  was  sent  from : 

this  journey,  whi 

"Oh,  my  God 

ror  of  Obed's  me 

"What  do  you 

Do  you  wish  to  c 

me  where  you  h 

done.    Oh,  my  G^ 

"My  child,  th 

Obed  Chute,  wii 

would  cut  ofi' my 

knife,  rather  thai 

do.    But  what  ci 

to  know  the  whol 

"Go  6n,"said 

calm. 

"Come,"  said 
•eat  "Calm  y 
worstj  Fof  at  th 
oration  and  wami 
little  the  darkest  c 
with.  The  worst 
much  behind  it  all 
about"   - 

Zillah  leaned  h 
looked  at  him  witi 
"WhAiIlefty( 
(i.  once  to  the  H6 
find  her  there,  or  t 
not  relate  the  part 
I  will  only  say  thai 
ton  had  li«en  there 
police  had  been  wa 
for  Gualtier.  I  w« 
Bra  of  Police.  I  ( 
from  the  prefect  o; 
wilh  the  utmost  att 
informed  me  that  t 
^  whole  case  for ' 
«U  the  vessels  ths 
ycted  all  their 
juoogh  foreign  pai 
•■ — Inthedtyto 


Zr'^dZ^uZT'  ^^"^'^  "P  "^"f'  » that 
way,  ana  brought  here,  except  yoor  own-  noor 

innocent    truBtfal,  lov^g   Jf-yo«.   my  Cr 

dear  cUUd,  who  have  been  betrkyi  by  miLS 

Msassins.  "  And  by  the  EtemAll"  cried  Obed! 

with  a  deeper  solemnity  in  his  voice,  raising  up 

a*  the  same  time  his  colossal  arm  and  hi.  clench- 

1 11  trace  all  this  out  yet,  and  pay  it  out  in  fuU  to 
these  infernal  devils!"  "•  luu  lo 

«,li?^'  '7  ^"^ '"  *="*"•  ^•'^-  ■"  What  do  yon 

/     .'!wu *"''*'  P*"*"*  ''"*  ^^^i"  •'een  «»  Naples." 

I.  Why,  was  she  not  picked  up  adrift?  and 
where. could  they  have  taken  her?** 

"  She  never  was  picked  up,  Rely  upon  that. 
No  such  ship  as  the  one  she  mentions  has  ever 
been  here. 

•"/^''®!l  ■^®,  '""  ^^«en  down  'Naples'  in 
mistake,  "cnedZiUah,. while  a  shudder  passed 
through  her  at  Obedis  frightful  insinuatioiT^ 
IK-  .";  ««'^Obed.  "She  wrote.it  down  de- 
hberately,  and  wrote  it  several  times.  Her  rep- 
etition  of  that  name,  her  descriptiooof  the  chanis 
of  Naples,  show  that  she  did  this  intentionally 

ZZ^'ITJ""!}"^  *""  *"  Naples  postage 
stamps  and  the  Naples  post- marks.  It  was 
mailed  here  whether  it  was  written  here  or  not. 
It  was  sent  from  here  to  fetch  you  to  fhis  place,  on 
thw  journey,  wh;ch  resulted  as  you  remember." 
r.r  3At!!^'  ^°^^y"^'^  Zilloh.  as  the  full  hor- 
"  Wh  ;T^  '  meaning  began  to  dawn  upon  her. 


THE  CRYPTOGRAM. 


189 


ti-nri..^  i    "  "v,»""  wj  unwu  upon  ner.     now  she  dnm  «ta 

Do^you' A Wvrl  til^-JLt/"™. r  ^^^  ofToulS 


.-J —    --•-».•.       T.uni,    uo    vou   r 

Do  you  wish  to  drive  me  to  otter  despair  ?   Tell 

me  where  yon  have  been  and  what  you  have 

"\r  ^"I'm^  ^"^  ;  ^^  "".''  "«*  grief  coming  ?" 

oJh  ?nf  .'"•  '^t  ^r^  ""  ^'K"*  ^'">''^'"  «^d 
Obed  Chute,  with  solemn  emphasis,   "that  I 

wodd  cut  off  my  right  hand  with  my  own  bowie- 
knife,  rather  than  bring-back  to  you  the  news  I 
do  But  what  can  be  done?  It  is  best  for  you 
to  know  the  whole  truth,  bitter  as  it  is  " 

"Go  6n,"8ai4  Zillah,  with  an  effort  to  be 
calm. 

J»^T.®A  "''^  ^^'  »nd  he  led  her  to  a 
Kat  'Calm  yourself,  and  prepare  for  the 
woistj    For  at  the  outset,  and  by  way  of  prep- 

httle  thedarkest  cnje  that  I  ever  got  acquainted 
!    i;  J^T^i,"^  ''  "  'hat  there  is  over  so 

St^     "    ^     ' ''"''''  '"•'"'  »"y """« 

i~.?'!f''.'^"*'^  .'!*'■  head  upon  her  hand  and 
looked  a^  him  with  awful  forebodings. 

When  I  left  von,"saidObed  Chute,  "  I  went 

S;rH?  ^  ""^  "^"^  •*"  ''^»«>P«.  exjlecting  to 
find  her  there,  or  at  least  to  hear  of  her    I  wiH 

not  relate  the  particulars  of  my  inquiry  there. 

ton  had  been  there.  I  fonnd,  hdWow  that  thn 
pohcehad  been  watching  there  TC;',!.  wlet 
for  Gualtier.  I  went  with  thfem  to  the  Prefect- 
OT  of  Pohce.  r  pive  my  letter  of  intrednction 
^rtiB  prefect  of^^MaweiHet,  and  wMHwitcd 
the  utmost  attentioifi.    The  prefect  himself 


^e. prefect  showed  me  hU  rolurtinous  reports, 
and  went  with  me  to  the  Harbor  Bureau  to  shoW 
me  the  names  of  ships  which  arrived  here  and 
wereowned  here.  Never  could  ther?  be  a  more 
seardiing  investigation  than  this  had  been.  What 
was  the  result  ?  ""»• 

.Listen,"  said  Obed,  with  impressive  empha- 
"s,  yet  compassionately,  as  Zillafi  tang  npoii  his 
words.  "  I  will  tell  you  all  in  brief.  *Fh^L  „" 
such  person  as  Miss  Lo'rton  ever  came  to  the 
Hotel  de  l-Europe      Secondly,  no  such  person 

!^  -Tl!^  '"  ^"f'^  "'  »'••  Thirdly,  nfiup 
jmved  here  at  the  date  mentioned  by  your  ri^ 

£"/;,  .fT"i2:J.^K?  "hip  of  that  name  ever  came 
,i™^ ?k""-  *'?hly,  no  ship  arrived  here  at  any 
Urae  this  year  that  had  picked  up  any  one  aX  seaT 

™-S7  /  **""«  "  '""™®-  It  w  a  base  fiction 
made  up  for  some  purpose." 

"A  fiction!"  cried  Zillah.     "Never-never 
— sne  conld  not  so  deceive  me." 

"  Can  the  writing  be  forged  ?" 
I,  "  ^..*l°5l''  ■**  h°'^  't  can,'^d  Zillah,  piteous- 
L  uJJf""  her  writingso  well,"  and  stedrew 
the  letter  from  her  pocket.  "  See-it  is  a  very 
pmiliar  hand-and  then,  how  conld  any  oni 
spMk  as  she  does  about  those  things  of  here 
£^a  for     wished  me  to  bring  ?    No-it  can  not 

''WOT^r'  *°'^  ^^'^  ^"'°"  "i» »»  «■<"«." 

wrj**".'?"*-  I'"' had  been  a  foi^erv  she 
would  not  have  been  implicated  in  this.'  Bat 
now  she  does  stand  implicated  in  this  horrible 


inform-^  3^T  «.«..iirai.  ine  prefect  himse  f 
^rmed  me  that  they  kwl  been  «Mux!hin»into 

^  ^-  LT  '^"I  **f"j  '^"y  had  examined 
•U  tte  vessels  that  had  arrived,  and  had  in- 
V^  all  their  logs.  The,  had  searehed 
WJ.  rrjfP'T-.  They'had  virited  every 
turn  in  the  atj  toyffiieh  a  ■truger  might  go. 

A     3 

JJ.X    ,      L. 


n«..M  TJ  ^T  '^"^hlel  It  mnst  be  im- 
PMsible.  Oh,  Sir !  we  have  lived  together  and 
Jwed  one  another  from  childhood.  She  knows 
all  my  heart,  as  I  know  hers.     How  can  it  be  ? 

Perhaps  in  her  confusion  she  has  imagined  her- 
sen  in  Kaples. 

"  No, "  said  Obed,  sternly.    » I  have  told  yon 
about  the  post-marks."  « /uu 

■ftl-^K*  ^"2  perhaps  her  mind  was  wandering 
after  the  suffering  of  that  sea  voyage. " 

But  she  never  had  any  voyage,"  said  Obed 
Chute,  grimly.  "This  letter  wT^Tkten by  h« 
somewhere  with  the  intention  of  making  yoi  be-v 

If  she  had  landed  in  Palermo  or  anr  other  place 
yon  would  have  had  some  sign  of  it'.    But  see—  ^ 
there  18  not  a  sign.    Nothing  but  'Naples'  is' 
here,  mside  and  out— nothing  but  '  Naples ;'  V 
and  she  never  came  to  Naples !    She  wrote  thte 
to  bring  you  here." 

V  "^m',  T^  ^°^'  how  severely  you  judge  her! 
You  will  drive  me  mad  by  insinuating  such  fright- 
ful suspicions     How  is  it  possible  that  one  whom 
1  know  so  well  and  love  so  dearly  could  be  such 
a  demon  as  this  ?    It  can  not  be. " 
•  "I'i»ten,  my  child,"  said  Obe4  Chute,  ten- 
derly.    "Strengthen  yonrsrff.    You  have  had 
much  to  bear  in  your  youkg  Ufe,  but  this  is  D 
«««er  to  bear  than  that  was  which  yoiT  mnst 
"^  *°"yeg  that  morning  when  you  irst  wpfca.^ 
and  Jbandlhe  water  In  your  cabin.    TeU  me— 


in  that  hour  when  you  rusM  up  on  deck  and 
saw  that  vou  were  betrayed— in  that  hour— did 
no  thought  come  to  your  mind  that  there  was 
sori!e  other  than  Gualtier  who  brought  this  upon 
yon?  ••  °  ^  "^ 

.n?l!.M  ^"^y^  !^*.^^  ''**  •  ^ghtened  face, 
and  said  not  a  wdrd. 


y 


I 


140 


THE  CRYPTOGRAM. 


"  Better  to  face  the  worst.  Let  the  tmth  be 
known,  and  face  it,  whatever  it  it.  Look,  now. 
She  wrote  this  letter  which  brought  you  here — 
this  letter  T^  every  word -of  which  is  ji  lie;  she 
it  was  who  sent  Guoltier  to  you  to  bring'you 
'  here ;  she  it  was  who  recommended  to  you  that 
miscreant  who  betrayed  you,  on  whose  tracks 
the  police  of  Franco  and  Italy  are  already  set. 
How  do  you  suppose  she  will  appear  in  the  eyes 
of  the  Kr««ch  police  ?    Guilty,  or  not  guilty  ?" 

.Zillah  muttered  some  inarticulate  words,  and 
then  suddenly  gasped  out,  "  liut  the  hat  and 
the  basket  found  by  the  fishermen  ?" 

"Decoys — commoa tricks, "said  Obed  Chute, 
scornfully.  "  Clumsy  enough,  but  in  this  cose 
successful." 

Zillah  groahed,  and  buried  her  face  in  her 
hands.  ,« 

A  long  silence  folloVed. 

"My  poor  child,!' snid  Obed  Chute  at  last, 
"  I  hav6  been  all  the  day  making  iriiiuirios  every 
where,  and  have  already  engaficed  the  police  to 
search  out  this  mvstery.  There  js  one  thing 
yet,  howpver,  which  I  wish  to  know,  and  you 
*only  can  tell  it.  I  am  sorry  to  have  to  talk  in 
tJiis  way,  and  give  you  any  new  troubles,  but  it 
is  for  your  sake  only,  and  for  vour  sake  there  is 
nothing  which  I  would  not  do.  Will  you  an- 
swer me  ona  question  ?"  • 

Ziibh  looked  upa*  Her  face  had  now  grown 
calm.  The  agitation  had  passed.  The  first 
shock  WM  over,  but  this  calm  which  followed 
WHS  the  calm  of  fixed  grief— a  grief  too  deep 
for  tears. 

"  My  question  is^this,  and  it  is  a  very  im- 
portant one:  Do  you  know,  or  can  you  con- 
ceive of  any  motive  which  cquld  have  actuated 
this  person  to  plot  against  vou  in  tliis  way  ?" 

"I  do  not." 

••Think." 

Zillah  thought  earnestly.  She  recalled  the 
past,  in  which  Hilda  had  always  been  so  de- 
voted ;,  she  Aought  of  the  dying  Earl  by  whose 
bedside  she  hod  stood  so  faithfully ;  she  thought 
of  her  deep  sympathy  with  htfr  when  the  writ- 
ings were  found  in  her  father's  desk ;  she  thought 
of  that  deeper  sympathy  which  she  had  manifest- 
ed when  Guy's  letter  was  opened ;  she  thought  of 
her  noble  devotion  in  giving  up  ail  for  her  and  fol- 
lowing her  into  seclusion ;  she  thought  of  their 
happy  life  in  that  quiet  little  sea-side  cottage.  As 
all  these  memories  rose  before  hir  the  idea  of 
Hilda  being  a  traitor  seemed  more  impossible 
thaii  ever.  But  she  no  longer  uttered  any  indij^ 
nant  remonstrance. 

••  I  am  bewildered,"  she  said.  •'  I  can  think 
of  nothing  but  love  and  fidelity  in  connection 
with  her.  All'  our  lives  she  has  lived  with  me 
and  loved  me.  I  can  not  think  of  any  imagina- 
ble motive.  I  can  imagine  that  she,  like  myself, 
is  the  victim  of  some  one  else,  bat  not  that  she  can 
do  anv  thing  else  than  lore  me." 

"  Yet  sba  wrote  that  letter  which  is  the  cause 

of  all  yoar  grief.    Tell  me,"  said  he,  after  a 

__Biii!W,  •'hMjib»iBon<y  ofhwownt"^ 


•  Yes--«noagh  fin;  her  anpport. 

'•Is  she  your  sister?" 

Zillah-feemed  startled.      < 

••  I  do  not  wish  to  intrade  into  vonr  confidence 
—I  atif  ask  this  to  gain  some  light  while  I  am 
gntping  in  the  dark."  » 

■    •'  She  is  not    She  is  no  nlatloil.  '  But  she 


has  lircKl  with  me  all  my  life,  and  is  the  same  ks 
a  sister."  '  ■ 

"  Does  she  treat  vou  as  her  equal  ?" 

"Yes,"  said  Zillah,  with  some  hesitation, 
"thatis— of  late;" 

' '  But  you  have  been  her  sup^oitantil  of  late  ?", 

"¥e8." 

"Would  you  have  any  objection  to  tell  her 
name?" 

"Yes,"  said  Zillah;  "  I  can  not  tell  it.  IwiU 
tell  this  much :  Lorton  is  an  assumed  name.  It 
belongs  neither  to  her  nor  to  me.  My  name  is  not 
"Lorton." 

"I  knew  that,"  said  Obed  Chute.  "I  hope 
yott  will  forgive  me.  It  was  not  curio^ty.  I 
^wished  to  investigate  this  to  the  bottom ;  but  I 
am  satisfied — I  Respect  your  secret.  Will  you 
forgive  me  for  the  pain  I  have  caused  you  ?" 

Zillah  placed  her  cojd  hand  in  his,  and  said : 

"My  friend,  do  hot  speak  so.  It  hurts  me 
to  have  you  ask  my  forgiveness." 

Obed -Chute's  face  beamed  with  pleasure. 
'    "  My  poor  child,"  ho  said,  "you  must  go  and 
rest  yourself.     Go  and  sleep ;  perhaps  yon  will 
be  better  for  it." 

And  Zilhih  dragged  herself  out  of  the  room. 


CHAPTEI^  XLI. 

OBED  ON.  THE  RAUPAaE.     ■ 

Aj^oMo  illness  was  the  immediate  resilt  of  so 
much  excitement,  suffering,  and  grief.  Gradu- 
ally, however,  Zillah  struggled  through  it;  and 
at  last,  under  the  genial  sky  of  Southern  Italy, 
she  began  to  regain  her  usual  health.  Tho  kind- 
ness of  her  friends  was  unfaltering  and  inces- 
sant. Through  this  she  was  saved,  and  it  was 
Obed's  sister  who  brought  her  back  from  the 
clutches  of  fever  and  the  jaws  of  death.  She 
had  as  tender  a  heart  as  her  brother,  and  had 
come  to  love  as  ^  sister  or  a  daughter  this  poor, 
friendless,  childlike  girl,  who  had  been  thrown 
upon  their  hands  in  so  extraordinary  a  manner. 
Brought  uili  in  that  puritanical  school  which  is 
perpetually  on  the  look-out  for  "special  provi- 
dences," she  regarded  ZilUh's  arrival  among 
them  as  the  most  marked  special  providence 
which  she  had  ever  known,  and  never  ceased  to 
aflSrm  that  something  wonderful  was  destined  to 
come  of  all  this.  Around,  this  faithful,  noble- 
heahed,  puritanical  dame,  Zillah's  affections 
twined  themselves  with  something  like  filial  ten- 
derness, and  she  learned  in  the  course  of  her  ill- 
ness to  love  that  simple,  straightforward,  but ' 
high-souled  woman,  whose  love  she  had  already 
won.  Hitherto  she  had  associated  the  practice 
of  chivalrons '  principles  jid  the  grand  code  of 
honor  exclosivelv  witli  am  gentleijnen  like  the 
Earfand  her  father,  or  with  titled  dames ;  now, 
however,  she  learned  that  here,  in  Obed  Chute, 
there  was  as  fine  an  instinct  of  honor,  as  delicate 
a  sentiment  of  loyalty  to  friendship,  as  refined  a 
spirit  of  knight-gnantry^  as  strong  a  moI^o  Wfe^ 


cor  the  weak  and  to  become  the  champion  of  the 
oppressed,  and  of  profound  a  loatldfig  for  all  that 
is  base  and  mean,  as  in  dther  of  thprtfiiAuid 
old  genttomen  by  whom  her  character  had  been 
monlded.  Had  Obed  Chute  beea  bora  an  En- 
glish lord  his  manners  might  hare  had  a  finer 
polish,  but  no  training  known  among  the  sons 


; 


liJy.  t«aBwjJt    .tyti), .. 


,-s,*'-fJ;. 


I,  *«ft.»  »\  r'.V-.MS 


i-iif 


SiMf'    ,S»*»Ssiti'^- 


tion  of  oU  that  is   noble  and  honombfeand 

P««ed  m  what  Zillah  considered  as  '«vnl^ 
trade,"  wemed  to  her  to  have  a  nature  J  Ze 

tit  C^''""^  "*  '^'"  ?'  "">  ChevalieTfiSy^ 

that  hero  .on.  ;,«,ret.an#,reprocAe.    ,       ^^ 

Obed,  as  has  ^ready  been  seen,  had  a  weak- 

80ul  that  strange  fascination  which  this  city  pos- 
TZU  "•"'5VT*.'^«*'"y''«'kand^Jner 

tn«  T    ;r  •  ""^  ^""^'  *'"»  «  "'"""ge  mix- 
tore  of  enthusiasm  and  practical  observation  aU 

h.ZVlT  •^">l!^  courseof  his  waSS^ 
he  had  fallen  m  with  a  party  of  his  countrymen. 

'   ^. IviT  *'»*.'"?'1«^  "Piritm  and  who  Wled 

Sil  Wm«lfV".«"^  ''"^  neglecting  Zillah,  he 
joined  himself  to  these  new  frietads,  and  accom- 

£r»fc..^T  "}  """y  "J  excursion  into  the  coun- 
t^  ^^i  Naples-to  Capua,  to  Cumai,  to  P«s- 
!h^t?.J^<?°'"y.°"""^  »*«=«»•  To^some  of 
St^tlZ."  r'^,^«5««'»f  to  80  in  these  u„- 
^Jpfhin  '  ^^'^"'  '*':*y  '«"K''ed  at  dangers. 
They  had  acquired  a  good-natured  contempt  for 

?„  rj  *"/i'^^'"*  ''^rs^'  *»d  as  eaXman[ 
™l»S^^.h  ^^^  Neapolitan  laws,  carried  his  re^ 
Tolver,  they  were  accustomed  to  venture  anv 
where  with  the  most  cardess  ease,  and  Zmort 
profound  indifference  to  any^po'ssible  dln^r 
In  ft«t,  any  approach  t6  dan^r  they  woidd  h^v; 
hailed  with  joy,  and  to  their  adventurous  ternw? 

bwnithe  greatest  blessing  which  this  land  could 

The  whole  country  was  in  a  most  disturbed 
condmon      The  Lombard  war  had  diffu^d  a 
deep  excitemenF  among  all  classes.    Every  dav 
new  minors  arose,  and  throughout  ^e  Neapoli- 
ttm  dommions  the  population  were  filled  whh 
•tange  rague  desires.     The  government  itself 
WM  demorahzed-one  day  exerting  iu  utmost 
."STf  V*  '"M?*"".  repressive  measures,  and  on 
toe  nm^^lhng  its  own  acts,  and  retrwting  in 
ftjr  fron?  the  position  which  it  had  taken  up. 
The  troops  were  as  agitated  as  the  people.    It 
WM  felt  Aat  in  case  of  an  attempt  at  resolution 
^J!ft!!°'  ^  "'"•^  »P«*    I"  the  midst  o? 
!Li2i  Lf^  ""*  ''»*  predominant,  and  was  all 
^'^!!lT.""«"',''""*-*h«  °«"'«  of  that 
Sl^Tf^h^^  .    5'*'"*^  *".  •"*''  "Ke,  has  shown 
luniself  ablto  to  draw  nations  after  him,  and  by 

rfkin*!  "t^.*  presence  to  paralyze  the  efforte 

S?*^ .  ^"^  o"*  **"^  WM  '  GaribaldL " 

What  ho  was,  or  wliat  he  was  to  do  were 

JnUP^hich  were  but  little  known  to  tii^'i^ 

nat  Neapolitans.     They  simply  accepted  tiw 

Xh  T.  "^  '^tl  of  •o-epeatTSe  V 
Sii!''r»?'*  benefited.  He  was,  in  their 
^ghts,  half  hero,  half  Messiah,  before  whom 
tlTt'"^  *""*?  •'"'"'«»  meltawra^d  by 
me  httrt  of  this  agitated  mass  there  penetrated 
flwmnnmenibte  ramiflcatiomi  of  secret  so«eti«L 

**"0»0  >gePti  gnldQr|.    HirfM*ffwl_  iinil    <n*mwtflTl 

wprftwient  excitement  These  were  the  men 
SS  '•''S'n^ted  thoM  daUy  nunon.  wUch  thmr 
boA  government  Md  p«vle  into  a  fever  of  agS! 

Md^fas^red  even  the  Uiaioni  with  wUd  ideas  of 


THEfcEYFTOGBAM. 


141 


from  ft  Sonth  J\.^r        1*  *  Southerner,  fresh 

leader,  though,  as  he  could  not  sneak  ItnTii^*hI 

»uuiea  Mauan  on  their  way  out,  and  had  nimH 
It  very  extensively  since  tiieir  arrival  ""^ 

Having  exhausted  the  land  excursions  ti,« 
Wy  obtdned  a  yacht,  in  which  they  ^"^'nd^ 
to  make  Uie  circuit  of  the  bay.  On  their  fliS 
voyage  thev  wont  around  its  whole  extent  n^H 
then,  rounding  .he  island  of  Capri,  they  «.SS 

consulung  convenience  without  anrrS  to 
fashion.    The  Heidelbergians  hiST^mXTh^? 

tio^Z^K* '  ''if'''  *'"'«='»  «««ted  snch  adnSre- 
tCm  otV'.h'"'  ^  ""'^'^  determined  to^Sl 
them.  Obed,  the  officers,  and  the  Sonth  Spo- 
hnmn  went  off,  and  soon  returned  wiU  ^  fl^ 
nel  shuts  and  wide-awake  hats  of  their  otto  for 

costume.  The  lawyer  and  the  clergyman  ema 
promised  the  matter  by  donning  n»Ctack^ 
and  thus  the  whole  part?  finaUv  mt  nS*  .»5  . ' 
thU  attire  they  mnKeir  Si^'  ^tVmai? 
loud  laughs  at  tiiestrenge  trensfomation  3 
a^h^nge  of  dress  had  made  in  each  other's  a^ 

pn^SVJlil!!,'^  'K^y  "^^^  'he  drciit  of  the  bay 
and  proceeded  along  the  coast  until  Aeve3; 
opposite  to  Salerno.  It  was  alreTdy  fofr^S 
3"^  «f 'hey  coidd  not  get  b«:k  t^NaJle,  S 
day  they  decided  to  land  at  this  historic  towS 
*"h  'he  hope  tiiat  they  might  be  rewarfST; 
Bome  adventure.  The  yucht,  thereforeTwS 
headed  toward  the  town,  inA  2ew  rtpS  ov« 
thewaves  to  her  destination.  ^    '     " 

tl,«m  "'^"'•["8  *  headhuid  *hich  lay  between 
?.The*v"l«H»*"^^'''u''^P~8ress  was  slow 
».»1»,7  1^  **J.T"^  'h«  harbor  tiiey  sat  lazily 
^J^infiL  the  whuo  JonsMjLihey  ««S- 
rfe«f  ttewfndlnBfeich,  and  the&J^^^ 
SS™ ''*'  "^'^  to  be  weU  up  in  his  mffil 
rii^'tf?''  ^""  "l««ountof  the  formwg™ 
rW.f  L.^*f  ?''"1^'  *.h™  "•  «««>iven.ity  was  the 

S^l  ir^  PrefeMon  tapght  to  OhristilmTn" 
denti  the  mysteries  of  science.  With  their  .1 
tention  thus  divided  betweenlh.  EIle?d!L^ . 


143 


THE  CBYPTOGRAU. 


tation  of  the  clergrman  and  the  charms  of  the 
town,  ihey  approached  their  destination. 

It  was  not  until  they  had  QHMtqnite  near  that 
they  noticed  an  nnnsual  crtiBpDong  the  shore. 
When  they  did  notice  it  th^Rt  fir«t  supposed 
that  it  might  be  one  of  those  innumerable  saints' 
days  which  are  so  common  in  Italy.  Now,  as 
they  drew  nearer,  they  noticed  that  the  attention 
of  the  crowd  was  turned  to  themselves.  This 
excited  their  wonder  at  first,  but  after  a  time 
they  thought  that  in  so  dull  a  place  as  Salerno 
the  arrival  of  a  yacht  was  sufficient  to  excite  cu- 
riosity, and  with  this  idea  many  jokes  were 
bandied  about.  At  length  they  approached  the 
principal  wharf  of  the  place,  and  directed  the 
yacht  toward  it.  As  they  did  so  they  noticed 
a  universal  movement  on  the  part  of  the  crowd, 
who  made  a  rush  toward  the  wharf,  and  in  a 
short  time  filled  it  completely.  Not  even  the 
most  extravagant  ideas  of  Italian  laziness  and 
curiosity  could  account  for  this  intense  interest 
in  the  movements  of  an  ordinary  yacht ;  and  sp 
onr  Americans  soon  found'  themselves  lost  in  an 
abyss  of  wonder. 

yfhy  should  they  be  so  stared  at?  Why 
should  the  whole  population  of  Salerno  thus  tdm 
out,  and  make  a  wild  rush  to  the  wharf  at  which 
they  were  to  land  ?  It  was  strange ;  it  was  in- 
explicable ;  it  was  also  embarrassing.  Not  even 
the  strongest  curiosity  could  account  for  sucb 
excitement  as  this.  r^ 

"What  'n  thunder  does  ijrall  mean?"  said 
Obed,  after  a  long  silence.      U 

"There's something  up,"  sCd  the  Cincinnati 
lawyer,  sententiously. 

"Perhaps  it  is  a  repetition  of  the  landing  at 
Naples  on  a  grander  scale,"  said  the  clergyman. 
"  I  remember  when  I  landed  there  at  least  fifty 
lazaroni  followed  me  to  carry  my  carpet-bag." 

"Fifty?"  cried  one  of  the  Heidelbergians. 
"Why,  there  are  five  hundred  after  us !" 

"But  these  are  not  lazaroni,"  said  Obed. 
' '  Look  at  that  crowd !  Did  yon  ever  see  a  more 
respectable  one  ?" 

In  truth,  the  crowd  was  in  the  highest  degree^ 
respectable.  There  were  some  workmen,  and 
some  lazaroni.  But  the  greater  number  ctm- 
sisted  of  well-dressed  people,  among  whom  w«re 
intermingled  priests  and  soldiers,  and  even  wo- 
men. All  these,  whatever  their  rank,  bore  in 
their  fiices  an  expression  of  the  intensest  curios- 
ity and  interest  The  expression  was  nilmistak- 
able,  an(9  as  the  yacht  came  nearer,  those  on 
board  were  able  to  see  that  they  were  the  objects 
of  no  common  attention.  If  they  had  doubted 
this,  this  doubt  was  soon  dispelled ;  for  as  the 
yacht  grazed  the  wharf  a  movement  took  place 
among  the  crowd,  and  a  confused  cry  of  ap- 
plause arose.  ^ 

For  such  a  welcome  as  this  the  yachting  party 
were  certainly  not  prepared.  All  looked  up  in 
amazement,  with  the  exception  of  Obed.  He 
alone  was  found  equal  to  the  occasion.  With- 
out stopping  to  consider  what  the  cause  of  such 
a  reception  might  be,  he  was  simply  conscious 
=«fan  act  of  pubiie  good-will,  and  prepared  to 
respond  in  a  fitting  manner.  He  was  standing 
on  the  prow  at  the  time,  and  drawing  his  tall 
form  to  its  full  height,  he  regarded  the  crowd  fpr 
a  moment  with  a  benignant  smile ;  after  which 
he  removed  his  hat  and  bowed  with  great  em- 
pramtment. 


At  this  there  arose  another  shout  of  appUuM. 
ftom  (the  whole  crowd,  which  completed  the 
amazement  of  the  tourist's.  Meanwhile  the 
yacht  swung  up  close  to  the  wharf,  and  as  there 
was  nothing  else  to  be  done  they  prepared  to 
land,  leaving  her  in  charge  of  her  crew,  which  con- 
sisted of  several  sailors  from  one  of  the  Ameri- 
can frigates.  The  blue  shirts  of  these  fellows 
formed  a  pleasing  contrast  to  the  red  shirts  and 
reefing  jackets'  of  the  others,  and  the  crowd  on 
the  Wharf  seemed  to  feel  an  indiscriminate  ad- 
miration for  the  crew  as  well  as  for  the  masters. 
Such  attentions  were  certainly  somewhat  em- 
barrassing, and  presented  to  these  adventurous 
sphits  a  novel  kind  of  difficulty;  but  whether 
novel  or  not,  there  was  now  no  honorable  escape 
from  it,  and  they  hod  to  encounter  it  boldly  by 

E lunging  into  the  midst  of  the  crowd.  So  they, 
inded — eight  as  singular  figures  as  ever  dis-' 
turbed  the  repose  of  this  peaceful  to^n  of  Saler- 
no. Obed  headed  the  procession,  dressed  in  a 
red  shirt  with  black  trowsers,  and  a  scarf  tied 
round  his  waist,  while  a  broad-brimmed  felt  hat 
shaded  his  expansive  forehead.  His  tall  form, 
his  broad  shoulders,  his  sinewy  frame,  made  him 
by  far  the  most  conspicuous  member  of  tljiis  com- 
pany, and  attracted  to  him  the  chief  admiration 
of  the  spectators.  Low,  murmured  words  arose 
as  he  paissed  amidst  them,  expressive  of  the  pro- 
found impression  which  had  been  produced  by 
the  sight  of  his  magnificent  physique.  After 
him  came  the  others  in  Indian  file ;  for  the  crowd 
was  dense,  and  only  parted  sufficiently  to  allow 
of  the  progress  of  one  man  at  a  time.  The 
Southerner  came  next  to  Obed,  then  the  Heidel- 
bergians, then  the  naval  officers,  while  the  cler- 
gynuin  .and  the  Cincinnati  lawyer,  ia  their  pic- 
turesque pea-jackets,  brought  up  the  rear.  Even 
in  a  wide-awake  American  town  such  a  com- 
pany would  have  attracted  attention ;  how  much 
more  so  in  this  sleepy,  secluded,  quiet,  Italian 
town  I  especially  at  such  a  time,  when  all  men 
every  where  were  on  the  lookkiut  for  great  enter- 
prises. %<j, 

Obed  marched  on  with  h^  fpeirns  till  they  left 
the  wharf  and  were  able  to  walk  oA  together 
more  closely.  The  crowd  followed.  The  Amer- 
icans took  the  middle  of  the  street,  and  walked 
up  into  thtf  town  through  what  seemed  the  prin- 
cipal thoroughfare,  'fhe  crowd  pressed  after 
them,  showing  no  decrease  whatever  in  their  ar- 
dent curiosity,  yet  without  making  any  noisy 
demonstrations.  They  seemed  like  men  who 
were  possessed  by  some  conviction  as  to  the 
character  of  these  strangers,  and  were  in  full 
sympathy  with  them,  but  were  waiting  to  see 
what  they  might  do.  The  Americans,  on  their 
side,  were  more  and  more  surprised  at  eveiy 
step,  and  could  not  imagine  any  cause  whatever 
for  so  very  singular  a  reception.  They  did  not 
even  know  whether  to  view  it  as  a  hostile  dem- 
onstration, or  as  a  sort  of  triumphant  reception. 
They  could  not  imagine  what  .they  had  done 
which  might  merit  either  the  one  or  the  other. 
All  that  was  left  for  them  to  do,  therefore,  they 
did|  and  that  mflcin,  they  accepted  the  sitas^ 
tion,  and  walked  along  intent  only  upon  the  most 
prosaic  of  purposes — the  discoveir  of  a  hotel. 
At  length,  after  a  few  minutes'  walk,  they  found 
the  object  of  their  search  in  a  large  stuccO  edi- 
fice which  bore  the  prond  title  of  "  Hdtel  de 
rUniven"  in  French.     Into  this  they  tuifned, 


3£i  ■ 


J, 


r^-tU^^-^tvrf   M-tJ^MS  •-T**4mi_K>^^!^^f;  J 


■*A   i:^'\L^^i±^t^K.\Li!^-^tJ^t 


m"^ 


i 


•eeking  refage  and  .PBftwihmeiit.     The  ci«wJ 
without  mpected  th,ir  Keclu.ioT    TJ^T/dK 

stantlv  thJJ^u      *?'  """  *'"'='>  "rose  con. 

in.!^"  «?*«ri«««  tbev  were  accosted  by  the  land- 
^,  who  recetvei  them  with  the  utmost  ob- 
sequiousness,  and  a  devotion  which^g  ab^ 
l«o.     He  informed  them  that  the  whX  hZi 

nme  theh-  exceUencies  would  be  pleased  to  dine 
Their  excelletacies  informed  him,  thK«Kh  ,],; 
medmm  of  the  Heidelbergians,  thkt  th^woSd' 
be  pleased  to  dine  as  soon  as  possible-  where 
upon  the  landloitl  led  them  tr.  Wo  „Z!: 
room  and  bowed  himself  out.  ^    ***' 

rheir  room  looked  out  upon  the  street.  There 
was  a  balcony  m  front  of  the  windows ;  a„d^^ 
they  sat  there  waiting,  they  could  M«fkf 
denw  ctjwd  as  it  stood  in  front  of  Se  l^tet 

^h:tVthl{wl^'^p"^''y '  r'^»'^^^^^^^ 

wnatc     Ihat  was  the  problem.     Itifassoknot 

SS  TiKn  «*"*  li-'W  "KE 

«M.  trr  tbQ  singDlar  lutura  of  their  sititftil™ 
SSylsf  "^'^  "«"•'>''  ^^''  though  K"; 

J^h!!!l^  "  ^^  °'^'  "  """  I'"  step  out  and 
j«  what  «  going  on.    TU  j„st  look  around.  S 

Saying  this,  Obed  pa«Ksd  through  the  ooen 
window,  and  went  out  on  the  balcony  HisTt^ 
pearance  was  thfl  cause  of  an  immenw  sensitior 
rot  a  moment  the  crowd  was   hul^    a 


THE  (mYPTOORAM; 


148 


muions,       ytva  la  Ltbertat"  "  IV»„   I. 


publica  t"    "  Viva   f Italia /'•    ««  r.„» 
ims  last  word  was  caught  up  with  a  kinri  nf 

of SphiZ''**^'"  ^"  '^'«^  ''•A  «  thnnder 

kader  hi  f  u'     °'  ".'•  ^^  ''^  *•"«  acknowledged 
^i  »/^"  '"!?  *.«  responwbiUtyS 

•oolTH'.SZte  wai  '£iZJ'^^'  °'  *^" 
•sewitMicoUkothegaUopingofthorseg.   Tie 


Mund  seemed  to  strike  the  ci»wd  belnw  .f  .^. 
or  Jpr  wonder     The  L^H,  7  ''"  «=«"J««='«'«» 

The  crowd  stood  breathless  and  mute  ■  Ti.„ 
Americans  saw  in  this  «  v»T!r."  i  "  .  ^* 
to  the  evente  ^f  he  ev^ni^^.n7"\7""'"'°" 
no  more  account  for  ti.i"§:ant'rVoJu'r';! 
had  preceded  it,  they  wait^"t"  ^  theTnA''""* 

They  did  not  have  to  wait  fong 

the';i;j;wtio^r'ro:i°  I'.i;'^  '"r*" 

sight  o^  these  red-shirted  stnin«»7^'      j 
very  peculiar  effect  on  ^e^lSlC  i^^."**^  * 
dent  by  their  faces  and  ^elr  l^ks    Ti  T„ 
trr"of"oir«"^'^!i"'«  forSb/eTiJpJr! 

B«rhe°'s<Sn^';errli;roS  "T"^ 
ping  forward;  he  SmlS :""""'  '^•^'  ""P- 

«« Wh^"°fi".'r«'°'^''"-    Rendeteri.  " 
,^  What  s  tha  he  says  ?"  asked  Obed. 


ing 
us 


«' Toll  k- — ^pT'   . ,"~.  "*"*  on  us  to  surrender  ' 

St  SLtl^t^'lf?''  -""onsciouslJ^rSy. 
K  A*omclas-    Tell  him  to  come  on  and  tak< 


take 

^e  Heidelbei^an  translated  this  rerhatim 
The  cap  ain  looked  puzzled.  ''«™"»n- 

.onrt^X^ri^y^'  "^''-  -y  "  -e"  «et 

JSi  t^^'SrSr  "cfe'i^"*"?"'' 
forth  his  revolver,  ho^it  JSl^'yet": 

reirs^r.TiShr^o:.'?^    "«- 

v„„       '  "*•'"  ■*■'*  *•>»  HeidelbeiKian      "Tin 
,^_i!^?!L«t^  dragoon,  ont«i4e," 


&hv^'ZdfiL  S'-^T  f°rty-«i«ht  shots  to  your 
"hif'occS  "*"'*"*'«*»"'  "^"^  ItalianVon 
as  OW    A  •      *'".'"*'  ?"'  nncommonly  sti«ng°^ 

wLP^aTht"**^ '''""'  ^"^  ~--^- 

offl^.*"  *="""»*°<J«<1  to  «W»t  you,"  said  the 


lU 


THE  CBYFrOGRAM. 


"  Well,  go  back  and  lay  that  yon  tried,  and 
couldn't  do  it,"  loid  the  Ileiddbergian. 
"Your  blood  will  be  on  your  own  heads." 
"Pardon  me;  some  of  it  will  be  on  yours, 
and  some  of  your  own  blood  also,"  retorted  the 
Ueidelbergian,  mildly. 

"  Advance !"  cried  thVofflcer  to  his  soldiers. 
"Arrest  these  men." 

The  soldiers  looked  at  their  captain,  then  at 
the  Americans,  then  at  their  captain  again,  then 
at  the  Americans,  oad  the  end  of  it  was  that 
they  did  not  more. 

"  Arrest  them  1"  roared  the  officer. 
The  Americans  stood  opposite  with  their  re- 
_  Tohers  leveled.    Thq  soldiera  stood  stilL     They 
'  would  not  obey. 

"My  friend,"  said  the  Heidelbergian,  "if 
Tonr  men  advance,  yon  yourself  will  be  the  first 
to  fall,  for  I  happen  to  have  youtcovered  by  my 
pistol.  I  may  as  well  tell  you  that  it  has  six 
shiits,  and  if  the  first  fails,  the  second  will 
not." 

The  officer  turned  polo.  He  ordered  his  men 
to  remain,  and  went  out.  After  a  few  moments 
he  returned  with  tfvelve  ^ore  dragoons.  The 
Americans  still  stood  watchful,  with  their  re- 
volvers ready,  takinL;  aim. 

"  You  see,"  criedfthe  officer,  excitedly,  "that 
you  are  overpowered.  There  are  as  many  men 
outside.  For  the  l4st  time  I  call  on  you  to  sur- 
render. If  yon  do  not  I  will  give  no  quarter. 
You  need  not  trv  to  resist." 

"What  is  it  that  he  say^?"  asked  Obed. 
The  Heidelbergian  told  him. 
Obed  laughed,      i 

"Ask  him  why  he  does  not  come  and  take 
ns,"  said  he,  grimly.  "  We  have  already  given 
him  leave  to  dp  so." 

The  Heidelbergian  repeated  these  words. 
The  captlun,  ib  a  fury,  onlered  his  men  to  ad- 
vance. The  Americans  fully  expected  an  at- 
tack, and  stoop  ready  to  pour  in  a  volley  at  the 
first  movement  on  the  part  of  the  enemyi  But 
the  enemy  did  not  move.  The  soldiers  stood 
motionlesi.  ^rbey  did  not  seem  afraid.  They 
seemed  rather  as  if  they  were  animated  by\  some 
Biit  feeling.  It  had  been  wbis^red 
dy  thi^t  the  Neapolitan  army  was  unreliable. 
This  certaifily  looked  like  it. 
.,,  "Cowards!"  cried  the  captain,  who  seemed 
to  think  that  their  inaction  arose  from  fear. 
"Yon  will|  luffer  for  this,  you  scoundrels! 
Then,  if  yon  ere  afraid  to  advance,  make  ready  I 


present!  fii 
His  comi 
dressed  to  th^ 
stood  by  theii 
piece.    The 
surprise  was 


ilnd  might  as  well  have  been  ad- 
I  winds.  The  guns  of  the  soldiers 
;  sides.  Not  one  of  them  raised  his 
aptain  was  thunder-struck ;  yet  his 
p^ot  greater  than  that  of  the  Ameri- 
cans when  thij  was  hastily  explained  to  them  by 
the  Heidelberi^ans.  Evidently  there  was  disaf- 
fection among\  the  soldiers  of  his  Majesty  of 
Naples  when  brought  into  the  presence  of  Red 
ShirU. 

The  captain  Was  so  overwhehned  by  this  dis- 
oovery  that  he  Vtood  like  one  paralyzed,  not 
' ^Tf  what  t(ri|to; — 'mis  passive  disofi^lence 


.  OD  the  part  of  hi 
pected  that  he 


men  was  a  thing  so  unex- 
left  helpless,  without  re- 
sources. 

Meanwhile  the  erowd  outside  had  been  in- 
tensely excited.    They  had  witnessed  the  ar- 


rival of  the  dragoons.  Thev  had  seen  them  dis- 
mount and  enter  the  hotel  after  the  captuin. 
They  luid  seen  the  captain  come  down  after 
another  detachment.  They  had  known  nothing 
of  what  was  going  on  inside,  but  conjectured 
that  a  desperate  struggle  was  inevitable  betwcon 
the  Ked  bhirts  and  the  dragoons.  As  an  un- 
armed crowd  they  could  offer  no  active  interven- 
tion, so  they  held  their  peace  for  a  time,  waiting 
in  breatliless  suspense  for  the  result.  The  result 
seemed  long  delayed.  The  troopers  did  not 
seem  to  gain  that  immediate  victory  over  the  lied  ' 
Shirts  which  had  been  fearfully  anticipated. 
Every  moment  seemed  to  postpone  such  a  vic- 
tory, and  render  it  impossible.  Every  moment 
restored  the  courage  of  the  crowd,  which  at  first 
had  been  panic-stricken.  Low  murmurs  passed 
among  tliem,  which  deepened  into  words  of  re- 
monstrance, and  strengthened  into  cries  of  sym- 
pathy fur  the  Red  Shirts ;  mitil,  at  lust,  these 
cries  arose  to  shouts,  and  the^houts  arow  wild 
and  high,  penetrating  to  that  upper  room  where 
the  assailants  confronted  their  cool  antagonists. 
The  cries  had  an  ominous  sound. 
"  Viva  la  Libtrta!"  "  Vtva  la  RepMiea!" 
''Viva  Garibaldi!" 

At  the  name  Garibaldi,  a  wild  yell  of  ap- 
plause resounded  wide  and  high— a  long,  KJirill 
yell,  and  the  name  was  taken  up  in  a  kind  uf 
mad  fervor  till  the  shout  rose  to  a  frenzy,  ^nd 
n^hing  was  heard  but  the  confused  outcries  of 
a  thousand  discordant  voices,  all  uttering  thnt' 
one  grand  name,  "Garibaldi J"  "Garibaldi!" 
"Garibaldi!" 

The  Americans  heard  it.  What  connection 
there  was  between  themselves  and  Garibaldi 
they  did  not  then  see,  but  thev  saw  that  some 
how  the  people  of  Salerno  had  associated  them 
with  the  hero  of  Italy,  and  were  sympathizing 
with  them.  Obed  Chute  himself  saw  this,  and 
understood  this,  as  that  cry  came  thundering  to 
his  ears.     He  turned  to  his  friends. 

"  Boys,"  said  h§,  "  we  came  here  for  a  dinner 
and  a  night's  rest  We've  got  the  dinner,  but  the 
night's  rest  seems  to  be  a  little  remote.  There's 
such  an  infernal  row  going  on||jLAround  that,  if 
we  wont  to  sleep  this  blessed^lght,  we'll  have 
to  take  to  the  yacht  again,  and  turn  in  there, 
sailor  fitshion.  So  I  move  that  we  adjourn  to 
that  place,  and  put  out  to  sea." 
,  His  proposal  was  at  once  accepted  withoift 
'hesitation. 

• '  Very  weU,"  said  Obed.  "  Now  foUow  me. 
March!'' 

With  his  revblver  in  his  extended  hand,  Obed 
strode  toward  the  door,  fdllowed  by  the  othen. 
The  dragoons  drew  back  and  allowed  them  to 
pass  out  without  resistance.  They  *descended 
the  stairs  into  the  hall.  As  they  appear^  at 
the  doorway  they  were  recognized  by  the  crowd, 
and  a  wild  shout  of  triumph  arose,  in  which 
nothing  was  conspicuous  but  the  name  of  Gari- 
baldi. The  mounted  dragoons  outside  did  not 
attempt  to  resist  them.  They  looked  away,  and 
did  not  seem  to  see  them  at  all.    The  crowd 

had  it  all  thdr  own  way^  

'nmNnh  the  crowd  Obed  acR^ced,  fbllowciil 
by  his  Riends,  and  led  the  w^  toward  the 
yacht.  The  crowd  followed,  "rhey  cheert^; 
they  shouted;  they  yelled  out  defiance  at  the 
king;  they  threw  aside  all  restraint,  and  sang 
theItalianTenionofthe"ManeiUaiae."  Awild 


.  i^^It^SiUf^  CI  %,^-i. 


A 


Wcto'It'^»"!i  ^^"^  ¥^  i>s  ISongh  some  great 
rictorjr  had  been  Won'Jorsome  lignal  triulimh 
achieved  But  amid.Ja]l  their  .ho^tfand  S 
!:^?.'PL^"«'.-»'»  «'4  one  word  waa  p^-em^ 
'ord  waa  the  name  of 


THE  CRYPTOGRAM. 


one 


nent,  and  that 
"Garibaldi!" 

But  the„Americana 
marched  on  quietly 
off  from  the  wharf.     . 
thom  from  the  crowd 


14S 


Jade  no  response.  They 
t  their  yacht,  and  pushed 
L  loud,  long  cheer  followed 

..„.„.„„  tiuwuJ  which  stood  there  wnt(<h 

iDg  their  departure;  and,  aa  thTyachT mov«i 
away,  cheer  after  chJer  .iose,  which  grJdS 
died  away  in  the  distance.  «r»uuaiiy 

at  the  hotel  at  Salenio.  But  they  did  not  have 
much  sleep  Their  ionderful  adventure  fomS 
thethemeofdiscussidnall nightlong.  AndaX^ 
he  only  conclusion  Which  they  could  come  to  w^ 

Sen  foV'cl^ht'P  ".""««"'  h'adX:„''mT 
token  for  Garibald^i;   that  Obed  fhute  had 

b^n  accepted  as  G Jibaldi  himself;  «*d,  flnaJiV 
coDjecturea  of  theselAmericang.      '=°°°™®'' '"« 


CH. 

ANOT: 


Time  passed  a 
gained  something 
ity ;  yet  the  sadnc, 
relaxed.    In  addij 
there  now  arose 
What  was  she  to 
forever  with  thest 
leave  them?    Th 
perplexing  one, 
the  utter  lonelintR 
distressing  di8titi( 
Bgainst  such  fei " 
thoughts,  but  it 
ber  mind. 


!R  XLII, 

IR  HBVELATION. 

■  ■?'J  Zillah  once  more  re- 
ikeherold  spring  and  elastic- 
«  of  her  situation  was  noway 
in  to  the  griefs  of  the  past, 
10  problem  of  the  future. 
Jo7    Was  ^e  to  go  on  thus 
kind  fnend»?  or  wai  she  to 
subject  was  a  painful  and  a 
Id  always  brought  before  her 
of  her  position  with  the  most 
"ess.     Generally  she  fought 
'>  »"«  tried  to  dismiss  such 
difficult  to  drive  them  from 


f^^  'he  nan^  "orherf;;ndoTb.;i"ke«:  T 
er  which  he  diWout  a  check  for  heVforThM 

Mnn  .if-  .  T^h  pleasure  in  telling  a  storr 

MOD  this  occasiok    ZiUah's  eager  interesL  hSJ 

^h^  /T'  '"l-P"^"'"*^.^  encouS^ 
Sn C  °  ^M  !?f '  '•"'•^  ''"yet  some  spWt 

About  a  week  or  ton  days  aflei^is  •  Obed 

a  noTiceSl'lr  '^*  a;er«rio„;?^ 
SoSvif  n^..i.  ^u"??*'  """^  "«ked  him  anx. 
lOMiy  ,f  any  thlni ;  had  happened. 

"ere  18  more  troii  ble  in  store  for  yoit    I  feared 


welf'mv?""''  "™'  '«*''  ••»'  I  IxKi  to  wait  to 
see  if  my  fears  were  true. " 

Zillah  regarded  him  fearfullv    not  lrnA-.i 

"I've  kept  this  matter,  to  rovself  till  n/»-.  >• 
hf  1""^  0»>«^>^,"but  I  do  nSnd  to  k^D 
It  from  you  aiyr  longer.  I've  8Dok«n  f^.f!^'^ 
about  it,  and  sl^  thiSL  thltjou'y  better  kn?w 
It.  At  any  rat^"  he  added  ^'it  bn^«.  k  j 
some  thing*  yo^ve  borne  ;Wt  corned  ^^fZ 
of  the  rest,  and  «ems  to  ^aWem  wrrs^".'"^ 

feJ'lS  n^  bTolr  ^''''^  ''"  «-»'  •*«  « 

."  ][,°"^<l™f^  "  said  Obed,  "has  been  returned." 
"My  draft  returned ?" said  Zil^  i„  ^f^ 
ishment.     "What  do  yon  mean  "    '  '"  "'T, 

wi?,!l  "v'"'"5[y  ;*  '^^  '*»''«"»  of  this.  aK 
rJn  f  .  ^°"  l"?^'  "=■"»«  '"»<=''  about  teri»-s 
ago.  I  said  nothing  to  yon  about  it  hnt  .^u 
"  upon  myself  to  write  for  expKd'jnJ"  ffl 
evening  I  received  this"-and  he^dX  a  uZl 

Jathom.  I  ve  also  forwarded  an  account  of^l,!. 
and  a  copy  of  this  letter  to  the  S  at  Mai^ 
wd  es,  and  to  the  police  here,  to  Ci?t  thfeSTn 
their  investigations.     I'm  afi^d  the  polce  here 

As  Obed  ended  he  handed  the  letter  to  Zillah. 
wh^o  opened  It  without  a  word,  and^dSfot 

'<Q.»      T  "^"«>».«1*mi6erlO,18l». 

».  iJ    .'      °  answer  to  your  favor  of  7th  instant. 

Smn-f  ,  "^^  "r*^  l''.'^''^  f""»  Miss  EU^ 
f£3oSoJi".  :'i  """^^u'  ""!:*y  'housand  pound. 


ex^'  '^t^  it  happened  that  all  her  funds  were 

Pl/^  Bhe"cotrSl  th"^h^''cS'Z  SL'ai'^""''-'>r«"a'^^^^^^^^^^ 


the  17th  June  she  came  in  pereon  and  withdrew 
Ae  stock,  m  consols,  whicUhe  had  depoeiZ 

7^  H^r""!**^*  ,*?  ^"'^  thoosandTSnl! 
C*30,000)  as  aforesaid.  That  it  was  Mim  Piu. 
Lorton  he^elf  there  is  no  doubt  ;Z  i!Zl^ 
same  lady  who  deposited  the  finds,  a^whS 
•"•vent  checks  to  n8«*m  timff  to  ti'ma    Th^ 

waplea,  must  be  an  impostor^  and  we  reoom- 
mendyou  to  hand  hv  over  to  the  pou4 
nw-    .     ™  *'*®  J»onOT>  be.  Sir,  your  most 
obedient  servants,    JB!to,  Akd  Bbo^e. 
"Obb>  Cinrr«,  Biq.!r 

J?..*^?'?''  u""*  had  been  sh^^^SuS" 
thte  fetal  sheet  w^th  wild  eye,  and  haggard  &«. 
Obed  made  an  effort  to  cry  for  help, Zut  Mn«t 
«^ '■''e  a  ^«n-    His  sfster  cai^^  nmnimr  to 
and  seelnj:  Zillah'*  condition,  she  tpofh^iSfi 

WIUS4  , 

Poor  child  I  poor  sweet  child!"  ahe  cried. 


■i^' 


146 


THE  CPYPTOORAM. 


."!Kf.*21!°i°^.'    '*•'  ^  """'»'    SJ^'^i"  die  I  ""  iMtant  pnt  an  end  to  all  theme 


Jf  tidignaa^fflt 


But  ZUlah  aqddlj  rooMd  hendf.  It  «^  no 
■oft  mood  thi*  wa«  orer  her  now;  it  wa«,|iot 
•  broken  heart  that  was  now  threatening  Hw. 
ThlB  letter  leemed  to  throw  a  flood  of  light  ov^ 
ner  dark  and  mysteriooa  persecution,  which  in 


^Bg»  aiiu'  ftw  lOTOd  Hilda  whidiKa^SsiMTO. 
u®^' .  ^T*  '**'  "y**  flMhed,  and  ^e  color  which 
had  left  her  cheeka  fliuhed  bade  again,  moont. 
>ng  high  with  the  full  sweep  of  her  indignant  pan- 
won.  She  started  to  her  iiset,  her  hands  clenched, 
^and  her  brows  frowning  darkty. 


J 


"Yon  art 

Item  voice. 

atone  has  l>e< 

the  one  wlio 

was  my  com] 

my  bed;  wh( 

has  betrayed  i 

long  sigh;  " 

know  it    Do 

not  look  so'sad 

your  loving  h( 

as  thopgh  you 

And  slle  hoi 

»i«er.    Obed  ( 

tended,  and  pr 

"Sit  down, 

tenderly.     "  Y 

if  you  can." 

"lamialm, 
fuintly. 

"Come,"8Ri 

about  it  now. 

week,  we  will 

You  mtast  drive 

111  tell  yott  wh 

and  take  vou  to 

Zillah  looked 

predating  hb  v 

mens  town,  and 

A  week  passec 

•peak  of  this  sui 

oppressed  by  a 

tituation.    As  1( 

rich  she  had  nc 

now!— now  she) 

the  wide  world,  i 

these  noble-hear 

do?     This  coulc 

could  she  do — si 

How  could  she 

would  become  of 

Could  she  go  I 

■he  had  fled? 

once,  and  was  in 

Sooner  than  do  th 

What,  then,  coub 

den  to  these  kirn 

•he?    She  though 

bat  what  could  sh 

«woy  nearly  all  he 

J^ng  to  get  -bad 

had  robbed  her. 

For,  to  do  this, 

tain  the  help  of  01 

•he  would  have  to 

do  this?    cSuldsh 

•orrow.of  her  life] 

their  fetal  marriai 

Guy's  letter,  and  h 

these  things  were 

«ny  one,  and  the 

known  was  jntoler 

•eek  ailec  Hilda  it 

her  troe  name,  at  1 

"S)q^  liipr^  n  thing-1 

„*"»  of  all  her  se 

Hilda  had  betrayei 

•ndrobbedher— ofi 

•V  doubt;  and  sb 

owher  seek  after  he 

«ta  redress  for  her  i 

At  length  she  ha( 


WSilJ^lH, 


^4^^jiXiM^ 


f'.e  lu.  been  Ir^iZ^^^^sA^Ml^i', 
U.e  one  wfco  lived  on  m/fu,her'«  bou^^v*  who 

my  Ded;  who  had  alt  my  love  and  trust— nha 
has  betrayed  me  I    Ah,  will,"  she  added,  lith  a 

not  look  so-gadly  and  so  tenderly  at  me.     I  know 
your  loving  hearts.     You.  at  liast,  do  not  Wk 

•  .        *i^t  \®''^ '""  ^^^  *'"nd»  to  the  brother  and 
sw^er.     Obed  took  that  little  hand  whkh  she  e" 
tended,  and  pressed  it  reverently  to  his  lip.      "^ 
.««H^i  '^"'^"'J^'  P*^''  "^hild,"  Mid  Miss  Chute 
SuL."'^""'™*"^''*^-    T-ytobeeat: 

fdnti""  ^^"^  *"*.'  '^'"  ^  "^<'  '^i'J  Z"'ah, 
ab^'u^HoC'^T®'^-    "Wewilltalk  nomore 

and  take  von  to  Salerno. "       -  ^*'"" 

Zillah  looked  at  him  with  a  faint  smila  an- 
preciamg  hfe  well-meant  reference  tHhai  T 
A 117'  ''"^"'^.  '"f*  her  with  his  sisJe  . 
A  week  passed,  and  Zillah  was  not  allowed  to 
.peak  of  this  subject.     But  all  the  dme  sKs 
oppressed  by  a  sense  of  her  utterly  dewraJe 
"7»t ,  A"  long  as  she  had  beli/ved  hTrsdf 
nch  she  had  not  felt  altogether  heloleM     W 
now!-now  she  found  hersel?  a  pau^      „"«  in 
SLT'^^r.'"'  *  t^""^^'  on  the'li'.unZof 

J^^dSmfo^rrV"^'""  »««.rT"^ra; 

Could  she  go  back  to  that  home  from  which 
Ae  had  fled?     Never!     That  thought  £ 
once,  and  was  instantly  scouted  as  imposslbte 
Sooner  than  do  that  she  would  die  of  st-S^atS." 
What,  then,  could  she  do?    Live  on  as  a  bur 

t?\^^  '""k'^  '«•"'»''?    AlaslU^co^ld 

?r .r'^"}!  •'r '^  Tht'sbtthi?gh'  s 

tiying  to  get^ack  her  money  from  thow  who 

Jo;'^':r'H''',K••  """'^'^^uwthisKne? 

For,  to  do  this,  it  would  be  necessary  to  oh- 
"«,^'P  of  Obed  Chute;  and^Tt^at  c.^ 

WW  '  ^  J-onm  she  reveal  to  another  the  Hoomt 
wrmwof  her  life?  Could  she  tell  hm  X 
the.r  fatal  marriage;  about  the  Earl-   S 

aI"  f"*"'  ""•*  ''**  «'8ht  from  hoTe?  No^ 
Awe  tlungs  were  too  sacred  to  be  divulged  to 
«V  one,  and  the  very  idea  of  making^em 
known  was  intolerable.  But  if  gh7be™n  I^ 
«ek  afte,  Hilda  it  would  be  necesLi^foten 
kftroe  name,  at  least  to  Obed  Chut^and  S. 


THE  CBYPTOOBAM. 


S«S'!^r°*  whwIrweBa  involve  the  dis- 
dMure  of  aU  her  secret.    It  could  not  be  done 

nKi.5       ,'  and  she  was  helpless;  ahe  could 

r,^:Sf^h;i«^f  "'  *"'^'^^'" "  "'^ 

At  length  she  had  a  conversation  with  Obed 


147 

I  «?«T™?'^'"  her  draft.    She  told  him  that  when 

I  »he  flrst  went  to  Tenby  her  sister  had  persuadS 

&nker.*'i^HT  "'• ''?'  '"°"«-^  '""«  h^^^o^^ 
SZ     HiM'^"  ",7''h  M«««".  Tihon  and 

ha™  it  H„ii  v^if"*'f  ,'""*  «P'"«  to  London  to 
nave  it  done.  She  told  Obed  that  thev  we're 
I'vuig  in  seclus  on,  that  Hilda  had  char^^of  thi 
finances  and  drew  all  the  checks,  of^na^ 
Messrs.  Tilton  and  Browrte  had  been Wto  M?e^ 
that  she  was  the  Ella  Urton  who  hod  d^wsU^ 
the  money.     In  this  Wiy  it  was  easy  fo^  W 

lentforMSg^mt  ""^'^  '"'*  "^  "'■-^-''  «" 

fnli'^J^r^f/'""^"  ""'"^  ''«  ''t  'ast.  in  tones 
full  of  pity,  "  vou  could  not  imagine  once  xvhar 
niotive  this  Ilifda  could  have  for  beZ"^'  "I" 
Ilereyouhavemotiveenough.   Itisave^f^r^ 

nn  .1  ^"c  J;"'  ""'»  '"»'■''  b^en  betraybg  oM 
another  for  less  than  this  since  the  worKZ* 
There  was  once  a  certain  Judas  who  carriX; 
a  Plan  of  betrayal  for  a  far  smaller  fi^re  But 
ind  hTih   """"  ^°1  "^'*"  associatiT  GualSr 

Zilllh'**''"r  "'ti,-''*'^  •"""  ''f^«  •>«"»."  said 
"i-     '  Icanhelievenothinglelse." 

-„^        ""*!  *"••*  ">«'  Gualtierlwa«  ia  attead- 
ance  on  you  for  years  ?"  ^weaa- 

II  Yes."  ^ 

"  Did  you  ever  notice  any  thing  Dke  frimk^ 
ship  between  these  two  ?"  *  ®"'*^ 

"She  always  seemed  to  hold  herself  U  fi.- 
above  him  that  I  do  not  see  howX^uM 
have  had  any  understanding. "  ' 

to^o^'?-'"'  ***"»  *"  *I^  '0  her  more  than 

'  That  looks  like  confidence.  And  than  rHa 
sent  him  to  take  von  to  NanlM  L  .«.f  '  *"* 
the  way  ?"  ^       °  P"'  you  out  of 

Zillah  sighed. 
Gn^de??""'   ^^""''"k^econldh.veloTed 

"It  seems  absurd.    Anr  thimr  lik«  lnv«  k. 
tween  those  two  is  impossible."    *  "'"  ^ 

ChJy  T  ^A^  ""dflrm  conviction,"  saidObed 

the  prime  mover  in  this.    Both  of  th^J  musT^ 

a  tool  m  his  hands.  Women  will  do  anv  thinL^ 
■"''!Z''\  /'•«  '"«'  «««^rificed  you  t^  Wm  I? 
isn  t^o  bad  a  case  as  it  first  looked  "  " 


1 


-•— -  .«  II.  uiai  lUOKeU. 

..iir?"'  so' bad!"    said   Zfllah    in   wonHflr 

What  is  worse  than  to  betray  a  Vri^dr  ^"• 

..I-    r  *",  *  *°,"""  '^'ray*  a  friend  for  the 

£l  l^JZ'  • ''"r '^  •'"^  ^'«'  women  hl^ 


garni  which  he  h^ThiyedTwTu^  T,^ 
dltfr;  «?"*»."' ^'i^  "terlin^^n^hS 
SSfn^  of^fo^*"""?''  dollars-besides  that 

Such  was  Obed  Chute's  idea,  «nd  Zillah  .c-^ 
ceptid  it  ..the  only  true  solution.    AnjrotW 


■ill 


f^  > 


% 


.g, 


:i 


148 


THE  CRYPTOGHAM. 


solation  Tronld  force  her  to  believe  that  Hilda 
had  been  a  hypocrite  all  her  life — that  her  devo- 
tion was  a  sham,  and  her  love  a  mockery.  Such 
a  thing  seemed  incredible,  and  it  seemed  far 
more  natural  to  her  that  Hilda  had  acted  from 
some  mad  impulse  of  love  in  obedience  to  the 
strong  temptation  held  out  by  a  lover.  Yes,  she 
thought,  she  had  placed  herself  in  his  power, 
and  did  whatever  he  told  her,  without  thinking 
of  the  consequences.  The  plot,  then,  ninst  be 
all  Gnaltier's.  Hilda  herself  never,  never,  nev- 
er could  have  formed  such  a  plan  against  one 
who  loved  her.  She  could  not  have  known 
what  she  was  doing.  She  could  not  have  de- 
liberately sold  her  life  and  robbed  her.  So  Zil- 
lah  tried  to  think  ;  but,  amidst  these  thoughts, 
there  arose  the  memory  of  that  letter  from 
Naples — that  picture  of  the  voyage,  every  word 
of  which  showed  such  devilish  ingenuity,  and 
sach  remorseless  pertinacity  in  deceiving.  Love 
may  do  much,  and  tempt  to  much,  she  thought ; 
but,  after  all,  coi|ld  such  a  letter  have  emanated 
from  any  one  whose  heart  was  not  utterly  and 
wholly  bad  and  corrupt?  All  this  was  terrible 
to  Zillah. 

"If  I  conld  but  redress  your  wrongs,"  said 
Obed,  one  day—"  if  you  would  only  give  me 
permission,  I  would  start  to-morrow  for  En- 
gland, and  I  would  track  this  pair  of  villains  till 
I  compelled  them  to  disgorge  their  plunder,  and 
one  of  them,  at  least,  should  make  acquaintance 
with  the  prison  hulks  or  Botany  Bay.     But  you 
will  not  let  me,"  he  added,  reproachfully. 
Zillah  looked  at  him  imploringly. 
"  I  have  a  secret,"  said  she,  "  a  secret  which 
I  dare  nol  divulge.     It  involves  others.     I  have 
sacrificed  every  thing  for  this.   I  can  not  ment\oi 
it  even  to  you.    And  now  all  is  lust,  an^  I  hi 
nothing.    There  is  no  help  for  it,  none.  'S 
seemed  to  be  speaking  to  herself.     "  For  men," 
she  continued,    "if  they  were  hunted^^^wn, 
names  would  come  out,  and  then  all  yould  be 
know-n.     And  rather  than  have  all  known" — her 
voice  greV  higher  and  sterner  os  she<%oke,  ex- 
pressing a  desperate  resolve — "  rather  than  have 
all  known,  I  would  die— yes,  by  A^'death  as  ter- 
rible as  that  which  stared  me  in  the  face  when  I 
was  drifting  in  the  schooner  I"^  '. 
.   Obed  Chute  looked  at  hec^>Fity  was  on  his 
,4^.     He  held  out  his  hand<|ilid  took  hers. 

*'  It  shall  npt  be  known, "  said  he.   "  Keep  your 
secret.    The  time  will  coibe  some  day  when  you 
will  be  rigkted.    Trust  in  God,  my  child." 
The  time  passed  on,  bat  Zillah  was  now  a 

Ey  to  this  new  trouble. ;  How  conld  she  live? 
)  was  penniless.  Could  she  consent  to  remain 
s  a  burden  on  kind  friends  like  these  ?  These 
thongbta  agitated  her  incessantly,  preying  upon 
her^fhind,  and  never  leaving  her  by  night  pr  by 
day.  She  was  helpless.  How  could  she  live  ? 
By  what  means  could  she  ho))e  to  get  a  living  ? 
Her  friends  saw  her  meUtncholy,  but  attrib- 
uted it  all  to  the  greater  sorrows  through  which 
she  had  passed.  Obed  Chute  thought  that  the 
bwt  cnre  waa  perpetnal  distraction.    So  he  bos- 


itd  himself  with  arrauglu);  Kuerer-^ndliigBeilH 
of  expeditions  to  all  the  charming  environs  of 
Naples.  Pompeii  and  Hercnlaneum  opened  be- 
fore them  the  wonders  of  the  ancient  world. 
Vesuvius  was  scaled,  and  its  crater  revealed  its 
awful  depths.  BUn,  Misenum,  and  Puuuoli 
were  explored.   Psntum  showed  them  iU  eternal 


temples.  They  lingered  on  the  beach  at  Salerno, 
They  stood  where  never-ending  spring  abides, 
and  never-withering  flowers,  in  the  vale  of  Spr- 
rento — the  fairest  spot  on  earth ;  best  npresent- 
ative  of  a  lost  Paradise.  They  sailed  over  every 
part  of  that  glorious  bay,  where  earth  and  air 
and  sea  all  combine  to  bring  into  one  spot  all 
that  this  world  contains  of  beanty  and  sublimitv 
of  joyoiisnesb  and  loveliness,  of  radiance  and  of 
deligHK  Yet  still,  in  spite  of  M  this,  the  dull 
weight  of  melancholy  coold  not  be  removed,  but 
never  ceased  to  weigh  her  down. 

At  length  Zillah  conld  control  her  feelings 
no  longer.  One  day,  softened  by  the  tender 
sympathy  and  watchful  anxiety  of  these  loving 
friends,  she  jrielded  to  the  generous  promptings 
of  her  heart  and  told  them  her  trouble. 

"I  am  penniless,"  she  said,  as  she  concluded 
her  confession.  "You  are  too  generous,  and 
it  is  your  very  generosity  that  makes  it  bitter  for 
me  to  be  a  mere  dependent.  You  are  so  gener- 
ous that  I  will  ask  you  to  ge(,  me  something  to 
do.  I  know  you  will.  There,  I  have  told  you 
all,  and  I  feel  happier  already."' 

As  she  ended  a  mile  passed  over  the  face  of 
Obed  Chute  and  his  sister.  The  relief  which  they 
felt  was  infinite.    And  this  was  all ! 

' '  My  child,"  said  Obed  Chnte,  tenderly,  "there 
are  twenty  ditfetent  things  that  I  can  say,  each  of 
which  would  put  you  perfectly  at  ease.  I  will 
content  myself,  however,  with  merely  one  or  two 
brief  reibarks.  In  the  first  place  allow  itie  to  state 
that  yo1fi  are  not  penniless.  Do  yon  think  that 
you  aie^ing  to  lose  all  your  property?  N»^ 
by  the'^temal !  no  I  I,  Obed  Chute,  do  declare 
^^alT^  will  get  it  back  some  day.  So  dismiss 
r  fears,  and  dry  your  tears,  as  the  hymn-book 
8.  Moreover,  in  the  second  pUce,  yon  speak 
of  being  a  dependent  and  a  burden.  I  can  hard- 
ly trust  myself  to  speak  in  reply  to  that  I  will 
leave  that  to  sister.  For  my  own  part,  I  will 
merely  say  that  you  are  our  sunshine— vou  make 
our  family  circle  bright  as  gold.  To  lose,  you, 
my  child,  would  be— well,  I  won't  say  what,  only 
when  ygp  leave  us  you  may  leave  an  order  at  the 
nearest  stone-cutter's  for  a  tombstone  for  Obed 
Chute." 

He  smiled  as  he  spoke — his  great  rugged  feat- 
ures all  irradiated  by  a  glow  of  enthusiasm  and 
of  happiness. 

"But  I  feel  so  dependent — such  a  burden," 
pleaded  Zillah.  V 

"  Ifthat  is  the  case,"  said  Obed  Citiuto,  "then 
your  feelings  shall  be  consulted.     I  will  em])loy 
yon.      You  shall  have  an  honorable  position. 
Among  us  the  best  ladies  in  the  land  become 
teachers.     President  Fillmore's  danghter  taught 
a  schopl  in  New  England.    It  is  my  purpose  now 
to  engage  you  as  governess." 
"As  governess?" 
"  Yes,  for  my  chUdren." 
"But  I  don't  know  any  thing." 
"I  don't  care — I'm  going  to  engage  yoa  as 
governess  all  the  same.    Sister  teaches  them  the 
mdiments.     What  I  want  yog  to  teach  them  1» 


nrattc. 

"  Music  7  I'm  such  a  wretched  player." 
"  You  play  well  enough  for  me — well  enough 
to  teach  them ;  and  the  beauty  of  it  is,  even  if 
yon  don't  play  well  now,  you  soon  will.  Doesn't 
Franklin  or  somebody  say  that  one  learns  by 
teaching  ?" 


^1 


.^.'• 

y^^ 


J. 


ff 

m* 


u'S?.^  'fece  reoki  nnatterable  gmtitnde. 
rWg,    said  ObfldChute,  "  ig  purely  a  bnsi- 
nes.  transaction.    1 11  o^ly  give  you  tL  usual 
W»ent-8ay  five  hundred  dollars  a  year,  and 

II  And— what?" 

"  Found— that  is,  board,  you  know,  and  cloth- 
>"«j  of  course,  also.     Is  it  a  bq^rgain  ?" 

Oh,  my  best  friend !  how  can  I  thank  you  ? 
What  can  1  say?"  '' 

.1. '[ ?*^,l  '!''y' call  me  again  your  ' best  friend :' 
that  IS  all  the  thanks  I  want.  ** 

So  the  engagement  was  made,  and  Zillah  be- 
came a  music-teacher. 


THE  CBYPTOGRAM. 


149 


CHAPTER  XLIII. 

THE  REPORT. 

DcRiNO  Lord  Chetwynde's  absence  Hilda  re- 
ceived constant  communications  from  Gualtier 
He  had  not  very  much  to  teU  her,  though  his 
watchfulness  was  incessant.  He  had  contrived 
to  follow  Lord  Chetwynde  to  London,  under  dif- 
ferent disguises,  and  with  infinite  difficulty:  and 
also  to  put  up  at  the  same  house.  Loi-d  Chet- 
wynde had  not  the  remotest  idea  that  he  was 


watched,  and  took  no  pains  to  conceal  any  of  his 
motions.  Indeed,  to  a  mind  like  his,  the  idea 
of  keeping  any  thing  secret,  or  of  .going  out  of 

H«  w-{  ^IT'^  T.''*^*'  "*^«""  ""teested  itself. 
He  was  perfectlv  ^and  free  from  disguise. 
He  stopped  at  the  Hastings  House,  an  elegant 

himself*altogether  to  ijusiness.  At  this  house 
Gualtier  stopped  alscv  but  could  find  out  nothing 
about  Lord  Chetwynde's  business.  He  could 
'  »n'y  learn  this  much,  that  Lord  Chetwynde 
went  everjr  day,  at  eleven  o'clock,  to«ie  ofllce 
of  his  sohcitora,  Mmsw.  Pendergrast  Brothers, 
w  th  whom  he  was  closeted  for  an  hour  or  more, 
iudently  there  was  some  very  important  busi- 
new  between  them;  but  what  that  business  was. 
or  to  whom  it  might  have  reference,  was  a  per- 
fect mystery  to  Gualtier.  This  was  about  the 
•um  and  substance  of  the  information  which  his 
letters  conveyed  to  the  anxious  Hilda 

tinn^  .ill''!"?'  "»?X"""8  «■'•''=''  *^"«l'ier  men- 
Uoned  about  Lord  Chetwynde  was  read  by  her 
with  eager  curiosity.     She  found  herself  admir- 

hf.  .^i^TJ^  '^'",  "^  "•'"  ""»"  ^l""""  8h«  loved, 
aISI  rJ^^^'^^T''^^^  ">'»  f™nk  and  open 
demeanor.    That  she  herself  was  cunning  ^d 

t^lilT"^  no  obstacle  to  her  appreciation  of 

tceoTrho  """"?•',  P*.'*?!"'  *"''«^.  the  ab- 
sence of  those  qualities  in  herself  made  her  ad- 

TZuT  *",f hers,' since  they  were  qualities 
hi2  l.iv-,""'**  "^"""  ^"^  '"  K"'"-  Whatever 
M^k^^  ?.  '  ^^!^^-  "*'«'"  be,  he  was  now 
Tvar  fh^v^""^  i' ""' '"  'he  most  open  manner, 
ZL  ,h.  ^'"t »' ^'cealment.  She  was  work! 
rf  hIv  V  * '  5" '""  *<"'"«  •"  th*  broad  light 
•nS  ""■  P**'  "*  'he  looked  back  upon  it, 
»onndra  jOT^nsly  amidst  basenesses  «^ 
wwawiwandCTlmfeSjhig  was  straight  and  clear, 

mLr  !  T\  "^/'L'  J""  man's-not  dark,  bu 
mher  a  .h.ning  Ught,  where  all  was  open  to  the 
SJlH  t  'he   worFd.     And    what  communion 


Tier  wily  and  tortuous  nature?  C^uld  he  not 
easily  discover  it?  Would  not  hU  clear,  open, 
honest  eyes  see  through  andthroftgh  the  iMsk 
of  deceit  with  which  she  concealed  her  true 
°u"!l*\.  ^here  was  something  in  his  gaze 
which  she  never  could  face— something  which 
u-  u*  T?*;^"'  significance  to  her-something 
which  told  het  that  she  was  known  to  him,  and 
tiiat  aU  her  character  lay  open  before  him,  with 
ail  its  cunmng,  its  craft,  ite  baseness,  and  its 
wickednMS.  No  arts  or  wiles  of  hers  could 
avail  to  blind  him  to  these  things.  This  she 
knew  and  felt,  but  still  she  hoped  against  hope, 
and  entertained  vague  expectations  of  some  final 
understanding  between  them. 

But  what  was  the  business  on  which  he  was 
engaged?  What  was  it  that  thus  led  him  so 
constantly  to  his  solicitors  ?  This  was  the  prob- 
lem that  puzzled  her.  Various  solutions  sug- 
g^sted  themselves.  One  was  that  he  was  merely 
anxious  to  see  about  breaking  the  entail  so  a*  to 
pay  her  back  the  money  which  General  PomeroV 
had  advanced.     This  he  had  solemnly  promised 

I  erhaps  his  long  search  through  his  father's 
papers  had  reference  to  this,  and  his  business 
with  his  solicitors  concerned  this,  and  this  only 
This  seemed  natural     But  there  was  also  an- 
other solution  to  the  problem.    It  was  within 
the  bounds  of  possibility  that  he  was  taking 
measures  for  a  divorce.     How  he  could  obtain 
one  she  did  not  see,  but  he  might  be  trying  to 
do  so.     She  knew  nothing  of  the  divorce  law, 
hut  had  a  general  idea  that  nothing  except  crinie 
or  cruelty  could  avail  to  break  the  bonds  of 
mamage.     That  Lord  Chetwynde  was  fixed  in 
his  resolve  to  break  all  ties  between  them  was 
painfully  evident  to  her;  and  whatever  his  iq^ 
mediate  purpose  might  now  be,  she  saw  phiinly 
that  It  could  only  have  reference  to  this  sepii- 
ration.     It  meant  that,  and  nothing  else.     He 
abhorred  her,  and  was  determined  to  get  rid  of 
her  at  all  hazards.     This  she  plainly  saw. 

At  length,  after  a  few  weeks'  absence.  GuU- 
tier  returned,  mda,  fuU  of  impatience,  ifent 
tor  nim  to  the  moilling-room  almost  as  soon  as 
he  had  arrived,  and  went  there  to  wait  for  his 
appearance.  She  did  not  have  to  wait  long.  In 
a  few  minutes  Gualtier  made  his  appearance, 
obsequious  and  deferential  as  usual 

"You  are  back  alone,"  said  she,  as  she  greet- 
ed him.  * 

"Yes;  Lord  Chetwynde  is  coming  back  to- 
morrow or  next  day,  and  I  thought  it  better  for 
me  t<»  come  back  first  so  as  to  see  you  before  ho 
came. 

II  Have  yon  found  out  any  thing  more  ?" 
No,  my  lady.     In  my  letters  I  explained 

the  iiature  of  the  case.  I  made  aU  the  efforts  I 
could  to  get  at  the  bottom  of  this  business,  and 
to  find  out  what  you  called  tiie  purpose  of  his 
life.  But  yon  see  what  insuperable  obstacles 
were  in  the  way.  It  was  absolutely  impossible 
for  me  to  find  out  any  thing  in  particular  about 
ms  affairs.  I  could  not  posubly  gain  access' to 
Ilia  papera.  r  tried  R>  gttiir  inforamtioir  fttmr 
one  of  the  clerks  of  Pendergrast— formed  an  ao- 
qnaintance  with  him,  gave  him  a  dinner,  and 
succeeded  in  getting  him  drunk;  but  eve*  that 
was  of  no  avail  The  fellow  was  commonieatiTe 
enough,  but  the  trouble  was  he  didn't  know 


150 


*HE  CRYPTOGRAM. 


or  pnqKises  than  I  myself  had.  I  have  done  all 
that  was  possible  for  a  man  in  my  situation,  and 
grieve  deeply  that  I  hare  nothing  more  definite 
to  communicate." 

"You  have  done  admirably,"  said  Hilda; 
"  nothing  more  was  possible.  I  only  wished  you 
to  watch,  and  you  have  watched  to  good  purpose. 
Tilts  much  is  evident,  from  your  reports,  that 
Lord  t)het^yynde  has  some  all-engrossing  pur- 
pose. What  it  is  can  not  be  known  now,  but 
must  be  known  some  day.  At  present  I  must 
bo  cohtent  with  the  knowledge  that  this  purpose 
exists."  g 

'•I  have  formed  some  conjectures,"  said  Gual- 
tier. 

"On  what  grounds  ?  On  any  other  than  those 
which  you  have  made  known  to  me  ?" 

"No.     You  know  all." 

"  Jfever  mind,  then.  I  also  have/ormed  con- 
jectures, and  have  a  larger  and  broader  ground 
on  which  to  build  them.  What  I  want  is  not 
conjectures  of  any  kind,  but  facts.  If  you  have 
any  more  facts  to  communicate,  I  should  like 
vei-y  much  to  hear  them. " 

"Alas,  my  lady,  I  have  already  communicMed 
to  you  all  the  facts  that  I  know." 

Hilda  was  silent  for  some  time. 
.  "  You  never  spoke  to  Lord  Chetwynde,  I  sup- 
pose?" said  she  at  length. 

"  Oh  no,  my  lady ;  I  did  not  venture  to  come 
into  communication  with  him  at  all." 

"Did  he  ever  see  you  ?" 

"  lie  certainly  cast  his  eyes  on  me,  once  or 
twice,  but  without  any  recognition  in  them.  I 
really  don't  think  that  he  is  conscious  of  the  ex- 
istence of  a  person  like  me. " 

"  Don't  be  too  sure  of  that.  Lord  Chetwynde 
is  one  who  can  see  every  thing  without  appearing 
to  see  it.  His  eye  can  take  in  at  one  glance  the 
minutest  details.  He  is  a  man  who  is  quite  ca- 
pable of  making  the  discovery  that  you  were  the 
steward  of  Chetwynde.  What  measure  did  you 
take  to  avoid  discovery  ?" 

Gualtier  smiled. 

"The  measures  which  I  took  were  such  that 
it  would  have  puzzled  Fouche'  himself  to  pene- 
trate my  disguise.  I  rode  in  the  same  compart- 
ment with  him,  all  the  way  to  London,  dressed 
as  an  elderly  widow. " 

"A  widow?" 

"Yes;  with  a  thick  black  veil,  and  a  very 
largo  umbrella.  It  is  simply  impossible  that  he 
could  penetrate  my  disguise,  for  the  veil  was  too 
thick  to  show  my  features. " 

"But  the  hotel?" 

"At  the  hotel  I  was  a  Catholic  priest,  from 
Novara,  on  my  way  to  America.  I  wore  spec- 
tacles, with  dark  glasses.  No  friend  could  have 
recognized  me,  much  less  a  stranger." 

"  But  if  you  went  with  the  clerks  of  Pender- 
grast,  that  was  an  odd  disguise." 

"  Oh,  when  I  went  with  them,  I  dropped  that. 
I  became  an  American  naval  officer,  belonging 
to  Hie  ship  Niagara,  which  was  then  in  London. 
I  wore  a  heavy  beard  ond  mnstache,  and  talke<l 
nroogh  ray  now.  Bssidas,  I  wouht^rink  no^  t 
thing  but  whisky  and  sherry  cobblers.  My  Amer- 
ican trip  proved  highly  advantageous." 

"And  do  you  feel  confident  that  he  lias  not 
reco^ized  you  ?" 

"Confident!  liccognitinn  was  nttorly  impos- 1 
-=•■'-     It  would  have  required  my  nearest  friend  i 


■ibie. 


or  relative  to  have  recognized  me,  through  such 
disguises.  Besides,  my  face  is  one  which  can 
very  easily  be  disguised.  I  have  not  strongly 
marked  features.  My  face  can  easily  serve  for 
an  Italian  priest,  or  an  American  noval  officer. 
I  am  always  careful  to  choose  only  such  parts  as 
nature  has  adapted  me  for." 

"And  Lord  Chetwynde  is  coming  back?" 

"Yes." 

"When?" 

"To-morrow,  or  next  day." 

"  I  wonder  how  long  he  wilj/^y  ?" 

"That  is  a  thing  which  nb  one  can  find  out 
so  well  as  yourself."  • 

Hilda  was  silent. 

"  My  lady,"  said  Gualtier,  after  a  long  pause. 

"Well?"  bi     «" 

"You  know  how  ready  I  am  to  serve  you." 

"Yes,"  said  Hilda,  dreamily. 

"If  this  man  is  in  your  way  he  can  be  re- 
moved, as  others  have  been  removed, "sold  GuaU 
tier,  in  a  low  voice.  "Some  of  them  have  been 
removed  by  means  of  my  assistance.  Is  this 
man  in  your  way?  Is  he?  Shall  I  help  you? 
For  when  he  goes  away  again  I  can  become  his 
valet.  I  can  engage  myself,  bring  good  rec- 
ommendations, and  find  employment  from  him, 
which  will  bring  me  into  close'contact.  Then, 
if  you  find  him  in  your  way,  I  can  remove  the 
obstacle." 

Hilda's  eyes  blazed  with  a  lurid  light.  She 
looked  at  Gualtier  like  a  wrathful  demon.  The 
words  which  she  spoke  came  hissing  out,  hot  and 
fierce : 

' '  Curse  you !  You  do  not  know  what  yon  are 
saying.  I  would  rather  lose  a  thousand  such  as 
you  than  lose  him .'  I  would  rather  die  myself 
than  have  one  hair  of  his  head  injured  I"    " 

Gualtier  looked  at  her^  transfixed  with  amaze- 
ment. Then  his  head  sank  down.  These  words 
crushed  him. 

"  Can  I  ever  hope  for  forgiveness  ?"  he  falter- 
ed at  last.  "I  misunderstood  you.  I  am  your 
slave.     I — I  only  wished  to  serve  you." 

Hilda  waved  her  hand. 

"You  do  not  understand,"  said  she,  as  she 
rose.     "  Some  day  you  will  understand  all." 

"  Then  I  will  wait,"  said  Gualtier,  humbly. 
"  I  have  waited  for  years.  I  can  still  wait.  I 
only  live  for  you.     Forgive  me." 

Hilda  looked  away,  and  Gualtier  sat,  looking 
thoughtfully  and  sadly  at  her. 

"There  is  one  thing,"  said  he,  "which  you 
were  fortunate  to  think  of.  You  guarded  against 
a  danger  which  I  did  not  anticipate." 

"  Ah  !"  said  Hilda,  roused  by  the  mention  of 
danger.     "  What  is  that  ?" 

"The  discovery  of  so  humble  a  person  as  my- 
self. Thanks  to  you,  my  assumed  name  has 
saved  me.  But  at  the  same  time  it  led  to  an 
embarrassing  position,  from  which  I  pnly  escaped 
by  my  own  wit." 

"  What  do  you  allude  to?  "  asked  Hilda,  with 
languid  curiosity. 

"Oh,  it's  the  doctor.  You  know  he  has  been 
ttttetiding  Mrs.  Harf.  Well,  sotne^mo  ago.T^- 
fore  I  left  for  London,  he  met  me,  and  talked 
about  things  in  general.  Whenever  he  meets 
me  he  likes  to  get  up  a  conversation,  ond  I  gen- 
eridly  avoid  him ;  but  this  time  I  couldn't.  Aft- 
er a  time,  with  a  great  appearance  of  concern,  he 
said : 


XJlOfl»J>im«,WM^AIJ.IUB  WAy  lO  lA>i.l>OW,  l>Hli»«Hl>  A«  Air  KLD15HI.rinP<)W.-- 


" '  I  am  sorry  to  hear,  Mr.  Gualtior,  that  you 
•re  about  to  ho  suMrgeded. '   ' 

"'Super»edo<ir  said  I.'  'What  do  yon 
mean  ?'  ' 

" '  I  hear  from  Rome  gossip  of  the  aervantt 
toat  there  is  a  now  steward.' 


'"A  new  steward!  This  is  the  first  that  I 
have  heard  of  it,'  said  I.  '  I  am  the  only  stew- 
ard here. 

"'This  one,'  said  he,  <U— a— Mr.  M'Ken- 
zie. 

"'M'Kentie!'    said    I,    InsUntaneonsIy— 

y 


m 

mi 


% 


« 


163 


tHE  OTYPTOGRAM. 


•M'KeMier     And  t  langhed.     'Why,  lam 
Mr.  M'Kenzie.'    ag,. 

" '  Yoa  I'  said  hJp  utter  amazem^ent.  '  Isn't 
your  name  doaltiel^' 

'"Oh  no,'  said  I;  'that  is  a  name  which  I 
adopted,  When  a  mnsic-teacher,  for  professional 
purposes.  -  Foreign  taames  are  always  iiked  bet- 
ter than  native  ones.  My  reiki  name  is  M'Ken- 
xie.  The  late  Earl  khQtr,«ll  about  it,  and  so 
does  Lady  Chetwynde.' 

"  The  doctor  looked  a  little  puzzled,  but  at  hut 
accepted  my  explanation  and  went  off.  Still  I 
don't  like  the  look  of  the  thing.'' 

"No,"  said  Hilda,  who  had  listened  with  no 
great  interest,  "  it's  not  pleasant.  But,  after  all, 
there  was  no  danger  even  if  he  had  thought  you 
an  impostor." 

,    "  Pardon  me,  my  hidy ;  but  doctors  are  great 
'  ^ipgossips,  and  can  send  o,  story  like  this  flying 
through  the  county.    He  may  do  so  yet." 

At  another  time  Hilda  wohld  have  taken 
more  interest  in  this  narration,  bat  now  she 
seemed  so  preoccnpied  that  her  usual  vigilance 
had  left  Her.  Gualtier  noticed  this,  but  was 
scarcely  surprised.  It  was  only  a  fresh  proof  of 
her  infatufition. 

So  after  a  few  moments  of  silent  thoughtful- 
ness  bo  left  the  room. 


CHAPTEB  Xliy, 

A  8TBAN0B  KNCOUNTEB. 

••Oh  the  day  after  Gualtier's  interview  with 
Hilda,  Lord  Chetwynde  was  still  in  London,  oc- 
cupied with  the  business  which  had  brought  him 
there.  It  was  between  tea.  and  eleven  in  the 
morning,  and  he  was  walking  down  Piccadilly 
<m  his  way  to  the  dhy,  where  he  had  an  appoint- 
ment with  his  solicitors.  He  was  very  much 
preoccnpied,  and  scarcely  noticed  any  thing 
around  him.  Walking  on  in  this  mood  he  felt 
his  arm  seized  by  some  one  who  had  come  up 
behind  him,  and  a  voice  exclaimed : 

"  Wmdham !  by  all  that's  great !  How  are 
yon,  old  fallow  ?"  and  before  he  had  time  to  re- 
cover ttpnk  his  snrprise,  his  hapd  was  seized, 
anproprioted,  and  nearly  wrmg  off  by  Obed 

To  meet  Obed  Chute  thus  in  London  was  cer- 
tainly strange,  yet  not  so  very  much  so,  after  all. 
Lonaon  is  vast,  mnltitndi|iou8,  enormous — a  nfir- 
tion  rather  than  a  ci^,  as  De  Qnincey  weU  re- 
marks—a place  where  one  may  hide  and  never 
be  discovered ;  yet  after  all  there  an  tertain 
streets  where  strangers  are  most  flnqnent,  and 
that  two  strangers  should  meet  one  another  here 
in  one  of  these  few  thoroug^fkres  is  more  com- 
mon than  one  would  suppose.  After  the  first 
suiprise  at  such  a  sudden  greeting  Windham 
felt  it  to  be  a  very  na^ral  thiag  fbr  Obed  Chote 
to  be  in  London,  and  evinced  ns  much  pleasure 
at  meeting  him  as  was  |hown  by  the  other. 

^*  Hay  you  been  BUrt  ever  dnce  jaur  return 


rEngtend  r*  hoawgDV    " 

*'0h  no,"  said  Windham,  "I've  only  been 
here  a  short  time,  and  I  hare  to  leave  this  after- 
noon." .■ 

"  I'm  sorry  fbr  that ;  I  should  like  to  se^  yon 
— but  I  suppose  it  can't  be  helped;  and  then  I 
most  go  back  immediately. " .  ' 


Ton  are  on  your  way  to  America, 
Obno. 


I  mean— go  back  to 


He 

has 


"Ah! 
then?" 

"America! 
luly." 

"Italy?" 

"  Yes ;  we're  Ml  there  yet" 

"I  hope  Miss  Chute  and  your  family  are  all 
well  ?"  said  Lord  Chetwynde,  politely. 

' '  Never  better,"  said  Obed. 

"  Where  are  you  staying  now  ?'* 

"In  Naples.'' 

"  It's  a  very  pleasant  place." 

"Too  pleasant  to  leave." 

"  By-the-way,"  said.  Lord  Chetwynde,  after  a 
pause,  and  speaking  with  assumed  indifference, 
"  were  you  ever  able  to  find  out  any  thing  about 
— MissLorton?" 

His  indifference  was  but  poorly  carried  out. 
At  the  mention  of  that  name  he  stammered, 
and  then  stopped  short. 

But  Obed  did  not  notice  any  peculiarity, 
answered,  quickly  and  earnestly ; 

"It's  that  veiy  thing,  Windham,  that 
brought  me  here.    I've  left  her  in  Naples." 

"What?"  cried  Lord  Chetwynde,  eagerly; 
"  she  is  with  you  yot,  then?" 

"Yes." 

"In  Naples?" 

"Yes — with  myfiimily.    Poor  little  thing!' 
Windham,  I  have  a  story  to  tell  about  her  that 
will  makei  your  heart  bleed,  if  you  have  tlie 
heart  of  a  man." 

"  My  Grod !"  cried  SjotA  Chetwynde,  in  deep 
emotion ;  "  what  is  it  ?  Has  any  thing  new  hap- 
pened?" 

"  Yes,  something  new-<Momething  worse  than 
before."  > 

"But  the — she  is  alive— is  she  not — she  is 
well — she — " 

"Thank  God,  yes,"  said  Obed,  not  noticing 
the  intense  emotion  of  the  other ;  "  yes — she  has 
suffered,  poor  little  girl,  but  she  is  getting  over 
it — and  one  day  I  hope  she  may  find  some  kind 
of  comfort.  But  at  present,  and  for  some  time 
to  come,  I'm  afraid  that  anv  thing  like  happi- 
ness or  peace  or  comfort  wiU  be  impossible  for 
her." 

"  Is  she  very  sad  ?"  asked  Lord  Chetwynde,  in 
a  voice  which  was  tremulous  from  suppressed  agi- 
tation. 

"The  poor  child  bean  up  wonderfully,  and 
struggles  hard  to  make  ns  think  that  she  is  cheer- 
ful ;  but  any  one  who  watches  her  can  easilv  see 
that  she  has  some  deep-seated  grief,  which,  \n 
spite  of  all  our  care,  njay  even  ^et  wear  away  her 
young  life.  Windham,  I've  heard  of  cases  of  a 
broken  heart  I  think  I  once  in  my  life  saw  a 
case  of  that  kind,  and  I'm  afraid  that  this  case 
will— will  come  at  last  to  be  classed  in  tM  list." 

Lord'Chetwynde  said  nothing.  He  had  no- 
thing to  say— he  had  nothing  to  do.  His  face  in 
the  fi)w  moments  of  this  conversation  had  grown 
ghastly  white,  his  eyes  were  fixed  on  vacancy, 
and  an  expression  of  intense  pain  spread  over 
his  features.  He  walked  along  by  Obed  Chute's 
side  wi^  the  nncartaTn  step  of  one  who  walks 
in  a  dream. 

Obed  said  nothing  fbr  some  time.  His  own 
thoughts  were  reverting  to  that  young  (prl  whom 
he  had  left  in  Naples  buried  nnder  a  mountain  of 
woe.  Could  he  ever  draw  her  forth  fW>m  that 
overwhelming  grief  which  preued  her  down? 


tej-  <  ja^  '.s 


^tkat^H: 


Sw^  yen*  on  together  through  «eveml  streets 
withoijt  any  particular  intention,  each  one  occn- 
£f.„7t'i,  ".""^  thoughts,  until  at  last  they 
found  themselves  at  St.  James's  Park.  Here 
they  entered,  and  walked  along  one  of  the  chief 
avenues.  -  - 

I«.t'^"".f"™"^'*'"'  Windham,"  said  Obed  at 
„  1T-  *'^^?'"1«y«n  have  not  forgotten  the  sto- 
ly  which  Miss  Lorton  told  about  her  betraval." 
selfSSk"^^*  bowed,  withonttmsting  him- 
^j'^^^  you  remember  the  villain's  name,  too, 

"  Yes— Gnaltier,"  said  Lord  Chetwynde. 
I  put  the  case  in  the  hands  «f  the  Mar- 
leUles  police,  and  yon  know  that  up  to  the  time 
when  we  left  nothing  had  been  dpne.     Nothing 
has  been  done  since  of  any  consequence     6n 
my  way  here  I  stopped  at  Marseilles,  and  found 
•  that  the  police  ha4  been  completely  baffled,  an* 
had  found  no  trace  whatever  either  of  Gualtier  or 
of  the  maid  Mathilde.    When  I  arrived  at  Mar- 
MiUes  I  found  that  the  police  there  had  been  on 
the  look-out  for  that  man  for  seven  weeks,  but  in 
•pito  of  the  most  minute  inquiry,  and  the  most 
vigilant  watchfulness,  they  had  seen  no  sign  of 
•ny  such  person.     The  conclusion  that  I  have 
come  to  IS  that  he  never  went  to  Naples— at 
teast  not  after  his  crime.    Nor,   on  the  other 
Sf  '  'i*  ll'^'ely  that  he  remained  in  France. 
The  only  thing  that  I  can  think  of  is  that  both 
be  anJ  the  maid  MathUde  went  back  to  En- 
gland. 

'"There  is  Germany,"  said  Lord  Chetwynde, 
who  had  not  lost  a  word,  "or  the  other  states 
iJ  ^'i,  *^'<"*'?<*  «  a  pleasant  pUce  to  go  to. 
Above  aU,  there  is  America-^the  common  land 

Worid^  *°  *'*'"  ''*^"  ***^^  *"''°'"  '••«  O'*' 
"Yes,  all  that  is  true— veiy  true.  It  may 
ta  so ;  but  I  have  an  idea  that  the  man  may  still 
to  in  England,  and  I  have  8ome  hope  of  irettinir 
on  his  track  now.  But  this  U  not  the  imm^ 
dmte  purpose  of  my  coming.  That  Was  cau^ 
by  a  discovery  of  new  features  in  this  dark  case 
which  show  %  deliberate  plan  on  the  part  of 
(»naltier  and  others  to  destroy  Miss  Lorton  so  as 
to  get  her  money." 
"  Have  you  found  out  any  thing  else  ?    Has 


THE  CRYPTOGRAM.' 


beid?"  asked  Ixirf  Chet^d;,   rbiJ^tHess    rMa^ni^    "     ^•'^,«'y  *»««  had  chMined  him 
.n«ety.     ..Atanyrate,  itTun'orberfiL   Tn^n^.  r\"!."J«  J°pk«0.  »'-k  with 


SL  k"  ^*,  ""^  "'"a."  *=""  "'°t  be  w  bid  as 
what  iherhas  already  suffered." 

"In  one  sense  tt  is  not  so  bad,  but  m  another 
MMe  It  18  worse. 
"How?" 
"Why,  it  is  not  so  bad,  for  it  only  concerns  the 

lor -and  Obeds  voice  dropped  low— "for  it 
bows  h^  that  there  is  an  accomplice  of  Gual- 
^*iJ!r°  ^^.  J"'"^  '^''b  him  in  this  crime, 
^h^liftl'}"'^^  '!*  "*  ""•*  "''''  '««'"nP«e« 
"SriS  '"°'''^^"^  Chetwynde,  aghast 


iSA 

whicfh  the  other  listened  with  rapt  attention.  A 
tong  discussion  followed  this  revelaiSon.      Lord 

S^  *Tk"^*  T'**  "°*>'P  ■*«'"«  that  Miss  Lor- 
tontad  been  betrayed  by  her  sister  as  weU  as  by 

Ki5  •  ""i*^"  ^T^''^y  "«"«'««d  by  the  colZ 
blooded  cruelty  with  which  the  abstraction  of 
the  money  was  managed.  To  him  this  "Ella 
Lorton    seemed  wronged  a«  no  one  had  ever 

^'".^"?^.  ^^""^  "^d  his  heart  burned  to 
assist  Obed  Chute  in  Us  work  of  vengean™ 

"f?«/.1!  ■"•  ""*='••  "^"»  I  ""'^  he  added, 
w     n  .^^™  "  i"°*  """'b  chance.     At  any  rate 

m  fact,  before  many  weeks,  I  expect  to  be  on 
my  way  back  to  India.  As  to  this  wretch.^" 
this  guilty  pair,  it  is  my  opinion  that  they  have 

o^n!^^T^^  Hilda  L*ton  can  not  be  old  ta 
cnme,  and  her  Urst  instinct  would  be  to  fly  from 

ation  '"^f  U^rr"'  *  ^"^S^  8^'"^  determin- 
"1?;  i*^  "  takes  years  to  find  this  out,  I  am 
ready  Jam  wiUmg  to  si«nd  years  in  the 
seara.  The  police  of  Italy  and  oV  France  are 
alrealfy  on  the  track  of  this  affair.  It  i"  my  j^ 
tention  to  direct  the  London  police  to  the  same 

Rinfi  ""1.  "^"^  ''■y  •"*  l'"'8ive  notice  at  , 
Berlin  and  Vienna,  so  as  to  set  the  Prussian 
and  Austrian  authonties  to  work.'    If  nil  thesn 

ff  "fhi'l"''  ^Z  "V  **'*"8,  then  ni  begin  to 
thmk  that  (Aese  devils  are  not  in  Enfope.  If 
they  are  in  America,  I  know  a  dozen  NevTYork 
detectives  that  can  do  something  in  the  way  of 

&*^  T  *'''*x  ""^  artful  .|coundnsls  than  , 
hese.     For  my  6wn  part,  if,  aife  ten  years  of  i 

tw^« -^r^'i^-  T'T'***-    14  spend  twice  the 
AuL^  ^"t  ",.?■■  her,  Ihe  poorlittle  thing  !" 
Obed  spoke  like  a  tender,  pitying  father;  and 

his  tones  vibrated  to  the  heart  of  Lord  Chet- 

For  a  time  he  was  the  subject  of  a  niiiditT     ' 

were  ajr  concerned  here.  Might  he  not  nw 
make  this  the  o^ect  of  his  life^to  y  ve  up  eve,^ 
thing,  and  search  out  these  inAsrnal  criminal 
and  avenge  that  fair  girt  whose  image  had  been 
fixed  so  deeply  on  his  heart?  But,  then  he 
feared  this  Usk.     Already  she  had  chMined  him 


^*Her  sister,"  said  Obed,  who  did  not, 
J»v5      "  necawary  to  tell  what  ZilUh  had 


lot,  as 

re- 

their  not 


™«hd  to  him  in  obnfldence  about 
rang  sistert. 

lord  Chetwrnde  seemed  overwhelmed. 

Ubed  then  began  and  detailed  to  him  every 
onrnmstanc*  of  the  affair  of  the  draft,  to  aU  df 


with  her.  All  his  nature  yearned  and  longed  to 
feel  once/more  the  sunshine  of  her  preSTnce; 
but,  on  account  of  the  verji^lntensitv  of  that 
longing,  the  dictates  of  htnit  and  anty  badl^ 
him  resist  the  impulse.  The  very  tenderne^Tof 
his  love-Its.  aU-consuming  ardor-thoselrery 
i„<?^  r.  u ''  '|"P«,"«^  him  to  espouse  her  c^uso 
and  fight  her  battles  and  win  her' gratitndei  at 
the  very  same  time  held  him  back  and  bade  him 
avoid  her,  and  tear  her  image  from  his  heart." 

S.^  i!I    .7.*!  H'.*°^  *'''"'  '^0^  he,  that  he 
^M^^i^h«__o.verm.^ne  .pell  whieb. 


teHTBMiJ  thrown  over  him  by  the  witchen-  of 
this  young  girt?  Had  he  not  his  wifet  Was 
li?  T  ".  Chetwynde  Castle?  Tfiat  odious 
wife,  fbrced  on  him  in  his  boyhood,  long  since 
grown  abhorrent,  and  now  standing  up,  an  im- 
PMsable  barrier  between  Kim  «nduhe  dearest 

MM}  and,  whUe  assenting  to Obed'slKns,  mad* 


m\\    ^•^'- 


m 


rrHE  cbtftoobah: 


no  proposal  to  assist  him  in-ony  my  in,t)ieir  ac- 
complishment.  '* 

At  the  end  of  aboat  two  hoars  Obed  aii- 
>  nounced  his  intentions  at  present.  He- had  come 
first  and  more  especially  to  see  Messiv^^ton  and 
Browne,  with  a  hope  that  he  might  be  able  to 
trace  the  affair  )^k  far  enongh  to  reach  Hilda 
Lorton ;  and  secondly,  to  set  the  London  police 
to  work.  , 

,|/WilI  yoa  make wy  stay 7" asked  Lord Chet- 

"No,  not  more  than  I  can  help.  I  can  find 
oat  soon  whether  my  designs  are  practicable  or 
not  If  they  can  not  be  immediately  followed 
out,  I  will  leave  il  to  the  police,  who  can  do  far 
better  than  me,  and  go  back  to  Naples.  tMiss 
Lorton  is  better  there,  and  I  feel  like  traveling 
about  Italy  till  she  bos  recovered.  I  see  that 
the  country  is  better  for  her  than  all  the  doctors 
and  medicines  in  the  woirld.  A  sail  round 
Naples  Bay  may  rouse  her  from  the  deepest 
melancholy.  She  has  set  her  heart  on  visiting 
Kome  and  Florence.  So  I  must  go  back  to  my 
little  girl,  you  see." 

"  Those  nlimes,"  snid  Lord  Chetwynde,  calm- 
ly, and  without  exhibiting  any  signs  of  the  emo- 
tion which  the  allusion  to  that  "little  girl" 
caused  in  his  heart — "  those  names  ought  oer- 
tainly  to  be  traceable— 'Hilda  Lorton,'  'Ella 
Lorton.'  The- names  are  neither  vulgar  nor  com- 
mon. A  properly  organized  effort  ought  to  re- 
sult in  some  discovery.  '  Hilda  Lorton,'  'Ella 
Lorton,'"  he  repeated,  "'Hilda,'  'Ella'— not 
very  common  names — '  Hilda,'  '  Ella.' " 

He  repeated  these  names  thus  over  and  over, 
but  the  names  gave  no  hint  to  the  speaker  of  the 
dark,  deep  mystery  which  lay  beneath. 

As  for  Obed,  he  knew  that  Hilda  was  not 
Hilda  Lorton,  and  that  a  search  after  any  one 
by  that  name  would  be  useless.  Zillah  had  told 
him  that  she  was  not  her  sister.  At  length  the 
two  friends  separated.  Lord  Chetwynde  saying 
that  he  would  remain  in  London  till  the  follow- 
ing day,  and  call  on  Obed  at  his  hotel  that  even- 
ing to  learn  the  result  of  his  labors.  With  this 
each  went  about  his  own  business ;  but  into  the 
mind  of  Lord  Chetwynde  there  came  a  fresh 
anxiety,  which  made  nim  have  vague  desires  of 
flying  away  forever — off  to  India,  to  Australia — 
any  where  from  the  power  of  his  overmastering, 
his  hopeless  love.  And  amidst  all  this  there  came 
a  deep  longing  to  go  to  Italv — to  Naples,  to  give 
up  every  thing— to  go  back  with  Obed  Chute. 
It  needed  oil  the  strength  of  his  nature  to  resist 
this  impnlse,  and  even  when  it  was  overcome  it 
was  otily  for  a  time.  His  business  that  day  was 
neglected,  and  he  waited  impatiently  for  the 
evening. 

Evening  come  at  hist,  and  Lord  Chetwynde 
went  to  Obed's  hotel.  He  found  his  friend 
there,  looking  somewhat  dejected. 

"  I  suppose  you  have  accomplished  nothing," 
he  said.     "  I  see  it  in  your  face." 

"You're  about  right,"  said  Obed.  "I'm 
going  bock  to  Naples  to-morrow." 

"YooVb  fiiitad  ntteriy,  thenr^ 

"Yes,  in  all  that  I  hoped.  But  still  I  have 
done  what  I  could  to  put  things  on  the  right 
tmck." 

"  What  have  yon  done  ?" 

"Well,  I  went  first  to  Tilton  and  Browne. 
One  of  my  own  London  agents  accompanied  me 


there,  add  introduced  ine.  They  were  at  once 
rety  eager  to  do  all  that  they  could  for  me. 
But  I  soon  found  out  that  nothing  could  be 
dope.  That  girl— Windham— that  girl,''  re- 
peated  Obed,  with  solemn  emphasis,  "  is  a  little 
the  deepest  party  that  it's  ever  been  my  lot  to 
come  across.  How  any  one  brought  up  with 
my  little  girl"  (this  was  the  name  that  Obed 
loved  to  give  to  Zillah)  "could  develop  such 
superhuman  villainy,  and  such  cool,  calculating, 
far-reaching  craft,  is  more  than  I  can  under- 
stand. She  knocks  me,  I  confess.  But,  then, 
the  plan  may  all  be  .the  work  of  Gualtier."    ' 

"Why,  what  lJl»w  thing  have  vou  found 
out?"  '  t 

"Oh,  nothing  exactly  new;  only  this,  that 
.the  deposit  of  Miss  Lorton's  funds  and  the  with- 
drawal, which  were  all  done  by  her  in  Miss  Lor- 
ton's name  afid  person,  were  managed  so  clever- 
ly that  there  is  not  the  slightest  ghost  of  a  clew 
by  which  either  she  or  the  money  can  be  traced. 
She  drew  the  funds  from  one  banker  and  de- 
posited them  with  another.  I  thought  I  should  be 
able  to  find  out  the  banker  from  whom  they  were 
drawn,  but  it  is  impossible.  Before  I  came  here 
I  had  written  to  Tilton  and  Browne,  and  they  had 
made  inquiries  from  all  the  London  bankers, 
but  not  oni  of  them  had  any  acquaintanct 
whatever  with  that  name.  It  must  nave  been 
some  provincial  bank,  but  which  one  can  not  be 
known.  The  funds  which  she  deposited  were  in 
Bank  of  England  notes,  and  these;  as  welt  as  the 
consols,  gave  no  indication  of  thdr  last  place  of 
deposit.  It  was  cleverly  managea,  and  I  think 
the  actors  in  this  affair  understand  too  well  their 
business  to  leave  a  single  mark  on  their  trail. 
The  account  had  only  been  with  Tilton  and 
Browne  for  a  short  time,  and  they  could  not 
give  mo  the  slightest  assistance  And  so  I  failed 
there  completely. 

"I  then  went  to  the  police,  and  stated  my 
oase.  The  prefect  at  Marseilles  had  already 
been  in  communication  lyith  them  about  it. 
The^  had  made  inquiries  at  all  the  schools  and 
seimnaries,  had  searched  the  directories,  and 
every  thing  else  of  that  kind,  but  could  find  no 
music-teacher  mentioned  by  the  name  of  Gual- 
tier. They  took  it  for  granted  that  the  name 
was  an  assumed  one.  They  had  also  investi- 
gated the  name  'Lorton,'  and  had  fonnd  one 
or  two  old  county  familfes ;  but  these  knew  no- 
thing of  the  young  ladies  in  question.  Tliej 
promised  to  continue  their  search,  and  communi- 
cate to  me  any  thing  that  might  be  discovered. 
There  the  matter  rests  now,  and  there  I  sap- 
pose  it  must  rest  until  something  is  done  by 
somebody.  When  I  have  started  the  Austrian 
and  Prussian  police  on  the  same  scent  I  will 
feel  that  nothing  more  can  be  done  in  Europe. 
I  suppose  it  is  no  use  to  go  to  Spain  or  Busaia 
or  Turkey.  By-the-way,  there  is  Belgium.  I 
mustn't  forget  that." 

I^  was  only  by  the  strongest  effort  that  Lord 
Chetwynde  was  able  to  conceal  the  intensity  of 
his  interest  in  Obed's  revelations.  All  that  day 
hti  own  hratnoi  had  been  utterly  forgotten,  an 
all  his  thonglfB  had  been  occupied  with  Zillah 
and  her  mysterious  sorrows.  When  ha  left 
Marseilles  he  had  sought  to  throw  away  all  con- 
cern for  her  affairs,  and  devote  himself  to  tb« 
Chetwynde  business.  But  Obed  s'  appeaianoe 
had  brought  beck  before  him  in  fresh  strength 


'.mi 


..^^ 


•n  hi8  memories  of  Zillah,  and  the  darker  color 
which  her  tragedy  aasumed  excited  the  deepest 
feehngs  of  bis  nature.  He  struggled  against 
this  in  vain,  and  his  future  pkns  took  a  color- 
ing from  this,  which  afterward  resulted  in  very 
important  events.  ^ 

The  two  friends  talked  over  this  matter,  in 
which  both  were  so  deeply  interested,  far  into 
the  ^ours  of  the  moi-ning,  and  at  length  they 
bade  each  other  good-b v.  On  the  following  day 
Obed  was  to  go  to  Naples,  and  Lord  Chetwynde 
back  to  the  Castle.  ' 


THE  CaYPTOGRAli. 


CHAPTER  XLV. 

ANOTHER    EFPOBt.    ' 

Ta^  words  of  Hilda  produced  a  deeper  effect 
upon  Guahier  than  she  could  have  imagined 
Accustomed  to  rule  him  and  to  have  her  words 
received   and  her  commands   obeyed  without 
remonstrance,  she  had  grown  to  think  that  those 
words  of  hers  were:  all-sufficient  by  themselves 
and  needed  no  explanation.   She  did  not  make  all 
lowance  for  the  feelings,  the  thoughts,  and,  above 
all,  for  the  passions  of  one  Uke  Gualtier.    She 
was  taken  up  with  her  own  plans,  her  cares,  her 
desires,  and  her  purposes.    He,  on  his  part,  wks 
absorbed  in  ope  desire,  and  aU  that  desire  was 
centered  opon  the  one  who  held  herself  so  grand- 
ly aloof  from  him,  using  him  as  her  tool,  but 
never  deigning  to  grant  hip  any  thing  more 
Uian  some  slight  word  or  act  of  kindness.     Her 
Oat  words  had  sunk  deep  into  his  soul.     They 
rerealed  to  him  the  true  condition  of  things 
He  learned  now,  for  the  first  time,  that  she  loved 
Lord  Chetwynde,  and  was  anxious  to  gain  his 
love  In  return.    Lprd  Chetwynde,  he  saw,  was 
not  an  obstacle  to  be  removed  from  her  path, 
bat  rather  an  object  of  yearning  desire,  which 
WM  to  be  won  for  herself.    He  saw  that  she 
wished  to  be  in  reality  that  which  she  was  now 
only  m  name,  and  that  falsely— namely,  Lady 
Chetwj-nde.    To  a  mind  like  his  such  a  discov- 
ery wag  bitter  indeed.    AH  the  vengeful  feelings 
that  layi^dormant  within  him  were  aroused,  and 
henceforth  all  the  hate  Which  he  w«8  capable  of 
feeling  was  turned  toward  thi«  man,  who  had  so 
easily  gained  for  himself  that  love  for  which  he 
had  labored  so  long,  so  arduously,  and  yet  sd 
Twnly.    Had  he  not  devoted  years  to  the  task 
of  acqumn*  that  love?    Had  he  not  labored 
with  patience  and  unfaltering  devotion?    Had 
he  not  endured  slights  atid  insults  without  num- 
ber ?    Had  he  not  crossed  the  ocean  in  her  serv- 
ice in  search  of  information  which  she  wished 
tp^in?    And  for  all  this  what  reward  had  he 
received?     Nothing  more  than  a  cold  smile. 
»nt  here  came  this  man  who  was  at  once  a 
wnmger  and  an  enemy— a  man  who  abhorred 
her,  a  man  whom  she  ought  to  hate,  on  whom 
•he  had  wrought  fearful  iniuries ;  and  lo,  instead 
or  hating,  she  loved  him  in  •  moment  I    Bitter 
,  Jadeed  were  the  thoagfatr^of  Gnaltlw  as  these 


things  came  to  his  mind.  Scorn  for  himself, 
or  slights,  or  indifference,  he  might  have  bomi 

m'^'^°1''"""'K  '  """  '*•>«'»  tJie  one  who  showed 
thii  indifference  and  this  scorn  proved  eager  to 
wcnflce  him,  herself,  and  every  thing  else  to  the 
m«n  whom  she  ought  to  hate,  then  his  position 
BBcarae  intolerable— unendurable.    The  dislike 


188 

which  he  had  felt  toward  Lord  Chetwynde  sooh 
grew  to  bitter  hate,  and  the  hate  rapidly  became 
so  stro^ig  that  nothing  but  implacable  vengeance 
W0UI4  appease  it.  »««ulo 

T  £r?.i'""  '^'^  ^'y*  ''^^  Gnaltier's  arrival 
Lord  Chetwynde  returned.  His  return  was  nni- 
et  and  undemonstrative.  The  servants  greet- 
ed  their  master  with  the  usual  respectful  wel- 
come, but  he  took  no  notice  of  them.  He  went 
to  the  hbranr,  to  which  his  portmanteau  was  at- 
he  w«!itl  M  ■■  '?""'•."'"«  there  a  few  moments 
was  (here  *  '°°'""     ^''°  housekeeper 

"  ilow  has  she  been  ?''  he  asked. 
Very  much  better." 

"  Is  she  conscious  ?" 
^'.'Not  yet,  altogether,  but  she  is  beginning  to 

"  What  docs  the  doctor  say  ?" 
"He  has  great  hopes,  he  saysj  and  ho  tells 
me   that  unremitting  car6  may  yet  brinr"  her 
around.    He  seems  to  be  veiy  hopeful." 

You  have  attended  her,  I  hope,  as  I  directed  " 
Yes  my  lord.  I  have  devoted  most  of  mv 
time  to  her.  I  have  neglected  the  house  for  her 
sake.  I  told  Lady  Chetwynde  that  Mrs.  Hart 
depended  lipbn  me,  and  that  I  would  nursoher  " 
1-  ,  "',  .'^"?  ""'  necessary.  She  might  be 
UisplQased  if  the  house  were  neglected." 

"  CHi  no,  my  lord.  She  showed  the  strongest 
interest  in  Mrs.  Hart,  and  I  have  to  bring  her 
reports  of  the  doctor's  opinions  every  day." 

"  Ah !  Well.  I  am  glad  that  yon  have  been 
so  attentive.  You  must  continue  to  do  so.  De- 
vote yourself  chiefly  to  her.  It  is  my  will  If 
vou  get  into  any  trouble  Tvhile  I  am  away,  let  me 
know,  will  yoo  ?  I  have!  given  you  my  address, 
and  any  letter  from  you  Ivill  reach  me  there  " 
"Yes,  my  lord."         / 

Lord  Chetwynde  thcnf  returned  to  the  library 
and  to  his  business.       /  '* 

Yes.  Itwas  true  thntMrs.  Hart  was  recovering, 
bhe  had  come  out  of  tli^t  deep  stupor  in  which  she 
I?   L '?  *°  '""*'•    '^''^  assiduous  attentions  which 
she  had  received  were  chiefly  the  cause  of  this. 
Hilda  hAd  heard  of  this,  and  was  greatly  troub- 
led.   In  Mrs.  Hart'sirecovery  she  saw  one  great 
danger,  yet  it  was  a  dinger  which  she  felt  her-    ■ 
self  powerless,  to  avert.    The  housekeeper  had 
been  engaged  now  in  this  new  duty  directly  by 
Lord  Chetwynde,  and  ill  her  present  position 
she  did  not  dare  to  remonstrate.    She  thought 
that  Lord  Chetwynde  either  understood  her,  or 
at  least  suspected  her;  and  believed  that  any  act 
of  hers  which  might  lead  to  the  delay  of  Mm. 
Hart's  recoveiy  would  be  punished  by  him  with 
infplacable  veilgeance.    In  this  delicate  position, 
therefore,  she  found  that  the  only  possible  course 
open  to  her  was  to  wait  patiently  on  her  oppor- 
tunities.    If  the  worst  came  to  the  worst,  and 
Mrs.  Hart  recovered,  her  only  reioarce  would  be 
to  le^ve  Chetwynde  for  a  time  at  least.   For  such 
a  step  she  had  prepared  herself,  and  for  it  she 
had  evetT  excaw.    Lord  Chetwynde,  at  least, 
lettfterlilsittd  lier  nor  inspect  her  if  she 


\i 


conid  neitneriittffid  her  nor  inspect „  .„„ 

did  so.  She  conld  retire  quietly  to  Foraeror 
Court,  and  there  await  the  issue  of  evenU.  Such 
a  step  in  itself  was  not  unpleasant,  and  she  would 
have  carried  it  into  execution  long  ago  had  it  not 
been  for  the  power  which  LoW  Chetwynde  ex- 
erted over  her.  It  wa*  thii,  and  this  onlji,  which 
forced  her  to  •taj'. 


k.1U^^._  -!i*»> 


.<1 


156 


THE  CBTFTOSAAIC. 


Goaltier  also  wm  not  unmindful  pf  thia.  On 
the  day  of  hU  arriral  he  had  learned  that  Mrs. 
Hart  was  recovering  and  might  soon  be  well. 
He  understood  perfectly  all  that  was  involved  in 
her  recovery,  and 'the  danger  that  might  attend 
upon  it.  For  Mrs,  Hart  would  at  once  recognize 
Hilda,  and  ask  after  Zillah.  There  was  now  no 
chance  to  do  any  thing.  Lord  Chetwynde 
watched  over  her  as  a  son  might  watch  over  a 
mother.  These  two  thus  stood  beforto  him  as  a 
standing  menace,  an  ever-threatening  danger  in 
^'that  paUi  from  which  other  dangers  had  been  re- 
moved at  sach  a  hazard  and  at  such  a  cost. 
'  What  could  he  do  ?  Nothing.  It  was  for  Hilda 
to  act  in"  this  emejbency.  He  himself  was 
powerless.  He  feaied  also  that  Hilda  herself 
did  not  realize  the  foil  extent  of  her  danger. 
He  saw  how  abstracted  she  had  become,  and 
how  she  was  engrossed  by  this  new  and  unlooked- 
for  feeling  which  ha^  taken  full  poff session  of 
hlr.heart.  One  thing  alone  was  possible  to  him, 
and  that  was  to  warn  Hilda.  Perhaps  she  knew 
the  danger,  and  was  indifferent  to  it;  pe^aps 
she  was  not  at  all  aware  of  it;  in  any  case,  a 
timely  warning  could  not  possibly  do  ntiy  harm, 
and  might  do  a  great  deal  of  good.  Under  these 
circumstances  he  wrote  a  few  words,  which  he 
contrived  to  place  in  her  hands  on  the  morning 
when  Lord  Chetwynde  arrived. .  The  words 
wore  these :  /  '^ ) 

"  Mr$.  Hart  it  recovering,  and  the  doctor  hopes 
that  she  will  toon  be  entirely  well." 

Hilda  read  these  words  gloomily,  but  nothing 
oould  be  done  except  what  she  had  already  de- 
cided to  do.  She  burned  the  note,  and  returned 
.to  her  usual  meditations.  The  arrival  of  Lord 
.  Phetwvndd  soon  drove  every  thing  else  out  of 
her  mind,  and  <she  waited  eagerly  for  the  time 
for  dinner,  when  she  might  see  him,  hear  his 
.  voice,  and  feast  her*  eyes  upon  his  face. 

On  descending  into  the  dining-room  she  found 
Lord  Chetwynde  already,  there.  Without  a 
thought  of  former  slights,  but  following  only  the 
instincts  of  her  own  heart,  which  in  its  ardent 
passion  was  now  flUed  with  joy  at  the  sight  of 
nim,  she  advanced  toward  him  with  extended 
hand.  8he  did  not  say  a  word.  She  could  not 
speak.  Her  emotion  overpowered  her.  She 
cotud  only  extend  her  hand  and  look  op  into  his 
fkce  imploringly. 

.  Lord  Chetwynde  stood  before  her,  cold,  re- 
served, with  a  lofty  hautenr  on  his  brow,  and  a 
coldness  in  his  face  which  might  have  repelled 
any  one  less  impassioned.  But  Hilda  was  des- 
perate. She  bod  resolved  to  make  this  last  trial, 
and  ftake  every  thing  upon  this.  Regardless, 
therefore,  of  the  repellent  expression  of  his  face, 
and  the  coldness  wnich  was  manifested  in  every 
lineament,  she  determined  to  force  a  greeting 
from  him.  It  was  with  this  resolve  that  she  held 
ont  her  hand  and  adtanced  toward  him. 

But  Lord  Chetwynde  stood  unmoved.    His 

hands  hnng  down.    He  looked  at  her  calml«(yet 

coldly,  withont  anger,  vet  without  feelingyp  any 

-kind.    ibtJlw  i^^wolwd  he  bowed. 

"Ton  Will  not  even  shake  hands  y^  me?" 
fidtered  Hilda,  in  a  stammering  vol 

"Of  what  avail  would  that  be yT said  Lord 
Chetwynde.  "  Yon  and  I  are  forever  separate. 
We  must  stand  apart  forever.  Why  pretend  to 
a  friendlbip  which  does  not  exist?  I  am  not 
yoor  fidend,  Lady  Chetwynde." 


Hilda  was  silent.  Her  hand  fell  by  her  side. 
She  shrank  back  into  herself.  Her  disappoint- 
ment deepened  into  sadness  unutterable,  a  sad- 
ness that  was  too  |>rofound  for  anger,  a  sadness 
beyond  words.  So  the  dinner  passed  on.  Lord 
Chetwynde  was  calm,  stem,  fixed  in  his  feelings 
and  in  his  purpose.  Hilda  was  despairing,  and 
voiceless  in  that  despair.  For  the  first  time  she 
began  to  feel  that  all  was  lost.  < 


t 


X!HAPTEB  XLVI. 

TBB    TAULES    TUBNED. 


Lord  Chbtwtmde  had  the  satisfaction  of  see- 
ing that  Mrs.  Hart  recovered  steadily.  Day  aft- 
er day  she  improved,  and  at  length  became  con- 
scious of  surrounding  objects.  After  having 
gained  consciousness  her  recovery  became  more 
rapid,'  and  she  was  at  length  strong  enough  for 
him  to  visit  her.  The  housekeeper  prepared  her 
for  the  visit,  so  that  the  shock  might  not  be  too 
great  To  her  surprise  she  found  that  the  idea 
of  his  presence  ih  the  same  house  had  a  better 
eff'dct  on  her  than  all  the  medicines  which  she 
had  taken,  and  all  the  c«re  which  she  had  re- 
ceived. She  said  not  a  word,  but  lay  quiet  with 
astnile  upon  her  face,  as  one  who  is  awaiting  the 
arrival  of  some  sure  and  certain  bliss.  It  was 
this  expression  which  was  on  her  face  when  Lord 
Chetwynde' entered.  She  lay  bock  with  her  face 
turned  toward  the  door,  and  with  all  that  wistful 
yet  htopy  expectancy  which  has  been  mentioned. 
He  walked  dp  to  her,  took  her  thin,  emaciated 
hands  in  Ms,  and  kissed  her  pale  forehead., 

"My  own  dear  old  nurse,"  he  said,  "how 
glad  I  am  to  find  you  so  much  better ! " 

.  Tears  came  to  Mrs.  Hart's,  eyes.  "  My  boy !" 
she  cried — "mv  dearest  boy,  the  sight  of  yoo 
gives  me  lifel'*  Sobs  choked  her  utterance. 
She  lay  Uiere  clasping  bis  hand  in  both  of  hers, 
and  weift.   ■  *        ■ 

Mrs.  Hart  hod  already  learned  from  tba- 
honsekeeper  that  she  had  been  ill  for  mai\y 
months,  and  her  own  memory,  as  it  gradually 
rallied  from  the  shock  and  collected  its  scattered 
energies,  brought  bock  before  her  the  cause  of 
her  illness.  Had  her  recovery  taken  place  at  any 
other  time,  her  grief  might  have  .caused  a  re- 
lapse ;  but  now  she  learned  that  Lord  Chetwynde 
was  here  watching  over  her — "her  boy,"  "her 
darling,"  "  her  Guy" — and  this  was  enough  to 
counterbalance  the  grief  which  she  might  have 
felt.  So  now  she  lay  holding  his  hand  in  hers, 
gazing  up  into  his  face  with  an  expression  of 
blissful  contentment  and  of  perfect  peace ;  feed- 
ing all  her  soul  in'  that  gaze,  drawing  from  bim 
new  strength  at  every  glance,  and  murmuring 
words  of  tbndest  love  and  endearment.  As  he 
sat  there  the  sternness  of  Lprd  Chetwynde 's  feat- 
ures relaxed,  the  eyes  sdftened  into  love  and 
pity,  the  hard  lines  about  the  mouth  died  away. 
He  seemed  to  feel  himself  a  boy  again,  as  he 
opcg  mors'lwld-that  hand  -whicli  liad  fl 
boyhood's  years. 

He  staid  there  for  hours.  Mrs.  Hart  would 
not  let  him  go,  and  ha  did  not  care  to  do  vio- 
lence to  her  affections  by  tearing  hiauelf  away. 
She  seemed  to  cling  to  him  as  Aongh  he  were 
the  only  living  being  on  whom  her  afrectioni 
were  fixed.    He  took  to  himself  all  the  love  of 


c:  ■ 


M* 


THB  GBTPTOGBABL 


V 


157 


thia  poor,  weak,  Ibnd  creatnre,  and  felt  attrange 
pleasure-  in  it.  She  on  Iter  part  seemed  to  ac- 
quire new  strength  from  bis  presence. 

"I'm  afraid,  my  dear  nnrse,"  said  he,  "  that 
I  am  fatigning  yon.  I  will  )eaT»  yon  now  and 
come  back  again." 

"  No,  no,'^said  Mrs.  Hart,  earnestly ;  "  do  not 
leave  me.  Yoa  will  leave  me  soon  enough.  Do 
not  desert  me  now,  my  own  boy — my  sweet  child 
—stay  by  me." 

"But all  this  &tigues  yon." 

'.'No,  my  dearest— it  givisme  new  strength— 
such  strength  as  I  have  not  known  for  a  long 
time.  If  you  leave  ine  I  shall  sink  back  again 
into  weakness.    I)o  not  forsake  me." 

So  Lord  Cbetwynde  staid,  and  Mrs.  Hart 
made  him  tell  her  eU  aboot  what  he  had  been 
doing  during  the  years  of  his  absence.  Hours 
passed  away  in  this  conversation.  And  he  saw, 
and  wondered  as  he  saw  it,  that  Mrs.  Hart  grew 
stronger  every  moment  It  seemed  as  if  his 
nesence  brought  to  her  life  and  joy  and  strength. 
He  laughingly  mentioned  this. 

"  Yes,  my  dearest,"  said  Mrs.  Hart,  "you  are 
right.  You  bring  me  new  life.  Yon  come  to 
Ine  like  some  strong  angel,  and  bid  me  live.  I 
dare  say  I  have  something  to  live  for,  though  what 
it  is  I  can  not  tell. '  Since  he  has  gone  I  do  not 
tee  what  there  is  for  me  to  do,  or  why  it  should 
be  that  I  should  lingeif  on  in  life,  unless  it  may 
be  for  you."  ; 

"For  me— yes,  my;^ear  nnrse,"  said  Lord 
■  Chetwynde,  fondly  kissing  her  pale  brow — "yes, 
m  must  be  for  me.     Live,  then,  for  me. " 

"  Yod  have  others  who  |ove  yon  and  live  for 
you,"  said  Mrs.  Hart,  mournfully.  "  You  don't 
need  your  poor  «id  nnrse  now. " 

Lord  Chetwynde  shook  his  head. 

"No  others  can  supply  your  place,"  said 
he.  "  You  will  always  be  my  own  dear  old 
nnrse." 

Mrs.  Hart  looked  up  with  a  smile  of  ec- 
rtasy. 

"I  am  going  away,"  said  Lord  Chetwynde, 
after  some  further  conversation,  "  in  a  few  days, 
»nd  I  do  not  know  when  I  will  be  back,  but  I 
want  yoii,  for  my  sake,  to  try  and  be  cheerful,  so 
as  to  gei  well  M  soon  as  possiUe." 

"Going  awny !"  gasped  Mrs.  Hart,  in  strong 
mrprise.     "  Where  to  ?" 

"1*0  Italy.  To|Florence,"  said  Lord  Chet- 
wynde. 

"To  Florence?" 

"Yes." 

"  Why  do  yon  leave  Chetwynde  ?" 

"I  have  some  business,"  said  he,  "of  a  most 
important  kind ;  so  important  that  I  must  leave 
evoy  thing  and  go  away." 

"Is  your  wife  going  whh  you  ?" 

"No— she  will  remain  here,"  said  Lord  Chet- 
wynde, dryly, 

Mrs.  Hart  conld  not  help  noticing  the  very 
peculiar  tone  in  which  he  spoke  of  his  wife. 

"She  will  be  lonely  without  yon,"  said  she. 
-'^tit''-^f!mawn  nran  be  attended  to,  and 
ttli  is  of  vital  importance,"  was  Lord  Chet- 
wynde's  answer. 

Mrs.  Hart  was  silent  for  a  long  time. 

"Do  von  expect  ever  to  come  back?"  sh^ 
■iked  at  last 

"I  hope  so." 

"But  yon  do  not  know  io  ?" 


"  I  should  be  iorry  to  give  Up  Che^nde  for- 
ever,"  said  he. 

' '  Is  there  any  danger  of  that  ?" 

"  Yes.,  I  am  thinking  of  it  The  affairs  of 
the  ^tate  are  of  such  a  nature  tha(  I  may  be 
compelled  to  sacrifice  even  Chetwynde.  You 
know  that  for  three  generations  this  prospect  has 
been  before  us."  '  . 

"But  I  thought  that  danger  was  averted  by 
your  marriage?"  said  Mrs.  Hart,  in  a  low 
voice, 

.  "It  was  averted  for  my  father's  lifetime,  but 
now  it  remains  for  me  to  do  justice  to  those  who 
were  wronged  by  that  arrangement ;  and  justice 
sbiUl  be  done,  even  if  Chetwynde  has  to  be  sac- 
rificed." 

"  I  understand,"  said  Mrs.  Hart,  in  a  quiet, 
thoughtful  tone — "and  yoa  are  going  to  Flor- 
ence?" 

"  Yes,  in  a  few  days.  But  yon  will  be  left  m 
the\care  of  those  who  love  you." 

"Lady  Chetwynde  used  to  love  me,"  said 
Mrs.  Hart ;" and  I  loved  her." 

"  I  am  glad  to  know  that — more  so  than  I  can 
say." 

"She  was  alwavs  tender  and  loving  and  true. 
Your  father  loved  her  like  a  daughter."         S 

*f  So  I  have  understood." 
'    "You  speak  coldly." 

"  Do  I  ?  I  was  not  aware  of  it.  No  doubt 
her  care^^ill  be  as  much  at  your  service  as  ever, 
and  whi^  I  come  back  again  I  shall  find  you  in  s 
green  oTd  age— won't  I  ?  Say  I  shall,  my  dear 
old  nurse." 

Tears  stood  in  Mrs.  Hart's  eyes.  She  gazed 
wistfully  at  him,  but  said  nothing. 

A  few  more  interviews  took  place  between 
these  two,  ond  in  a  short  time  Lord  Chetwynde 
bade  her  an  affectionate  farewell,  and  left  the 
place  once  more.   . 

On  the  morning  after  his  departure  Hilda  was 
in  the  morning-room  waiting  for  Gualtier,  whom 
she  had  summoned.  Although  she  knew  that 
Lprd  Chetwynde^vos  going  awar,  yet  his  depart- 
ure seemed  sudden,  and  took  her  by  surprise. 
He  went  away  without  any  notice,  just  as  he  Had 
done  before,  but  somehow  she  had  expected 
some  formal  announcement  of  his  intention,  and, 
because  he  had  gone  oway  without  a  word,  she 
began  to  fe^  aggrieved  and  injured.  Out  of  thia 
there  grew  before  her  the  memory  of  all  Lord 
Chetwynde's  coolness  toward  her,  of  the  slights 
and  insults  tO  which  he  had  subjected  her,  of  the 
abhorrence  which  he  had  manifested  toward  her. 
She  felt  that  she  was  despised.  It  was  as  thon|^ 
she  had  been  foully  wronged.  To  all  these  this 
lost  act  was^l^dded.  He  hod  gone  away  without  a 
word  or  a  st^n — where,  she  knew  not— why,  she 
could  not  telL  It  was  his  abhorrence  for  her 
that  had  driven  him  awav — this  was  evident 

"  Hell  hath  no  fuiy  like  a  woman  scorned." 
And  this  woman,  who  found  herself  doubly  and 
trebly  scorned,  lashed  herself  into  a  fury  of  in- 
dignation. In  this  new-found  fuiy  she  ibnnidU 
the  first  relief  which  she  had  known  from  the 
torments  of  unrequited  passion,  from  the  longr 
ing  and  the  craving  and  the  yearning  of  het  hot 
and  fervid  nature.  Into  this  new  fit  of  indig- 
nation she  flung  herself  with  complete  abandon- 
ment Since  he  scorned  her,  he  should  suffer— 
this  was  her  feeling.  Since  he  refused  her  love, 
he  should  feel  her  vengeance.    He  should  know 


'-^^V«f' 


168 


THE  C&TPTOORAM. 


that  she.  might  be  hated,  but  she  itM  not  one 
who  could  be  despised.  For  evenr  slight  which 
he  bad  heaped  npon  her  he  should  pay  with  his 
heart's  blood.  Under  the  pangs  of  this  new 
disappointment  ihe  writhed  and  groaned  in  her 
anguish,  and  all  the  tumults  of  feeling  which  she 
had  endured  ever  since  she  saw  him  now  seemed 
te  congregate  and  gather  themselves  up  into  one 
Outburst  of  furious  and  implacable  vengefttlness. 
/Her  heart  beat  hot  and  fast  in  her  tierce  excite- 
ment. Her  face  was  pale,  but  the  hectic  flush 
on  either  cheek  told  of  the  fires  within ;  and  the 
nen'ous  agitatfon  of  her  manner,  her  clenched 
hands,  and  heaving  breast,  showed  that  the  last 
remnant  of  self-control  was  forgotten  and  swept 
away  in  this  furious  rush  of  passion.  It  wM  m 
such  a  mood  as  this  that  Gunltier  found  her  as 
he  entered  the  momingrroom  to  which  she  hod 
summoned  him. 

Hilda  at  first  did  not  seem  to  see  him,  or  at 
any  rate  did  not  notice  him.  She  was  sitting 
as  before  in  a  deep  arm-chair,  in  the  depths  of 
which  her  slender  Rgntk  seemed  lost.  Her  hands 
vvere  clutched  together.  Her  face  was  turned 
toward  that  portrait  over  the  fire-place,  which 
represented  Lord  Chetwynde  in  his  early  youth. 
Upon  that  face,  usually  so  like  a  mask,  so  im- 
passive, and  so  unapt  to  express  the  feelings  that 
existed  within,  there  was  now  visibly  expressed 
an  array  of  contending  emotions.  Sne  had 
thrown  away  or  lost  her  self-restraint;  those 
feelings  raged  and  e^cpressed  themselves  uncon- 
trolled, and  Gualtier  for  the  first  time  saw  her 
off  her  gOnrd.  He  entered  with  his  usual  stealthy 
tread,  and  watched  her  for  some  time  as  she 
sat  looking  at  the  picture.  He  read  in  her  fa6e 
the  emotions  whidi  were  expressed  there.  He 
saw  disappointn^t,  rage,  fury,  love,  vengeance, 
pride,  and  desire  all  contending  together.  He 
learned  for  the  first,  time  that  this  woman  whom 
he  had  believed  to  be  cold  as  an  icicle  was  as 
hot-hearted  as  a  volcano ;  that  she  was  fervid, 
impulsive,  vehement,  passionate,  intense  Ui  love 
and  in  hate.  As  he  learned  this  he  (eji/ma  sqnl 
sink  within  him  as  he  thought  that  iUiras  not  re- 
served for  him,  but  for  another,  t{/call  forth  all 
the  fiery  vehemence  of  that  stgcny  natnre. 

She  saw  him  at  last,  as  with  a  passionate  ges- 
ture she  tore  her  eyes  away  from  the  portrait, 


which  seemed  to  fascinate  her.  The  'sight  of  J  least,  there  wiU  be  nothing  but  destruction. 
Gualtier  at  once  restored  heroutwaT4  calm.  She']  is,  therefore,  as  if  I  now  were  standing  faci 
was  herself  once  more.  She  waved  her  hand 
loftily  to  a  sent,  and  the  very  fact  that  she  had 
made  this  exhibition  of  feeling  before  him  seem- 
ed to  harden  that  proud  manner  which  she  Usu- 
ally displayed  toward  him. 

"I  have  sent  for  yon,"  said  she,  in  calm, 
measured  tofles,  "for  an  important  purpose. 
Yon  remember  the  last  journey  on  which  I  sent 
you?" 

"Yes,  my  lady." 

"Yon  did  that  ,well.  I  have  a^hefohe  on 
which  I  wish  yoo  to  go.  It  refen  to  the  same 
person."  ■  ,^- 

•     "Lord  Chetwynde?"! '.^ 

T  Hlldabowed. 


"I  am  readvj"  said  Gualtier. 

"He  left  this  morning,  and  I  don't  know 
where  he  has  gone,  but  I  wish  yon  to  go  after 
him," 

"  I  know  where  he  intended  to  go."  , 

"How?    Wh«re?" 


"  Some  of  the  senmntt  overheard  him  speak- 
ing to  Mrs.  Hart  abont  going  to  Italy. " 

"Italyl" 

"Yes.  I  can  come  up  with  him  somewhere, 
if  von  wish  it,  and  get  on  his  track.  But  what 
is  It  that  yon  wish  me  to  do  ?" 

"In  the  first  place,  to  follow  him  np." 

"  How — at  a  distance — or  near  him  ?  That  is 
to  say,  shall  f.  travel  in  disguise,  or  shall  I  get  era- 
ploy  near  his  person  f  I  can  be  a  valet,  or  a 
courier,  or  any  thing  else." 

"  Any  thing.  This  mnst  be  left  to  yon.>  I 
care  not  for  details.  The  grand  result  is  what  I 
look  to." 

"  And  what  is  the  grand  resnlt?'' 

"Something  which  you  yonnelf  once  pro- 
posed," said  Hilda,  in  low,  stem  tones,  and  with 
deep  meaning. 

Gualtier's  face  flushed.     He  understood  her. 

"  I  know,"  said  he.  "  He  is  an  obstacle,  and 
you  wish  this  obstacle  removed." 

"Yes." 

"You  understand  me  exactly,  my  lady,  do 
you  ?"  asked  Gualtier,  earnestly.  ' '  You  wish^t 
removed— j'lMt  a$  other  obatacles  have  been  re- 
moved. You  wish  never  to  see  him  again.  Yon 
wish  to  be  yonr  own  mistress  henceforth— and 
always." 

"  Yon  have  stated  exactly  what  I  mean,"  said 
Hilda,  in  icy  tones. 

Gunltier  was  silent  for  some  time. 

"  Ladv  Chetwynde,"  said  he  at  length,  in  a 
tone  which  was  strikingly  different  from  that 
with  which  for  years  he  had  addressed  her— 
"Lady  Chetwvnde,  I  wish  you  to  observe  that 
this  task  upoii  which  you  now  send  me  is  for 
different  fh>m  any  of  the  former  ones  which  I 
have  undertaken  at  your  bidding.  I  havd'  al- 
ways set  out  without  a  word — like  one  of  those 
Haschishim  of  whom  you  have  read,  when  he 
received  the  mandate  of  the  Sheik  of  the  mount- 
ains. But  the  nature  of  this  errand  is  snch  that 
I  may  never  see  you  again.  The  task  is  a  peril- 
ous one.  The  man  against  whom  I  am  sent  is 
a  man  of  singulafacuteness,  profound  judgment, 
dauntless  courage,  and  remorseless  in  his  venge- 
ance. His  acuteness  may  possibly  enaUe  him 
to  see  through  me,  and  frustrate  my  plan  before 
it  is  fairly  befun.    What  then  ?    For  me,  at 

It 
face  to 
face  with  death,  and  so  I  crave  the  liberty  of  say- 
ing something  to  yon  this  time,  and  not  depart' 
ing  in  silence." 

Gualtier  spoke  with  earnestness,  with  dignity, 
yet  with  perfect  respect.  There  was  that  in  his 
tone  and  manner  which  gave  indications  of  a  far 
higher  nature  than  any  for  which  Hilda  had  ever 
yet  given  him  credit  His  words  struck  her 
strangely.  They  were  not  insubordinate,  for  he 
announce^  his  intention  to  obey  her ;  they  were 
not  disrespectful,  for  his  manner  wns  full' of  his 
'M  taverence;  but  they  seemed  like  an  assertion 
t>f  something  like  manhood,  and  like  a  blow 
against  thht  undisputed  ascendency  which  she 


tier,  "  you  can  n( 


hii3  Bd  long  midntiuned  over  him.  '  In  spite  oT~ 
her  preoccupation,  and  her  tempestuous  passion, 
she  was  forced  to  listen,  and  she  listened  with  a 
vague  surprise,  looking  at  him  with  a  cold  stare. 

"Yon  seem  to  me,"  said  she,  "to  speak  as 
though  you  were  unwilling  to  go — or  afliiid." 

"Fardon  me,  Lady  Chetwynde,"  said  Gool- 


TSt  CBTPTOORAll 


\w 


der,  "  yon  can  not  think  that  I  hare  laid  that 
.  I  would  go,  but  that,  as  I  may  never  see  you 
again,  I  wisli  to  say  (omething.  I  wish,  in  fact, 
now,  after  all  these  years,  to  have  a  final  under- 
standing with  you." 

"Well?"  said  Hilda. 

"I  need  not  remind  you  of  the  past,"  said 
Gnaltier,  "or  of  my  blind  obedience  to  nil  your 
mandates.  Two  events  at  least  stand  out  con- 
spicuously. I  fiave  assisted  you  to  the  best  of 
my  power.  Why  I  did  so  must  be  evident  to 
you.  You  know  veiy  well  thi\t  it  was  no  sordid 
motive  on  my  port,  no  hate  toward  others,  no 
desire  for  vengeance,  but  something  for  different 
—something  which  hais  animated  me  for  years,  so 
that  it  was  enough  that  you  gave  a  command  for 
ma  to  obey.  For  years  I  have  been  thus  at  your 
call  like  a  slave,  and  now,  after  all  these  years — 
now,  that  I  depart  on  my  last  and  most  pbrilons 
mission,  and  am  speaking  to  you  words  which 
may  possibly  bo  the  last  that  you  will  ever  hear 
from  me — I  wish  to  implore  you,  to  beseech  you, 
to  promise  me  that  reward  which  you  must  know 
I  have  always  looked  forward  to,  and  which  can 
be  the  only  possible  recompense  to  one  like  me 
for  services  like  mine. " 

He  stopped  and  looked  imploringly  iit  her.  » 

"And  what  is  that?"  asked  Hilda,  mechanic- 
«lly,  as  though  she  did  not  fully  understand  him, 

"■  Yourself,"  said  Gualtier,  in  a  low,  earnest 
Toicie,  with  aU  his  soul  in  the  glance  which  he 
thr^w  upon  her. 

The  moment  that  he  said  the  word  Hilda 
started  back  with  a  gesture"  of  impatience  and 
contempt,  and  regarded  him  with  an  expression 
of  onger  and  indignation,  and  with  a  frown  so 
black  that  it  seemed  as  if  she  would  have  blasted 
him  with  her  look  had  she  been  able.  Gnaltier^ 
however,  did  not  shrink  from  her  fierce  glaned. 
His  eyes  were  no  longer  lowentd  before  hers. 
He  regarded  her  fixedly,  calmly,  yet  respectfully, 
with  hia  head  erect,  and  no  trace  of  his  old  un- 
reasoning gubmixsion  in  hi^  face  and  manner. 
Surprised  as  Hilda  had  Evidently  been  at  his 
words,  she  seemed  "i^o  less  surprised  at  his 
changed  demeanor.  It  was  the  first  time  in  her 
life  that  she  Md  seen  in  him  any  revelation  of 
manhoqdl  and  that  view  opened  up  to  her  very 
nnpleasant  possibilities. 

^•This  is  not  a  time,"  she  said  at  length,  in  a 
•harp  voice,  "for  sach  nonsense  as  this." 

"  I  beg  yonr  pardon,  Lady  Chetwynde,"  said 
Gaaltier,  firmly,  "I  think  that  this  and  no  other 
is  the  time.  Whether  it  be  '  nonsense'  or  not 
need  not  be  debated.  It  is  any  thing  but  non- 
sense to  me.  All  my  past  life  seems  to  sweep  up 
to  this  moment,  and  now  is  the  crisis  of  my  fate. 
Allmy  future  depends  upon  it,  whether  for  weal 
or  woe.  Lady  Chetwynde,  do  not  call  it  non- 
sense— do  not  underrate  its  importance.  Do 
not,  I  Implore  you,  underrate  me.  Thus  far  yon 
have  tacitly  assumed  that  I  am  a  feeble  and  al- 
most imbecile  character.  It  is  true  that  my  ab- 
ject devotion  tfl  you  has  forced  me  to  give  a 


1S9 

and  that  though  yon  Snay  treat  this  oocasion  with 
levity,  I,  can  noU  All  my  life.  Lady  Chetwynde, 
hangs  on  your  ansWer  to  my  question. " 

Gmdtier's  manner  was  most  vehement,  and 
indicative  of  the  strongest  emotion,  but  the  tones 
jOf  his  voice  wore  low  and  only  audible  to  HildH. 
Low  as  the  voice  was,  however,  it  still  none  the 
less  exhibited  the  intensity  of  tho  passion  that 
was  in  his  soul.  _ 

Hilda,  on  the  contrary,  evin^d  a  stronger  rage 
at  evenr  word  which  he  uttered.  The  baleful 
light  of  her  dark  eyes  grewmore'^ry  in  its  con- 
centrated anger  and  scorii. 

"  It  seems  to  me,"  said  she,  in  her  most  con- 
temptuous tone,  "  that  you  engage  to  do  mf- 
will  only  on  certain  conditions  ;  and  that  you  ai4 
taking  advifntage  of  my  necessities  in  order.' to 
drive  a  bargain."  \ 

"  Y6u  are  right,  Lady  Chetwynde,"  said  Gnal- 
tier, calmly.'  "  I  am  trying  to*drive  a  bargain ; 
but  remember  it  is  not  for  money-^it  is  for  your- 

"  And  I,"  said  Hilda,  with  unchang^  scorn, 
"will  never  submit  to  such  coercion.  When 
yon  dare  to  dictate  to  me,  you  mistake  my  char- 
acter utterly.  What  I  have  to  give  I  will  give,^ 
freely.  My  gifts  shall  never  be  extorted  frorti 
me,  even  though  my  life  should  depend  upon  my 
Compliance  or  refusal.  The  tone  which  you  have 
chosen  to  adopt  toward  me  is  scarcely  one  that 
will  make  me  swer\-e  from  my  purpose,  or  alter 
any  decision  which  I  nmy  have  made.  You  have 
deceived  yourself.  You  seem  to  suppose  that 
yon  are  indispensable  to  me,  and  that  this  is  the 
time  when  ,3r<ju  can  force  upon  me  any  condiciona 
yon  cl^oose.  As  far  as  that  is  concerned,  let  me 
tell  yoii  plainly  that  von  may  do  what  you  choose, 
and  either  go  on  this  errand  or,  stay.  In  any' 
case,  by  no  possibility,  will  I  make  any  promise 
whatever." 

This  Hilda  said  quickly,  and  in  her  usual 
scorn.  She  thoui^t  that  such  indifference  ra^ht 
bring  Gualtier  to  terms,  and  make  him  decide  to 
obey  her  without  extorting  this  promise.  For 
a  moment  sho  thought  that  she  had  succeeded. 
At  her  words  a  change  came  over  Gualtier's  face. 
He  looked  humbled  and  sad.  As  she  ceased,  he 
turned  his  eves  imploringly  to  her,  and  said : 

"Lady  (Chetwynde,  do  not  say  that.  I  en- 
treat you  to  give  me  this  promise." 

"I  will  not!"  said  Hilda,  sharply. 

"Once  more  I  entreat  you,"  said  Gualtier, 
more  earnestly.  ' 

' '  Once  more  I  refuse, "  said  Hilda.  • '  Go  and 
do  tlu»  thing  first,  and  then  come  and  ask 
me." 

"  Will  you  then  promise  me?" 

"I  will  tell  you  nothing  now." 

"Lady  Chetwynde,  for  the  last  time  I  implore 
Ton  to  {^ve  me  some  ground  for  hope  at  feast, 
fell  me— if  this  thing  be  accomplished,  will  you 
give  me  what  I  want?" 

"  I  will  make  no  engagement  whatever,"  said 
Hilda,  coldly. 


Jlind  obedience  to  all  your  wishes.    But  mark JQusltieF  atr^Ss-geeBtedr^te  niafr~bii 


this  well.  Lady  Chetwynde,  such  obedience  it 
Klf  involved  some  of  the  highest  qualities  of 
nuuhood.  Something  like  courage  and  forti- 
tude and  daring  was  necessary  to  carry  out  those 
as  of  yours  which  I  so  willingly  undertook, 
i  not  wish  to  speak  of  myself,  however.     I 


only  wiah  to  show  yon  that  I  am  in  earnest,  |  promise." 


once  above  his  dejection,  his  humility,  and  his 
prayerful  attitude,  to  a  new  and  stronger  asaer- 
tionof  himself. 

"Very  well,"  said  he,  gravely  and  stemlr. 
"  Now  listen  to  me,  Lady  Chetwynde.  I  witt 
no  longer  entreat— I  iiutst  that  you  give  me  this 


-II 


a  ik-:>i  b 


'■^^■j. 
'^^1^ 


160 


•^HE  CBTFTOQRAM. 


"InsUt!" 

Nothing  can  describe  the  tcom  and  contenpt 
of  Hilda'*  tone  aa  the  ottered  this  word. 

"I  repeat  it,"  said  Onaltier,  calmly,  and  with 
deeper  emphasiii.  "liniitt  that  you  give  me 
yonr  promise." 

"My  friend,"  laid  Hilda,  contemptnonsly, 
"yon  do  not  seem  to  nnderstand  our  potitioni. 
This  seems  to  me  lilce  impertinence,  and,  unless 
you  malie  an  apology,  I  shall  be  under  the  very 
unpleasant  necessity  of  obtaining  a  new  stew- 
As  Hilda  said  this  she  turned  paler  than  ever 
with  suppressed  rage. 

Gnaltier  smiled  scomfbUy. 

"  It  seems  to  roe,"  said  he,  "  that  yon  are  the 
one  who  does  not,  or  will  not,  understand  our 
respective  positions.  Yon  will  not  dismiss  me 
from  the  stewardship.  Lady  Chetwynde,  for  yon 
will  be  too  sensible  for  that  You  will  retain  me 
in  that  dignified  office,  for  you  know  that  I  am 
Indispensable  to  you,  though  yon  seemed  to  deny 
it  A  moment  since.  You  have  not  forgotten  the 
relations  which  we  bear  to  one  another.  There 
•re  certain  memories  which  rise  between  us  two 
which  will  never  escape  the  recollection  of  either 
of  us  till  the  latest  moment  of  onr  lives ;  some 
of  these  are  associated  with  the  General,  some 
with  the  Kari,  and  some— with  Zillah  !" 

He  stopped,  as  though  the  mention  of  that  Ltst 
name  bad  overpowered  him.  Ag^r  Hilda,  the 
pallor  of  her  face  grew  deeper,  and  uie  trembled 
with  mingled  agitation  and  rage. 

"Go!"  said  she.  "Go!  and  let  me  never 
see  year  face  again  1 " 

"No,"  said  Gualtier,  "I  will  not  go  till  I 
ohopse. '  As  to  seeing  my  face  again,  the  wish  is 
easier  said  than  gained.  No,  Lady  Chetwynde. 
You  are  in  my  power  I  You  know  it.  I  tell  it 
to  you  here,  and  nothing  can  save  yon  from  me 
if  I  turn  against  you.  Yoq  have  never  under- 
stood me,  for  yon  have  never  taken  the  trouble 
to  do  so.  You  have  shown  but  little  mercy  to- 
ward me.  When  I  have  come  home  from  serv- 
ing you — you  know  how — hungering  and  Thirst- 
ing for  some  slight  act  of  appreciation,  some 
token  of  thankfulness,  you  have  always  repelled 
me,  and  denied  what  I  dared  not  request.  Had 
yon  bat  given  me  the  kind  attention  which  a 
master  gives  to  a  dog,  I  woidd  have  followed  you 
like  a  dog  to  the  world's  end,  and  died  for  you 
— like  a  dog,  too,"  he  added,  in  an  under-tone. 
"  But  you  have  used  me  as  a  stepping-stone ; 
thinking  that,  like  such,  I  could  be  spumed  aside 
when  yon  were  done  with  me.  Yon  have  not 
thought  that  I  am  not  a  stone  or  a  block,  but  a 
man,  with  a  man's  heart  within  me.  And  it  is 
now  as  a  man  that  I  speak  to  yon,  because  yon 
force  me  to  it.  I  tell  you  this,  that  you  ore  in 
my  power,  and  you  must  be  mine !" 

"Are  you  a  madman?"  cried  Hilda,  over- 
whelmed with  amazement  at  this  outburst. 
"Have  you  lost  your  senses?  Fool!  If  yon 
mean  what  you  say,  I  defy  yon  I  Go,  and  use 
your  power !  /  in  Uie  power  of  such  as  yon  ? — 
jHcwri''"      ,  -  - J^---.^ 


Her  brows  contracted  as  she  spoke,  and  fh)m 
beneath  her  black  eyes  seemed  to  shoot  baleful 
flres  of  hate  and  rage  nnatterable.  The  full  in- 
tensity of  her  nature  was  aroused,  and  the  ex- 
pression of  her  fiwe  was  terrible  in  its  fury  and 
malignancy.    But  Gualtier  did  not  recoiL    On 


the  contrary,  he  feasted  hit  eyes  on  her,  and  a 
smile  came  to  hU  features. 

"  You  are  beautiful !"  said  he.  "  You  have 
a  demon  beauty  that  is  overpowering.  Oh,  beau- 
tiful fiend !  You  can  not  resist.  You  must  be 
mine — and  you  shall !  I  never  saw  you  so  love- 
ly.    I  love  you  best  in  your  fits  of  rage." 

"Fool I':. cried  Hilda.  "Thhisenough.  You 
are  mad,  or  else  drunk ;  in  either  case  Vou  shall 
not  stav  another  day  in  Chetwynde  Castle.  Go  I 
or  I/will  order  the  servants  to  put  you  out." 

"There  will  be  no  occasion  for  that,"  said' 
Gualtier.  coolly.  "  I  am  going  to  leave  you4l»u 
very  night  to  join  Lord  Chetwynde."  C.  V 
"  It  is  too  late  now ;  your  valuable  servle'es 
are  no  longer  needed,"  said  Hilda,  with  a  sneer. 
"  You  may  spare  ycurself  the  trouble  of  such  a 
journey.  Let  me  know  what  is  due  you,  and  I 
will  pay  it." 

"  You  will  pay, me  only  one  thing,  and  that  is 
yoarfelf,"  said  Gualtier.  "  If  you  do  not  choose 
to  pay  that  price  you  must  take  the  consequences. 
I  am  going  to  join  Lord  Chetwynde,  whedier  you 
wish  me  to  or  not.  But,  remember  this  !"-rand 
Gualtier's  voice  grew  menacing  in  its  intona- 
tions— "remember  this;  it  depends  upon  you 
in  what  capacity  I  am  to  join  him.  Yon  are  the 
one  who  must  say  whether  I  shall  go  to  him  as 
his  enemy  or  his  friend.  If  I  go  as  his  enemy, 
you  know  what  will  happen ;  if  I  go  as  his 
friend,  it  is  you  who  must  fall.  Now,  Lady 
Chetwynde,  do  yon  understand  me  ?" 

As  Gualtier  said  this  there  was  a  deep  mean- 
ing in  his  words  which  Hilda  could  not  fail  to 
understand,  and  there  was^ni^e  same  time  such 
firmness  and  solemn  d^fiiskm  that  she  felt  that 
he  would  certainly  Ao^tm  \\i6  sold.  She  saw  at 
once  the  peril  that  l^befoie  heri'.  An  alterna- 
tive was  oiTered :  th^.-ol^arVqA,,  tit  some  to  teims 
with  him;  the  oth^^|(|i  ik^aei^ifi^r  and  hope- 
less ruin.  That  ni'^^  ^i*^^"  ^^  menaced 
was  no  common  one.  :°|l|fyF4ne  which  placed 
her  under  the  grasp  of 'm^Um.,i|4,frqm  which 
no  foreign  land  could  sbeiter  hlr^jULlHR'  pros- 
pects, her  plans,  her  hopes,  were  iigli^4l|  instant 
dashed  away  from  l>efore  her;  aiia>fl#^i^lized 
now,  to  the  fullest  extent,  the  frightthl  truth 
that  she  was  indeed  completely  in  the  power  of 
this  man.  The  discovery  of  this  acted  on  her 
like  a  shock,  which  sobered  her  and  drove  away 
her  passion. 

She  said  nothing  in  reply,  but  sat  down  in  si- 
lence, and  remained  a  long  time  without  speak- 
ing. Gualtier,  on  his  part,  saw  the  effect  of  his 
last  words,  bat  he  made  no  effort  to  interrupt 
her  thoughts.  He  could  not  vet  tell  what  she  in 
her  desperation  might  decide;  he  could  only 
wait  for  her  answer.    He  stood  waiting  patiently. 

At  last  Hilda  spoke : 

"  You've  told  ihe  bitter  tmths — but  they  are 
truths.  Unfortunately,  I  am  in  yonr  power.  If 
you  choose  to  coerce  me  I  must  yield,  for  I  am 
not  yet  ready  to  accept  ruin."  " 

"  You  promise  then  ?" 

"Since  I  must— I  do." 

^TlMwk  yuu,"  said  Oualtierr^'^and  nowi 


BILDA  IKXS  A 


will  not  see  me  again  till  all  is  over  either  with 
him  or  with  me." 

He  bowed  respectfully  and  departed.  After 
he  had  left,  Hilda  sat  looking  at  the  door  with  a 
face  of  rage  and  malignant  fury.  At  Sengtb, 
starting  to  her  feet,  she  hurried  up  to  her  room. 


S^^i^a^l^S^S^^^ 


THE  CRTPTOORA&r. 


101 


CHAPTER  XLVn. 


BILDA  IKBS  ▲  OCUr  BBRKATB  BBX  VBIT. 


Thk  Mtoniahing  change  in  Oaaltier  was  an 
overwhelming  shock  to  Hilda.     She  had  com- 
mitted the  fatal  mistake  of  underrating  him,  and 
of  putting  herself  completely  in  his  power.     She 
had  counted  on  his  being  always  humble  and 
docile,  always  subservient  and  blindly  obedient. 
She  had  put  from  her  all  thoughts  of  a  possible 
day  of  reckoning.     She  had  fostered  his  devo. 
tion  to  her  so  as  to  be  used  for  her  own  ends,  and 
now  found  that  she  had  raised  up  a  power  which 
might  sweep  her  away.     In  the  first  assertion  of 
that  power  She  had  been  vanquished,  and  com- 
pelled to  make  a  promise  which  she  had  at  fir 
refused  with  the  haughtiest  contempt.     She  cou 
only  take  refuge  in  vague  phins  of  evading 
promise,  and  in   punishing  Gualtier  for  w 
seemed  to  her  his  unparalleled  audacity. 

Yet,  after  all,  bitter  as  the  humiliation  l.a^ 
been,  it  did  not  lessen  her  fervid  passion  for  I^rd 
Chetwynde,  and  the  hate  and  the  vengeance  that 
bad  arisen  when  that   passion  had  be^  con- 
temned.    After  the  first  shock  of  the  aflFair  with 
Guoliier^had  passed,   her  madness  and   fuiy 
sgainst  him  passed  also,  and  her  wild  spirit  was 
once  ogain  filled  with  the  all-engrossing  thought 
of  Lord  Chetwynde.     Gualtier  had  gone  off,  as 
be  suid^  and  she  was  to  see  him  no  more  for 
wme  time— perhaps  never.     He  had  his  own 
plans  and  purposes,  of  the  details  of  which  Hil- 
da knew  nothing,  but  could  only  conjecture. 
She  felt  that  failure  on  his  pai$  was  not  probable, 
and  gradually,  so  confident  Vaa  »«he  that  he 
would  sncgped.  Lord  Chetwys8|i  b^?io  ionium 
to  her  not  merely  a  doomed  mamM>ut,Kma^^u 
bad  already  undergone  life  dooni.  >  Atitf^w 
mother  change  came  over   her — that  change 
which  Death  can  make  in  the  heart  of  the  most 
implacable  of  mei»  when  his  enemy  has  left  life 
forever.     From  the  pangs  of  wounded  love  she 
bad  sought  rcfugti  in  vengeance— but  the  pros- 
pect of  a  gratified  vengeance  was  but  a  poor 
oompensation  for  the  loss  of  the  hope  of  a  re- 
quited love.     The  tenddmess  of  love  still  re- 
mained,  and  it  struggled  with  the  ferocity  of 
vengeance.     That  love  pleaded  powerfully  for 
Lord  Chetwpde's  life.     Hope  came  also,  to 
lend  its  assistance  to  the  arguments  of  lore. 
Would  it  not  be  better  to  wait — even  for  years — 
«nd  then  perhaps  the  fierceness  of  Lord  Chefc- 
wynde's  repugnance  might  be  alhiyed?    Why 
destroy  him,  and^her  hope,  and  her  love,  for- 
ever, and  so  hastily,?    After  snch  thoughts  as 
these,  however,  the  remembrance  of  Lord  Chet- 
wynde's  contempt  was  sure  to  return  and  intens- 
ify her  vengeance.  4 

Ijnder  snch  cireumstances,  when  distracted  by 
»  many  cares.  It  is  not  surprising  that  she  for- 
got all  about  Mrs.  Hart.  She  had  understood 
the  full  meaning  of  Gnaltier's  warning  about  her 
proqiective  recovery,  but  the  danger  passed  from 
bermind.  Gnaltier  had  gone  6n  his  errand,  and 
'M  Wttg  «nre  he  would  not  falter.  Shut  np  in 
"hyrown  ehamberrshe  awaitea  Hr  deep  aglatlon 
tbe  first  tidings  which,  he  might  send.  Day  snc- 
teeded  to  day ;  no  tidings  came  j  and  at  last  she 
began  to  hope  that  he  had  failed— and  the  pleas- 
«ntest  sight  which  she  could  have  seen  at  that 
time  would  have  been  Gualtier  returning  diMp< 
pomtod  and  baffled. 

L 


nes, 


Meartwhlle,  Mrs.  IFart,  left  to  herself,  steadily 
and  nipMly  recovered.  Ever  since  her  first  rec- 
ognition of  Lord  Chetwyn(|o  her  impft(vement  had 
been  mhrked.  New  ideas  seemed  to  have  come 
to  her ;  new  motives  for  life  j  apd  with  these  the 
desire  of  life;  and  at  thepromptings  of  that  de- 
sire health  ca^ie  back.  Tliis  poor  creature,  even 
in  the  beat  days  of  her  life  at  Chetwynde  Castle, 
had  not  known  an»  health  beyond  that  of  a 
moderate  kind;  and  so  a  moderate  recovery 
would  suffice  to  give  her  what  strength  she  had 
lost,  'i'o  be  able  to  wander  about  the  house  onoe 
more  was  ail  that  she  needed,  and  this  was  not 
long  denied  her. 

few  days  after  Gnaltier's  departnre  she 
—  go  about.    She  walked  through  the  old 
I,  traversed  the  well-known  halls," 
the  well-remembered  apartments, 
was  enough  for  the  first  day.     The 
%ent  about  the  gi:ounds,  and  visited 
fhere  she  sat  for  hoars  on  the  Earl's 
sd  in  an  absorbing  meditation.    Two 
days  passed  on,  and  she  walked  about 
used   to.    And   now  a  strong  desire 
seised  her  to  see  that  wife  of  Lord  Chetwynde 
whom  she  so  dearly  loved  and  so  fondly  remem- 
bered.    She  wondered  that  Lady  Chetwynde  had 
not  come  to  see  her.      She  was  informed  that 
Lady  Chetwyqde  was  ill.     A  deep  sympathy  then 
aroiib  in  her  heart  for  the  poor  friendless  lady^ 
the  fair  girl  whom  she  reipembered— and  whom 
she  now  pictured  to  herself  as  bereaved  of  her 
father,  and  scorned  by  her  husband.     For  Mrs. 
Hart  pghtly  divined  the  meaning  of  Lord  Chet- 
wynde's  Words.     She  thought  long  over  this,  and 
at  last  there  arose  within  her  a  deep  yearning  to  go 
and  see  this  poor  friet^ess  orpl^tffed  giri,  wHose 
life  had  been  so  sad,  and  was  still  so  mournful. 
So  one  doy,  full  of  such  tender  feelings  as 
these,  and  carrying  in  her  mind  the  image  of 
that  beautiful  young  girl  who  once  had  been  to 
dear  to  her,  she  went  up  herself  to  the  room 
where  Hilda  staid,  and  asked  the  maid  for 
Lady  Chetwynde.  i^fitt* 

"  She  is  ill,"  said  the  QHRSB 
Mrs.  Hart  waved  her  asiall^Ph  serene  dignity 
and  entered.  The  maid  stoqdawe-struck.  For 
Mr*.  Hart  had  the  air  and  the  tone  of  a  lady, 
and  now  when  her  will  was  aroused  she  very  weO 
knew  how  to  put  down  an  unruly  servant.  So 
she  walked  grandly  past  the  maid,  who  looked  in 
awe  upon  her  stately  figure,  her  white  face,  with 
its  refined  fi^tuce;^  and  her  venerable  hair,  and 
passed  through  th|^|ialf-opened  door  into  Hilda's 
room.  .     "'  '  ^ 

Hilda  had  been  sitting  on  the  sofis,  Vhkh  waa 
near  the  window.  She  was  looking  ouL^^tract- 
edly,  thinking  upon  the  great  problenfwBich  lay 
before  her,  upon,  the  ^solution  of  which  she  could 
not  decide,  when  suddenly  she'hecame  aware  of 
someone  in  the 'i-oom.  'She  looked  up.  It  was 
Mrs.  H^! 

At  tljuyfeht  her  blood  chilled  within  her. 
Ifer  fac^l^prfH'erspread  with  an  expression  of 
ntter  horror.  The  shock  was  tremendouSj  Sl» 
tiad  fbiTgotten  aU  about  the  woman.    Mib.HmT' 


had  been  to  her  like  th'e  dead,  and  now  to  see 
her  thus  suddenly  was  like  the  sight  of  the  dead. 
Had  the  dead  Earl  come  into  her  room  and  Stood 
before  her  in  the  cerements  of  the  grave  she 
would  not  have  been  one  whit  ibora  iioriifled, 
more  bewildered. 


# 


■■m 


'»■ 


) 


'■\  .'3 


•.'1   ■ 


162 


THE  CRYPTOGRAM. 


•*«- 


But  snon  in  that  strong  mintl  of  hers  reason 
regained  its  ])lnce.  She  saw  liow  it  hail  been, 
and  though  she  still  wondered  how  Mrs.  Hart 
had  come  into  her  room,  yet  siie  prepared  as  best 
slio  might  to  deal  with  tliis  new  and  tmexpected 
danger.  She  arose,  carefully  closed  the  door, 
and  then  turning  to  Mrs.  Hart  she  took  her  hand, 
and  said,  simply, 

"  I'm  so  glad  to  see  yon  about  again." 

' '  Where  is  Lady  <:"hetwynde  ?" 

This  was  all  that  Mrs.  Hart  said,  as  she  with- 
drew her  hand  anU  looked  all  about  the  room. 

Like  lightning  Hilda's  plan  was  <lecided 
upon.  " 

"  Wait  a  moment,"  said  she ;  and,  going  into 
tlie  ante-room,  she  sent  her  maid  away  upon  some 
errand  that  would  detain  her  for  some  time? 
Then  she  came  back  and  motioned  Mrs.  Hart  to 
a  chair,  while  she  took  another. 

"Did  not  Lord  Clietwynde  tell  you  about 
LAdy  CJieUjjnde'i'"  she  aslied,  very  cautiously. 
Slia,  \<'a3  anxious,  first  of  all,  to  see  how  much 
!Rrrs>*tiart  kiiew. 

rXoL^  smfl  Mrs.  Hart,  "ho  scarcely  men- 
tioned ner  name."  She  looked  su.«piciously  at 
Hilda  while  she  spoke. 

"That  is  strange,"  said  Hilda.  "Had  you 
'any  conversations  with  him 't" 

"Ves,  several." 

"And  he  did  not  tell  you?" 

"He  told  mo  nothing  about  her,"  said  Mrs. 
Hart,  dryly. 

Hilda  drew  a  long  breath  of  relief. 

"It's  a  secret  in  this  house,"  said  she,  "but 
you  must  know  it.  I  will  tell  yon  all  about  it. 
After  the  Earl's  death  Lady  Clietwynde  haj)- 
pened  to  come  across  some  letters  written  by  his 
son,  in  which  the  utmost  abhorrence  was  express- 
ed for  the  girl  whom  he  had  married.  I  dare 
say  the  letters  are  among  the  j)apcrs  yet,  and 
you  can  see  them.  One  in  particular  was  fear- 
ful in  its  denunciations  of  her.  He  reviled  her, 
called  her  by  opprobrious  epithets,  and  told  his 
father  that  he  would  never  consent  to  see  her. 
Lady  (^etwyndo  saw  all  these.  You  know  how 
high-spirited  she  was.     She  at  once  took  fire  at. 


these  insults,  and  declared  that  she  would  nevei"  Mated  to  awaken  her  fears.     Her  position  hud  al 

A/^«M>^««^    ^n    nnn    T    .nax-l     (~^V\  »»*■•*•«  A  f%.  WK.i    •••••..*»     1.  X ... 1 '.  _         _^ •. . _      Tl  .11  I 


Hearing   this. 


consent  to  see  Lord  Chetwynde.  She  wrot'e  him 
to  that  effect,  ahd  then  departed  from  Chettuuide 
Castle  forever."  ^ 

Mrs.  Hart  listened  with  a  stem,  sad  face,  and 
said  not  a  word. 

"  I  wfent  ^rith  her  to  a  place  where  she  is  now 
living  in  seclusion.  I  don't  think  that  Lord 
Chetwynde  would  havoJtome  home  if  he  had 
not  known  that  she  hau  left, 
however,  he  at  once  came  here. ' 

"And  you?'*  said  Mrs.  Hart,  "what  are  yon 
doing  here?  Are  you  |ia  Lady  Chetwynde  of 
whom  the  servants  sjJcaW^' 

"I  am,  temiwrarily,"  said  Hilda,  with  a  sad 

smile.     "  It  was /illah's  wish.     UkC  ^'anted  to 

avoid  a  scandal.    She  sent  oft'  all  twH)ld  servants, 

I  hired  new  ones,  Md  persnaded  me  to  stay  here 

,for  a  time  as  LaSy  Chetwynde.     She  fllUid  a 

—  tlcftf  CTtt  crcuturo^^t&nursc  you,  &nu  novaQcoiiBcs 

to  write  about  you  and  ask  how  you  are. " 

"And  you  live  here  as  Lady  Chetwynde?" 
asked  Mrs.  Hart,  sternly.  '  ; 

"Temporarily,"  said  Hilda— <*!'* that  wairihe 
arrangement  between  us.  Zilhih  did  not  wfflt 
to  have  the  name  uf  Chetwynde  dishouored  by 


stories  that  his  wife  had  run  away  from  him. 
She  wrote  Lord  Chetwynde  to  that  effect.  When 
Lord  Chetwynde  arrived  I  saw  him  in  the  libra- 
ry, pnd  he  requested  me  to'dtay  here  for  some 
months  until  he  had  arranged  hi^  ulans  for  tlic 
future.  It  was  very  considerate  in^illah,  but  at 
the  same  time  it  is  very  eimbarrassing  to  me,  and 
I  am  looking  eagerly  forward  to  the  time  when 
this  deceit  can  be  oyfer,  and  I  can-rejoin  inv 
friend  once  more.  I  am  so  glad,  my  dear  Mrs. 
Hart,  that  you  came  in.  It  is  such  a  relief  to 
have  some  one  to  whom  I  can  unburden  nivself 
lam  very  miserable,  and  I  imagine  all  thetinie 
that  the  servants  suspect  me.  You  will,  of 
course,  keep  this  a  profound  secret,  will  you  not, 
my  dear  Mrs.  Hart  ?  and  help  me  to  i)lay  this 
wretched  part,  which  my  love  for  Zillah  has  led 
me  to  undertake  ?" 

Hilda's  tone  was  that  of  an  innocent  and  sim- 
)>lc  girl  who  found  herself  In  a  false  position. 
Mrs.  Hart  listened  earnestly  without  a  word,  ex- 
cept occasionally.  The  severe  rigidity  of  her 
features  never  relaxed.  What  eft'ect  tliis  story, 
so  well  told,  produced  upon  her,  Hilda  conlil  not 
know.  At  length,  however,  she  had  fmislicd, 
and  Mrs.  Hart  arose. 

"You  will  keep  Zillah 's  secret?"  said  Hilda, 
earnestly.  "It  i$  for  the  sake  of  Lord  Chet- 
wynde. " 

"  Yon  will  never  And  me  capable  of  doing  any 
thing  that, is  against  his  interests,"  said  Mrs. 
Hart,  sqicmnly ;  and  without  a  bow,  or  an  adieu, 
she  retired.  She  went  back  to  her  own  room  to 
ponder  over  this  astonishing  story. 

Meanwhile,  Hilda,  left  alone  to  herself,  wns 
not  altogether  satisfied  with  the  impression  whidi 
had  been  made  on  Mrs.  Hart.  She  hei'self  hud 
played  her  part  admirably — her  story,  long  pre- 
pared in  case  of  some  sudden  need  like  this,  was 
coherent  and  natural.  It  was  s]ioken  fluently 
and  unhesitatingly ;  nothing  could  have  been 
iMJtfer  in  its  way,  or  more  convincing ;  and  yet 
she  was  not  satisfied  with  Mrs.  Hart's  demeanor. 
Her  face  was  too  stern,  her  manner  too  frigid ; 
the  questions  which  she  had  asked  |poke  of  sus- 
picion. <-'  All  these  were  unpleasant,  and  calcu- 


ways  been  oiie  of  extreme  peril,  and  she  had 
dreaded  some  visitor  who  might  remember  her 
face.  She  had  feared  the  doctor  mpst,  and  had 
carefully  kept  \)ut  of  his  way.  She  had  nut 
thought  until  lately  of  the  possibility  of  Mrs. 
Hart's  recovery.  This  came  ajwu  her  wiili  a 
suddenness  that  was  liewilderiiig,  Ai^  the  con- 
sequences she  could  not  foretell. 

And  now  another  fear  suggested  itself  Might 
not  Lord  Chetwynde  himself  have  some  suspi- 
cions ?  Would  not  such  suspicions  account  for 
his  coldness  and  severity  ?  I'crlmps  he  su8|iecie  J 
the  truth,  and  was  preparing  some  way  in  which 
she  could  be  entrapped  and  punished.  I'cilm)}! 
his  mysterious  business  in  Lotion  related  to  tijfs 
alone.  The  thought  filled  1^  with  alarm,  niid 
now  she  rejoiced  that  Gunlticr  was  on  his  track. 
She  began  to  believe  that  she  could  never  Up  safe 
until  ivord  ChMwyiide  was  '*  removed. "  And^  if^ 
Ix)id  Chetwynde,  then  others.  Who  was  tliii 
Mrs.  Hart  that  she  should  have  any  |iowcr  uf 
troubling  her  ?  Measures  might  easily  Ite  taken 
for  silencing  her  forever,  and  for  "  renioving" 
such  a  feeble  old  obstacle  as  this.  Jlilda  knew 
means  by  which  this  could  be  edited,    blie 


THE  CRYPTOGRAM, 


^         "SHH  STOOD  lk)B  A   LITTLE   WI^ILB  AND   LISTEKED 

JnT^ ''t  i;"y  ^y  '"'"''''  "'«  •^'*''  •^""W  Ix"  done, 
,J"^  "■'*  "«"■«»  enough  to  do  it. 

wvnS-  ?rPt*"i"*^  "f  »'"»  new  danger  in  Chet- 
nnde  Cu«tle  itself  gave  a  new  direction  to  her 
trouble*.    It  wa«  a«  though  a  guif  had  su^ldenly 


yawned  Ijeneath  her  feet  All  that  night  she  lay 
deliberating  as  to  what  was  best  to  do  under  the 
circumstances.  Mrs.  Hart  was  safe  enough  for 
a  day  or  two,  but  what  might  she  not  do  here- 
after in  the  way  of  mischief?    She  could  not  to 


164 


fate  CRTFTOGRAIC: 


got  rid  of,  either,  in  an  ordinary  way.  Slie  had  !  night  On  the  following  morning  a  letter  Yfaa 
^n  BO  long  in  Chetwynde  Castle  that  it  seemed  ^  brought  to  her.  ,  It  had  a  foreign  post-mark,  and 
morally  impossible  to  dislodge  her.     Certainly  |  the  address  showed  the  handwriting  of  Gualtief. 


she  was  not  one  who  could  be  paid  and  packed 
off  to  some  distant  place  like  the  other  sen-ants. 
There  was  only  one  way  to  get  rid  of  her,  and  to 
this  one  way  Hilda's  thoughts  turned  gloomily. 

Over  this  thought  she  brooded  through  all  the 
following  day.  Evening  came,  and  twilight 
deepened  into  darkness.  At  about  ten  o'clock 
Hilda  left  her  room  and  Quietly  descended  the 
great  staircase,  and  went  over  toward  the  chamber 
occupied  by  Mrs.  Hart.  Arriving  at  the  door  she 
stood  without  for  a  little  while  and  listened. 
There  was  no  iftsise.  She  gave  a  turn  to  the 
knob  and  found  that  the  door  was  open.  The 
room  was  dark.  She  has  gone  to  bed,  she 
thought.  She  went  back  to  her  own  room  again, 
and  in  about  half  an  hour  she  returned.  The 
door  of  Mrs.  Hart's  room  remained  ajar  aa  she 
had  left  it.  She  pushed  it  farther  open,  and  put 
her  head  in.  All  was  still.  Tliere  were  no 
sounds  of  breathing  there.  Slowly  and  cau- 
tiously she  advanced  into  the  room.  She  drew 
nearer  to  the  bed.  There  wa&iigJight  whatever, 
and  in  the  intense  darkness  no  onUine  revealed 
the  form  q{  the  bed  to  her.  Ncnrdr  and  nearer 
she  drew  to  the  bed,  until  at  last  she  touched  it. 
Gently,  yet  swiftly,  her  hands  passed  over  its  snr- 
foce,  along  the  quilts,  up  to  the  pillows.  An  in- 
▼oinntary  cry  burst  firam  her — 
The  bed  was  empty  I 


CHAPTER  XLVIII. 
ntOK  LOVa  TO  txkgeakce,  aitd  trom  tbhob- 

AHCE  TO  I.OVX. 

On  the  night  of  this  lost  event,  before  she  re- 
tired to  bed,  Hilda  learned  more.  Leaving  Mrs. 
Hart's  room,  she  called  at  the  housekeeper's 
diambers  to  see  if  the  missing  woman  might  be 
there.  The  housekeeper  informed  her  that  she 
had  left  at  an  early  hour  that  morning,  without 
saying  a  word  to  any  one,  and  that  she  herself 
had  taken  it  for  granted  that  her  ladyship  knew 
all  abont  it.  Hilda  heard  this  without  any  com- 
ment; and  then  walked  thonghtMly  to  her  own 
room. 

She  oertainily  bad  enoi^  care  on  her  mind  to 
occnpjr  all  het  thoughts.  The  declaration  of 
Gnaltier  was  of  itself  an  ill-omened  event,  and 
■he  no  longer  had  that  trust  in  his  fidelity  which 

'she  once  had,  even  though  he  now  might  work 
in  the  hqie  of  a  reward.  It  seemed  to  her  that 
with  the  loM  cf  her  old  ascendency  over  him 

*Uie  would  lose  altogether  l^s  devotion ;  nor  could 


bitter  resentment  of  hia  rebellion,  had  arisen  in 
her  mind.  The  afliur  of  Mrs.  Hart  feemed 
worse  yet.  Her  raddan  appearance,  her  sharp 
quMtionings,  her  cold  Inorednlitv,  terminated  at 
l«»t  by  hwrprompt  flight,  were  all  circumstances 

togs.  Her  troahlea  seemed  now  to  increose'every 
day,  each  one  coming  with  stariling  suddenness, 
and  each  one  being  of  that  sort  against  which 
no  precautions  had  been  taken,  or  even  thought 

'She  poksed  an  anxious  day  and  a  sleepless 


the  remembrance  of  his  fbhner  service*  banidi   „„^  .„„,.  .^  . 

that  deep  distrast  of  him  which,  along  with  heM;  po$ed.    As  for  the  sick  man  himsdf,  he  was  much 


This  at  once  brought  back  the  old  feelings  about 
Lord  Chetw^de,  and  she  tore  it  open  with  fe- 
verish impatience,  eager  to  know  what  the  con- 
tents might  be,  yet  half  fearful  of  their  import. 
It  was  Nvritten  in  that  tone  of  respect  which 
Gnaltier  had  never  lost  but  once,  and  which  l^e 
had  now  resumed.    He  informed  her  ttet  on 
leaving  Chetwynde  he  had  gone  at  once  up  to 
London,  and  found  that  Lord  Chctwynder  was 
stopping  ut  the  same  hotel  where  he  had  j)nt  up 
last.     He  formed  a  bold  design,  which  he  put  in 
execution,  trusting  to  the  fact  that  Lord  Cliet- 
wynde  had  never  seen  him  more  than  twice  at 
the  Castle,  and  on  both  occasions  had  seemed  not 
even  to  have  looked  at  him.     He  therefore  got 
himself  tip  very  carefnllv  in  a  foreign  fashion, 
and,  as  he  spoke  French  perfectly,  he  went  to 
Lord  Chetwynde  and  offered  himself  ns  a  vafefrn.. 
or  courier.    It  hapfwned  that  Lord  Chetwynde   * 
actually  nee^cid  a  man  to  serve  him  in  tliis  capac-    '- 
ity,  a  fact  which  Gualtier  had  found  out  in  tlie 
hotel,  and  so  the  advent  of  the  valet  was  quite 
welcome.     After  a  brief  conversation,  and  an  in- 
quiry into  his  knowledge  of  the  languages  and 
the  routes  of  travel  on  the  Continent,  Lord  Gliet- 
wynde  examined  his  letters  of  reconimendatiun, 
and,  finding  them  very  satisfactory,  ho  took  him 
into  his  emuloy.    They  remained  two  days  lon- 
ger in  London,  during  which  Gualtier  made  such 
good  use  of  his  time  and  opportunities  that  ho. 
managed  to  gain  access  to  Lord  Chetwynde's 
papers,  but  found  among  them  nothing  of  any 
importance  whatever,  from  which  he  concluded 
that  all  his  papers  of  any  consequence  must  have 
been  deposited  with  his  solicitors.     At  any  rate 
it  was  impossible  for  him  to  find  out  any  thing 
from  this  source. 

Learing  London  they  went  to  Paris,  where 
they  passed  ^  few  days,  but  soon  grew  wearv  of 
the  place ;  «nd  Lord  Chetwynde,  feeling  a  kind 
of  languor,  which  seemed  to  him  like  a  premo- 
nition  of  disease,  he  decided  t*  go  to  Germany. 
His  first  idea  was  to  go  to  Baden,  although  it  was 
not  the  season ;  but  on  his  arrival  at  Frankfort  he 
was  so  overcome  by  the  fhtigne  of  traveling  that 
he  determined  to  remain  for  a  time  in  that  city. 
His  increasing  languor,  however,  had  ahirmed 
him,  and  he  had  called  in  the  most  eminent 
physicians  of  the  place,  who,  at  the  time  the  let- 
ter was  written,  were  prescribing  for  him.  Tht 
writer  said  that  they  did  not  seem  to  think  that 
this  illness  had  any  thing  very  serious  in  it,  and 
simply  recommended  certain  changes  of  diet  and 
various  kinds  of  gentle  exercise,  but  he  added 
that  in  his  opinion  there  waa  §owethin</  in  it,  and 
tkat  thie  illHete  teat  more  leriout  than  was  tv/i- 


disoonraged.  He  had  grown  tired  of  his  phyai- 
chins  and  of  FhwUiMt,  nnd  wished  to  go  on  to 
Baden,  thinking  that  the  change  might  do  him 
good.  He  seemed  anxiont  for  constant  cbaage, 
and  spoke  as  though  he  might  leave  Baden  fur 
some  atharOemiaimhy,  «f  flwtowa-gtrwrto 
Italy,  to  which  ybux  his  thonghta,  for  some  rea- 
son or  other,  seoned  always  turning  with  eager 
impatience. 

As  Hilda  read  this  letter,  and  took  in  the 
whole  of  its  dark  and  hidden  meaning,  nil  her 
former  agitation  returned.    Once  more  the  ques- 


J, '.  u^t.ju^uikit'iW'^V/'aii^&M^tLfiiii,)  '4,v  ■ 


i. 


•o  i^TF^  /-»  r 


If. 


THE  CRYPTOGRAM. 


tlon  arose  which  had  before  so  greatlr  boraned  I  «hall  iivo .  _-j  i.     i.  •. . 

her.     The  diMppeamnce  of  Mrf??i!j.Z3T   tKf'"'^^''"^' »!?•»«»«->«•  were  th« 


fter.  The  disappearance  of  Mrs.  Hart,  and  the 
Increaging  danger.,  which  had  been  gathering 
aroand  her  head,  had  for  a  time  taken  up  her 
thoughts,  but  now  her  great,  preoccupying  care 
came  baclj  with  fresh  vehdmence,  and  reSimed 
more  tlian  its  former  sway.     Mrs.  Hart  was  for- 


wordi  upon  which  her  hc^rt  fed^i^:,^7h,t 
earned  to  that  heart  a  wild  and  feverish  joy. 

h^feh  T^  ""T  '!""^  P-^S*  'vhich  sfc 
•  u  j.«.  ^^'^  "°*  'he  love  which  burned  with- 
m  her  diffused  through  all  her  being  S  wfter 
qualities  which  are  bom  of  love ,  fnd  lie  ha^ 
and  the  vengeance  upon  which  sW  haFof  late 

g«ted  hseir„o-m;;^irwrwdf  S,rw\^^^^^ 


gotten  as  completely  as  though  ihe  had  never 
existed.    Oualtier's  possible  tefldelitv  to  her  sng 


and  I^rdChetwyndeonlv,  hissi^nesrhVir^^ThYnl  „  t"^'  '  tendemWall  feminine^  aS 
Wsdoom,  whichUetoWmi„l"1J;.te'^rd;  I'w  fcflT!!  «^J?J!f <??. I'liJj  f'^^  ^y 


lus  doom,  which  came  to  her  mind.    On  one  sid^ 
stood  Love,  pleading  for  his  life ;  on  the  other 
Venpanco,  demanding  its  sacrifice. 
ShaUhe  live,  or  shall  he  diet 
This  was  the  question  which  ever  and  ever 
ranginhersouL     "  Shall  he  live,  or  die  ?    Shall 
he  go  down  to  death,  doomed  by  me,  and  thus 
end  aU  my  hope,  or  shall  he  live  to  scorn  me?" 
In  his  death  there  was  .the  satisfaction  of  venjse- 
ance,  but  there  was  also  the  death  of  hope.    In 
his  death  there  was  fresh  security  for  herself; 
but  m  his  death  her  own  life  would  lie  dead.    Oil 
each  side  there  were  motives  most  powerful  over 
a  imnd  hke  hers,  yet  so  evenly  balanced  that 
she  knew  not  which  way  to  turn,  or  in  which  way 
to  incline.      Death  or  Ufe?— life  or  death? 
laus  the  question  came. 

«.n"i?n!!"'  hours  passed  on ;  and  every  hour,  she 
well  knew  was  freighted  with  calamity  ;  every 
hour  was  dragging  Lord  Chetwynde  on  to  that 
point  at  flthich  the  power  to  decide  upon  hU  fate 
would  be  hers  no  longer. 
Why  hesitate? 

This  was  the  form  which  the  question  took  at 
last,  and  under  which  it  forced  itself  more  and 
more  upon  her.  Whv  hesitate?  To  hesitate 
was  of  Itself  to  doom  him  to  death.  If  he  was 
to  be  saved,  tiiere  was  no  time  for  dehiy.  He 
must  be  saved  at  once.  If  he  was  to  bo  saved 
•lie  must  act  hei-self,  and  that,  too,  promptly  and 
oiergetically.  Her  part  could  not  be  performed 
Jy  merely  wnting  a  letter,  for  the  letter  might 
be  delayed,  or  it  might  be  miscarried,  or  it  miRht 
ba  neglected  and  disobeyed.  She  could  not  trast 
the  fulhllment  of  a  command  of  mercy  to  Gual- 
twr.  She  herself  could  alone  fulflU  such  a.  pur- 
pose.   She  herself  most  act  by  herself. 

As  she  thought  of  this  her  decision  was  taken 
Yes,  she  would  do  it.  She  herself  would  arrest 
his  fate,  for  a  time  at  least.  Yes— he  should 
live,  and  she  herself  would  fly  to  his  aid,  and 
Hand  by  his  side,  and  be  the  one  who  would 
match  him  from  his  doom. 

Now,  no  sooner  was  this  decision  made  than 
tliere  came  over  her  a  strange  thrill  of  joy  and 
woltatton.  He  should  live  I  he  should  live  I 
Uiis  w,s  the  refrain  which  rang  in  her  thonghu. 
He  should  live ;  and  she  would  be  the  life^rer 
At  tast  he  would  be  forced  to  look  upon  her 
with  eyes  of  gratitude  at  least,  if  not  of  affec- 
•OD.  It  should  no  longer  be  in  his  power  to 
irom  her,  or  to  turn  away  coldly  and  cruelly 
ftt)m  her  proffered  hand.  He  should  yet  learn 
to  look  upnn  her  m  his  beat  friend.    He  shorfd 


«tm  to  call  her  by  tender  names ;  and  speak  to 
iMr  woi^s  of  fondness,  of  endearment,  and  of 
WW.  Now  as  deep  as  her  despondency  had 
bwijjo  high  rose  her  joy  at  thU  new  prospect ; 
md  hwrhope,  which  rose  out  of  this  re«)lntion 
wsbright  to  a  degree  which  was  commcinsonite 
wfth  the  dorkneM  of  her  previout  d«ip«Ir.    Uo 


ojj,vhich  she  had  first  seen  I^rfThet^e    j; 

sire  to  fly  to  the  rescue  of  this  man,  whoiS  sl^ 
had  buttitely  hapded  over  to  the  assCn?  S^ 
hungered  and  thWted  to  be  near  him,  to  staad 
by  his  side,  to  see  his  face^to  touch  hii  han?to 
hfttr  his  voice,  to  give  tolm  that  which  should 
sa%e  him  from  the  fate  which  she  herself  had 
dealt  out  to  him  by  the  hands  of  her  own  agenT 
It  was  thus  that  her  love  at  last  triumphed  over 
*er  venjfpance,  and,  sweeping  onward,  drove 
awMT  nil  other  thoughts  and  feelings. 

lo^^rf  .h!'.!'"' '"?  °*"  '•?*  ''^^ '  hut  even  the 
Jo\e  of  the  tigress  is  yet  love ;  and  such  love  has 

%^'^  profound  depths  of  tenderness,  its  ca- 
J«dty  of  intense  desire,  ito  power  of  complete 

l*Wh  W°",  °'  of  "elf-immohition-feelings 
which,'W'the  tigress  kind  of  love,  are  as  deep  It 
in  any  other,  and  perhaps  even  deeper. 

But  from  her  in  that  dire  emergency  the  one 
thingthat  was  required  above  aU  else  was  haste. 
,  ''"'  •^if'*''"  ^"®''-     '"^here  was  no  time  for  de- 
lay.    Iheile  was  one  at  the  side  of  Lord  Chet- 
wynde whose  heart  knew  neither  pity  nor  re- 
morse, whose  band  never  faltered  in  dealing  in 
b  ow  and  who  watched  every  failing  moment  of  , 
his  life  with  unshaken  determination.    To  him 
her  cruel  and  bibody  bebesu  had  been  committed 
m  her  madlhont<if  vengeance ;  those  behests  he 
was  now  canyiflg  out  as  much  for  his  own  sake 
as  for  hers  (  accomplishing  the  fulfillment  of  his 
own  purposes  under  thf'jtioak  of  obedience  to 
her  oMers.    He  was  tbTdeatroying  angel,  and 
his  mission  was  deadi.    He  could  not  know  of 
the  change  which  had  come  over  her  s  nor  could 
he  dream  ft  the  possibility  of  a  change.      She 
•lone  could  bring  a  roprieve*x)m  tiiat  death. 
and  stay  his  hand. 

Haste,  then— she  mnrmufed  to  herself— oh. 
haste,  or  it  will  soon  be  too  late  1  Fly !  Leara 
every  thing  and  fly  J  EveM.honr  brings  him 
nearer  to  death  until  that  hdffi-  comes  when  yoa 
may  save  him  from  death.  Haste,  or  it  may  be 
•<»''««— and  the  mercy  and  the  pfty  and  the 
tenderness  of  love  may  be  all  nnayaiiing  I 

It  was  with  the  frantic  haste  which  was  bom 
of  this  new-found  pity  that  Hilda  ptepand  for 
her  journey.  Her  preparations  were  not  exteiw- 
ive.  A  httie  luggage  suiBccd.  She  did  not 
wish  a  maid.    She  hod  all  her  Ufe  leiied  npon 

i herself,  and  now  set  forth  npon  this  flueAd 
Mimey  alone  and  unattended,  with  her  heart 
J'f"  y'th  one  feeling  only,  and  only  one  hopo. 
Itneeded  but  a  ilion  ttmr^i!6ttipl|Bte  her  m^ 
arations,  and  to  annonnce  to  the  astonished  do- 
mwtics  her  intention  of  going  to  the  Continent 
Without  noticing  their  amaiement,  or  caring  for 
it,  she  ordered  the  carriage  for  tiie  nearest  Mo- 
tion, and  in  a  short  time  afker  her  first  dedakm 
she  was  seated  in  the  cars  and  hurryina  onwud 
to  London.  %  "# 


t^- 


tee 

« 

Arriving  there,  shehnade  a  ahofl  stay.  She 
had  some  things  to  procure  which, were  to  her  of 
infinite  importance.  Leaving  the  liotel,  she  went 
down  Oxford  Street  till  she  came  to  a  druggist's 
■hop,  which  she  entered,  and,  ^oing  np  to  the 
derkj  she  handed  him  a  paper,  which  loolced 
like  a  doctor's  prescription.  The  clerk  took  it, 
and,  after  looking  at  it,  carried  it  to  an  inner  of- 
fice. After  a  time  the  proprietor  appeared.  He 
scanned  Hilda  narrowly,  whil6  she  retumetl  his 
glance  with  her  iisnal  haughtiness.  The  drug- 
gist appeared  satisfied  with  his  inspection. 

■'Madame,"  said  he,  politely,  "the  ingre- 
dients of  this  prescription  are  of  such  a  nature 


V  -     '  '  '     i^ 

THE  CBTPTOGRAM. 


'1- 


idea-'her  one  purpose.  How  she  passed  thax 
journey  she  could  not  afterward  remember,  but 
it  was  at  length  passed,  and,  following  the  guid- 
ance of  that  strong  purpose,  which  kept  its 
place  in  her  mind  when  other  thingx  were  lost, 
she  at  last  stood  in  th«  stAtion-bdtise  at  Frank- 
fort 

"  Drive  to.  the  Hotel  Rothschild,"  she  cried  to 
the  cabman  whom  she  had  engaged.  "  Quick ! 
for  your  life!" 

The  cabman  marked  her  agitation  and  frenzy. 

He  whipped  up  his  horses,  th^  cab  dashed 
through  the  streets,  and  reached  the  ho'teL 
Hilda  hurried  out  and  went  up  the  steps.    Zl'ot- 


ttuit  the  law  requires  me  to  know  the  name  anp  -  teringrather  than  walking,  she  advanced  to  a  man 


'Is  ho 


address  of  the  purchaser,  so  as  to  enter  them  un 
the  purchase  book.*^' 

"  My  address,"  said  Hilda,  quietly,  "is  Mrs. 
fienderson,  51  Eustdn  Square. 

The  druggist  bowed,  and  entered  the  name 
carefully  on  his  book,  after  which  he  himself 
prepared  the  prescription  and  handed  it  to  Hilda. 

She  asked  the  price,  and,  on  hearing  it,  flung 
down  a  sovereign^  after  which  she  was  on  the 
point  of  leaving  without  wailing  for  the  change, 
when  the  druggist  called  her  back. 

"Madame,"  said  he,  "you  are  leaving' with- 
out your  change." 

Hilda  started,  and  then  turning  back  she  took 
the  changeand  thanked  him. 

"  I  thoi^ht  you  said  it  wits  twenty  shillings,*' 
she  remarked,  quiedy,  seeing  that  the  druggist 
was  looking  at  her  with  a  strange  expression. 

"Oh  no,  mamme;  I  said  ten  shillings." 

"  Afc !  I  misunderstood  you,"  and  with  these 
words  Hilda  took  her  departure,  carrying  with 
her  the  precious  medicine. 

That  evening  she  left  London,  and  took  the 
steamer  for  Ostend.  Before  leaving  she  had  sent 
a  telegraphic  message,  to  Gualtier  at  Frankfort, 
announcing  the  fact  that  she  was  coming  on,  and 
.  asking  him,  if  he  left  Frankfort  before  her  arriv- 
al, to  leave  a  letter  for  her  at  the  hotel,  letting 
her  know  where  they  might  go.  This  she  did 
for  a  twofold  motive :  first,  to  let  Gualtier  know 
that  she  was  coming ;  and  secondly,  to  secure  a 
means  of  tracking  them  if  they  went  to  another 
place.  But  the  dispatch  of  this  message  filled 
her  with  fresh  anxiety.  She  feared  first  that  the 
message  might  not  reach  its  destination  in  time  ; 
and  then  that  Gualtier  might  utterly  misunder- 
stand her  motive — a  thing  which,  under  the  cir- 
cumstances, he  was  certain  to  do — and,  under 
this  misapprehension,  hurry  up  his  work,  so  as 
to  have  it  completed  by  the  time  of  her  arrival. 
Tliese  thoughts,  with  many  others,  agitated  her 
so  much  that  she  gradually  vrorked  herself  into 
an  agony  of  fear;  and  the  swiftest  speed  of 
steamboat  or  express  train  seemed  slow  to  the 
desire  of  that  stormy  spirit,  which  would  have 
forced  its  way  onward,  far  beyond  the  speed 
•which  human  contrivances  may  create,  to  the 
side  of  the  man  whom  she  longed  to  see  and  to 
save.  The  fever  of  her  fierce  anxiety,  the  ve- 
Jiemence  of  hor  draire,  the  intensitj  of  her  an- 
guiih,  all  worked  upon  her  delicate' orgoniiation 
with  direful  eflTect  Her  brain  became  confused, 
Md  thoughts  became  dreams.  For  hours  she 
lost  all  consciousness  of  surrounding  objects. 

Yet  amidst  all  this  confusion  of  a  diseased  and  ^  .^, 

^erworked  brain,  and  amidst  this  delirium  of  .|  fallen,  but  the  landlord  supported  her,  andcalM 
wild  thought,  there  was  ever  prominent  her  one  .  for  the  maids.    I1iey  hurried  forward,  and  UUd* 


who  had  come  to  meet  her.     He  seemed  to  be 
the  proprietor. 

"Lord   Chotwyndel"  she  gasped. 
here  ?''    She  spoke  in  German. 

The  proprietor  shook  his  head. 

**  He  left  the  doy  before, vestcrday." 

Hilda  staggered  back  witK  a  low  moan.  She 
did  not  really  think  that  he  could  bo  hero  vet, 
but  she  had  hoped  that  he  miglit  to,  and'tlio 
disappointment  was  great  . 

"  Is  there  a  letter  here,"  she  asked,  in  a  faint 
voice;  "for  Lady  Chetwynde?" 

"I  think  so.     I'll  see." 

Hurrying  away  he  soon  returned  with  a  letter 
in  his  hand. 

"  Are  you  the  one  to  whom>  it  is  addressed  ?" 
he  asked,  with  deep  respect. 

''  I  am  Lady  Chetwynde,"  said  Hilda,  and  at 
the  same  time  eagerly  snatched  the  letter  from 
his  hand.  On  the  outside  she  at  once  I'ecognizod 
the  writing  of  Gualtier.  She  saw  the  address, 
"Lady  Chetwynde."  In  an  instant  she  tore  it 
open,  and  read  the  contents. 

The  letter  contained  only  the  following  words : 

"  FtAKKroKT,  HAtel  RoriisoiiiLU, 
October  SO,  t8S9. 

"  We  leave  for  Baden  to-day.  Our  business  is 
progressing  very  favorably.  We  go  to  the  Hotel 
Franfnis  at  Baden.  If  yon  come  on  you  mast 
follow  us  there.  If  we  go  away  befor;  your  ar- 
rival I  will  hsave  a  note  for  you." 
t» 

Tlie  letter  was  as  short  as  a  telegram,  and  lis 
unsatisfactory  to  a  mind  in  such  a  state  as  hers. 
It  had  no  signature,  but  the  handwriting  was 
Gualtier's. 

Hilda's  hand  trembled  so  that  she  could  scarce- 
ly hold  it.  She  read  it  over  and  over  again. 
Then  she  turned  to  the  hindlord. 

"  What  time  does  the  next  train  leave  for  Ba- 
den ?"  she  asked. 

"To-morrow  morning  at  5  a.ii.,  mjladi.'' 

"  Is  there  no  train  before  ?" 

"No,  mUadi," 

"Is  there  no  steamer?" 

"  No,  miladi— not  before  to-morrbw  ntcyning. 
The  five  o'clock  train  is  the  first  and  the  quickest 
way  to  go  to  Baden." 

"  I  am  in  a  great  hurry,"  said  Hilda,  fiiintly. 
"  I  muat  be  c^led  in  time  for  the  five  o'clock 
train." 

"Ton  shall  be.  militdi." 

"  Send  a  maid — and  let  me  have  my  room 
now — as  soon  as  possible— for  I  am  worn  out" 

As  she  said  this  she  tottered,  and  would  hsve 


of  her  delirious 


Js . 


•r"f  '^J^  ,  "P '"  *'*'  "**""  ""d  tenderly  pat  to 
bed.  The  landlord  was  an  honest,  tender-heart- 
ed German.  Lord  Chetwvnde  had  been  a  guest 
of  snfflcient  distinction  to  be  well  remembered  by 
a  landlord^  and  his  111  healtR  had  made  him  more 
conspicuous.  T,he  arrival  of  this  devoted  wife, 
who  herself  seeing  as  ill  as  her  husband,  but 
who  yet,  in  spite  of  wealcness,  was  hastening  to 
him  with  such  a  consuming  desire  to  get  to  him, 
affected  most  profoundly  this  honest  landlord,  and 
all  others  in  the  hotel.  ^That  evening,  then, 
Hildft.'s  faith  and  love  and  constancy  formed  the 
chief  theme  of  convemation ;  the  visitors  of  the 
hotel  heard  the  sad  story  fi-om  the  landlord,  and" 
deep  was  the  pity,  and  profound  the  sympathy, 
whwh  were  expres^  bydl..  To  the  ordinary 
pathos  of  this  affecting  example  of  conjugal  love 
some  additional  power  was  lent  by  the  extreme 
beauty,  the  excessive  prostration  and  grief,  and, 
above  all,  the  illustrious  rank  of  tfais  devoted  wo- 
man. 

Hilda  waa  put  to  bed,  but  there  was  no  sleep 
for  her.  ^The  fever  of  her  anxiety,  the  shock  of 
her  disappointment,  the  tnmult  of  her  hopes  and 
fears,  all  made  themselves  felt  in  her  overworked 
brain.  She  did  not  take  tlje  five  o'clock  train  on 
the  following  day.  Tlie  maid  came  to  call  her, 
but  found  her  in  a  high  f«ver,  eager  to  start,  but 
quite  unable  to  move.  Before  noon  she  waa  de- 
lirious. 

In  that  delirium  her  thoughts  wandered  over 
those  scenes  which  for  the  past  few  months  had 
been  uppermost  in  her  mind.  Now  she  was  shut 
np  in  her  chamber  at  Chetwynde  Castle  reading 
the  Indian  papers;  she  heard  the  roll  of  carriage 
wheels;  she  prepared  to  meet"  the  new-comer 
face  to  fece.  She  foIlowed<)iim  to  the  morning- 
room,  and  there  Ijstened  to  his  fierce  maledic- 
tibns.  On  the  occasion  itself  she  had  been  dumb 
before  him.  but  in  her  delirium  she  had  words 
of  remonstrance.  These  words  were  expressed 
in  eveiy  varying  shade  of  entreaty,  deprecation, 
conciliation,  and  prayer.  Again  she  watched  a 
Item,  forbidding  face  over  the  dinner-table,  and 
sought  to  appease  by  kind  words  the  just  wratf 
of  the  man  she  lovad.  Again  she  held  ^ut  he 
hand,  only  to  have  AerWible  advances  repelled 
in  coldest  scorn,  l^^io^he  saw  him  leave  her 
forever  without  a  word  of  farewell— without  even 
a  notice  of  his  departure,  and  she  remained  to 
give  herself  up  to  vengeance. 

That  delirium  carried  h^r  through  many'past 
events.  Gualtier  again  stood  up  before  her' in 
rebellion,  proud,  deffaint,  merciless,  asserting  him- 
self, and  enforcing  her  «iibmi«sion  ^o  his  will. 
Again  there  came  into  her  room,  Middenlv,  and 
-ike  a  spectre,  the  awful  preswice  of  Mrs.'Hart, 
with  her  white  face,  her  stem  looks,  her  sharp  in- 
gniries;  and  her  ominous  words.  Again  she  pui^ 
med  this  woman  to  her  own  room,  in  tbe  dark, 
and  ran  her  hands  over  the'bed,  and  found  that 
bed  emp^,., 

But  Lord  Chetwynde  wAs  the  centml\bject 
Of  her  delirious  fancies.  It  was  to  him  that 
m  thonghta  reverted^  4i»iB^brief T^mtnderings 
wer  reminiscences  of  Gualtier  and  Mrs.  Hart, 
Whatever  thoughts  she  might  have  about  these, 
Ihose  thoughts  would  always  at  last  revert  to 
Wm.  And  with  him  it  was  not  so  much  the  past 
«i»t  suggested  itself  to  her  diseased  Imagination 
••the  future.  That  future  was  sufficiently  dark 
ttO  terrible  to  be  jiortrayed  In  fearful  colors  by 


THE  CBYPTOGBAM. 


id 


^«r  iijcoher«L  ravings.     There  itere  wh'isper- 
ed  words— fl^Ms  of  frightful  meaning,  w^ds 
whioh  expressed  those  thouj^ta  which  in  her 
sober  senses  she  would  liave  died  rather  than  re- 
VMl.     Had  any  one  been  standing  by- her  bed- 
side who  knew  EngUsh,  he  might  have  learned 
from  her  words  a  stor^  of  fearful  import-a  tale 
which  would  have  chilled  his  blOod,  and  which 
would  have  shown  him  how  far  different  this 
sick  woman  was  from  the  fond,  selfrsacriflcing 
wife  who  had  excited  the  sympathy  of  all  in  the 
hotd.     But  thero  was  none  who  could  under.    . 
stand  her.     1  he  doctor  knew  no  language  beside 
his  own  except  a  little  French ;  tin  maids  knew 
no  hiijg  but  German.     And  so  it  was  that  while 
Hilda  unconsciously  revealed  the  whole  of  thoslCs 
frightful  secrets  which  she  carried  shut  up  within 
her  breast,  that  revelation  was  not  intelligible 
to  any  of  those  who  were  in  contact  with  her. 
Well  waa  It  for  her  at  that  time  thht  she  had 
chosen  to  come  away  without  her  mdid ;  for  had 
that  maid  been  with  her  thtfn  she  would  have 
learned  enough  of  her  jnistress  to  send  her  living 
back  to  England  in  horror,  and  to  publish  abroad 
the  awful  intelligence. 

Thua  a  week  passed— a  week  of  delirium,  of 
ravings,  of  incoherent  speeches,  unintelligible  to 
all  those  by  whom  she  was  surrounded.  At  length 
her  strong  constitution  triumphed  over  the  as- 
saults of  disease.  The  fever  was  allayed,  and 
sense  returned ;  and  with  returning  sense  there 
came  the  full  consciousness  of  her  position.  The 
one  purpose  of  her  life  rose  again  within  her 
mind,  and  even  while  she  was  too  weak  to  move 
shevwas  eager  to  be  upland  away. 

"  How  long  will  it  Ije,"  she  asked  of  the  doc- 
tor, "  before  I  can  go  on  my  journey  ?" 

"If  every  thing  is  favorable,  miUdi,"  answer- 
ed^ the  doctor,  "as  I  hope  it  if  ill  be,  you  may  be 
able  to  go  in  about  a  week.     It  will  be  a  risk 
but  you  are  so  excited  that  I  would  rather  liave 
you  go  than  stay." 
"  A  week  >.    A  week !"  exclaimed  IliU., 
liringly.     "JL  can  not  wait  so  long  as'^am 
1  will  go  before  then— or  eUe  I  will  die." 
If  you  go  before  a  week,"  said  the  doctor, 
wAmingly,  and  >vith  evident  anxiety,  "you,»vili 
risk  youjp life."  ' 

Hilda.;  "  MAfis  )ife  worth  now  ?"  she  l3Sr- 
mured,  witSifcThoan  of  anguish.  ^I  must  and 
'ml  go  on,  if  I  die  for  it— and  in  wMMays." 

The  doctor  made  no  reply.  H^HTher  des- 
peration, and  perceived  that  any  rSbonstranoe 
would  be, worse  than  useless.  To  keep  such  a 
resolute  and  detennined  spirit  chained  here  in  a 
sick-chamber  would  be  impossible.  She  would 
chafe  at  the  confinement  so  fiercely  that  a  re- 
newal  of  the  fever  would  be  inevitable.  She 
would  have  to  be  allowed  her  own  way.  Most 
deeply  did  he  commiserate  this  devoted  wife,  and 
much  did  he  wonder  how  it  had  happened  that 
her  husband  had  gone  off  from  her  thus,  at  A  time 
when  he  himself  wa«  threatened  with  illnesa. 
An*^npw,  as  fae{6re,'^thoiaktndly  Gennan  tiram^ 
in  the  hotel,  on  learning  this  new  outburst  of  con- 
jugal love,  felt  a  sympathy  which  was  beyond  nil 
expression.  To  none  of'^them  had  there  evefri 
before  been  kno\yn  any  thing  ai^roachiog  to  so 
piteous  a  case  as  this. 

'Hie  days  passed.     Hilda  waa  avaridont  about 
I  oreiy  new  sign  of  increasing  strength.     U^ 


eve|t*j 


v^' 


TT^ 


0 


1^8 


CRYPTOGRAM. 


iver  bodQy  pnin 
id,  und\^  the 


.  strong  determfhation,  her  intei 
powerful  will,'  at  last  triumphe 
^nd  weakness.  It  was  as  shi 
•  tMrd  day  ^he  managed  to  Jrag  herself  fr<s|  lier 
.bed  and  prepare  for  a  fresft  journey.  In  jgirepa- 
Hktion  for  t^f|  however,  she  was  compere^  to 
'bftve  a  maid  to  accompany  her,  and  she  setw^ 
udne  of  those  who  had,  'been  her  attendants,  'tm 


desire,  ttfld  her   ried  to  her  room. 


effort,  and  sent  Gr 
letter  fur  hm.     In 


,  simple-hearted,  atfectionate  G^rmnij.gBf  'teme'im] 
chen  by  name,  one  who  was  jult  ^ited  to     ' 
|ier  present  situatio|i. 
journey  ' 


Then  she 
h^n  to  sj 
Jlliort  til 

peare$k  bringing  anmer  of  t0 
tantaHzing.ii^es,  wht^^jiJways 
mock  l|fU|j^Md  to  lure  tpft  on  to 
ment.  ^jcil^pSr  impa'tieirttB^ 
ihad  in 


y  misfortune. 

ed  i^to  the 

she  reached 

nd  had  tjbt 

ir  a  letter. 

notjkieen 

'  111  Stop 
iuj3n«5^'jiirogress- 
^e  ge  away  irSm  Mn- 
foryou.^ 


Bhtf! 


^ed  ready  to 
i  disappoint- 
its  Con  ten  tft. 


she  tore  Qpen  H^  ei 
tgnts.     Tliis      "  ^ 
Mpiewhat  moAMJiltiuni 
It  read  as  follows 


j^iminish^d,  ;and  it  was  with  the 
fever  of  curiosity  tk  l|||fore  that 


lyonr^thecol^'^: 


|J^  others;  tfl| 


'■''^'* 


''  We  leave  for  Lauswne  toiofe*i  HCwi  Intend , 
to,  stop  at  the  Hotel  Gibbon.  It  iS'  not  probable 
tbat  ony  fuhher  journey  will  be  made.  Buinoss 
tnost  favorable,  ond  prospects  i^e  that  everv  thing 
will  sooti  be  brought  to  a  ^npciSUfiil  issue.^' 


■^^- 


'Hielette^ikas  dated  mjvember  2,  bnt  it  wtjs 
now  th»  lOth  of  that  mopth,  and  Hilda  was  far 
behind  tii4|^|  She  had  iier\-ed  herself  up  to  this 
*'      effort,  an*  tli«ihope  of  finding  the  object  of  her 
seRrcKatBadeillad  sustained  her.    ,Buthernew- 
fo^4  (itiength  WB  now  utterly  exhausted  by  the 
'>  fatigue*  of  trava^  and  the  new  disappointment 
y/i^ch  she  had  experienced  created  discourage- 
ment a«>d  despondency.    This  told  still  ipoi*  upon 
■  r-  y^  stAhigth,  and  she  was  com)ielled  to  wait  here 
Jj^  t\yo  day^  chafing  and  frfetting  against  her 
f  >'   WMknesa. 

'  ,  ifothing  could  exceed  the  faithful  attention  of 
Gretchen.     She  had  heard  at  Frankfort,  fi-oin  the 
gpSsip  of  the  servants,  the  story  of  her  mistress, 
and' all  her  German  sentiment  was  roused  in  be- 
h^f  6f  one  so  sorrowful  and  so  Beautifi^.     Her 
'  nMural  kindness  of  heart  also  led  to  the  utmost 
'  devotion  to  Hilda,  and,  so  far  as  careful  and  in- 
cessaHt  nttentioncould  accomplish  any  thing,  nil 
.wsdone  that  was  possible.     By  the  13th  of  No- 
y  ^  vaii}>er  Hilda  was  ready  to  start  once  more,  ond 
on  that  morning  she  left  for  Munich. 
*  This  journey  was  more  fatiguing  than  the  last. 
In  her  weak  state  she  was  almost  overcdme. 
Twioe  she  fainted  away  in  the  cars,  and  all  of 
t^  Gretchen's  anxious  care  was  required  to  bring  her 
•  to  her  destination.    The. German  maid  imploral 
h^  with  tears  to  getout  at  some  of  the  towns  on 
the  way.     But  Hilda  resolutely  refused.    She 
hoped  to  find  rest  at  Munich,  and  to  stop  short 
of  that  place  seemed  to  her  toeodanger  her  pros- 
pect of  siiceess.    Again,  as  heinke  strong  8«ul 
triumphed  over  the  infirmity, oHH^Mly,  andt)i$ 
place  of  her  destination  wa%JW|M[ttained. 

She  reached  it  man  dead  tuH^^^  Gretchen 
lifted  het  into  a  cab.  She  was  taken  to  the  IQttel 
des  Etrangers.  At  the  very  first  moment  of  her 
entrance^lo  the  hall  she  had  asked  a  breathless 

question '^hg  gervaut  whaappeaieda^ l_ 

"Js  Lord  Chetwynde  here  'r 

T  A'  JMTd  Chetwynde  ?    No.     He  has  gone. " 

*  Gione  I "  said  Hilda,  in  a  voice  w^ ch  was  like 
a  groan  of  despair.     ' '  Gone !     When  ?" 
"  Nearly  a  week  ago,"  said  the  servant. 
At  this  Hilda's  strength  again  loft  her  utterly, 
And  she  fell  bacK  almost  senseless.    She  was  «ar- 


chapter: 

THE  ANOniaH  OF 


HEART. 

As  Hilda  read  these  ominou^^ords  a  chill  like 
that  of  death  seemed  to  strike  tSplier  inmost  soul. 
Her  disappointment  on  her.  arrhial  here  had  al- 
ready been  bitter  enough.  She  ^/fA  looked  upon  . 
Munich  as  the  place  where  she  wo^d  surely  find 
the  end  of  her  journey,  and  obtain  the  reward 
of  her  labors.  But  now  the  objett  of  her  search  > 
was  once  more  removed,  and  a  new  journey  more 
fdtigumg  than  the  others  was  set  before  Iier. 
Could  she  bear  if  ? — ^he  who  even  now  f^  the 
old  weakness^  and  something  even  worse,  coming 
back  irresistibly  upon  her.  Could  she,  indeed, 
bear  another  journey  ?  This  question  she  put  to 
herself  half  hopele^y ;  but  almost  immediately 
her  Ksolnte  soul  asserted  itself,  and  proudly  an- 
swered it.  Bear  such,  a  journey  ?  Ay,  this 
journey  she  could  bear,  and  not  only  this,  but 
many  more.  Even  though  her  old  weakness  was 
Coming  back  over  her  frail  form,  still  she  rose 
superior  to  that  weakness,  and  persisted  in  her 
determination  to  go  on,  and  still  on,  without  giv- 
ing up  her  purpose,  till  she  reoched  Lord  Chet- 
wynde, even  though  it  should  only  be  at  the  mo- 
ment ofher  arrival  to  drop  dead  at  his  feet. 

There  wat  more  now  to  stimulate  her  than  the 
determination  of  a  resolute  ftndjn vincible  wi!l. 


The  words  of  that  last 
inous  meaning,  which 
by  far  than  any  of  the  oi 
which  they  bore  hod  not 
import  as  this. 

The  first  boi^ 
gressing  veryfavofi 

The  second,  thaf 
voraUy. 

This  last  one  tol 
toon  be  brought  ta 

Well  she"  knew  the 

these  di9erei)(^messagi 
cessive  stages'  of  the  terrii 
ing  on,  and  tq  Oj^rt  whii 
much,  at  the^  cost  of  such^ 
She  saw  the  form  of  Lord 
more  and  more  every  day,  and  still,  while  he 
struggled  ogaitist  the  apfiroach  of  insidious  dis- 
ease,, yielding,  in  spite  of  himself,  to  its  resistlesi 


jhirk  and  om-' 

\ore  strongly 

"le  messages 

feoiful  an 

w^as  pro- 
i^ing  most  fa- 
he  business  tcould 

;hese  words. 

-Hwny* 

ich  Was  go* 

endured  so 

g  to  herself. 

iwvnde  fuiling 


She  I 

Ke,' siimmonin 

mre^he  sfoppec 

T^fthysicians  in  det 

'Atne  time  there  i 

filled  with  one  di 

lit, of  which  1 

Bringly  patient 

^kness  of  .his  i 

.  ,  ijioting  every 

.       sign  which  migh 

lYttoo.  who  thought 

■^  j.  hjm  to  join  in  hii 

j,>^  in  order  to  join  1 

*  give  him  her  con 
him  the  reward  w 
that  she  would  gn 

Thoughts  like  t 
Wretched  and  ain 

•  weakness,  yet  con 
rush  onward  and 
graSp  of  the  destrt 
a  thousand  contei 
the  extreme  of  the 
struggle  as  this  pr 
night  was  enough 
that  stage  of  utter 
of  travel  irapossib 
tion  her  mind  sti 
thoughts  that  neve 
which  prevented  h 
the  one  idea  that  y 
while  she  was  tha 
going  on — that  woi 
directed.  That  en 
was  now,  as  she  vyJ 
bnt  too  zealously! 
own  hands.  And 
do?  He  had  aln 
would  he  now  giv< 
wished  ?  She  raigl 
don  a  command  to 
ceedings  till  she  can 
so,  was  it  at  all  pro 
happened,  woukl  hi 
done  so,  because  sh 
issue  comnunds  ai 
The  servant  had  asi 
a  master,  and  the  i 
had  been  non-comn 
the  prospect  of  her 
^e,  and  upon  he 
hjm,  and  reducing  1 

,  hu  refusal  to  fall  in- 
Bnt  now  it  haSt 


m.    She  saw  him  going   from  place  to 

eo,  summoning  the  physicians  of  each  town 

Wre  he  stopped,  and  giving  up  both  town  and 

jHiysicians  in  despair.     iShe  saw,  also,  how'  a}l 

in  J*"""  """*  *'*^  ^y  ^^  ^^'^  one  who  was 
«M  with  one  dark  pnrpos^  in  the  accomplish- 
ment of  which  be  was  perseveringly  craeland 
aringly  patient— one  who  watched  the  growing 
»kne8s  of  his  victim  with  cold-blooded  inter- 
,  Rioting  every  decrease  of  strength,  and  every 
.sign  which  might  give  token  of  the  end— one, 
k'i^too,  who  thought  that  she  was  hastening  after 
F  W.  jum  to  join  in  his  work,  and  was  only  delaying 
#  in  order  to  join  him  when  all  was  ovBr,  so  as  to 
give  him  her  congjatolatlons,  and  bestow  upon 
lum  the  reward  whicCTie  had  made  her  promise 
that  she  would  graflt. 
Thoughts  like  these  filled  her  with  mildness. 
,    Wretched  and  almost  hopeless,  prostrated  by  her 
■    weakness,  yet  consumed  by  an  ardent  desire  to 
rush  onward  and  save  the  dying  man  from  the 
graSp  of  the  destnjyer,  her  soul  became  a  pnay  to 
a  thousand  contending  emotions,  and  endured 
the  extreme  of  the  anguish  of  suspense.    Such  a 
struggle  as  this  proved  too  much  for  her.     One 
night  was  enough  to  prostrate  her  once  moro^  to 
that  stage  of  utter  weakness  whioh  m^de  all  hope 
of  travel  impossible.     In  that  state  of  prostra- 
tion her  mind  still  continued  active,  and,  the 
thoughts  that  never  ceased  to  come  were  those 
which  prevented  her  from  rallying  readily.    For 
the  one  idea  that  was  over  present  was  this,  that 
while  she  was  thus  helpless,  her  work  was  still 
going  on— that  work  which  she  had  ordered  and 
directeil.     That  emissary  whom  she  had  sent  out 
was  now,  as  she  wfell  knew,  fulfilling  her  mandate 
but  too  zealously.    The  power  was  now  all  in  his 
own  hands.    And  she  herself-what  could  she 
do?    He  had  already   defied  her  authority— 

wished  ?  She  might  have  tetegt^hectSom  Lon- 
don a  command  to  him  to  stop  all  further  pro- 
ceedings  till  she  came ;  bii»,  even  if  she  had  done 
80,  was  It  at  all  probable  that  he,  after  what  had 
happened,  would  have  obeyed  ?  She  had  not 
done  so,  because  she  did  not  feel  in  a  position  to 
usue  commands  any  longer  in  her  old  style 
The  servant  had  assumed  the  air  and  manner  of 
8  master,  and  the  message  which  she  had  sent 
had  been  non-committal.  She  had  relied  npek 
the  prospect  of  her  own  SMedjt&iinl  upon  m 
Awe,  and  upon  her  o^^iibW^tbnMtSg 
torn,  and  reducing  hiTO%*ibedience  in  case  of 
,  hw  refusal  to  fall  in  with  her  wishes.  ^^ 

But  now  it  hafPfllen  out  far  differently  from 
what  she  had  exj%ted,  and  the  coflawfe  of  her 
own  strength  had  rtmed  all.  Now  eveiy  day  and 
every  hour  was  taking  hope  away  from  het.  and 
ginngit  to  that  man  who,  from  Bfeing  h^ool, 
V  TP  **•  *"«  assertion  of  mastership  over  her. 
«ow»ery  moment  was  dragging  away  from  her 
tneman  whom  she  sought  so  eagerly— dragging 
lum  away  from  her  love  to  the  darkness  of  that 
Wace  to  which  her  love  and  her  lomdng  might 


THE  CKY^lglRAM.  .  ,  J,  jgj 

^ini  had  not  interfajpd  with  her  purpose  when 
Gualtier  returned  to  teU  of  his  iticcessrand  to 
mingle  with  his  atory  the  redtal  of  Zillah's  love 
and  longing  after  her.    But  now  it  was  different. 
Now  she  had  handed  over  to  that  sntne  betraW 
one  who  had  become  dearer  to  hen  than  life  itself 
-one,  too,  who  had  grown  dearer  still  ever  since 
that  mmnent  when  she  had  fiftit  resolved  to  save 
till!!'   J    'ne  had  never  arrived  at  such  a  resolu- 
tion—if she  had  borne  with  the  struggles  of  her 
heart  and  the  tortures  of  her  suspense-if  she 
had  fought  out  the  battle  in  solitude  and  bv  her. 
self,  alone  at  Chetwynde,  her  sufferings  would 
have  been  great,  it  is  true,  but  they  would  never 
have  ansen  tothe  proportions  which  they  now  as- 
sumed.    ITiey  would  never  have  reduced  her  to 
this  anguish  of  soul  which,  in  its  reaction  upon  , 
the  body  thus  deprived  her  of  aU  strength  And 
Hope,     rhat  moment  when  she  had  decided 
against  vengeance  and  in  favoc,  of  pity,  had 
borne  for  her  a  fearful  fnlit.  Jt  was  the  point  at 
Which  all  her  love  was  let  loose  suddenly  from 
that  repression  which  she  had  striven  to  maintain 
over  it,  and  rose  np  to  gigantic  proportions,  fill- 
mg  all  her  thoughts,  and  overshadowing  all  otha 
feelings     That  love  npwpervaM  all  her  being, 
occupied  all  her  thoughts,  and  absorbed  all  her 
spmt.     Once  it  was  love;  now  it  had  grown  to 
something  morejt  had  become  a  frenzy ;  and  the 
more  she  y»dd«Jpto  ite  overmastering  power,  the 
more  did  tbif  power  enchain  her. 

Tormented  and  tortured  by  such  feelings  as 
these^er  >veary,  ovenvom  frame  sank  once  more, 
and  the  sufferings  of  Frankfort  were  renewed  at 
Munich.  On  the  next  day  af^r  her  arrival  she 
was  unable  to  leave.  For  day  after  day  she  lay 
prostrate,  and  all  her  impatient  eagerness  to  go 
onward,  and  all  her  resolution,  profited  nothing 
when  the  poor  frail  flesh  was  so  weak.  Yet  in 
••pite  of  all  this,  her  soul  was  strong;  and  that 


■  ^  1 — wM«    '•»«   n»ivii^  ^    niiu   limb 

soul,  by  Its  indomitable  purpose,  roused  up  once 
njore  the  shattered  forces  of  the  body.    A  week 

that  week  she 


—  WlHiir  "  -™  "       '    — -;-^ rr- 

"•'w  penevraie.  -      .  -j\ 

Now,  also,  there  arose  wiUi 
of  remorse.    Neviw  bei 
Ae  fearful  meaning  of  t.., 
had  never  stirred  her  heai 
to  the  betrayer  her  life-1^ 
Mter,  the  one  whi  so  loved  . 
M  innociBnt,  the/ affectionate 


m 


[er  the  agonies 

imdwstood 

a  feeling 

led  over 

_jdmost 

i^atitnistful, 

S  snch  a 


away,  but  at  the  end  of 
arose  tov  stagger  forward. 

Her  journey  to  Lausanne  was  made  somehow— 
she  knew  not  how— partly  by  the  help  of  Gretch- 
en,  whMvatchcd  over  her  incessantly  with  inex- 
haustible devotion— partly  through  the  strength 
of  her  own  forceful  will,  which  ker*  before  htv 
g»  great  end  which  was  to  crown  s&'itfuch  en- 
i^raVoBr  She  was  a  shattered  invalid  on  this 
^°^Wl  ^"®  *"^"  "'at  another  snch  a  journey 
voi^^  impossible.  She  hoped  that  this  one 
would  end  her  severe  trials.  And  so,  amidst  hope 
and  fear,  her  sq^il  sustained  her,  and  she  went  on. 
Such  a  joumte  as  this  to  one  less  exhaust^^ 
would  ht^e  b«dh  one  m«momble  on  aopuiuit  of 
its.physicol  and  mental  anguish,  but  to  Hilda,  in 
that  extreme  of  suffering.  It  was  not  memorable 
at  all.  It  was  less  thaj|.a  dream.  It  was  i» 
""""■j^How  It  passed  she  knew  not.  After- 
ward ^  only  could  roiaibmber  that  in  some  why 
it  did  pass.  ' 

Qn-tha^-twentyasecond  i^Kj,^t  Ta<»vtmbtir 
fe. 


reached  LanswSe.  Gretehen  lifted  her  out  of 
the  coach,  nndwppdrtwi  %peu  s|i*)tottct^a  into 
the  Hotel  Gibh^.  Wmi  wa«  liibding  in  the^ 
doorway.  At  first  he  did  not  BDti«i4(ba  two  wo- 
men, but  somethini^in  Hilda's  appeai^nce  struck 
him,  and  he  lookafl  earnestly  at  her. 

An  exclamatioh  burst  from  him. 

•'My  God  I"  he  groaned. 


/ 


C      ^: 


Hilda's  arbital  at  the  hotel  gibbon. 


■V  For  a  moment  he  stood  staring  nt  them,  and 
tnen  advanced  with  a  rapid  pace.        • ' 

It  was  Gaaltier.' 

Hilda  recognized  liim,  but  said  nothing.  She 
could  not  speak  a  word.  8he  wished  to  ask  for 
something,  but  dreaded  to  ask  that  question,  for 
she  feared  the  repiy. 

In  that  interval  of  fear  and  hesitation  Gualtier 
ha<l  leisure  to  see,  in  one  brief  glance,  all  the 
chungo  that  had  come  over  her  who  had  once 
been  so  strong,  so  calm,  so  self-reliaiit,  so  unmwed 
by  the  passions,  the  feelings,  and  the  weaknesses 
of  ordinary  humanity.     He  saw  and  shuddered. 

Thin  and  pale  and  wan,  she  now  stood  before 
,  him,  tottering  feebly  with  unsteady  step,  and 
staying  herself  on  the  arm  of  her  maid.  Her 
cheeks,  which,  when  he  last  saw  them,  were  full 
and  rounded  with  the  omliiies  of  youth  and 
health,^were  now  hollow  and  sunken.  Around 
_her  e)-e^  were  those  dark  clouded  marks  which 
"Bfe  tlie  sure  signs  of  weakjiess  and  disease.  Her 
hands,  as  they  gnispcd  the  arms  of  the  maid, 
were  thin  and  white  and  emaciated.  Her  lips 
were  bloodless.  It  was  the  face  of  Hilda,  in- 
deed, but  Hilda  in  sorrow,  in  suffering,  and  in 
grief — such  a  face  as  he  had  never  imagined. 
But  there  were  some  things  in  that  face  which  be- 


longed to  the  Hilda  of  old,  and  bad  not  changed.  ' 
The  eyes  still  flashed  dark  and  piercing;  they 
at  least  had  not  failed ;  and  still  their  penetra- 
ting gaze  rested  upon  him  with  no  diminution 
in  their  power.  Still  the  rich  masses  of  ebon 
hair  wreathed  themselves  in  voldminous  folds, 
and  from  out  the  luxuriant  black  masses  of  that 
haii-  the  white  face  looked  forth  w|th  its  pallor 
rendered"  more  awful  from  the  contrast.  Yet 
now  that  white  face^was  a  face  of  agony,  niul  the 
eyes  which,  in  their  mute  entreaty^,  were  turned 
toward  him^were  fixed  ^nil  staring.  As  lijcame 
up  to  her  she  grasped  his  arm  ;  hof  lipe  movcdik 
but  for  a  time  no  audible  sound  escaped.  At\ 
lengfh  she  spoke,  but  it  was  i|i  a  whisper : 

"■•  la  he  alivef" 

And  that  was  nil  that  she  said.  She  stood 
there  panting,  and  gasping  for  breath,,  awaiting 
his  reply  with  a  certain  awful  suspense. 

"  Yfis,  mylady^"  said  Gualtier,  iaakindof 
wilderment,  as  Ihough  he  had  not  yet  ^ot  over 
the  shock  of  suoi  an  apparition.  "  He  Is  alive 
yet."  \ 

"  God  be  thanked^"  moaned  Hilda,  in  a  low 
voice.  "  I  have  arri^^  in  time — at  last.  He 
must  be  saved— »nd  heshall  be  saved.     Come." 

She  spoke  this  hist  word  to  Gaaltier.    By  b«r 


words,  as  well  as  by  her  face  and  manner,  he  saw 
that  some  great  change  had  come  over  her,  but 
why  It  was,  he  knew  not  yet.  He  plainh-  per- 
ceived, however,  that,  she  had  turned  from  lier 
purpose,  and  now  no  longer  desired  the  death  of 
the  man  whom  she  had  commissioned  him  to 
destroy.  In  thatamoment  of  hurried  thought  he 
wondered  much,  lot,  from  his  knowledge  of  the 
recent  past,  he  made  a  conjecture  which  was  not 
far  from  the  truth. 

"Come,"  said  Hildo.     " I  have  something  to 
say  to  yon.    I  wish  to  see  you  alone.    Come." 
.  And  he  followed  her  into  thojiotel. 


THE  CRYPTOGRAM. 


yi 


.  ^  ■ ^~     ' 

CHAPTER  L. 

BLACK   BILL. 

On  the  day  after  his  meeting  with  Lord  Chet- 
wynde  Obed  had  intended  to  start  for  Naples. 
Lord  Chetwynde  had  not  chosen  to  tell  Obed  his 
real  name ;  but  this  maintenance  of  his  incogni- 
to was  not  at  all  owing  to  anv  love  of  mysterv- 

f?5,?,"y  .'l^''l! '"  >*«P  "  *««'■«'•  He  chose  to  b^ 
"  Vy.ndham"  ^use  Obed  thought  him  so,  and 
*e  had  no  i-eaSon  for  being  othepvise  with  him 
He  thought,  dlso,  that  to  tell  his  real  name  miglit 
involve  a  troublesome  explanation,  which  was  not 
desirable,  especially  since  there  was  no  need  for 
it.  Had  that  explanation  been  made,  had  the 
jTie  name  been  made  known  ot  this  inter^•iew,  a 
flood  of  light  would  have  poured  down  upon  this 
dark  matter,  and  Obed  would  have  had  at  last 
the  key  to  every  thing.  But  this  revelation  was 
not  made,  and  Windham  took  his  dei)arture 
from  his  friend. 

On  the  following  morning,  while  Obed  was 
dressihg,  a  note  was  brought  to  his  room.  It  was 
from  the  police,  and  requested  a  visit  from  him 
«s  matters  of  importance  had  been  found  out  with 
reference  to  the  case  which  he  had  intrusted  to 
Uiem.  At  this  unexpected  message  Obeds start 
for  Naples  was  postponed,  and  ho  hurried  of!"  as 
rspidly  as  possible  to  the  office.  " 

On  arriving  there  he  soon  learned  the  cause  of 
the  note.  An  Went  had  occurred  which  was  in 
the  highest  degree  unexpected,  and  had  not  arisen 
outof  the  ordinary  inqujjjes  of  the  detectives  at 
all.  It  seems  that  on  the  evening  of  the  previous 
day  a  man  had  come  voluntarily  to  lodge  inform- 
ation against  this  same  Gualtier  for  the  purpose 
of  liaylrtg  a  search  made  after  him.     He  was  one 

I'f.'rZPi!^!'*™*''®"  .»"  T^".<!?">  we"  known 

"  "  "  '  501,  and  by  his 

the   name  of 

might  him- 

lad  detained 


to  face  with  this 


tntl^  polft^nd  recogniie 
own  ruffian  companions, 
"Black  Bill."    In  order 
Klf  hear  what  he  had  to*, 
thoiflfprmer,  and  sent  for , 

Qm  was  soon  brought  ....„  .„  ,„^„  „,„,  m,, 
new  actor  in  the  great  tragedy  of  ZiUah's  life. 
Ue  was  a  short,  stout,  thick-set  man,  with  bull 
neck,  broad  shoulders,  deeAxhest,  low  brow,  flat 
nose,  square  chin,  and  sinflpack  eyes,  in  which 
-a»re  toy  a  mingled  exprMSi  of  ferocity  and 
TT-^-  J*"  ?7  swarth^omplexion,  heavy 
black  beard,  and  thick,  matted,  coal-bkck  hair, 
•ogethe^  with  his  black  eyes,  were  sufficiently 


???.l  ^..7.'^.^"™,^"^^  Of  thjwiame  of 
.Altogether,  he  lookedllke  a  per- 


"  Black  Bill." 
feet  type 
nntaiil' 


irfect  ruffianism ;  and  Olied  invol- 
cold  shudder  pass  over  him  as  h'e 


thought  of  Zillah  falling  into  the  hands  of  any 
set  of  villains  of  which  this  man  was  one. 
On  entering  the  room  Black  BUI  was  informed 
u'lP'^'*  was.ljy-gely  interested  in  the  aftair 
which  he  had  made  known,  and  was  bidden  to 
tell  his  story  once  more.  Thereupon  Black  Bill 
took  a  long  and  very  comprehensive  stare  at 
Obed  from  head  to  foot,  after  which  he  went  on 
to  narrate  hiS  story. 

_  He  had  been  engaged  in  the  month  of  June, 
he  said,  by  a  man  who  gave  his  name  as  Rich- 
ards. He  understood  that  be  was  to  take  part 
in  in  enterprise  which  was  illegal,  but  attended 
with  no  risk  whatever.  It  was  simply  to  assist 
m  «hking  n  vessel  at  sea.  Black  Bill  remarked, 
with  hiucli  nai\  etd,  that  he  always  was  scrupulous 
^1  obA)  iiig  the  laws ;  but  just  at  that  time  he  was 
°i!"  II  ''■"'  ""**  y''''''ed  to  the  temptation.  He 
thought  it  was  a  case  where  the  vessel  was  to  be 
sunk  for  the  sake  of  the  insurance.  Such  things 
were  very  common,  and  friends  of  his  had  assisted 
before  in  similar  enterprises.  The  price  offered 
for  his  services  was  not  large— only  fifty  pounds— 
and  this  also  made  him  think  it  was  only  some 
common  case. 

He  found  that  three  other  men  had  olso  been 
engaged.  They  were  ordered  to  go  to  Marseilles, 
and  wait  till  they  wef^  wanted.  Money  was 
given  them  for  the  journey,  and  a  certain  house 
was  mentioned  as  the  pkce  where  they  should 
stay.  '  * 

They  did  not  have  long  to  wait.  In  a  short 
time  the  man  who  had  employed  them  called  on 
them,  and  took  them  down  to  the  harbor,  where 
they  found  a  yijry  handsome  yacht.  In  about  on 
hour  afterward  he  returned,  accompanied  this 
time  by  a  young  and  beautiful  lady.  Black  Bill 
and  all  the  men  were  very  much  struck  by  her 
appearance.  They  saw  very  well  that  she  be- 
longed to  the  upper  classes.  They  saw  also  that 
their  employer  treated  her  with  the  deepest  re- 
spect, and  seemed  almost  like  her  servant.  They 
heard  her  once  call  him  "Mr.  Gualtier,"  and 
knew  by  this  that  the  name  "Richards"  was  an 
assumed  one.  They  all  wondered  greatly  at  her  > 
appearance,  and  could  not  understaiid  what  was 
to  bo  her  part  in  the  adventflre.  Judging  from 
what  they  heiird  of  the  few  words  she  addressed 
to  this  Gualtier,  they  saw  that  she  was  expecting 
to  sail  to  Naples,  and  was  verj-  eager  to  arrive 
there. 

At  last  the  second  night  came.  Gualtier  sum- 
moned  Black  Bill  at  midnight,  and  they  both 
went  into  the  hold,  where  they  bored  holes.  The 
other  men  had  meanwhile  got  the  boat  in  readi- 
ness, and  had  put  some  provisions  and  water  in 
her.  At  last  the  holes  were  bored,  and  the  vessel 
begarf  to  fill  rapidly.  Black  Bill  was  ordered 
into  the  boat,  Gualtier  saying  that  he  was  going 
to  fetch  the  yonng  lady.  The  men  all  thought 
then  that  she  had  been  brought^n  board  nverely 
to  be  fQiyed  into  taking  part  in  the  sinking  of  the 
vessel.    None  of  them  undontood  the  idea  of  the 

,thingjitJilL _.,.   _v ^ 

They  waitedir  a  time',  according  to  Black 
Bill.  The  nigJBVas  iritdijsely  dhrk,  and  they 
«uld  hear  nothiMg,  jg|ii  snddenlylJualtier  camia 
to  the  boat  and  gotW  -  ■  f  • 

"  Where's  the  girL?"  said  Bla 
"She  won't  eyg/Jf^iimg 
it.Jt'i 
ty,i«Jd<( 


snAie  time  unloo™.™ 
he  repeated.'^  "Of? 


■  sM' 


172 


KUWe  cflyi-roGRAM. 


Th»  "  lads"  refM^tWind  a  great  outcry  arose. 
They  swore  that.tjw^  would  not  leave  the  vessel 
without  the  girl,<-Aiid  that  if  he  did  not  go  back 
instantly  aiylget  her,  they  would  pitch  him  ovei^ 
board  and  nave  her  themselves.  Black  Uill  told 
him  they  thought  it  was  only  an  iosurance  busi- 
ness, and  nothing  like  tl;^is. 

Guiltier  remained  quite  calm  during  th^^ 
cry.  ids  goon  as  he  could  make  himself  heard 
he  told  tl^eiti,  in  a  cool  voice,  that  he  was  armed 
with -A  mVolver,  and  would  shoot  them  all  down 
lid  i^ot  obey  him.  He  had  hired  them 
.lie  said,  and  thev  were  in  for  it.  If 
yed  him,  he  would  pay  them  when  they 
hore ;  if  not,  he  would  blow  theirbrains  out. 
:  %ll  said  that  at-this  threat  he  drew  his 
1  piftol  and  snapped  it  at  Gualtier.  It  would 
Fgo  off.  Gualtier  then  laughed,  and  said  that 
iVhich  had  a  needle  run  down  the  nipple 
did  not  generally  explode — by  which  Bluck  Dill 
saw  that  his  pistol  hod  been  tampered  with 


Here  Black  Bill  paased  for  a  while,  and  Obed 
asked  hihi  one  or  two  queitions.. 

"What  is  the  reason,"  he  askedy  "that  you 
did  not  give  information  to  the  police  at  first,  in- 
stead of  waiting  till  now  ?" 

tion  like  that  there,"  said  BlaCk  Bill, 
'ugh  to  answer.  You  see  I  wanted' 
rto  payihy  hoKfli  little  gairfe.  I  wanted  fur 
to  find  opt  who  the  gal  was.  If  so  be  as  I'd 
found  out  that,  I'd  have  had  somethin'  to  work 
on.  'I'hat'sfust  an'  foremost.  An'  next,  you 
understand,  I  was  anxious  to  git  a  bold  of  li'in 
so  as  to  bo'nble  to  pay  off  that  oncdtamon  blact 
score  as  I  had  agin  him.  Arter  humbuggin'  mo, 
hocusin'  my  pistol,  an'  threat'nin'  murder  to 
me,  an'  makin'  mo  work  wuss  than  a  gallev- 
slavo  in  that  thar  bodt,  I  felt  petiklaf  anxious  to 
pay  him  off  in  the  same  coin.  That's  the  reason 
why  I  sot  up  a  watch  on  him  on  my  own  ac- 
count, instead  of  telling  the  beaks." 

"Do  you  know,"  asked  Obed  again,  "what 
_      There  was  a^ng  altercation,  but  the  end  of  it  I  hatf' become  of  the  others  tliat  were  witli  you  in 
was  that  Gualtfer  gave  them  a  certain  time  to  de-    the  boat  ?" 
cide,  after  which  he  swore  that  he  would  shoots  • 


.  -„        Never  have  laid  eyes  on  'em  since  that  bless- 

itle  was  armed,  he  was  d^term']  ed  artemoon  when  I  stepped  a^^l^o  to  follow 

Gualtier.     P'r'aps  they've  beenj 


them  down, 

ined ;  they  were  unarmed,  and  at  his  mercy ;  and 
the  end  of  it  was,  they  yielded  to  him  and  rowed 
jiway.  One  thing  which  materially  influenced 
ts^|bem  was,  that'pey  had  drifted  away  from  the 
.Khooner,  and  sK*.  bad  been  lost  in  the  deep  dark- 
..  ness  of  the  night.  Idfides,  before  their  alterca- 
ti(in  was  over,  they  aQ  felt  sure  that  the  vessel  had 
sunk.  So  they  rowed  on  sullenly  all  that  night 
and  all  the  next  day,  with  only  short  intervals  of 
rest,  guarded  all  the  time  by  Gualtier,  wniK  pis- 
tol in  hand,  kept  tliem  to  their  worll?"'     ^i 

They  reached  the  coast  at  a  point  not  far  fcom 

Leghorn.     It  was  a  ^^V^d  8pot,Wwith  wooded 

shores.     Here  Gualti^^Kbped  pu^aid  them, 

and  ordered  them  to  ^m  LeglRVh.     As  for 

himself,  ho  swore  they  Pould  never  see  him 

again.     They  took  tlje  Sioney,  and  rowed  ofl'  for 

a^ttle  distance  along  tfle  sh^jyhen  Black  Bill 

'  djlie  them  put  him  ashoi^^fty  did  so,  and 

■iPwed  op.     He  plunge^Tn^Jne  woods,  and 

walked  fa«ck  till  he  got  on  Gamer's  trail;  whi^di 

he  followed  up.    Black  Bill  here  remarked,  with 

a  mixtnre  of  triumph  and  mock  cqgtritiou,  that 

'an  accident  in  his  early  life  had  sent  him  tp^ias- 

IJJralia,  in  which  conntry  he  had  learned" 

■'-iiotice  the  track  of  animals  or  of  mail" 

"  place,  however  wild.     Hepe  Gualtier  h 

;  .^Mrel^s^^nd  his  track  vi^  pjain.     Blacl 

"mnsioliowed  him  from  place  to  place,  anU  ^ 

Guotier  reached  the  nearest  railway  station  was 
easily  able  to  keep  him  hi  sight. 

In  this  way  he  had  kept  him  in  sight  through 
North  Italy,  t*er  the  Alps,  through  Germany, 
and,  finally,  to  London,  where  he  followed  him 
to  the  door  of  his  lodgings.  Here  he  had  made 
inquiries,  and  had  learned  that  Gualtier  was  liv- 
ing there  imder  the  name  of  Mr.  Brown ;  that 
he  hadi-only  been  there  a  few  weeks,  but  seemed 
inclined  to  stay  permanently,  as' he  had  brought 
_Jth^  Jhja  clothes,  wane  fun»UBiie,  jhmI  ^  his 
papers,  together  with  pictures  and  other  valua- 
bles. Black  Bill  then  devoted  himself  to  the  task 
of  watching  him,  which  he  kept  up  for  some  time, 
till  one  dmy  Gnaltier  left  by  rail  for  the  west,  and 
'•  never  ratnmed.  Black  Bill  had  watched  cfver 
since,  bnt  had  seen  nothing  of  him.  Ho  thought 
he  must  have  gone  to  America. 


_  id — p'r'nps 
they're  sarvin'  thpir  time  out  inTfie  galleys— 
p'r'aps  they've  jined  the  /talian  army— i)'r'nps 
they  ve  got  back  here  again.  Wot 's  become  of 
them  his  Honor  here  knows  better'n  me." 

After  thiM  Black  Bill  went  on,  and  told  all  the 
rest  that  he^^iad  to  say.  He  declared  that  he 
had  watched  Gualtier's  lodgings  for  more  than 
three  months,  expecting  that  he  wcrftj^retum. 
At  last  he  disguised  himself  and  wei#^here  to 
make  inquhpes.'  The  keeper  of  the  house  told 
him  that  mthing  bad  been  heard  from  ''Mr.' 
,Brown"  sinoQ  he  left,  and  he  had  p&cked  nwpy 
•11  his  thingsin  hope  of  his  return.  But  a  Liv- 
erpool paper  had  recently  been  sent  to  him  with 
a  marked  paragraph,  giving  an  account  of  the 
recovery  of  the  bo^v  of  a  .man  who  had  been 
drowned,  and  who  in  all  respects  seemed  to  re- 
ipnble  his  late^^ger.  Why  it  had  been  sent 
%p^^im  ho  did  i^  know ;  '1Sut  he  thought  that 
^Hiaps  K^e  paper  had  b^^found^g  the  pack- 
ets q£sil|e  tlec«ase^,  and  tlW^uthori^es  had  sent 
tn^AJI  to  the  address,  thinUMg  tliat  the  no- 
ight  thus  reach  his  friend^."; 

After  this  JJlack  Bill  begftn  to  lose  hope  of 
)s.  fie  did  not  believe  that  Gualtier  had 
led,  but  that  it  was  a  common  trick  to  give 
to  a  belief  in- tli^'mind  of  his  lodging-house 
keeper  that  he  had  met  .with  his  death.  In  this 
belief  he  waited  for  a  short  time  to  see  if  any 
fresh  intelligence  turned  up ;  bnt  at  length,  as 
Gualtier  made  no  sign,  and  Black  Bill's  own  re-  , 
sources  wero-exliausted,  he  had  concluded  that 
it  would  bo  best  to  make  known  the  whole  cir- 
cumstance to  the  police. 

Such  was  the  substance  of  his  narrative.  It 
was  interrupted  by  frequent  questions;  but  Black 
Bill  told  a  coherent  tale,  and  did  not  contradict 
himself.  There  was  not  the  slightest  doubt  in 
the  HJiadB  of-bis  hearera-that  he  waa^^no  of  the 
greatest  scoundrels  that  ever  lived,  but  at  the 
same  time  there  was  not  the  slightest  doubt  that 
on  this  occasion  he  had  not  taken  part  willingly 
against  the  life  of  the  yonng  girl.  He  and  hii 
associates,  it  was  felt,  had  been  tricked  and  over- 
reached by  the  superior  canning  of  Gualtier. 
They  saw  also,  by  Bhick  Bill'a  woount,  that  thii 


*:, 


>>3 


»# 


Gnoltier  was  bold  and  conrogcons  to  a  hjgh  de- 
gree, with  a  cool  calcutntlon  and  a  daring  that 
were  not  common  among  men.  .  He  had  drawn 
the^  men  into  the  commisBion  of  what  they  ex- 
pected wonld'  be  some  slight  offense,  and  tlien 
forced  them  to  bo  his  unwilling  allies  in  a  foiil 
murder,  lie  had  paid  them  a  small  price  for 
the  commission  of  a  great  crime.  He  had  bul- 
lied them,  threatetied  them,  and  made  them  his 
slaves  by  his  own  clever  management  and  the 
■-^fiforco  of  his  own  nature,  and  that,  too,  although 
tnese  very  men  were,  all  of  them,  blood-stniiied 
rudtans,  th6  most  reckless  among  the  dregs  of 
society.  From  Black  Bill's  story  Ubed  gained  a 
new  view  of  Gualtier. 

After  Black  Bill  had  been  dismissed,  the  lodg- 
ing-house keeper,  who  had  been  sent  for,  madq 
his  QQpcamnce.  His  account  was  quite  in  ac- 
cordttMO  with  what  had  been  said.  This  roan, 
whom  qe  called  Brown,  hod  taken  lodgings  with 
him  in  May  last,  and  had  staid  a  few  weeks. 
He  then  had  been  absent  for  a  fortnight  or  so. 
On  his  return  he  passed  a  few  days  in  the  house, 
and  then  left,  since  which  time  he  had  not  been 
.toard  of.  The  Liverpool  paper  which  had  been 
iMiiini  gave  the  only  hint  lit  the  possible  cause 
0^^^  absence.  In  reply  (^  an  inquiry  from 
OlMKhe  landlord  stated  that  Mr.  Brown's  ef- 
fkinHwied  to  be  very  valuable.-  There  was  a 
fine  pTOfi^  a  dozen  >jiandsome  oil-paintings,  a 
private  (Slhi  an  iron  box,  a  jewel  box,  and  a 
trunk,  )*flK<fi'0'i>  >''  weight,  was  filled  with 
lomethii^pimhaps  of  value.  On  the  .whole,  ho 
could  not  think  that  a^h  things-would  be  left  by 
any  one  without  ^^>f^Kfort  to  regain  possession 
of  them.  <jf  they  MHtold  at  a  saknfice,  they 
would  bring  a  very  linfe  sum. 

The  lodging-house  keeper  wais  then  flowed  to 
take  his  departure,  after  which  Obed  and  the 
magistrate  discussed  for  some  time  the  new  ap- 
pearance which  had  been  given  to  this  alfair. 
Their  conclusions  weie  similar,  in  most  respects. 

It  seemed  to  them,  first,  that, this  Gualtier, 
whose  names  were  so  numerous,  had  planned  his 
crime  with'%  far-reaching  ingenuity  not  often  to 
be  met  with,  and  that  after  the  accomplishment 
of  his  crime  he  was  still  as  ingenious  in  his  ef- 
forts after  |>erfcct  concealmejnt  He  had  baffled 
the  police  of  Frande,  of  Italy,  ond  of  England 
thus  for.  He  had  also  baffled  eompletely  that  one 
enemy  who  had  »>  long  a  time  followed  on  his 
track.  His  last  act  iii  leaving  his  lodgings  was 
well  done — though  putting  the  notice  in  the  Liv- 
erpool paper,  and  seiil^ing  it  to  the  landlord, 
wemed  more  clumsv  than  his  usual  proceedings. 
It  was  readily  concluded  that  the  notice  in  that 
paper  was  only  a  ruse,  in  order  to  secure  more 
perfect  concealment,  or,  perhaps,  elude  pursuit 
more  effectually. 

It  seemed  also  most  likely,  nnder  the  circnm- 
ttances,  that  he  had  actually  gone  as  far  as  Liv- 
erpool, and  from  that  port  to  America.\  If  tlut 
were  the  case  it  would  be  difficult,  if  not  jjifi^- 
•ibie,  ever  to  get  op  his  track  or  discover  hiiA. 
""  Lonly  chance^poare4te=bfrin  thft'ptobabit. 
ity  tliat  he  would  send,  in  iome  way  flHbtWer,  for 


THE  CRYPTOGRAM. 


178 


Judging  by  the  enumeration  which  the 
landlord  had  given,  they  were  too  valuable  to  be 
lost,  and  in  most  Cases  the  owner  would  make 
•owe  effort  to  recover  theml  The  magistrate 
•aid  that  he  would  direct  the  landlord  to  keep  the 


things  carefully,  and,  if  any  inqniry  ever  came 
after  them,  to  give  immediate  information  to  the 
I>olice.  This  was  evidently  the  only  way  of  ever 
catching  Gualtier. 

The  motive  for  this  crime  appeared  quite  plain 
to  these  inquirers.  Judging  by  the  fiicts,  it  seem-  " 
ed  us  though  Gualtier  and  Hilda  had  been.lovers, 
and  had  |)lunned  this  so  as  to  secure  all  the  prop- 
erty of  the  younger  sister.  To  Ubed  the  motive 
was  still  more  plain,  though  he  did  not  tell  what 
ho  knew — namely,  the  important  fact  tliat  Hilda 
was  not  the  sister  at  all  of  her  victim,  and  that 
her  own  property  was  small  in  comparison  with 
that  of  the  one  at  whose  life  she  aimed.  He 
thought  that  to  tlell.this  eVen  to  the  police  w^d  ; 
l)ff%  violation  of  sacred  confidence.  After/the 
commission  of  the  crime  it  seemed  plain/that 
these  criminals  had  taken  to  flight  together  Jmost 
probably  to  America.  This  they  could  easily  do, 
as  tlieir  fnnds  were  all  portable. 

A  careful  look-out  at  the  lodging-house  was 
evidently  the  only  means  by  which  the  track  of 
the  fugitives  could  be  discovered.  Even  this 
would  take  a  long  time,  but  it  was  the  only  thing 
that  could  be  done. 

After  this  a  careful  ei^amination  was  made  of 
the  things  which  Giultier  had  left  behind  at  the 
lodging-house.     The  pietures  were  found  to  be 
very  valuable  ;  the  piano,  also,  was  new — one  of 
CoUard's — and  estimated  to  be  worth  one  hun-' 
dred  and  fifty  pounds.     The  jewel  box  was  found 
to  contain  articles  of  great  value,  some  diamond 
rings,  and  turquoise  and  pearl.      Many  of  tho 
things  looked  like  keejisakes,  some  of  them  hav- 
ing inscriptions,  such  as  "To  M. — from  G.," 
"  To  M.  —from  L. , "  "  From  Mother. "    ThesK , 
seemed  like  things  which  no  living  man  could  ., 
willingly  give  up.     How  could  it  bo  known  that 
Gualtier  had  indeed  given  up  such  sacred  posses- 
sions as  these  ? 

On  opening  the  trunks,  one  was  fbnnd  to  con- 
tain books,  chiefly  French  novels,  and  the  other 
clothes.     None  of  these  gave  any  fresh  i" 
the  homo  or  the  friends  of  the  fugitive. 
,  Last  of  all  was  the  writing-desk, 
opened  with  intense  curiosity.     It  wns  h| 
here  something  might  be  discovered. 

It  was  well  filled  with  pftpers.  But^ 
examination  served  to  show  that,  in  the  first 
place,  the  papers  were  evidently  considered  very 
valuable  by  the  owner ;  and,  in  the  second  place, 
that  they  were  of  no  earthly  value  to  any  one 
else.  They  were,  in  short,  three  diffierent  manu- 
script novels,  whose  soiled  and  faded  appearance 
seemed  to  speak  of  frequent  ofi'erings  to  different 
publishers,  and  as  fVcq  uent  refusals.  There  they 
lay,  still  cherished  by  the  author,  inclosed  in  his 
desk,  lying  there  to  bo  claimed  perhaps  at  some 
future  time.  There  were,  in  addition  to  these, 
a  number  of  receipted  bills,  atid  some  season  tick- 
ets for  railways  and  concerts — and  that  was  all. 

Nothing,  therefore,  was  discovered  from  this 
examination.     Yet   the  result  gave  hope.     It 
seemed  as  if  no  man  woidd  leave  things  like  these 
— thia,piniii>r^he8e:  pigturea,  these  keepsakes-rt!r:= 
and  never  seek  to  get  them  again.     Those  very 


those  things  jvhich  he  had  left  in  the  loc^ng-' ^lanuscript  novels,  rejected  as  they  had  been, 
T„jj„  .  .1 were  still  things  which  the  author  would  not  will- 
ingly give  up.  The  chances,  therefore,  were  very 
great  tha|  at  some  time,  in  some  way,  some  ap- 
plication wN>ii)d  ho  made  for  this  property.  And 
on  this  thoyinagisirato  relied  confidently. 


■ -I 


;i  i 

'I 
'It 


«h 


't,^^ 


174 


THE  CKYPTOGRAM. 


Obcd  spent  Bnother  day  in  London,  and  had 
anotlior  interview  with  the  magistrate.  Ho 
found,  liowovor,  that  nothing  more  could  be  done 
by  him,  or  by  any  one  eJHe,  at  present,  ttnd  so  he 
returned  to  Naples  via  Marseilles.  Ho  called  on 
the  prefect  of  police  at  the  latter  city  to  accpmint 
him  with  the  latest,  inteUigenco  of  this  alfair; 
heard  that  nothing  more  had  been  discovered 
about  Miithildo,  and  then  went  on  his  way,  ar- 
riving in  dno  time  at  his  destination.  Ho  told 
his  gister_tho  result  of  his  joumev,  but  to  Zilluli 
he  told  nothing  nt  all  al>out  it.  Ilaviiigdone  all 
that  man  could  do,  Obed  now  settled  himself 
down  oncei  more  in  Naples,  beguiling  his  time 
l)ctween  the  excitement  of  excursions  with  his 
friends,  and  the  calm  of  domestic  life  with  his 
family.  Naples,  on  the  whole,  seemed  to  him 
the  pleosantest  spot  to  stay  in  that  he  had  seen 
fur  n  long  time,  and  ho  enjoyed  his  life  there  so 
much  that  ho  was  in  no  hurry  to  leave  it. 


CHAPTKIl  LI. 

A  STAHTHXG  PnOPOSAL. 

Onr:i>  and  his  family  thus  remained  in  Naples, 
and  Zillali  nt  last  had  an  occupation.  The  new 
duties  which  she  had  undertaken  gave  her  just 
enough  of  cmjjloyment  to  fill  the  day  antToccitpy- 
her  thoughts.  It  was  a  double  blessing.  In  the 
fust  place  it  gave  her  a  feeling  of  indeiiendenco ; 
and  again,  and  especially,  it  occupied  her 
thoughts,  and  thus  j)revented  her  mind  from 
preying  njwn  itself.  Then  she  was  able  to  gain 
alleviation  for  the  troubles  that  had  so  long  op- 
pressed her.  She  felt  most  profoundly  the  change 
from  the  feeling  of  poverty  and  dependence  to 
one  of  independence,  when  slio  was_  nctuajly 
"getting  her  own  living."  She  know  that  her 
independence  wos  owing  to  the  delicate  generos- 
ity of  Obed  Chute,  and  that  under  any  other  cir- 
cumstances she  would  probably  liftve  had  no  ref- 
uge from  starvation ;  but  her  gratitude  to  her 
friends  did  not  lesson  at  all  her  own  self-com- 
pliiccncy.  There  was  a  childish  deligiit  in  Zillah 
over  her  new  position,  which  was  due,  perhaps,  to 
the  fact  that  she  had  always  looked  upon  herself 
as  hopelessly  and  incurably  dull ;  but  now  the 
discovery  that  sho  could  actually  fill  the  position' 
of  music-teacher  brought  her  a  strange  triumph, 
which  brightened  many  n  dark  hour. 

Zillah  already  had  understood  and  appreciated 
the  delicate  feeling  and  high-toned  generosity  of 
Obed  Chute  and  his  sister.  Nothing  could  in- 
crease the  deep  admiration  which  sho  felt  for 
these  simple,  upright,  honest  souls,  whoso  pure 

'  affection  for  her  had  proved  such  n  blessing.  If 
there  had  been  nothing  else,  her  very  gratitude 
/  to  them  would  have  been  a  stimulus  such  as  tho 
ordinary  governess  never  has.  Under  such  a 
stitnulus  tho  last  vostigo  of  Zillah's  old  willfulness 
died  out.  She  was  now  a  wotnan,  tried  in  the 
crucible  of  sorrow,  and  in  that  fiery  trial  the 

-——--dross  hmLheea  removed,  and  only  the  pure  gold 
remained.  Tho  wayward,  impetuous  girl  had 
reached  her  last  and  fullest  development,  and 
sho  now  stood  forth  in  odversity  and  affliction, 
right  noble  in  her  character' — an  earnest  woman, 
devoted,  tender,  enthusiastic,  generous. 

The  fondness  and  admiration  of  her  friends  in- 
crea.sed  every  day.     The  little  children,  whose 


musical  education  ihe  hod  now  begun,  had  al- 
ready learned  to  love  her ;  and  when  sho  wns 
transformed  from  a  friend  to  a  teacher  they  loved 
her  none  tho  less.  JSillah's  capacity  for  teaching 
was  so  remarkable  that  it'sufprised  herself,  and 
sho  began  to  think  that  she  had  not  been  under- 
stood in  the  old  days.  But  thofi,  in  the  old  dnys, 
she  Vvas  a  petted  and  8])oiled  child,  and  wuiiM 
never  try  to  work  until  the  last  year  of  her  lite 
with  the  Earl,  after  he  had  extorted  from  her  n 
promise  to  do  differently. 

Obed  Chute  saw  her  success  in  her  new  position 
with  undisguised  satisfaction.  Uut  now  that  she 
had  become  a  govemcsH  ho  was  not  at  all  in- 
clined to  relax  his  exertions  in  her  behalf.  She 
was  of  too  much  importance^  ho  said,  to  waste 
her  lifo  and  injure  her  healt^in  constant  drudg. 
ory,  and  so  he  determined  tSat  she  should  not 
sutler  for  want  of  recreation.  In  Naples  there 
need  never  be  any  lack  of  that.  Tho  city  itself, 
with  its  noisy,  Inflghing,  jovial  popuWl  ion,  recms 
to  the  English  eyt  as  thouglit  it  was  kce|)iiig  one 
perpetual  holiday.  The  Ktrhda  Toledo  looks  to 
the  sober  northerner  as  thougli  a  constant  carni- 
val were  going  oiv.  Naples  has  itself  to  oiler  to 
the  visitor,  with  «s  never-ending  gayety  and  its 
many-sided  life — its"Hrilliant  cafe's,  its  lively  the- 
atres, its  gay  pantoirtimeii,  its  buifooneries,  its 
macaroni,  its  laznroni,  itnd  its  inntimerabic  fes- 
tivities.,. Naples  has  also  a  cluster  of  attractions 
all  around  it,  which  keep  their  freshness  lunger 
than  those  of  any  other  city.  Among  these  Obed 
Chuto  continued  to'tako  Zillah.  To  him  it  was 
the  bust  ha|)]iincss  that  he  cou^d  desire  when  he 
had  succeeded  in  making  tho  t^e  pass  pleasant; 
ly  for  her.  To  see  her  face  flush  up  with  that  in- 
nocent girlish  enthusiasm,  and  to  hear  her  merry 
laugh,  which  wns  still  childlike  in  its  freshness 
and  abandon,  wns  something  so  pleasant  that  he 
would  chuckle  over  it  to  himself  all  the  evening 
afterward. 

So,  as  before,  they  drove  about  tho  environs  or 
sailed  over  the  bay.  Very  little  did  Obed  t'hute 
know  about  that  historic  past  which  lived  and 
breathed  amidst  all  these  scenes  through  ^(hich 
ho  wandered.  No  student  of  history  was  lie. 
To  him  tho  cave  of  Polyphemus  brought  no  rec- 
ollections ;  tho  isle  of  Capri  was  a  simple  isle 
of  the  SCO,  and  nothing  more ;  Misenum  could 
not  give  to  his  imagination  the  vanished  Homait 
navies ;  ruzzuoli  could  not  show  the  traces  of 
Saint  Paul ;  and  there  was  nothing  which  coald 
make  known  to  him  the  mighty  footprints  uf  the 
heroes  of  the  past,  from  the  time  of  the  men  of 
Osca,  and  C'uma;,  and  the  builders  of  Pa'stum's 
Titan  temples,  down  through  all  the  periods  of 
Roman  luxury,  and  through  all  gradation's  of 
men  from  Cicero  to  Nero,  and  down  farther  to 
tho  last,  and  not  tho  least  of  all,  Belisarins. 
The  past  was  shut  out,  but  it  did  not  interfere 
with  his  simple-hearted  enjoyment.  -  The  present 
was  sufficient  for  him.  He  had  no  conception  of 
art ;  and  the  proudest  cathedrals  of  Naples,  or  the 
noblest  sculptures  of  her  museums,  or  the  most 
jsdiant  pictnma,  nftvur  awakened  any  emotjon 
within  him.  Art  was  dumb  to  him ;  hut  theii 
there  remained  something  greater  than  art,  and 
that  was  nature.  Nature  showed  him  hero  her 
rarest  and  divinest  beauty ;  and  if  in  the  presence 
of  such  beauty  as  that — beauty  which  glowed  in 
jmmortal  lineaments  wherever  he  turned  his  eyes. 
—if  before  thkJio  slighted  tho  lesser  beauties  of 


r 


THE  CRYITOGRAM. 


ira 


in tmn"'!;iin\\',\   I 


'ZILLAUS   CArACITT   FOB  TEACHINO   SDBPBISKO   IIEBSKLF. 


art,  he  might  be  sneered  atby  the  mere  dilettaiitei 
but  the  emotions  of  liis  own  soul  were  none  the 
less  true  and  noble. 

One  day  they  hod  arranged  for  a  sail  to  Capri. 
Miss  Chute  could  not  go,  and  Zilluh  went  vrftfi 
Olied  Chute  alone.  She  had  frequent]y^a 
before.  It  was  a  glorious  day.  Most  Mys  in 
Naples  are  glorious.  The  Neapolitan  bolitmi 
sang  songs  all  the  way — songs  older,  perhaps,' 
the  time  of  Massaiiiellp — songs  which  may'  have 
come  down  from  Norman,  or  even  from  lioman 
davB.  There  was  ope  lively  air  which  amused 
Zillah— 

"How  happ7  is  the  fisher's  Hfe, 
EccomI  Eccola, 
The  fisher  and  his  faithful  wUe, 
KccoIb!" 

It  was  a  lively,  ringing  refrain,  and  the  words 
had  in  them  that  sentiment  of  domestic  life  which 
Jfnotusiually  found  in  Continental  songs.  The 
sea  glittered  around  them.  The  boat  danced 
lightly  over  the  waves.  The  gleaming  atmosphere 
showed  all  the  scenery  wiUi  startling  distinct- 
new-  (Where  is  there  an  atmosphere  like  that 
of  Naples?)  -  The  sky  was, of  an  intense  blui 
and  the  deep  azure  of  the  sea  rivaled  the  oi 
of  the  sky  that  bent  above  it.    The  breezei 


sw-opt over,  the  sea  brought  on  its  wings  life  nnd 
health  and  joy.  All  around  there  Jlftshed  before 
them  the  w  liite  sails  of  countless  boats  that  sped 
in  eveiy  direction  over  the  surface  of  the  waters. 
They  landed  in  Cnpri,  and  walked  about  the 
and.  They  visited  the  cave,  and  strolled  along 
e  shore.  At  length  they  sat  down  on  a  rook, 
And  looked  ovelr  the  waters  toward  the  city.  Ue- 
fore  them  spread  out  the  sea,  bounded  by  the 
white  gleaming  outline  of  Naples,  which  extend- 
ed fur  along  the  shore ;  on  the  lefl  was  Ischia ; 
and  on  the  right  Vesuvius  towered  on  high,  w  ith 
its  smoke  cloud  hovering  over  it,  and  streaming, 
far  along  through  the  air.  Never  before  had  the 
Bay  of  Naples  s(femed  so  lovely.  Zillah  lost  her- 
self in  her  deep  admiration.  Obed  Chute  also 
sat  in  profound  silence.  Usually  he  talked; 
now,  however,  he  said  nothing.  Zillah  thought 
that  he,  like  herself,  was  lost  in  the  beauty  of 
this  matcbleas^aeeR& — , — .,..„-- 


At  length  the  long  silence  was  broken  bv  Obed 
Chute. 

"  My  child,"  said  he,  "for  the  List  few  weeks 
I  have  been  thinking  much  of  you.  You  have 
wound  yourself  around  my  heart.  I  want  to  say 
something  to  you  now  which  will  surprise  you, 
perhaps — and,  indeed,  I  do  not  know  bow  you  will 


176 


THE  CRYPTOGRAM. 


tnkc  it.  But  in  whatever  way  yon  take  it,  do  not 
be  iifniid  to  tell  me  exactly  how  yoa  feel.  What- 
ever you  may  say,  I  insist  on  being  your  friend. 
You  once  called  me  your  '  best  friend.'  I  will 
never  do  an^  thing  to  lose  that  title." 

Zillah  looked  up  in  wonder.  She  was  bewil- 
dered, ller  brain  whirled,  and  nil  presence  of 
mind  left  her.  She  suspected  what  was  coming, 
but  it  seemed  too.^extraordinnry,  and  she  conld 
scarcely  believe  it.  She  looked  at  him  thus  be- 
wildered and  confused,  and  Obed  went  calmly  on. 

"My  child,"  said  he,  "yon  are  so  noble  and 
go  tender  that  it  is  not  surprising  that  you  have 
fixed  yourself  fast  in  my  old  heart.  You  are  very 
dear  and  very  precious  to  me.  I  do  not  know 
how  I  could  bear  to  have  you  leave  me..  .  I  hope 
to  have  you  near  me  while  I  live,  in  some  way  or. 
other.  How  siiali  it  be  ?  Will  you  be  a  daugh- 
ter to  me — or  will  you  be  a  wife  ?'■' 

Obed  Chute  paused.  II9  did  not  look  at  her  ns 
he  said  this.  He  did  not  see  the  crimson  flush 
tliat  shot  like  lightning  over  that  white  and  beau- 
tiful face.     He  looked  awnv  over  the  sea. 

But  a  deep  groan  from  2illali  aroused  himt 

He  started  and  turned. 

Her  face  was  upturned  to  his  with  an  expres- 
sion of  agony.  She  clasped  his  arms  with  a  con- 
vulsive gra«p,  and  seemed  to  gasp  for  brertth. 

'*  Oh  God!"  she  cried.  "Is  this  so?  I  must 
tell  you  this  much,  then — I  will  divulge  my  secret. 
Oh,  my  fiiend-r-l  am  married !" 


CHAPTER  Lir. 

A   BETTEtt   UNDER8TANDIK0.     , 

For  a  long  time  not  a  word  was  spoken.  Obed 
sflt  tluinder-si;ruck  by  this  intelligence.  He  loot- 
ed at  her  in  wosder,  as  her  fair  girlish  face  was 
turned  toward  him,  not  kriowjng  how  to  receive 
this  unparflllcUd  communication. 

"  Oh,  my  friend,"  said  Zillah,  "have  I  ever 
in  any  way  she^  that  I  could  Imye  expected 
this  ?  Yes,  I  hm  married — and  it  is  about  my 
marriage  that  the  secret  of  my  life  lias  grown. 
Forgive  me  if  I  can  not  tell' you  more." 

"Forgive  yon?  WhatVre  you  saying,  my 
child  ?"  iald  Obed  Chute,  tehderly.  "'l  am  the 
one  who  mu6t  be  forgiven.  I  have  disturbed  and 
troubled  you,  when  1  was  only  seeking 'to  secure 
your  lifippiness." 

•  By.  tlMs.time  Obed  had  recovered  from  his  sur- 
prise, and  began  tQk«ontemplate  the  present  state 
of  alfflirs  irt  their  new  aspect.  It  certainly  was 
strange  that  this  young  girl  should  bo  a  married 
Woqnan,  but  so  it  was ;  drtif  what  then  ?  'i^Yhnt 
th*ri  ?"  was  the  question  which  suggested  itself 
t<v2illah  also.  .Would  it  make  any  difl'erence— 
QT  rather  would  it  not  make  nfl  the  difference  in 
the  world  ?  Ilitherto  shelind  felt  unembarras^ 
ed  iiv  his  society,  but  Jiercafter  <fill  would  be^if- 
ferent.  Never  again  could^ho  feel  the  same  8e- 
gree  of  ease  ns  before  in  hi^resence.  Would 
be  not  hereafter  seetn  to  tier  and  to  himself  as  a 


— relBctedToTerP 

But  these  thoughts  Boon  wer«  diverted  into 
another^annel  by  Obed  Chute  hirtself.         " 

■"  So  you  are  married  ?"  said  he,  solemnly. 

"Ye8,"'faltered  Zillah.     , 

"  W^ll,  my  child,"  said  Obed,  with  that  same 
tendemos^in  his  voice,  >'hich  was  now  so  ^fa- 


miliar to  her,  "  whether  it  is  for  good  or  evil  I  do 
not  seek  to  know,  I  only  say  this,  that  if  there 
is  any  thing  which  I  could  do  to  secare  your  Imjl- 
piness,  you  could  not  find  any  one  who  would  do 
more  for  you  than  Obed  Chute." 

"Oh,  my  friend!" 

"Just  now,"  said  Obed  Chute,  ''I  s^ked  you 
to  be  my  wife.  Do  not  avoid  the  subject,  ni_», 
child.  I  am  not  ashamed  of  hafing  ma(i<i  tlint 
proposal.  It  was  for  your  happiness,  as  I 
thought,  ns  well  as  for  my  own.  I  loved  yoit ; 
and  I  thought  that,  perhaps,  if  yon  were  my  wife, 
I  could  make  you  happier  than  you  now  nre. 
But  since  it  is  not  to  be,  what  then  ?  Why,  I  love 
you  none  the  less ;  and  if  you  can  not  be  my  wife, 
you  shall  be.  my  daughter.  ,  Qp  not  look  upon  nra 
as  a  passionate  youth.  My  nve  is  deep  and  ten- 
der and  self-sacrificing.  I  think,  perhaps,  it  is 
innch  more  the  love  of  a  father  thap  that  of  a 
husband,  and  that  it  is  just  as  well  that  there  are 
obstacles  in  tl\^  way  of  my  proposal.  Do  not  look 
so  sad,  my  little  child,"  continued  Obed  Chute, 
with  increased  tenderness.  «* '  Why  should  you  I 
I  am  your  friend,  and  you  must  love  me  as  much 
as  you  can  —  like  a  daughter.  Will  you  be  a 
daughter  to  me  ?  Will  you  trust  me,;iny  child, 
and  brighten  my  life  as  you  have  been  i^iing  ?'' 

He  held  out  his  hand. 

Zillah  took  it,  and  burst  into  tears.  A  thou- 
sand contending  efnotions  were  in  her  heart  and 
agitating  her.  . 

"  Oh,  my  friend  and  benefactor  I"  said  she; 
"  how  can  I  help  giving  you  my  love  nnd  my  grnt- 
itiide  ?  You  have  been  to  me  a  father,  and  a 
friend — " 

"  Say  no  more,"  said  Obed,  interrupting  her. 
"  It  is  enough.  We  will  forget  that  this  conver- 
sation has  taken  {dace.  And  as  foi:  myself,  I 
will  CTleriSh  your  secret,  my  child.  It  is  ns  safe 
with -me  ns  it  v^MHd  be  with  yourself  only." 

Now  ns  he  spok^  with  his  frank,  generous  face 
turned  towni-d  her,  and  the  glow  of  affection  in 
his  eyes,  Zillah  felt  as  though  it  would  be  b«ti«r 
to  give  liim  her  full  confidence  and  tell  him  atl. 
In  telling  him  that  she  was  married  she  had  made 
a  beginning.  Why  should  she  not  tell  ev»rr 
thing,  nnd  make  knpwn  the  secret  cf  her  life? 
It  would  be  safe  with  him.  It  would  be  n  nlH' 
return  for  his  generous  affection.  Above  nil,  it 
would  be  frank  and  honest.  He  would  then 
know  all  about  her,  and  there  would  be  nothing 
more  to  conceal.  ,-  j' 

Thus  she  thought ;  but  still  she  shrftnk  from 
such  a  ^nfcssion  and  such  a  confidence.  It 
would  iirvolve  a  disclosure  of  all  th^Ljmost  solemn 
anil  sacred  memories  of  her  life.  It  would  do 
violence  to  her  most  delicate  instincts.  Conld 
she  dq  this  ?  It  was  injipiMJi^ilile.  Not  unless 
Obod'  Chute  insisted  on  Icnowing  every  thing 
c^nld  she  venture  to.hiy^bnre  bof  |«ist  life,  and 
make  known  the  secrfts  qr  lierlteart.  And  slio 
well  knew  that  such  a  |1iit^4t'6ii!a  never  lio  re- 
(>iiired  of  her;  at  Ibast  by#fc^j;l||jerou8  friend. 
liideed,  she  knew-  well  itAj^avwouldl  be  mn<t 
likely  to  rcftise  her  confidfet^,  eron  if  she  were 
■IrcrotfiBr  it  oif  irnrh-niropctvjTOir  S*ffliv 


"I  f*l,"  said  Zillah  at  length,  As  tlie^ 
thought's  oppr^sed  her,  "  that  I  am  in  a  filM 
position,  Yqu  have  l>eon  s«r  gemellus  to  m(?ilmt 
y<ju  have  S' right  to  know  nil  about  mw  I  ought 
to  let  you  know  my  true  name,  nnd  raake  you  tifi- 
quatrtted  with  the  story  of  my  life." 


tttter  whiciv  ho  Hu 


o 


THE  CBYPTOGEAM. 


17r 


"  Vou  ought  to  do  nothing  of  the  sort,"  said 
Obed  Chute.  "  There  are  some  things  which 
can  not  be  breathed  to  any  hnman  being.  Do 
you  furm  so  low  an  estimate  of  me,  my  dear 
child,  OS  to  think  that  I  wonid  wish  to  have  your 

-  confljence  unless  it  was  absolutely  necessary, 
and  for  your  own  good  ?  Ko.  You  do  not  un- 
derstand me.  The  affection  \yhich  I  have  ^ 
you,  which  you  call  generosity,  gives  me  no  such 
claim,  and  it  gives  me  no  desire  to  tear  open 
those  wounds  which  your  poor  heart  must  feel  so 
keenly.  Nothing  can  prevent  my  loving  you.  I 
tell  you  you  are  my  daughter,  {.accept  you  as 
you  are.  I  wish  to  know  nothing.  I  know 
enough  of  you  from  my  knowledge  of  your  char- 
acter, .,  I  only  know  this,  that  you  have  suffered  ; 
and  I  should  like  very  much  to'  be  able  to  console 
you  or -moke  ,y4)u  happier.'', 

"  You  have  done  very  much  for  me,"  said  Zil- 
hih,  looHiiig  nt  him  with  deep  emotion. 

*"  Kottiiig,  a^far  as  I  am  concerned  ;  but  it  is 
pleasant  to  n^  to  know  that  any  thing  which  I 
haf^  done  is  grateful  to' you,"  said  Obed,  calmly 
and  benigqantlv.  ■"■Keep  your  secret  to  your- 
self, my  dear  child..  You  came  to  me  from  the 
tea ;  .4?^  I  onlj^hopo  tWifyou  will  continue  with 
meTas  long  nj^  you  can  to  brighten  my  lite,  and 
let  me  hear  your  voidS  and  see  your  face.  ,•  And 
t|)at  is  a  simple  wish.  Is  k  not,  my  child  ?"f.  ' 
t'^Vou  are  overwhelwing  me  with  your  good- 
ness," said  ^loh,  wi|h  another  gratelid  glance. 
i'She  \^  mo^t  gnjieful  fdr  the  way  in  which 
Obed  had  given,  up  his  idea«f  matrimony.    Had 

^  showit  the  excitement  of  a  disappointed  lover. 

wil  j^ril%  woiild  have  been  a  dark  future  before 

'  '^^9f  ^^'^^  '"^'^^  h"^  *°  leave  his  family, 

pmoo^ZMi  ijhe  had  found  a  home.     But  Obed 

*b(tmORH|te  of  this  kind.     He  himself  said 

■  that_,  inR9pl3/><>t  ^ave  her  &i  a  wife,  he  would 
b^  satisfied  t*  nave  her  as  a  daughter.  And 
when  he  learndd  that  she  itns  married,  he  at 
once  tqpk  up  the  paternal  attitude,  and  the  nf- 
-fection  w))ich  he  expressed  was  tliat  tender  yet 
cahh  feeling  which  might  become  a  father.  At 
the  expression  of  such. a  feeling  as  this  Zillah's 
generous  <nnd  4ofiTig  heart  .Responded,  And  all 
I  ,i<£er  nature  warmed  beneath  its  genial  influence.. 
j^  Yes,  she  woifld  be  to  him  as  a  daughter ;  she 
would  show  him  a||l  the  gratitude  and  dovqtiOH 
of  which,  she  was  dapable.  Under  such  circum- 
atances  tii'  tliese-  her,  life  could  go  on  as  it  had 
before^nd  tlt«.  iiltervi^fw  of  to-day  jvQuld  not 


out  the  sliglitest  shadoj^  over  |he  sunshine  of 
lire,-  ISo  she  fult,  and  so  ^b 
Obed  f 


thefaturo^-  ISo  she  fult,  and  so  she  said 

tpok  pnins  to  assure  her  over  and  over 
tgun  howentirely  <be  had  sunk  all  consTdem- 
tioBS  of  himself  in  bis  regard  for  her,  and  that 
the  idea  of  making  her.  iiis  wife  wa»  not  riiore 
precious  thaq  that  of  making  her  his  daughtsr., 

"It  was  to  have  you  Hoar  mo,"  said  he,  "  to 
^Qf^e  Jrdu  happy,  to  give  youja  home  which 
should  be  all  yours.;  ^ut  this^an  be  doM  in 
•notlier  a«A  a  bettel-'  *»)•,  my  child:  so  'rnm 
content,  if  you  are," 

Before  they  left  Uife  place  Ziiluh  garo  him,  in 
fenera*  tenn8,-^^*ontmi8  Of  twr  BCcrffl,  wltfi- 
out  mentioning  namei  and  places.-    She  said 
that  she  Ms  married  when  very  young,  thflt   ai 
|ftr  father  nad  died,  that  the  roan  to  whom  sh**  Tt 


*ll«d.l)een  married  disliked  her,  and  she  had.mt  si 
•ten  hira  fo%years ;  that  once  she  had  (een^  a  1) 
letter  whiclv  ho  hud  written  to  a  friend,  in  which   ' 

■'it. 


he  alluded  to  her  in  such  insulting  language,  and 
with  such  expressions  of  abhorrence,  that  she 
had  gone  into  sei'li|sion,  and  had  determined  to 
preserve  that  seclusion  till  she  died.  Hilda,  she 
said,  hnd  accompanied  her,  and  she  had  bjelicved 
her  to  bo  faithful  until  the  recent  discovery  of 
her  treochery. 

This  much  Zillah  ffdt  herself  bound  to  tell ' 
OI)ed  Chute.  From  this  he  could  nt  once  nn- 
^rstand  her  situation,  while  a't  the  same  time  it 
would  be  impossible  for  him  to  know  who  she 
waa  or  who  her  fiicnds  were.  That  she  would 
not  t#l  to  any  human  being. 

All  the  sympntliies  of  Obed  Chute's  nature 
were  aroused  as  he  listened  to  what  Zillah  told 
him.  ,  lie  was  indignant  that  she  should  have 
l)een  ItSl  through  any  motive  into  suiOi'^a  mar- 
riage. In  his  heart  be  blamed  her  friends,  who- . 
ever  they  were,  and  especially  her  father.  But 
most  of  all  he  blamed  this  unknown  huslmiid  of 
hers,  who,  after  consenting  to  a  marringc.'had 
chosen  to  insult  and  revile  her.  What  he 
thought' he  did  not  choose  to  say,  but  to  him- 
self he  registered  a  vow  that,  if"  he  could  ever 
find  out  this  villain,  he  would  avenge  all  Zillah's 
wrongs  in  his  heart's  blood,  which  vow  brought 
to  his  heart  a  great  peace  and  calm.  . 

This  day  was  an  eventful  one  for  Zillah,  but 
the  result  was  not  what  might  at  one  time  have 
been  feared,  After  snch  an  interchange  of  con- 
fidence there  was  an  understanding  between  her-' 
and  her  friend,  Which  deepened  the  true  and 
sincere  friendship  that  existed  between  them. 
Zillah's  manner  toward  him  became  more  con- 
fiding, more  trustful — in  short,  more  filial,  He, 
too,  insensibly  took' up  the,  port  of  a  J^arent  or 
guardian ;  yet  he  was  as  solicitous  about  her 
welfare  and  happiness  as  in  the  days  when  he 
had  thought  of  making  her  his  wife. 


--*«- 


CHAFER  L 


LUX, 

\S    HBACH. 


"Come!"  •■* 

This  was  the  word  whic])  Hilda  had  addressed 
to  Gualtier  iii  froig  of  the  Hotel  Gibbon  at  Lau- 
sanne, and,  saying  tM^  she  tottered  toward  the 
doori  supported  by  Gretchen.  That  stout  Ger- 
man mard  upheld  her  in  her  strong  arms,  as  a 
iB'other  might  hipld'up  a  child  as  it  learns  to  wa^lk. 


%re  yet  its  unsteady  feet  Jiave^ound  piU  ihe<way 
to  plant'ttheitipclves.     Gualtier  had  iSf'i^^  S<>t 


over  the  shock  of  such  a  surprise,  but  n&  saWhor  . 
weakAess,  andj<iv»8  sufi|eiently  hit^seluto  offw 
his  arm  to  assisthis  n^istr^ss.'  BMIilda  did  hot 
seem  to  see  it.  J^,,Bny  i^to  she  did  qpt  accept 
the  Offer.  Her  oniy'^im  '«rb»  to  get  into  the'iio- 
tel,  and  the  assistance  of  GrMcuen  was  quits 
enpugh  for  hbr. .  *    «    i 

Althong^  £h«tchei^  i^hns  suM^rlN  mir)  still  ,< 
evclRhlS  sTigDrSx^tionJH'hich  s|e  made,  oven  the  » 
motion  of  JKjr  limbii  *hich  w^MieqMro^  of  her, 
though  they  scarcely  felt  her  weight,  was  too. 
mu(!ir  fSJlJief  in  hill  Weakness  arid"  prosfraiion. 
She  paiitlp.fgr  breath  ilt  her  utter  exhaustion,  and 
t  length,  on  reachin^^  the  hall,  she  ^ood  for  a 
few  moiQonts  nt  the  foot  of  flie  staiijvav,  as  though 
stniggling  td  regain  her  broath,%n(Ltiion'8udden'i' 


ly  fainted  away  in  the  arms  of  djjncher 
'   At  this'  the  itout  maid  to<^  pIf.U 


178 


'  and  carried  her  np  stnirs,  while  Gualtier  led  the 
way  to  the  suite  of  apartments  occupied  by  Lord 
Chetwynde.  Here  Hilda  was  placed  on  a  sofa, 
and  after  a  time  came  to  herself. 

She  then  told  Gretchen  to  retire.  Tlie  maid 
obeyed,  and  Hilda  and  Gualtier  were  left  alone. , 
The  latter  stood  regarding  her,  with  his  pale  face 
full  of  deep  anxiety  and  apprehension,  dreading 
he  kftew  not  what,  and  seeing  in  her  something 
which  seemed  to  take  her  beyond  the  reach  of  that 
coercion  which  he  had  once  successfully  applied 
to  her. 

"Tell  me,"  cried  Hilda,  the  instant  that 
Gretchen  had  closed  the  door  after  her,  looking 
around  at  the  same  time  with  something  of  her 
old  sharp  vigilance—"  tell  me,  it  is  not  too  late 
yet  to  save  him  ?" 

"To  save  him  !"  repeated  Guahier. 
"  Yes.     That  is  what  brought  me  here." 
Gualtier  looked  at  her  with  eager  scrutiny, 
seeking  to  fftthora  her  full  meaning.     Silspecting 
the  truth,  he  was  yet  unwilling  to  believe  it. 
His  answer  was  given  in  slow,  deliberate  tones. 
"  No," safd he,  "it  is— not— yet— too— latey 
to— save  him— if  that  is  really  what  you  wish." 
"  That  is  what  I  have  come  fof,^'  said  Hilda; 
"  1  am  going  to  take  my  place  at  his  bedside,  to 
undo  the  past,  and  bring  him  back  to  life.     That 
is  my  purpose.     Do  you  hear?"  she  said,  while 
her  white  lips  quivered  with  excitement,  and  her 
shattered  frame  trembled  with  the  intensity  of 
her  emotion. 

"  I  ht*r,,my  lady,"  said  Gualtier,  with  his  old 
respect,  but  with  a  dull  light  in  his  gray  eyes,  and 
a  cold  and  stem  intonation  which  told  of  the  an- 
ger which  was  rising  within  him. 

Once  he  had  shaken  oft'  her  authority,  and  had 
spoken  to  her  with  the  tone  of  a  niMter.  It  was 
not  probable  that  he  would  recede  Jibw  from  the 
stand  which  he  Imd  then  taken.  But,  on  the 
other  hand,  Hilda  did  not  now  seem  like  one  over 
whom  his  old  menaces  would  have  any  effect. 
There  was  in  her,  besides  her  suffering,  an  air  of 
reckless  self-sacrifice,  which  made  it  seem  as  if 
no  thre(it8  of  his  could  again  affect  her. 

"You  hear?"  said  die,  with  feverish  im[^- 
tience.     "  Have  you  nothing  more  to  say  ?" 

"  No,  nothing.  It  is  for  you  to  speak,"  said 
Gualtier,  grufflv.     "You  began." 

"  He  must  be  saved, "  said  Hilda ;  "  and  I  must 
save  him;  and  ymi  must  help  me." 

Gualtier  turned  away  his  liead,  while  a  dark 
frown  came  over  his  face.  The  gesture  excited 
Hilda  still  more. 

"  What ! '  she  hissed,  spring! »« to  her  feet,  and 
grasping  his  arm,  "do  you  hesitate?  Do  vou 
refiup  to  assist  mo  ?"  _ 

"Our  relation* 'are  changed,"  said  Gualtier, 
slowlv,  turning  round  as  he  spoke.  "  This  thing 
I  will  not  do!    I  have  begun  my  work." 

As  he  turned  he  encountered  the  eyes  of  Hil- 
da, which  were  fixed  on  him— stem,  wrathful, 
menacing. 

"  You  Have  begun  it  1"  she  repeat«l.  "  It  was 
my  work — not  yours.     I  order  you  to  desist,  and 


THE  CRYPTOGRAM. 

And  whfti  is  it  that  you  ask  ? 


know. 


„ ...._ .  What? 

To  thrust  from  me  the  dearest  hope  of  my  hfe, 
and  just  as  it  was  reaching  fruition." 

Hilda's  eyes  were  fastened  on  Gualtier  as  he 
said  these  words.  The  scorn  with  which  he  dis- 
.owned  any  obedience,  the  confidence  with  which 
he  spoke  of  that  renunciation  of  his  foi-mer  sub- 
ordination, were  but  ill  in  accordance  with  those 
words  with  which  he  expressed  his  "dearest 
hope." 

' '  Dearest  hope ! "  said  Hilda—' '  fruition  !  If 
you  knew  any  thing,  you  would  know  that  the 
time  for  that  is  rapidly  passing,  and  only  your 
pcompt  obedience  and  assistance  will  benefit  you 
now. ' 

"  Pardon  me,"  said  Gualtier,  hastily ;  "  tfor- 
got  myself  in  my  excitement.  But  you  ask  im- 
possible things.  I  can  not  help  you  here.  The 
obstacle  between  you  and  me  was  neariy  removed 
— and  you  ask  me  to  replace  it. " 

"  Obstacle !"  said  Hilda,  in  scorn.  "  Is  it  thus 
that  you  mention  himf"  In  her  weakness  her 
wrath  and  indignation  burst  forth.  "  That  man 
whom  you  call  an  obstacle  is  one  for  whose  sake 
I  have'dragged  myself  over  hundreds  of  miles; 
for  whom  1  am  now  ready  to  lay  down  my  life. 
Do  not  wonder.  Do  not  question  me.  Call  it 
passion— madness — any  thing— but  do  not  at- 
tempt to  thwart  me.  Speak  now.  Will  yoo 
help  me  or  not  ?" 

"Help  you!"  cried  Gualtier,  bitterly,  "help 
you !  to  what  ?  to  do  that  which  will  destroy  my 
last  hope— and  after  1  have  extorted  from  you 
your  promise !     Ask  me  any  thing  else." 
"  1  want  nothing  else." 
"  You  may  yet  want  my  aid." 
"  If  you  do  not  help  me  now,  I  shall  never 
want  you." 

"  You  have  needed  me  before,  and  will  need 
me  again." 

"  If  Ae  dies,  I  shall  never  need  faa  again." 
"  If  he  dies,  that  is  the  very  time  when  you 
will  need  me." 

"No,  I  shall  not— for  if  Ac  dies  I  will  die  my- 
self!"  cried  Hilda,  in  a  burst  of  uncoutrolkble 
passion.  ^- 

Gualtier  started,  and  his  heart  sank  within 
him.  Long  ai)d  earnestly  he  looked  at  her,  but 
he  saw  that  this  was  more  than  a  fitful  outburst 
of  passion.  Looking  on  her  face  with  its  stem 
and  fixed  resolve,  with  its  intense  meaning,  he 
knew  that  what  she  had  said  was  none  other 
than  her  calm,  set  purpose.  He  saw  it  in  ^vcry 
one  of  those  faded  lineamenls,  upon  which  such 


'r 


ou  lUMul  obay.    Yuh  run  iSnt  i]n  nrty  thinfji'lflfi 


'p  wrought  in  so  short  a  time. 
loUows  round  her  eyes,  in  her 
her  white,  bloodless  lips,  in 
litcd  hands,  which  were  new 
|)crate  resolve.  Fi-om  this  lie 
o„„  ...»v  v..«.v^vas  no  appeal.  He  learned  how 
strong  thot  passion  must  be  wiiicli  had  thus 
overmastered  her,  and  was  consumiiic  nil  the 
energies  of  her  powerful  naturq.  To  tins  s ho 
was  sacrificing  the  lalwr  of  years,  and  all  the 
prospects  which  now  lay  before  her  ;  to  this  she 
gave  up  all  her  fntiire  life,  with  all  its  possibili- 


a  change  hod 
He  read  it  ii 
sunken  ch 
her  thin,   e| 
clepched  in 
saw  that  the 


ro  go  on  is  impossible,  if  1  ^land  between  you  I  Ses  of  wealth  widirbnor  and  staUon.  A  cor- 
and  him.  Only  one  thing  Is  left  for  you,  and  that  onet,  a  castle,  a  princely  revenue,  rank,  weann, 
utoZy  me,  and  assist  me  as  before."  and  title,  all  lay  before  her  within  her  grasp 

"  Obey  .yon!"  snid  Guallier,  with  a  cold  and  yet  now  she  turned  her  back,  upon  ihein,  anfl 
almost  feiicious  glanc?.  "The  time  for  obe;  cam?  to  the  bedride  of  the  man  «'"'««''?»* 
dience  I  think  is  pdst.    That  much  you  oupht  to !  >vo»  necessary  to  her  succesa,  to  save  him  froio 


«iiniii  anxinty 


THE  CEYITOGBAM. 


179 


death.  She  trampled  her  own  intere8t8  in  the 
dust;  she  threw  to  the  winds  the  hard-won  re- 
sults of  treachery  and  crime,  and  only  that  she 
might  be  near  him  who  abhorred  her,  and  whose 
first  word  on  coming  baclc  to  consciousness  might 
be  an  imprecation.  Beside  this  man  who  hated 
her,  he  who  adored  her  was  as  nothing,  and  all 
his  devotion  and  all  his  adoration  were  in  one  mo-" 
ment  forgotten. 

All  these  thoughts  flashed  through  the  mind 
of  Gualtier  as  at  that  instant  he  comprehended 
the  situation.  And  what  was  he  to  do?  Could 
he  associate  himself  with  her  in  this  new  purpose? 
He  could  not.  He  might  have  refrained  from 
ths  work  of  death  at  the  outset,  if  she  had  bid 
him  refrain,  but  now  that  he  had  begun  it,  it 
was  not  easy  to  give  it  np.  bhe  had  «et  him  to 
the  task.  It  had  been  doubly  sweet  to  him. 
First,  It  HSLB  a  delight  to  his  own  vindictive  na- 
ture ;  and  secondly,  he  had  flattered  himself  that 
this  would  be  an  offering  well  pleasing  to  the  wo- 
man whom  he  adored,  ^e  had  set  him  to  this 
task,  and  when  it  was  fully  completed  he  might 
hope  for  an  adequate  reward.  From  the  death  of 
this  man  he  had.accustomed  himself  to  look  for- 
ward in  anticipation  of  the  highest  happiness  for 
himself.  All  his  future  grow  bright  from  the 
darkness  of  this  deed. 

Now  in  one  instant  his  dream  was  dispelled. 
The  verjp'  one  who  hod  commanded  him  to  do 
this  now- came  in  a  kind  of  frenzy,  with  a  face 
like  that  of  death,  bidding  him  to  stay  his  hand. 
Deep,  dark,  and  bitter  was  that  disappointment, 
and  all  the  more  so  from  its  utter  suddenness. 
Anft  because  he  could  read  in  her  face  and  in 
ker  words  not  only  the  change  that  had  taken 
place,  but  also  the  cause  of  that  change,  the 
revulsion  Of  feeling  within  himself  became  the 
more  intolerable.  His  nature  rose  up  in  rebell- 
ion against  this  capricious  being.  How  could 
he  yield  to  her  wishes  here  ?  He  could  not  sway 
with  every  varying  feeling  of  hers.  He  could 
not  thus  retire  from  his  unfinished  work,  and 
give  np  his  vengeance. 

Indignant  as  he  was,  there  was  yet  something 
in  Hilda's  countenance  which  stirred  to  its 
depths  the  deep  passion  of  his  soul.  Her  face 
hid  the'expresMon  of  one  who  had  made  up  her 
mind  to  die.  To  such  s  one  what  Aords  could 
be  say — what  arguments  could  he  use  ?  F^or  a 
time  pity  overmastered  anger,  and  his  answer 
was  mild. 

"You  ask  impossibilities,"  said  he.  "In  no 
case  can  I  help  you.  I  will  not  eveii  let  you  do 
what  you  propose." 

Hilda  looked  at  him  with  a  cold  glapce  of 
Kom.    Siie>seated  herself  once  more. 
"You  will  not  let  me !"  she  repeated. 
"  Certainly  not'.     I  shall  go  on  with  the  work 
which  I  have  beipin.     But  I  will  see  tj^it  you 
receive  the  best  attentit)n.      You  are  excited 
now.    Shall  I  tell  the  maid  to  come  to  you? 
ton  had  better  pnt  an  end  to  this  interview ;  it 
is  too  much  fur  yon.     You  need  rest. ' 
Gualtier  siwko  quietly,  and  Keemed  really  to 

fwl  «nmB  anvioty  ahoii'f,  hw  «mm4) 


ton()^<  of  impudent  superiority  which  qnce  before 
he  had  ventured  to  adopt.  Her  strength  revived 
under  such  a  stimulus,  and  for  a  time  her  bitter 
contempt  and  indignation  stilled  the  deep  sorrow 
and  anxiety  of  her  heart. 

Tlie  voice  with  which  she  'answered  was  no 
longer  agitated  or  excited.  It  was  cool,  firm. 
and  penetrating — a  tone  which  reminded  him  of 
her  old  domineering  manner. 

"You  are  not'  asked  t6  give  np  yonr  work," 
said  she.     "It  is  done.     You  are  dismissed. " 

"Dismissed!"  said  Gualtier,  with  a  eneex. 
"You  ought  to  know  that  I  am  not  one  who 
can  be  dismissed."  . 

"I  know  that  you  can  be,  and  that  you  are," 
said  Hilda.  "If  you  wpre  capable  of  under- 
standing me  yon  would  know  this.  But  you, 
base  and  low-bom  hireling  that  you  are,  what 
can  there  be  in  common  between  one  like  you 
and  one  like  »i«  f" 

"  One  thing,"  said  Gualtier.     "  Cfitae!" 

Hilda  changed  not  a  feature. 

"  What  care  I  for  that  ?  It  is  over.  I  have 
passed  into  another  life.  Your  coarse  and  vul- 
gar threats  avail  nothing.  This  moment  ends 
alt  communication  between  us  forever.  You 
may  do  what  vou  like.  All  your  threats  are 
useless.     Finally,  you  must  go  away  at  once." 

"Go  away?" 

"  Yes — at  once — and  forever.  These  'rooms 
shall  never  sec  you  again,  /  am  here,  and  will 
stay  here." 

"  You  ?" 

"7/"  ^* 

"You  have  no  right  here.''  J 

"I  have." 

"What  right?" 

"The  right  of  love,"  said  Hilda.  "I  come 
to  save  him!" 

"You  tried  to  kill  him." 

"  That  is  passed.    I  will  save  him  now. " 

"You  are  mad.  You  kApw  that  Ibis  is  idle. 
Yon  know  that  I  am  a  dj^ptermined  and  despe- 
rate man."  '        p 

"Pooh!  What  is  the  determimition  or  the 
desperatioi)  o(  one  like  yon  ?  I  know  well  what 
you  think.  Once  vou  were  able  to  move  me 
I  by  your  threats.  That  is  passed.  My  resolve 
,  and  my  despair  have  placed>«iie  beyond  your  reach 
forever.  Go — go  away.  Begone !  Take  your, 
threats  with  you,  and  do  your  worst." 

"  You  are  majj — you  are  utterly  mad,"  said 
Gualtier,  confounded  at  the  desperation  of  on^ 
whom  he  felt  v(m  so  utterly  in  14s  power ;  one, 
too,  who  herself  must  have  known  this.  '  "You 
have  forgotten  yonr  past.  Will  you  force  me  to 
remind  you  of  it  ?'^ 

"  1  have  furgotim  nothing,"  said  Hilda ;  "  but 
I  ca«c  nothing  for  it." 

"  You  must  Ciire  for  it.  Ym  will  be  forced 
to.    Your  future  happens  to  d^iend  on  it." 

"My  future  happens  to  be  equally indilTerent 
to  me,  said  Hilda.  "  I. have  civen  up  kll  my 
plans  and  lio|iei<.  I  am  beyoi)a  ifOfir  reach,  at 
any  rate.  Yon,Are powerless  agaiatt  me  now." 
^  (tiinltiffrHtnlfril. 


e  D0« 


:  I 


In  miacaiculated  utterly  the  nature  of  Hilda,  and 
tdied  too  much  on  the  fact  that  he  had  once  ter- 
rified her.  These  cool  words  threw  into  Wlda  a 
vi»id  excitement  of  feeling,-  which  for  a  time 
tamed  all  her  thoughts  upon  this  man,  who  un- 
<l«r  such  circumttancet  dared  to  tqstone  that 


Yon  speak  lightly,  iiaid  h^,  "of  tbf  past 
and  the  future.  Yon  are  excited.  If  yOtfSbink 
caltgly  about  your  position,  you  will  see  that  you 
afe  now  moro'lih  my  power  thap  ever  J.  and  you 
will  see,  also,  that  I  Urn  billing  \o  uso'ttiat  pow>  . 
«r.    Do  not  drive  mo  to  extreme*." 


180 


TflE  CRYPTOGRAM. 


ich  ': 


"These  are  yonr  old  threats,"  said  Uildo, 
with  bitter  contempt.     "They  are  stale  now." 

'''Stale:"  repeated  Gualti^r.  "There  are 
things  which  can  never  be  stale,  and  in  such 
things  you  and  I  have  been  partners.  Must  I 
remind  you  of  them.?" 

"It's  not  at  all  taecessary.  Yoa  had  much 
'better  leave,  and  go' back. to  Engliihd,  or  any 
Avhere  else. " 

These  words  stung  Gualtier. 

"  I  will  recall  them,"  he  cried,  in  alow,  fierce 
voice.  '*You  have  a  convenient  memory,  and 
may  succeed  (or  a  time  in  banishing  your 
thoughts,  but  you  have  that  on  your  soul  which 
no  efforts  of  yotirs  can  banisli — things  whic'' 
must  haunt  you,'  cold-blooded  as  you  are,  even 
ns  they  have  Haunted  me — my  God ! — and  haunt 
mo  yet." 

"  The  state  of  yonr  mind  is  of  no  concern  to 
me.  Y'ou  had  better  obey  my  order,  and  go,  so 
as  not  to  add  any  more  to  vourjiresent  apparent 
troubles.''  "      "** 

"Your  taunts  are  fooUsh,"  said  Gualtier,  sav- 
agely. "  You  are  in  my  power.  'What  if  1  use 
it  ?" 

"  Use  it,  then." 

Gualtier  made  a  gesture  of  despair. 

"Do  you  know  what  it  means?"  he  ex- 
claimed. 

"  I  suppose  so." 

"  You  do  not — ^you  can  not.  It  means  the 
downfall  of  all  your  hopes,  your  desires,  your 
plans."     • 

"I  telliyou  I  BO  longer  carp  for  thing?  like 
those." 

"  You  do  not  mean  it — you  cnn  not  What !' 
can  you  come  down  from  being  Lady  Chetwynde 
io  plain  Hilda  Krieff?"  .  '\, 

"I  have  implied  that,  I  believe,"  salt}  Hilda, 
in  the  same  tone.  "\Now  you  understand  me. 
Go  and  pull  me  down  as  fast  as  yon  like, " 

"But,"  said  Gualtier,  mn»»^gxcitgj[ly, ,  "  vou 
do  not-khow.ewhat  you  are  soymj^rhere  is 
something  more  in  store  for  you  than  JJiStre  hu- 
miliation— something  worafe  than  a  change  in 
station — something  more  terrible  than  ruin  it- 
self. Y'ou  are  a  criminal.  You  know  it.  It  is 
for  this  that  you  must  give  your  account.  And, 
remember,  such  crimes  as  yours,  are  not  com- 
mon Ones.  Such  victims  as  i  the  Enrl  of  Chet- 
wynde and  Zillah  are  not  those  whom  one  can 
sacrifice  with  impunity.  It  is  such  as  these  that 
will  be  traced  back  to  you,  and  woe  be  to  you 
when  their  blood  is  required  at  your  hands! 
Can  you  face  this  prospectj  Is  this  future  so 
very  indifferent  to  yt)u  ?  ^f  you  have  nothing 
like  remorse,  are  you  also  utterlv  destitute  of 
fear?" 

"  Yeg,"  said  Hilda.  • 

"  I  don't  believe  it,"  said  Gualtier,  rudely. 

"  That  is  because  you  think  I  have  no  alterna- 
tive," said  Hilda  ;  "  it  is  a.  mistake  into  ivhich  a 
base  and  cowardly  nature  might  naturally  fall:" 

"'You  have  no  alternative,"  said  Guoltier. 
"It's  impossible." 


~«thiwB,"sal(JHlWB7^ 
"What?" 
She  whispered  one  word. 


looked  at  him  with  calm  f(nd  unchanged  con- 
tempt. 

"  Yon  dare  not,"  he  cried. 

"bar*  not?"  she  repeated.  "What  I  d.ire' 
administer  to  others  I  dare  administer  to  mrscll'. 
Go  and  perform  your  threats !  Go  with  your  iii- 
fQrmOtion — go  and  let  loose  the  authorities  upon 
me!  Go!  Haste!  Go — and  see — see  how  quick-, 
ly  and  how  completely  I  will  elude  your  gi-asp ; 
As  for  you — your  power  is  gone.  Yon  made  ono 
'effort  to  exert  it,  and  succeeded  for  the  moment. 
But  that  has  passed  aWay.  Never— never  more 
can  any  threats  of  yours  move  me  in  the  »<liglit- 
.^t.  'You  know. that  I  am  resolute.  Whether 
you  believe  that  I  am  Resolute  about  this  matter 
or  not  makes  no  difference  wUatev'er  to  me.  \"ou 
are  to  go  from  this  place  at  once — away  fiom  this 
place,  and  this  town.  That  is  my  mandate.  I\ 
.am  going  to  stay;  and,  since  you  hove  refused  ' 
your  assistance,  I  will  do  without  it  henceforth." 

At  these  words  Gualtier's  face  gr^  pale  with 
rage  and  despair.  He  knew  well  Hilda's  resolute 
character.  That  ^er  (ast  determination  would 
be  carried  out  he  could  scarcely  doubt.  Yet  still 
his  rage  and  his  prid»4)ur8t  ^rth. 

"Hilda  Krieff,"  said  he,  for  the  first  time  dis- 
carding ,thB  pretense'ofjrespect  and  the  tilso  title 
by  wl^ich  he  had  so  lo^g  addressed  her,  "  do  you 
not  knO|W'who  you  aiSs?  Whdt  right  have  you 
to  order  me  away,  and  stay  here  your.self — you 
with  the  Earl  of  Chetwynde — you,  an  unmarried 
girl  ?    Ans\fer  me  that,  Hilda  Krieff."    ,  ' 

"Whot  right  ?"  sajld  Hilda,  as  loftily  ns  before, 
utterly  unmdSred  by  tffis  utterance  of  her  tnie- 
name.     "What  right?    The  right  of  one  who 
comes  in  love  to  save  the  object  of  her  love. 
That .  is  all.     By  that  right  I  dismiss  you.    I  . 
drive  you  away  jj(d  g^lld  myself  by  his  bedside." 

"  You  are  very  bold  and  very  reckless,"  said y 
he,  with  his  white  face  turned  toward  her,  Iiu|k 
in  rage,  half  in  despair.  "You  are  fliiigfhg 
yourself  into  a  position  which  it  jyill  be  impos- 
sible fpr  you,  to  hold,  and  you  are  insulting 'nnd  ' 
defying  one  who  can  at  any  mom^t  have  you 
tdrust  from  the  place.  1,  if  I  chose,  could  now, 
at  this  instant,  have  you  arrested,  and  in  iliis 
very  room." 

"  You ! "  said  Hilda,  with  a  sneer.  '' 

"Yes,  I,"  said  Gualtier,  emphatically.  "I 
have  but  to  lodge  my  information  with  the  au- 
thorities against  you,  and  before  ten  minutes  you 
would  be  carried  away  from  this  place,  and  sepa- 
rated from  that  man  forever.  Yes,  Hilda  KrielT, 
I  can  do  that,  and  yoa  know  it ;  nnd  yet  you.darc 
to  taunt  me  and  insult  me,  nnd  drive  me  on  to  do 
things  ofowhich  I  migh^  afterward  repent.  God 
knoAvB  I'do  not  wish  to  do  any  thing-but  what  is 
in  accordance  with  your  will.  At  this  moniehc 
I  would  still  obey  any  of' your  commands  but 
this  one  j  yet  you  try  me  more  than  mortal  nature 
can  endure,  and  J  warn  you  that  I  will  not  bear 

it."  ,  ■  ; 

Hilda  laHghed. 

Since  this  interview  hoA  commMicedjinstead'of 
gtbwing  >Yeaker,  she  had  scemw^^tber.  to  ^n- 


\ 


Iftramrttiongti  the  Bxcitcmenti 
been  a  stimulus,  and  had  roused  her  to  a  new  life. 
It  Mid  ^ifgti  her  thoughts  suddenly  and  violently 
away  from  the''thing8  over,  whidi  she  had  long 
brooded.  Pride  |iad  been  stirred  up,  Mid  had  re- 
pairo(|t%tii}  ravagw  of  love.  Ai^tkis  hitt  threat 
of  aWtioc'a  «he  laugked.  .    •         " 


It  stnick  ;ipon 


Gualtier's  ear  with  fgarM  emphasis,  yit  was  t|)e 
same  wovd  vhich  she'hoa  once  wljispOTed  to'him 
in  the  park  at  Chetwynde.  He  recoiled  with 
horror.     A  (huddefpaMed  throu^  him.    Hiwa 


THE  CRYITOGRAM. 


>}&! 


"  Poor  creature!"  she  said.  "  And  do  yon  real- 
ly think  you  can  do  any  thing  here?  Your  only 
|ilace  where  you  have  any  chance  is  in  England, 
nnd  then  only  by  long  and  careful  preparation. 
What  could  you  do  here  in  Lausanne  ? 

"  I  could  have  you  flung  in  prison,  and  sepa- 
rated from  him  forever,"  said  Qnaltiei;,  fiercely. 
"You!  you!     And  pray  do  you  know  who 
you  are  ?    Lord  Chetwynde's  valet  I     And  who 
"would  t«ke  your  word  against  Lord  Chetwvnde's 
wife?". 
"  That  you  are  not." 
"  I  am,"  said  Hilda,  firmly. 
"  My  God !  what  do  you  mean  ?" 
"  I'  mean  'that  I  will  stand  up  for  my  rights, 
and  crush  you  into  dust  if  you  dare  to  enter  into 
any  frantic  attempt  against  me  here.    You !  why, 
what  are  you?     You  are  Lord  Chetwynde's 
,  scoundrel  valet,  who  plotted  against  his  master. 
Here  in  these  ixKims  are  the  witnesses  and  the 
proofs  of  your  crimes.     You  would  bring  an  ac- 
cusation against  me,  would  you  ?    You  would  in- 
form the  magistrates,  perhaps,  that  I  am  not  Lady 
Chetwynde — that  I  aman  impostor — that  my  true 
nnme  is  ^ilda  If  rieff — that  I  sent  you  on  an  er- 
rand to  destroy  your  master  ?    And  pray  have 
you  thought  how  yon  could  prove  so  wild  and  so 
Improbable  a  fiction  ?    Is  there  one  thing  that 
Tou  tMuld  bring  forward  ?    Is  there  one  living  b«- 
Ing.who  would  sustain  the  charge?  ••  You  know 
that  there,is  nothing.     Your  vile  slander  would 
only  recoil  on  your  own  head  ;  and  even  if  I  did 
nothing — even  if  I  treated  you  and  your  charge 
with  silent  contempt,  you  yourself  would  suffer, 
fur  the  charge  would  excite  such  suspicion  against 
voii  that  you  would  undoubtedly  be  arrested. 

"  But,  unfortunately  for  you,  I  would  not  be 
silent.  I  would  come  forward  and  tell  the  mag- 
istrates the  wliolottruth.  Anil  I  think,  without 
lelf-conceit,  there  U  enough  in  tny  appearance  to 
win  for  me  belief  against  the  wild  and  frenzied 
fancies  of  a  vuJgai  valet  like  you.  Who  would 
■ ,  believe  you  when  "Lady  Chetwynde  came  forward 
to  tell  her  story,  and  to  testify  against  you  ? 

"  I  will  telj  you  what  Ijidy  Chetwynde  W6uld 
have  to  say.  -She  would  tell  how  she  once  Ctn- 
ployed  you  in  England  ;  how  you  suffered  some 
slight  from  hgr ;  how  ypu^  were  dismissed  from 
her  service. ;  That  then  jou  went  to  London,  and 
engaged  f  pilVself  as  valet  to  Lord  Chetwynde,  by 
Whom  you  were  not  knowii ;  tltat,  out  of  venge- 
ance, you* determined  to  ruin  him.  That  Lady' 
Chetwynde  wa^dkiou?  about  her  husband,  and, 
hearing  of  his  illness,  followed,  him  from  place  to 
place;  that,  owing  to  her  intense  anxiety,  8h6 
broke  down  and,  nearly  died ;  that  she  Vitally 
reached  this  place  tq.find  her  villainous  servant — 
the  one  whon)  shd  hi^d  dismissed — actifig  at  hec 
'  husband's  valet.  That  she  turned  him  off  on  th«v 
'»pot,  )vherenpon  he  went  to  the  Authorities,  and 
lodged  some  malicious  and  insane  charges  against 
her.  But  Lady  Cliotwyndo. would  have  more 
than  this  to  say.  iShe  oould  show  certain  viais, 
which  are  no  doubt  in  these  rooms,  to  a  doctor ; 
-aaa^geT^eir  contcntg ;  and  he 
tell  to  the  conrt  what  it  \fiw  tliat  fiad  caused 
tills  Kiysttirious  disease  to  one  who  had  always 
befcre  been  so  healthy.  Ah'd  wherA^O  you  thitjk 
yonf  diaj^ge  would  be  in  the  face  of  XijMly.Ghet-* 
wyide'titory  ,*  in  (he  face  of  th&e\tidencex>f  the 
(laUairathedoctor'iahalyaisr  ,  -,  ., 
Hilda  paused  fnd  regarded*  Ott^iier  with  pMd 

"  ^  ,  ":■'•■'■, 


contempt.  /Gualtier  felt  the  terrible  truth  of'^ll 
that  she  had  said.  He  saw  that  here  in  Lau- 
sanne he  had  no  chance.  If  he  wished  for  venge- 
ance he  would  have  to  delay  it.  And  yet  ho 
did  not  wish  for  any  vengeance  on  her.  She  had 
for  the  present  eluded  his  grasp.  In  spite  of  his 
assertion  of  pow;er  over  her — in  spite  of  the  co- 
crcidn  by  which  he  had  once  extorted  a  promise 
from  her — he  was,  after  all,  full  of  that  same 
all-absorbing  love  and  idolizing  affection  for  her 
which  had  made  him  for  so  many  years  her  will- 
ing slave  and  her  blind  too).  Now  this  Sudden 
reasserfion  of  her  old  supremacy,  while  it  roused 
all  his  pride  and  stimulated  his  anger,  excited 
also  at  the  same  time  his  admiration. 

He  spoke  at  length,  and  his  tone  was  om  of' 
sadness. 


"There  is  one  other  thing  whub  : 
me,"  said  he;  "my  own  heart,  'vci 


IS  Bgamst 

:an  not  do 

any  thing  against  you." 

"  Yotir  heart,"  said  Hilda,  "is  very  ready,  to 
hold  you  back  when  you  see  danger  ahead." 

Gualtier's  pale  face  flushed. 

"Thaijp  false,". said  he,  "and  you  know  it. 
Did  my  nSIM^  quail  on  that  midnight  sea  when 
I  was  face  to  face  with  fotir  ruffians  and  quelled 
their  mutiny  ?  Yon  have  already  told  me  that  it 
was  a  hpld  act."  g 

"Well,  at  least  yon  yean  armed,  and  they 
were  flat,"  said  Hilda,  with  unchanged  scorn.    , 

"Enough,"  cried  Gualtier,  flashing  a  deeper  ■ 
and  an  angrier  red.  "  I  will  argue  with  you  no 
more.  I  will  yield  to  you  this  time.  I  'will 
leave  the  hotel  and  Lausanne.  I  will  go  to 
England.  He  shall  be  under  your  care,  and  you 
may  do  what  youjchoose.        i 

"  But  remember  this,"  he  c<i|^ued,  waming- 
ly.  "I  have  your  promise,  given  to  me  solemn- 
ly, and  that  .promise  I  will  yet  claim.  This  man 
may  recover  ;f  but,  if  he  does,  it  will^,onIy  be  to 
despise  you.  His  abhorrence  will  be  the  only 
reward  that  you  can  expect  for  your  passion  and 
your  mad  self-sacrifice.  But  evep  if  it  were 
possible  for  him  to  love  you — yes,  to  love  you  as 
you  Iqye  him — even  then  you  could  not  have 
him.  I'or  I  live ;  and  while  I  live  you  could 
never  be  his.  No,  never.  I  have  yohr  promise, 
and  I  will  come  between  you  and  him  to  sundef 
you  forever  apd  to  cast  fcM  down.  That  much, 
at  least,  I  can  do,  and  you  know  it 
■  "  And  now  farewell  for  the  present.  In  any 
event  you  will  need  me  again.  I  shall  go  to 
Chetwynde  Castle,  and  wait  there  till  I  am 
wanted.  The  time  will  yet  come,  orid  that 
soon,  when  you,  wiH  ogain  wish  my  help.  I 
will  gite  yotf  six  mpritltp  to  try  to  carry  out  this 
wild  plan  of  yours.  At  f  he  end  oft  that  time  I  / 
shall  iiave  something  to  do  and  td  say ;  but  I  ex-  j, 
pect  to  be  needed  before  then.  Jf  {'am  needed,  / 
you  may  rely  upon  me  as  befor&  I  wjll  foi^t 
every  injury  and  be  as  devoted  as  ever. " 

With  tfae^  oininoa|.word9   Gyaltier  with- 
drew. 
,  Hilda  sank  back'  in  her  chair  exhausted,*  and  ^ 


heart. 

At  length  she  snigmoned  her  strength),  and, 
ffetng  to  lier  fee^tgihe  walked .  feebly  through 
several  rooms.  ,  Finally  she  reached  one  which 
wag  darkened.  '^  l)cd„wflg  ihertr,  on  which  Ikf 
a  flgurei'  The  flgnb  was  quite  itiiotionless ;  bnt 
Mu  heart  told  her  who  thift,m|ght  be. 


*f. 


». 


182 


THE  CRYPTOGRAM. 


CHAPTEE  LTV. 

MUmBIHG     *HE     SICK. 

The  figure  tet  lay  n|ion  tb«  bed  as  Hilda  en- 
tered the  roooi  sent  a  saock  to  her  heart  at  the 
first  glance.  Very  different  was  this  one  from 
that  tall,  Strom  ^'^'^  ^'ho  but  lately,  in  all  the 
pride  of  maniT  beauty  and  tnatured  strength, 
f)'^"^--  overawed  uer  br  liis  presence.  ,  Wliat  was  he 
now  ?  Wliere  bow  was  all  that  virile  force,  and 
strong,  resistlea.  nature,  whose  Avermastering 
power  she  hac  experiemed?  Alns!  but  little 
of  it  caDM  be  seen  in  this  wasted  and  emaciated 
figure  uan  now  lay  bemre  her,  seerftrt^ly  at  the 
last  verae  of  life.  His  features  hnd  grown  thin 
and  acaonated,  his  lips  were  drawn  tight  over 
his  teetii,  his  face  had  the  stamp  oi  -omethifig 
like  death  upon  it.  He  was  sleepiTig  fitfully, 
but  his  eyes  were  only  half  closed.  His  thin, 
bony  hands  moved  restlessly  about,  und  his  lips 
miutered  inarticulate  words  from  time  to  time. 
Hilda  placed  her  hand  on  his  forcheiid.  It  was 
cold  and  damp.  The  cold  sent  a  ciiill  through 
every  nen-e.  She  bent  down  low  over  him. 
She  devoured  hiSn  with  her  eyes.  That  face, 
worn  owoy  by  the  progress  of  disease,  that  now 
lay  unconscious,  and  without  n  rav  of  intelli- 
gence beneath  her,  was  yet  to  her  the  best  thing 
in  all  the  world,  and  the  one  for  whica  she  woiUd 
willingly  give  np  the  world.  She  stooped  low 
down.  She  pressed  her  li])3  to  his  cold  fore- 
head. An  instant  she  hesitated,  and  then  she 
pressed  her  lips  this  time  to  the  wliile  lips  that 
were  before  her.  The  long,  passionate  kiss  did 
not  wake  the  slumberer.  He  knew  not  that  over 
him  was  bending  one  who  had  once  sent  him  to 
death,  but  who  now  would  give  her  own  life  to 
bring  him  back  from  that  death  to  which  she  had 
sent  him. 

Such  is  tlje  change  which  can  be  worked  in 
the  basest  nature  by  the  power  of  almighty  love. 
Here  it  was  made  manifest.  These  lips  had 
once  given  the  kiss  of  Judas.  ()n  this  face  of 
hers  tha  Earl  of  Ch^twynde  had  gazed  in  hor- 
ror ;  and  these  hands  of  hers,  that  now  touched 
tremblingly  the  brow  of  the  sick  man,  had  once 
wrought  out  on  him  that  which  would  never  be 
mode  known.  But  the  lips  which  once  gave  the 
kiss  of  Judas  now  gave  that  km  which  was  the 
outpouring  of  the  devotion  of  all  her  stiiid,  and 
thesfe  han(|8  wflre  ready  to  deal  death  to  herself 
to  rescue  him  from  evil.  She  twined  her  arms 
around  his  neck,  and  gazed  at  him  as  thougli  her 
longing  gyes  would  devour  every  lineament  of 
his  features.  Again  and  again  she  pressed  hel 
lip  to  his,  as  though  she  would  thus  force  t^fM 
him  life  and  health  and  strength.  But  the 
sick  man  lay  unconscious  in  her  arms,  all  un- 
heeding that  full  tide  of  passionate  love  which 
was  surging  and  swelling  within  her  bo«om. 

At  butt  footsteps  arnuR«Ki  her.  A  woman  al- 
tered. She  walked  uj  the  bedside  and  looked 
with  tender  lympathy  at  Hilda  Khe  hnd  heard 
from  Gretchen  that  this  was  l.»dy  Chetwynde, 
who  had  come  to  nurse  her  hnshand. 


'AfeyotnliB  iiui'»t>-!''"-iinkt!d  Hilda,  whq-fe- 


"  Forgive  me,  my  lady,  if  I  say  that  yon  ym0 
self  are  in  need  of  a  nurse.     Ysu  will  not  be  mi^ 
to  endure  this  fatigue.     Yori  look  overworn  now. 
Will  you  not  take  some  rest  ?" 

"No,"  said  Hilda,  shaiiply  end  decisively.      '■ 

"My  lady,"  said  the  I  nurse,  "I  will  waicli 
while  you  arc  resting. " 

"  I  shall  not  leave  the  room.''  *• 

"Then,  my  lady,  I  will  spread  a  mattress  on 
the  sofa,  and  you  may  )ie  dowi;." 

"No,  I  imi  best  herfl  by  his  side.  Here  I  can 
f^et  the  only  rest  and  l!le  only  strength  that  I 
want.  I  must  Be  near  enough  to  touch  his  luin  J 
and  to  see  his  face. V Here  I  will  stay." 

"  But,  my  lady,  ydlf  will  breakcjown  utierlv." 

"  No,  I  shall  not  break  down.  3Fmi>11  be  strong 
enough  to  watCh  him  until  he  is  eitllier  better  ov 
worse.  If  ho  gets  better,  he  will  bring  me  back 
to  health  ;  if  he  gets  worse,  I  will  accompany  him 
to  the  tomb."  ,' 

Hilda  spoke  denpOTately.  Her  ol3  self-contidl, 
her  reticence,  and  calm  had  departed.  The  niii>o 
looked  at  her  with  a  face  full  df  sympatliy,  niul 
said  rtot  a  word.  The  sight  of  this  young  and 
bciutiful  wife,  herself  so  weak,  so  wan,  anil  vet 
so  devoted,  so  young  ond  beautiful,  yet  so  wast- 
ed and  emaciated,  whose  only  desire  was  to  li\e 
or  die  by  the  side  of  her  husband,  roused  nil  ilirf 
feelings  of  her  heart.  To  some  Hilda's  conduct 
would  have  been  unintelligible ;  but  this  lione<t 
Swiss  nurse  was  kind-hearted  and  sentimental, 
and  the  fer\id  devotion  and  utter  self-abnegation 
of  Hilda  brought  tears  to  her  eyes. 

"Ah,  my  lady,"  said  she,  "  1  see  I  shall  soon 
have  two  to  nurse." 

"  Well,  if  you  have,  it  will  not  be  for  long," 
sakl  Hilda. 

The  nurse  sighed  and  was  silent. 

"  May  1  remain,  my  lady,  or  shall  I  go? 'she 
asked. 

"  You  mav  go  just  now.  See  how  my  maid 
is  doing,  and  if  she  wants  any  directions." . 

The  nurse  retired,  and  Hilda  was  again  alone 
with  the  sick  man.  She  sat  on  the  bedside  lean- 
ing over  him,  and  twined  her  arms  about  him. 
There,  as  he  lay,  in  his  weakness  and  senseless- 
ness, she  saw  her  own  work.  It  was  she,  and  no 
other,  who  haddoomed  him  to  this.  Too  well  had 
her  agent  carried  out  the  fatal  commission  which 
she  had  given.  As  his  valet  he  had  had  constant 
access  to  the  person  of  Lord  Chetwynde,  and  had 
used  his  opportunities  well.  She  understood  per- 
fectly  how  it  was  that  such  a  thing  as  this  had 
been  brought  about.  Khe  knew  everf  part  of  iho 
dread  process,  and  had  read  enough  to  know,  the 
inevitable  results. 

And  now — would  he  live  or  die  ?  I.ifc  was 
low.  Wouldit  ever  rally  again?  Had  she  come 
in  time  to  save  him,  or  was  it  all  too  late  ?  The 
Veproacbes  which  she  hurled  against  herself  were 
now  over^vlielihtng  her,  and  these  repivachei  al- 
ternated with  feeliniinLpf  intei^se  tenderness  Sli« 
was  weak  from  her  own  recent  illnaos,  fnmi  the 
unwonted  fatigue  «rhich  she  had  endured,  and 
from  the  excitement  of  that  recent  interview  with 


tiuHltiei.  I'liug  tUMi  »nU  tugggrand  thy 
by  a  thousand  contending  emotions,  Hilda  mt 
there  until  at  length  weakness  and  fiitigue  over- 
powftred  her.  It  seemed  to  her  that  a  change 
was  ^omin|(  over  the  face  of  the  sick  man.  Sud- 
denly he  moved,  and  in  such  a  way  that  \u»  (aee 
was  turned  fall  toward  hor  as  he  lay  on  his  side. 


vined  at  one  glance  the  character  of  the  new- 
comer, 

"Y*,  my  lady." 

"  Well,  I  am  to  be  the  nnr$e  after  this,  but  I 
should  like  you  to  remain.  You  can  wait  in  one 
of  the  ante-rooms," 


'no; 


AM   UCBT   UEUB   UV   HI8   glUK. 


At  that  moment  it  seemed  to  her  that  the  worst 
had  come — that  at  last  death  himself  had  placed 
his  stamp  there,  and  that  there  was  now  no  more 
hope.  The  horror  of  this  fancy  altogether  over- 
came her.     She  fell  forward  and  sank  down. 

When  at  length  the  nurse  returned  she  found 
Hilda  senseless,  lying  on  the  bed,  with  her  arm 
still  under  the  bead  of  Lord  Chetwynde.  She 
railed  Gretchen,  and  the  two  made  a  bed  on  the 
mix,  where  they  lifted  Hilda  with  tenderest  care. 
She  lay  long  unconscious,  but  at  lost  she  recov- 
ered. Her  flrst  thoughts  were  full  of  bewilder- 
ment, bat  finally  she  comprehended  the  whole 
situation. 

Now  at  length  she  found  that  she  had*  been 
wasting  precious  moments  upon  useless  reflec- 
tion8..and  idle  self-reproaches.  If  she  had  come 
to  save,  that  safety  ought  not  tor  bo  delayed.  She 
hurriedly  drew  from  her  pocket  a  vial  and  opened 
it.    It  was  the  same  which  she  had  obtained  from 


London  druggisL  ^^^he  smeHcd  it;  imd  then 
ted  it.;,  After  this  she  rose  up,  in  spite  of  the 
iolicitati()tis  of  the  .nurse  and  Gretchen,  and  tot- 
tered toward  the  bed  with  nnsteudy  steps,  sup- 
ported by  her  attendants.  Then  she  seated  her- 
•elf  dn  the  bedside,  and,  asking  for  a  spoon,  slie 
tried  with  a  trembling  hand  to  pour  out  some  of 


the  mixture  from  the  vial.  Her  hands  Mhook 
so  that  she  could  not.  In  despair  she  a&>wed 
the  nurse  to  administer  it,  while  Gretchep  sup- 
ported her,  seating  herself  behind  her  in  Such  a 
way  (hat  Hilda  could  lean  against  her,  and  still 
see  the  face  of  the  sick  man.  In  this  position 
she  watched  while  the  nurse  put  the  liquid  into 
Lord  Chetwynde's  mouth,  and  saw  hitovwallow 
it. 

"  My  lady,  yon  must  lie  down,  or  yon'  will 
never  get  over  this,"  said  the  nurse,  tiornestly, 
and  passing  her  arms  arouiid  Hilda,  she  gently 
drew  her  hack  to  the  sofu,  assisted  by  Gretchen. 
Hilda  allowed  herself  to  be  moved  back  without 
a  word.  For  the  remainder  of  that  day  she 
watched,  lying  on  her  sofa,  and  gav^  directions 
about  the  regular  administration  of  the  medicine. 
At  her  request  thev  drew  theSifa  close  up  to  the 
bedside  of  Lord  Chetwynde,  ntid  propped  her  up 
high  with  pillows.  There  she  lay  weakly,  with 
her fnce^nied^luwitrdfaiin,  snd  liBr-hiBKl«l«8p^~ 
ing  his.  •  > 

Night  came,  and  Hilda  still  watched.    Fatigue' 
and    weakness   were    fast    overpowering    hftr. 
Against  these  she  straggled  bravely,  and  lay  with 
hQ[.eyes  flxed  on  Lord  Chetwynde.  In.that  sharp 
exorcia^  of  her  senses^  \*tiieh'were  all  aroused  in 


,»'»,  ■'. 


184 


THE  CRYPTOGRAM. 


his  behalf,  she  became  At  last  nwai^  of  tfa^  fact 
that  they  were  getting  beyond  her  controL'  Be- 
fore her  eyes,  as  she  gazed  upon  this  man,  there 
came  other  and  different  visions.  SHe  saw  an- 
other sick-bed,  in  a  different  room  from  this,  with 
another  form  stretched  upon  it — ^  form  lilce  thiS) 
yet  iinlilce,  for  it  was  older — a  form  with  vener- 
able gray  hairs,  with  white,  emaciated  foce,  and 
with  eyes  full  of  fear  and  entreaty.  At  that 
sight  horror  came  over  her.  She  tried  to  rouse 
herself  from  the  fearful  state  into  which  she  was 
drifting.  She  simimoned  up  all  that  remained  of 
her  pliy!>ical  and  mental  energy.  The  struggle 
was  severe.  All  things  round  her  seemed  to 
change  incessantly  into  the  semblances  of  other 
things ;  the  phantoms  of  a  dead  past — a  dead  but 
not  a  forgotten  paiSt^rowded'  around  her,  and 
ell  ttte  force  of  her  will  was  unavailing  to  repel 
them.  She  shuddered  as  she  discovered  the  full 
extent  of  her  own  weakness,  and  saw  where  she 
was  drifting.  ^  Fbr  she  was  drifting  helplessly 
into  the  realm  of  sliadowy  memories ;  4nto  the 
place  where  the  past  holds  its  empire ;  surround- 
ed by  all  those  forms  which  time  and  circttm^ 
stance  have  rendered  dreadful;  forms  from  which 
memory  shrinks,  at  whose  aspect  the  soul  loses 
all  its  strengtii.  Ileret  they  were  before  her ; 
kept  back  so  long,  they  now  crowded  upon  her;i 
they  asserted  themselves,  they  forced  themselvesl 
before  her  in  her  weakness, 
ed ;  the  strong,  active  intellect,  which  in  healtl^ 
had  been  so  powerful,  now,  in  her  hour  of  weakf 
ness,  failed  her.  She  struggled  against  thes« 
horrors,  but  the  struggle  was  unavailing,  and  a{k 
last  she  yielded — she  failed— she  sank  down  headj- 
long  and  helplessly  into  the  abyss  of  forgotteh 
things,  into  the  thick  throng  of  furifis  and  images 
from  Vhich  for  so  long  a  time  she  had  kept  her- 
self apart. 
Now  they  came  before  her.  | 

The  room  changed  to  the  old  room  at  Chat- 
wynde  ( '«»tle.  There  wa§  the  window  lookihg 
out  ii|H)n  <h(B  park.  There  was  the  door  openihg 
mto  the  hall.  Zillah'stQod  there,  pale  and  fear- 
ful, bidding  her  good-liiglit.  Theilg  was  "the  bed 
upon  which  lay  the  form  of  a  venerable  miin, 
whose  face  was  ever  turned  toward  her  with 
its  expressiim'bf  fear,  and  of  piteous  entreajy. 
"Don't  leave  me,"  he  murmured  to  the  phan- 
tom form  of  Zillah.  "Don't  leave  me  with 
her,"  and  his  thin  finger  pointed  to  hersejf. 
But  Zillah,  Ignorant  of  all  danger,  promised  Ito 
send  Mrs.  Hart  And  Zillah  walked  out,  stanld- 
ing  at  the  door  for  a  time  to  give  her  last  look]— 
the  loofc  which  the  jrfiantom  of  this  visibn  n6w 
had.  Then,  with  a  momentary  glance,  U»e 
phantom  figure  of  Zillah  faded  away,  and  oilly 
the  prostrate  figure  of  the  Earl  appeared  befdre 
her,  with  the  white  face,  and  the  venerable  hair, 
and  the  imploring  eyes.  ' 

^hen  she  walked  to  the  window  and  Idbkled 
o^;  then  she  walked  to  the  door  aiid  looksd 
down  the  halL  Silence  was  every  where.  ^lU 
were  asleep.  No  eye  beheld  her.  Then  she  i  e- 
turned.  She  saw  the  white  face  of  the  sitk 
s»n,^int^h«^inploring  e^  eneonnteredlief  bT 
A);ain  she  walked  to  the  wmdow ;  then  she  went 
to  his  bedside.  T 

...  She  stooped  down.  His  wlrito  face  was  bi- 
neath  her,  with  the  imploring  eyes.  She  kissed 
him. 

"Judas  I" 


That  was  the  soand  that  she  beard — the  last 
sound-i-for  soon  in  that  ahhqrrent  vision  the 
form  of  the  dead  lay  before  her,  and  around  it 
the  household  gathered;  and  Zillah  sat  there, 
with  a  face  of  agony,  looking  up  to  her  and  say- 
ing: 

"  I  am  the  next  victim !"  / 

Then  all  things  were  forgotten,  ana  innumer- 
able forms  and  phantoms  came  confusedly  to- 
gether. 

She  was  in  delirium. 


CHAPTER  LV. 

SETTING    A    TBAP. 


GuALTiER  was  true  to^is  word-  On  the  even- 
ing of  the  day  when  he  had  that  interview  'with 
Uilifa  he  left  the  hotel,  and  Lausanne  also,  and 
set  out  for  England.  On  the  way  he  had  much 
to  think  of,  and  his  thoughts  were  not  at  all 
pleasant.  This  frenzy  of  Hilda's  had  taken  him 
by  complete  surprise,  and  her  utter  recklessness 
of  life,  or  all  the  things  most  desirable  in  life, 
were  -things  on  which  he  had  iiever  counted. 
Her  dark  resolve  also  which  she  Jmd-  announced 
to  him,  the  coolness  with  which  she  listened  to 

— ,   his  mcnaces^aijd  the  stem  way  in  which  she 

Her  brain  reel-|  turned  on  hiTrTmth  dvpnaces  of  her  own,  showed 
him  plainly  that,  for  the  present  at  least,  she  wa| 
beyond  his  reach,  and  nothing  which  he  might 
do  could  in  any  way  affect  her.  Only  one  thing 
gave  him  hope,  and  that  was  the  utter  madness 
and  impossibility  of  her  design.  He  did  not 
know  what  might  have  passed  between  her  and 
Lord  ChUwynde  before,  but  he  conjectured  that 
she  had  Men  treated  with  insult  great  enough  to 
inspire  her  with  a  thirst  for  vengeance.  He  now 
hoped  that  Lord  Chetwynde,  if  he  did  recov§r,  - 
would  regard  her  as  before.  He  was  not  ftirian 
to  change;  his  mind  had  b^n  deeply  imbit- 
tered  against  the  womjin  whom  he  believed  his 
wife,  and  recovery  of  sense  would  not  lesien  that 
bitterness.  So  Gualtier  thought,  and  tried  to 
believe,  jet*in  his  thoughts  he  also  consideted 
the  possibility  of  a  reconciliation.  And,  if  such 
a  thing  could  take  place,  then  his  jnitid  was  fully' 
made  up  what  to  do.  He  would  trample  oOt  all 
feel^gs  of  tenderness,  and  sacrifice  love  to  full 
and  complete  vengeance.  That  reconciliation 
should  be  made  short-lived,  and  should  end  in 
utter  ruin  to  Hilda,  even  if  he  himself  descend- 
ed into  the  same  abyss  with  her. 

Thoughts  like  these  occupied  his  ndnd  oncd 
he  reach^  Londoii.  "llien  he  drove  to  the 
Strand  Hotel,  and  took  two  front-rooms  on  the 
second  -Story  looking,  out  upon  the  street,  com- 
manding a  view  of  the  dense  oi-owd  that  always 
went  thronging  by.'  ♦ 

Here,  on  the  evening  of  his  arrivA}.  his  thoughts 
turned  to  his  old  lodging-house,  anq  tQ  Miose  nn- 
mCTous  articles  of  vidue  which  he  had  teflf  there. 
Ho  had  once  mode  np  Ms  mii}4.  to  let  ^em  go,  ' 
and  never ,seek  to  regfcin  tiotsession  w  them. 
MeTras  romctomttiat  to  do  bo  xrortld'te  to  wp/"" 
danger  his  safety,  and  perhapa  to  put  a  wafch-l 
ful  pursuer  once  more  on  his  track.     Ye^  then 
was  sorttethihg  in  the  thought  which  was  attract- 
ive.   Those  articles  Arere  of  great  intrinsic  value, 
and  some  of  them  were  precious  souvenirs,  of  - 
little  worth  to  any  one  else,^yet  tp  him  beyond 


\ 


-^ 


price.  Would  it  not 'fie  worth  while  to  make  an 
effort/^t  least  to  regain  possession  of  themT"  If 
it  cofild  bo  done,  it  ■would  represent  so  much 
money  at  the  least,  and  that  was  a  fhiag  which 
it  was  needful  for  him  to  consider.  And,  in  any 
case,  those  mementoes  of  the  past  were  suffi- 
ciently valuable  to  call  for  some  effort  and  some 
risk.  The  more  he  thought  of  this,  the  more  re- 
sistless became  the  temptation  tajpake  this  effort 
and  run  thjs  risk.  V^ 

And  what  danger  was  there?  NftVhat  was  the 
risk,  and  what  was  there  to  fear?  Jpnly  one  per- 
son was  in  existence  trom  whom  any  danger 
could  possibly  be  apprehended.  ITiat  one  was 
Black  Hill,  who  had  tracked  him  to  London^ 
and  afterward  watched  at  his  lodgings,  and  whom 
he  had  feared  so  much  that  for  his  sake,  and  for 
his  alone,  he  had  given  up  every  thing.  And 
now  tlie  (juestion  that  arose  was  this,  did  Black 
Bill  really  require  so  touch  precaution,  and  so 
great  a  sacrifice  ?  It  was  not  likely  that  Black 
Bill  could  Saw  given  any  information  to  the 
police ;  that  would  have  been  too  dangerous  to 
himself.  Besides,  if  the  police  had  hard  of 
such  a  story,  they  would  have  given  some  sign. 
In  England  every  thing  is  known,  and  the  police 
are  forced  to  work  openly.^  Their  detective  iws- 
tem  is  n  clumsy  one  compared  with  the  vast  sys- 
tem of  secrecy  carried  on  on  the  Continent.  Had 
they  found  .out  any  thing  whatever  about  so  im- 
portant a  case  as  this,  some  kind  of  notice  or  oth- 
er would  have'JtJJpeared  in  the  papers.  Gualtier 
had  n^sr  ceased  to  watch  for  some  such  notice, 
but  bdd  never  found  one.  So,  with  such  opin- 
ions about  the  English  polled,  he  naturally  con- 
cluded that  they  knew  nothing  about  him. 

It  was  therefore  Black  Bill,  and  Black  Bill 
only,  against  whom  he  had  to  guj^rd.  'As  for 
him  it  was  indeed  possible,  he  th^ght,  tha»  he 
was  still  watching,  but  ha^^dly  probable.  He  was 
not  in  a  position  to'spend  so  many  months  in 
idle  watching,  nor  was  heable  tp  employ  a  con- 
federate. Still  less  was  it  possible  for  such  a 
man  to  win  the  landlord  over  to  his  gide,.and 
thns  get  his  assistance.  The  more  he  thought 
of  these  things  the  more  useless  did  it  seem  to 
entertain  ■  any  further  fear,  and  the  more  irre- 
-  Bjstible  did  his  desire  become  to  regain  posses- 
sion of  those  articles,  which  to  him  were  of  so 
much  value.  Ijtfler  «uch  circumBtancesy^  ho 
finally  resolved  to  make  an  effort. 

Yet,  so  cautioiu  was  he  by  nature,  so  wary 
and  vigijknt,  and  so  accustomed  to  be  on  his 
?nard,  that  in  this  case  he  determined  to  run  no 
risk  by  any  exjws'ure  of  his  person  to  observa- 
tion. He  therefore  deliberated  carefully  about 
various  modes  by  which  lie  could  apply  to  the 
lamllord.  At  first  he  thought  of  a  disguise ;  but 
nnally  rejected  this  idea,  thmking  that,  if  Black 
Bill  were  really  watching,  ho  would  expect  some 
kind  of  a  disguise.  At  last  he  decided  that  it 
»obM  be  safest  to  fifid  «ome  tind  of  a  messen- 
|w,  «nd  send  him^a^er  instructing  him  wljat  (a 


THE  CRYPTOGRAM. 


kind  of  messenger  which  Would  be  best  suited  to 
hi%  and  was  unwilling  to  take  any  other. 

Among  the  multitude  which  London   holds 
almost  any  type  of  man  can  be  found,  if  one  looks 
long  enough.    The  one  which  Gualtier  wished  is 
a  common  kind  there,  and  he  did  not  have  a  long 
search.     A  street  boy,  sharp,  quick-witted,  nim- 
ble^ cunning— that  was  what  he  wanted,  and  that 
was  what  hb  found,  after  regarding  many  differ- 
ent specimens  of  that  tribe  aud  rejecting  ^icm 
The  boy  whom  he  selected  was  somewhat  less 
ragged  than  his  companions,  with  a  demure  face 
which,  however,  to  His  scrutinizing  eyes,  did  not 
conceal  tlie  precocious  maturity  of  mind  and  fer- 
tility of  resource  which  lay  beneath.     A  few 
words  sufficed  to  explain  his  wish,  and  the  boy 
eagerly  accepted  the  task.     Gualtier  then  took 
him  to  a  cheap  clothing  store,  and  had  him  dressed 
in  clothes- which  gave  him  the  appearance  of 
being  the  son  of  some  gfnall  tradesman.     After 
this  he  took,him  to  his  room  in  the  hotel,  and 
carefully  instructed  him  in  the  part  that  he  Was 
to  perform. ,   The  boy's  wits  were  quickened  by 
London  Mfe;  the  promise  of  a  handsome  reward 
quickened  them  still  more,  and  at  length,  after 
a  final  questioning,  in  which  he  did  his  part  to 
satisfaction,  Gualtidr  gave  him  the  address  of 
the  lodging-house. 

''I  am  going  we8t,"soid  he;  "I  will  be  back 
befbre  eight  oclock.  You  must  come  at  eieht 
exactly." 

"  Yes  V,"  said  the  bpy. 

"Very  well.  Ng^o."  And  the  boy^'^with 
a  bob  of  his  heod,  tj^^is  departure. 

The  boy  went  ofj^iffia  at  length  reached  the 
place  which  Gimltier  hadindicated.  He  rane  at 
the  door.  ''"  \  * 

A  servant  came. 

"IsthisMr.  Gillis's?" 

"Yes." 

"Islfoin?"  \,t      • 

"  Do  you  want  to  seeliiint''       - 

"Yes." 

"What  for?"  >  \ 

"Particular  business."      . 

"  Come  in,"  said  the  servant ;  and  the  bov  en- 
tered the  hall  and  Waited.     In  a.  few  mbments 
Mr.  Gillis  made  his  appearance.     He  regarded  ' 
the  boy  carefully  from  head,±d  foot.   . 

">Como  into  the  p«i!lef>"»aid  be,  leading  the 
way  mto  a  room  on  thjljght.  The  boV  followed, 
and  Mr.  Gillis  shut  tUWoor. 

"Well,"  said  he,  seating  himself,  "what  is  it 
that  you  want  of  me  ?" 

"My  father,"  said  the  boy,  "is  a  grocer  in 
Blackwall.  He  got  a  letter  this  morning  from 
afne^d  of  his  who  stopped'here  some  time  back. 
He  had  to»go  to  America  «f  a  sudden  and  lef^    , 


Mk  for  and  what  to  W. 


-^  tj''!!  resolte^Jie-took  a  walk  qui,  »ii  me 
W«l  o«  the  follqwing  morning,  looking  cnre- 
jm  M  the  faces  of  the  «reat  multitude  which 
tronged  the  street,  and  trying  to  find  s^me  one 
ij"'^'  be  suited  to  his  patj>o8e. "  In  that 
erowd  there  were  many  who  would  have  gladly 
,™*r'«'ten  •»«  busitoeiw  if  Ji&had  asked  them, 
■Bt  Gualtier  hod  made  np  his  mind  ela  to  the 


his  things 
"Ah!  , 

of  the  lod{ 
"Mr. 
"  Brown 

such  a  lodgei 


to  get 'em.',, 
Willis.  ''*T\*!uit  is  tte  name 

iid  thfthofi       ••       » 
.  Cls  Gillis.    "  Yes,  there  was 
iij^f,  bill  I  don't  know  jaboui 


,     things.    *jn  wWt^herra-Tnmnent  till  I  g5 
Mid  ask  Mrs.  GJIIis.wv 

V  Saying  this^r. 
about  fifteen  rtrtwe 

"Well,  my  boy;*__^ 
things  of  Mr.  Brown's  h« 
you  have  come  for  thi 
on?" 


the>  room.  After 
IS  he  rettti-ned. 

1  there  are  some 
I  believe;  and 

Ave(  you  a  wag- 


..'v-jsr-i    ;• 


'It.  ■ 


JSC  ' 


THE  CRYPTOGRAM. 


CAUEFUI4.Y   ISSTUUCTEU   HIM   IS  THE   PART  HE   WA8  TO   IfKRFOUM. 


"No.  I  only  come  to  see  if  they,  were  here, 
and  to  get  your  bill." 

"And  vour  father  is  Mr.  Brown's  friend  ?" 

"Yes'r."     , 

"And  Mr.  Brown  wrote  to  him?" 

"Yes'r." 
'.  "  Well,  you  know  I  wouldn't  like  to  give  up 
the  things  on  nn  uncertainty.     They  are  very 
rnluablc.      I  would  require  some  order  from 
your  father."     -^       ' 

"Yes'r." 

Mr.  Gillis  asked  a  number  of  questions  of  the 
boy,  to  which  he  responded  without  hesitation, 
and  then  left  the  room  again,  saying  that  hf 
\vould  go  and  i^ake  out  Mr.  Brown's  bill. 

lie  WAS  gone  a  long  time.     The  boy  amused 
himself  by  staringatthe  things  in  the  room,  at  the 
.ornaments,  and  pictju^-Mtu  began  to  think  that 
Mr.  Gillis  was  neVer  ooming.back,  when  at  last 
1:  jfootstftpsivere  heard  in  thehall,  thedoor  opened, 
,  Wd  Mr.  Gillis  entered,  followed  by  two  other 
*men.     Oius^of  thefte  men  had  the  face  of  a  prize- 
fighter, 0/ a  ticket-of-leave  man,  with  abundance 
,  Of  black  hair  and  beard ;  his  eyes  were  black  and 
piercing,  and  his  face  was  the  same  which  has 
alreojdy  been  described  its  the  face  of  Black  Bill. 
Bot'  he  was  respectably  Aressed  in  black,  he 


wore  a  beaver  hat,  and  had -lost  something  of  l)is 
desperate  air.  The  fact  is,  the  police  had  taken 
Black  Bill  into  their  employ,  and  he  was  doing 
very  weH  in  his  new  occupation.  The  other  wfls 
a  sharp,  wiry  man,  with  a  cunning  face  and  n 
restless,  fidgety  manner.  Both  he  and  Black 
Bill  looked  crfrefuUy  at  the  boy,  and  at  length 
the  sharp  man  spoke :  t 

' '  You  young  rascal,  do  you  know  who  I  am  ?" 

The  boy  started  and  looked  aghast,  terriftcd 
by  such  ftn  address. 

"  No,  Sir,"  he  whimpered. 

' '  Well,  I'm  Thomas  S.  Davis,  detective.    Do 
you  nniderstand  what  that  means  ?" 
'    "  Yes  'r,"  said  the  boy,  whoso  self-possession 
completely  vanished  at  so  fortoidablo  on  an- 
nouncement. 

"Come  now,    yoiing  fellow,"  said   DaMS, 
"you've  got  to  own  up.    Who  are  you ? ' 

'-M'lH  the  son  of  Mr.  B.  F.  Baker,  groceiv^ 
Blackwall,"  said  the  boy,  in  a  quick  monotone. 

"What  street?" 

"  Queen  Street,  No.  17,"  said  the  bd>'. 
'  "  There  ain't  no  such  street." 


"There  is,  'cos  he  lives  there." 
"You  young  rascal,  don't  y 


know?" 


you  suppose  I 


--S* 


.U  .*^.' 


THE  CRYPTOGRAM. 


"Well,  t  onght^ft  know  the  place  wheie  I  was 
bred  end  bomd,"  Haid  the  boy. 

"  You're  a  young  scamp.  You  needn't  try  to 
coroo  it  over  me,  you  know.  Why,  I  know 
Blackwall  by  heart.  There  isn't  such  a  street 
there.     Who  sent  you  here  ?" 

"Father." 

"What  for?" 

"  He  got  a  letter  from  a  man  as  used  to  stop 
here,  askii)'  of  him  to  get  his  things  away." 

"  What  is  the  name  of  the  riian  ?" 

"Mr.  Brown." 

"  Brown  ?" 

"Yea'r." 

"  Where  is  tliis  Mr.  Brown  now  ?" 

"In  Liverpool." 

"  How  did  he  get  there  ?" 

"  lie's  just  come  back  from  America." 

"Seo  here,  boy,  you've  got  to  own  up,"  said 
Davis,  suddenly.  "I'm  a  detective.  We  be- 
long to  the  police,  tjo  make  a  clean  breast  of 
it." 

"Oh,  Sir!"  said  the  boy,  in  terror. 

"Never  mind  'Oh,  Sir!'  but  own  up,"  said 
Davis.     "You've  got  to  do  it." 

"  I  ain't  got  nothin'  to  own  up.  Km  sure  1 
don't  see  why  you're  so  hard  on  a  poor  cove  as 
never  did  you  no  harm,  nor  nobody  else." 

And  saying  this  the  boy  sniveled  violently, 

"I  s'pose  your  dear  maiAttia  dressed  you  up 
in  your  Sunday  clothes  to  come  here  ?"  said  the 
detective,  sneeringly. 

"No,  Sir,"  said  the  boy,  "she  didn't,  'cos 
Bbe's  dead,  she  is." 

"  Why  didn't  your  father  come  himself?" 

"  'Cos  he's  too  busy  in  his  shop." 

"Did  you  ever  hear  the  name  of  this  Brown 
before  to-day  ?"  « 

"No, "Sir,  never  as  I  knows  on." 

"  But  you  said  he  is  a  friend  of  your  father's." 

"So  he  is,  Sir." 

"  And  you  never  heard  his  name  before  ?" 

"  Never,  Sir,  in  rtiy  life.  Sir— not  this  Brown." 

"  Is  your  father  a  religious  man  ?" 

"  A  what,  Sir  ?" 

"A  religious  man." 

"Idunno,  Sir."  i 

"Does  he  go  to  church?"  ^       v. 

"Oh,  yss'r,  to  meetin'  on  Sundays." 
.    "What" meeting?" 

"Methodist,  Sir." 

"Where?" 

"At  No.  13  King  Street," said  the  boy,  with- 
out a  moment's  hesitation. 

"  YdU  young  jackass, "said  Davis.  "  No.  1 3 
Kfiig  Street,  and  all  the  numbers  near  it  in 
Blackwall,  are  warehouses— what's  the  use  of 
ttying  to  humbug  me?" 

"  Who's  a-trym'  to  humbug  you  ?"  whimpered 
the  boy.  "  I  don't  remember  the  numbers.  It's 
somewhere  in  King  Street.    I  never  go  myself." 

"  You  don't,  don't  jou  ?" 

"No^Sir." 

''Now^jee  here,  my  boy,"  said  Davis,  stem- 
«f,  "TknowyoK  Yrni  can  t  come  it  over  me. 
You've  got  into  a  nice  mess,  you  have.  You've 
got  mixed  in  with  a  conspiracy,  and  the  law's' 
goin'  to  take  hold  of  you  at  once  unless  you 
nwke  a  clean  breast  of  "it." 

i^Oh  Lord!"  cried  the 
Whntamla-doin'of?" 
-  "  Nonsense,  you  young  rascal !    Listen  to  me 


187 
Do  yon  know  any  thing 


boy.      "Stop  that. 


now,  and  answer  me. 
about  this  Brown  ?" 

"  No,  Sir.  Father  sent  me." 
'  "Well,  then,  let  me  tell  you  the  police  are 
after  him.  He's  afraid  to  coifle  here,  and  sent 
you.  Don't  vou  go  and  get  mixed  up  with  him. 
If  you  do,  it  'II  be  JMM  for  you.  This  Brown 
IS  the  biggest  viU|^pi  the  kingdom,  and  any 
man  that  cntchoMBf  'II  make"  his  blessed  for- 
tune. We're  on  ma  tracks,  and  we're  bound  to 
follow  him  up.  So  tell  mo  the  truth — where  is 
he  now  ?" 

"InLivei-pool,  Sir."     \ 

"  You  lie,  you  young  devil  IButJ^f  you  don't 
own  up,  it  'II  be  worse  for  you."  - 

"  How's  a  poor  cove  like  mo  to  kiiow  ?"  crieJf-' 
the  boy.     "  1  m  the  son  of  a  honest  man,  and  I 
don't  know  any  thing  about  your  police. " 

"You'll  know  a  blessed  sight  more  about  it 
before  you're  two  hours  older,  if  you  go  on  hum- 
buggin  us  this  fashion,"  said  Davis,  sternly. 

"I  ain't  a-humbuggin'." 

"  You  are— and  I  won't  stand  it.  Como  new. 
Brown  is  a  murderer,  do  you  hear  ?  There's  a 
reward  otlered  for  him.  He's  got  to  be  caught. 
You've  gone  and  mixed  yourself  up  with  this 
business,  and  you'll  never  get  out  of  the  scrape 
till  yon  make  a  clean  breast  of  it.  That's  all 
bosh  about  your  father,  you  know." 

"It  ain't,"  said  the  boy,  obstinately. 

"Very well, then,"said' Davis, rising.  "You've 
gfl  to  go  with  us.  Well  go  first  to  Blackwall, 
and,  by  the  Lord,  if  we  can't  find  your  father, 
we'll  take  it  out  of  you.  You'll  beput  inflie  jug 
for  ten  yoars,  and  you'll  have  to  tell  after  all. 
Come  along  now. " 

Davis  grasped  the  boy's  hand  tightly  and  took' 
him  out  of  the  room.     A  cab  was  at  the  door. 
Davis,  Black  Bill,  and  the  boy  got  into  it  and 
drove  along  through  the  streets.     The  boy  was 
silent  and  meditative.     At  last  he  spoke : 

"  It's  no  use  goin'  to  Blackwall,"  said  he,  sulk- 
ily.    "  I  ain't  got  no  father." 

"Didn't  I  know  that?"  said  Davis.  "You 
were  lying,  you  know.  Are  you  goin'  to  own 
up  ?"  ^ 

"I  s'pose  I  must." 

"  Of  course  you  must."  ''^ 

"  W«ir,  will  you  let  me  go  if  I  tell  you  t/ll?" 

"If  you  tell  all  we'll  let  yqu  go  sometime,  but 
we  will  want  you  for  a  while  yet." 

"Well,"  said  the  boy,  "I  can't  help  it.  I 
s'pose  I've  got  to  tell." 

"Of  course  you  have.  And  now,  first,  who 
sent  you  here? 

"Mr.  Brown." 

"  Ah  I  Mr.  BnJwn  himself.  Where  did  you 
see  him  ?" 

'■'In  the  Strand." 

"Did  you  ever  see  him  before?" 

"  No.     He  picked  mV^p,  ajidi 

"  Do  vou  knoW  where  fiirlslodgiii 

"Yes'-r." 
Where?" 


here.' 


"  At  the  Strand  Hotel.     He  to 
room  and  told  me  what  I  was  ti 
know  any  thing  about  him  or  his 
only  went  on  an  errand. " 

'"Of  course  you  did,"  said  Davis,  encourag- 
ingly. "  And,  if  you  tell  the  truth,  vou'U  be  aft 
right;  but  if  you  try  to  humbug  us,''  he  added, 
sternly,  "  it '11  be  the  woi-se  for  you.    Don't  you 


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188 


THE  CRYPTOGRAM. 


go  and  mix  yonrself  np  in  a  murder  case.  I 
don't  want  any  thing  more  of  you  than  for  yoo 
to  take  us  to  this  man's  room.  You  were  to  see 
him  again  to-day — of  coarse." 

"Yes'r."  * 

"At  what  time?" 

"  Kight  o'clock. 


"Well— it's  now  four.     You  take  us  to  hiS)  Jiight  from  her  own  couch,  until  at  last  she  had 

rkfn       Otlfl    IVaMI    UraSf  t1./..>A    "       '  Ina*   nn«a.»! ..^ .      1 ^    -11    1 ^  ■  .    . 


room,  and  we'll  wait  there. 

Tlie  boy  assented,  and  tlie  cab  drove  off  for 
the  Strand  Hotel. 

The  crowd  in  front  of  the  hotel  was  so  dense 
that  it  was  some  time  before  the  cab  could  ap- 
proach the  entrance.  At  last  they  reached  it 
and  got  out,  Black  Bill  first,  and  then  Davis, 
who  still  held  the  hand  of  the  boy  in  a  tight 
grasp,  fur  fear  that  he  might  try  to  escape. 
They  then  worked  their  way  through  the  crowd 
and  entered  the  hotel.  Davis  said  something  to 
the  clerk,  and  then  they  went  up  stairs,  guided 
by  the  boy  to  Goaltier's  room. 

On  entering  it  no  one  was  there.  Davis  went 
into  the  adjoining  bedroom,  but  fonnd  it  empty. 
A  carpet-bag  was  lying  on  the  floor  open.  On 
examining  it  Davis  found  only  s  shaving-case 
and  some  changes  of  linen. 

"  We'll  wait  here,"  said  Davis  to  Black  BiU, 
as  he  re-entered  the  sitting-room.  "  He's  out 
now.  He'll  be  back  at  eight  to  see  the  boy. 
We've  got  him  at  last." 

And  then  Black  Bill  spoke  for  the  first  time 
since  the  boy  had  seen  him.  A  grim  smile 
spread  over  his  hard  features. 

"  Yit,"  said  he,  ^' we've  got  him  at  last!" 


CHAPTER  LVI. 

AT    HIS    BEDSIDE. 

tf EANWHiLB  Hilda's  position  was  a  hard  one. 
Days  passed  on.  The  one  who  came  to  act  as 
a  nurse  was  herself  stricken  down,  as  she  had  al- 
ready been  twice  before.  They  carried  her  away 
to  another  room,  and  Gretchen  devoted  herself 
to  her  care.  Delirium  come  on,  and  all  the  past 
lived  again  in  the  fever-tossed  mind  of  the  suf- 
ferer. Unconscious  of  the  real  world  in  which 
she  lay,  she  wandered  in  a  world  of  phantoms, 
where  the  well-remembered  forms  of  her  past  life 
surrounded  her.  Some  delirinms  are  pleasant. 
All  depend  upon  the  ruling  feelings  of  the  one 
upon  whom  it  is  fixed.  But  here  the  ruling  feel- 
ing of  Hilda  was  not  of  that  kind  which  could 
bring  happiness.  Her  distracted  mind  wandered 
again  through  those  scenes  through  which  she 
had  passed.  Her  life  at  Chetwj-nde,  with  all  its 
later  horrors  and  anxieties,  came  bock  before  her. 
Again  and  again  the  vision  of  the  dying  Earl  tor- 
mented her.  What  she  said  these  foreign  nurses 
heard,  but  understood  not.  They  soothed  her 
as  best  they  might,  and  stood  aghast  at  her  suf- 
ferings, but  were  not  able  to^jMlfiy  thing  to  al- 
leviate them.  **"**i0ffijnr*"'"""**i  her  mind 
turned  to  the  ofgnnBfS  of  the  last  few  days 

Flo  cne  DeosKK 


Meanwhile,  as  Hilda  lay  senseless.  Lord  Chet- 
wynde  hovered  between 'life  and  death.  The 
physician  who  had  attended  him  came  in  on  the 
morning  after  Hilda's  arrival,  and  learned  from 
the  nurse  that  Lady  Cbetwynde  had  come  snd- 
deidy,  more  dead  than  alive,  and  was  herself 
struck  down  by  fever.    She  had  watched  him  nil 


of  Lord  Chetwvnde ;  again  the  anguish  of  sus- 
pense'devoured  her,  as  she  struggled  against 
Weakness  to  reach  him ;  and  again  she  felt  over- 
whelmed by  the  shock  of  the  first  sight  of  the 
lick. man,  on  whom  she  thought  that  ane  saw  the 
stamp  of  death.  >., 


lost  consciousness ;  but  all  her  soul  seemed  bent 
^n.one  thing,  and  that  was  that  a  certain  medi- 
cine should  be  administered  regularly  to  Lord 
Chetwynde.  The  doctor  asked  to  see  it.  He 
smelled  it  and  tasted  it.  An  expression  of-horror 
passed  over  his  face. 

' '  My  God ! "  he  murmured.  "  I  did  not  dare 
to  suspect  it!     It  must  bo  so !"  « 

"Where  is  Lord  Chetwynde's  valet?"  he 
asked  at  length,  after  a  thoughtful  pause. 

"I  don't  know,  Sir,"  said  the  nurse. 

"He  always  is  here.    I  don't  see  him  now." 

"  I  haven't  seen  him  since  Lady  Chetwynde's 
arrival." 

"Did  my  Iddy  see  him ?" 

"I  think  she  did.  Sir." 

"  Yo)»  don't  know  what  passed?" 

' '  No,  Sir.  Excent  this,  that  the  valet  hurried 
out,  looking  very  pffle,  and  has  not  been  ^ack 
since. " 

"Ah!"  murmured  the  doctor  to  himself. 
"She  has  suspected  something,  and  has  come 
on.  The  volet  has  fled.  Could  this  scoundrel 
have  been  the  guilty  one  ?  Who  else  could  it  be  ? 
And  he  has  fled.  I  never  liked  his  looks.  He 
had  the  face  of  a  vampire. " 

The  doctor  took  away  some  of  the  medicine 
with  him,  and  at  the  same  time  he  took  with 
him  one  of  the  gksses  which  stood  on  a  table 
near  the  bed.  Some  liquid  remained  in  it  He 
took  these  away  to  subject  them  to  chemical 
analysis.  The  result  of  that  analysis  served  to 
confirm  his  suspicions.  When  he  next  came  he 
directed  the  nurse  to  administer  the  antidote 
regularly,  and  left  another  mixture  also. 

Lord  Chetwynde  lay  between  life  and  death. 
At  the  last  verge  of  mortal  weakness,  it  would 
have  needed  but  a  slight  thing  to  send  him  out 
of  life  forever.  The  only  encouraging  thing 
about  him  for  many  days  was  that  he  did  not 
get  worse.  From  this  fact  the  doctor  gained  en- 
couragemenlt  though  ho  still  felt  that  the  case 
was  desperate.  What  suspicions  he  had  formed 
he  kept  to  himself. 

Hilda,  msanwhile,  prostrated  br  this  new  at- 
tack, Ittf  helpless,  consumed  by  the  fierce  fever 
which  noted  in  all  her  veins.  FiercerSaid  fiercer 
it  grew,  until  she  reached  a  critical  point,  where 
her  condition  was  more  perilouH  than  that  of 
Lord  (^hetwynde  himself.  But,  in  spite  of  all 
that  she  bad  suffered,  her  constitution  was 
strong.  Tender  hands  were  at  her  service,  kind- 
ly hearts  sympathised  with  her,  and  the  doctor, 
whose  nature  was  stirred  to  its  depths  by  pity 
and  compassion  for  this  beautiful  stranger,  who 
had  thus  fallen  under  the  power  of  so  mysterious 
a  calamity,  tws  miwmlwng  In  his  attentioni.  . 
'ITw  crisisof  tha  fc»Br  cama,  WRMirdnriilglii,  ^"^ 
while  it  lasted,  he  staid  with  hor,  listening  to  her 
disconnected  ravings,  and  nndeistinding  enough 
ofwem  to  perceive  that  her  fiincy  was  bringing 
back  before  her  that  journey  from  England  to 
Lausanne,  whose  fiitigues  and  anxieties  hod  i«> 
doced  her  to  this. 


;-,^^;a:>- 


Mjr  God !"  cri«a  the  doctor,  u  acme  sharper 
lamentation  bant  firom  Hilda;  "  it  would  be  bet- 
ter for  Lord  Chetwynde  to  die  than  to  survive  a 
wife  like  this^" 

With  the  morning  the  crisis  had  passed,  ahd, 
thanks  to  the  doctor's  care,  the  result  was  favor- 
able. Hilda  fell  into  a  profound  sleep,  but  the 
fever  had  left  her,  and  tne  change  was  fur  the 
better. 

When  the  doctor  letqmed  once  more  he  found 
her  awake,  withont  fever,  yet  very  feeble. 

"My  lady, "said  he.  "yon  must  be  more  care- 
ful of  yourself  for  the  sake  of  others.  Lord  Chet- 
wynde is  weak  yet,  and  though  his  symptoms  ar^ 
favorable,  yet  he  requires  the  greatest  care." 

"And  do  you  have  hope  of  him  ?"  asked  Hilda, 
eagerly.    This  was  the  one  thought  of  her  mind. 
f' I  do  have  hope,"  said  the  doctor. 
Hilda  looked  at  him  gratefully. 
"  At  present,"  said  the  doctor,  "yon  must  not 
think  or  talk  about  any  thing.     Above  all,  you 
most  restrain  your  feelings.     It  is  your  anxiety 
about  Lord  Chetwynde  that  is  killing  you.    Save 
yourself  for  his  sake." 

"But  may  I  not  be  carried  into  his  room?" 
pleaded  Hilda,  in  imploring  tones. 

"No ;  not  to-day.     Leave  it  to  me.    Believe 
-me,  my  lady,  I  am  anxious  for  his  recovery  and 
for  yours.     His  recovery  depends  most  of  all 
upon  you." 

"  Ym,"  said  Hilda,  in  a  faint  voice;  "far more 
than  you  know.  There  is  a  medicine  which  he 
must  have." 

"He  has  been  taking  it  through  all  his  sick- 
ness. I  have  not  allowed  that  to  be  neglected," 
laid  the  doctor. 

^.    "  You  have  administered  that  ?" 
L^  " Most  certainly.     It  is  his  only  hope." 
i  "  "And  do  you  understand  what  it  is?" 

"  Of  course.    More— I  understand  what  it  in- 
volves.   But  do  not  fear.   The  danger  has  passed 
now.    Do  not  let  the  anguish  of  such  a  discovery 
torment  you.     The  danger  has  passed.    He  is 
weak  now,  and  it  is  only  his  weakneia  that  I  have 
to  contend  with." 
"  You  understand  all,  then  ?"  repeated  Hilda. 
"  Yes,  all.     But  yon  must  not  speak  about  it 
now.    Have  6onftdence  in  me.    The  fact  that  I 
understand  the  disease  will  show  you  that  I 
know  how  to  deal  with  it.    It  baffled  me  before ; 
but,  as  soon  as  I  saw  the  medicine  that  yon  gave! 
J  suspected  and  understood." 
Hilda  looked  at  him  with  awful  inquiir. 
"Be  calm,  my  lady,"  said  the  doctor,  in  a 
sympathetic  voice.     "  The  worst  is  over.    You 
Iwve  saved  him." 

"  Sav  that  again,"  said  Hilda.  "  Have  I,  in- 
deed, done  any.  thing?  Havd*  I,  indeed,  saved 
hmi? 

"Most  nndonbtedlv.     Had  it  not  been  for 
yon  he  would  br  this  time  have  l>een  in  the 
other  world,"  said  the  doctor,  solemnly. 
Hilda  drew  a  deep  sigh. 
"That  is  some  consoUtion,"  iha  said,  in  a 
mournful  voice. 

You  are  too  weak  now  to  twlK  "bftnt  '^W 


THE  CBYFTOGRAAL 


189 


iiet  me  assure  yon  again  that  you  have  every 
wason  for  hope.  In  a  few  dars  yon  may  be  re- 
moved to  his  apartment,  where  your  lo^-e  and 
devotion  will  soon  meet  with  their  reward." 

..»"?'".'"•.*'""  th«*»g,"askB>UIUda,  earoeatly. 
It  Lord  Chetwynde  still  delirioua  r 


t'es— but  only  sli^tly  so.  It  is  more  like 
a  quet  sleep  than  any  thing  else ;  and,  while  he 
sleeps^  the  medicines  are  performing  their  appro- 
priate effect  upon  him.  Every  thing  is  progress- 
ing favorably,  and  when  he  regains  his  senses  he 
will  be  changed  very  much  for  the  better.  Hut 
now,  my  lady,  you  must  think  no  more  about  it. 
Try  and  get  some,  sleep.  Be  as  calm  in  your 
mind  as  yott  tan  until  to-morrow." 
And  with  these  words  the  doctor  left. 
On  the  following  day  he  came  again,  but  re- 
fused to  speak  on  the  subject  of  Lord  Chet- 
wynde's  illness;  he  merely  assured  Hilda  that 
he  was  still  in  an  encouraging  condition,  and 
told  her  that  she  herself  must  keep  calm,  so  that 
her  recovery  miglit  be  more  rapid.  For  sevei-al 
days  he  forbade  a  renewal  of  the  subject  of  con- 
versation, with  the  intention,  as  he  said,  of  spar- 
ing her  e\-ery  thing  which  might  agitate  her. 
Whether  his  preeautions  were  wise  or  not  may 
be  doubted.  Hilda  sometimes  troubled  herself 
with  fapcies  that  the  doctor  might,  perhiips,  sus- 
pect aH  the  truth ;  and  though  she  succeeded  in 
dismissing  the  idea  as  absurd,  yet  the  trouble 
which  she  experienced  from  it  was  sufficient  to 
agitate  her  in  many  ways.  That  fever-hanfited 
land  of  delirium,  out  of  which  she  had  of  kte 
emerged,  was  still  near  enough  to  throw  over  her 
soul  its  dark  and  terrific  shadows.  It  needed 
but  a  slight  word  from  the  doctor,  or  from  any 
one  else,  to  revive  the  accursed  memories  of  an  - 
accursed  past. 

Several  days  passed  away,  and,  in  spite  of  her 
anxieties,  she  grew  stronger.  The  longing  which 
she  felt  to  see  Lord  Chetwynde  gave  strength  to 
her  resolution  to  grow  stronger ;  and,  lis  once 
before,  her  ardent  will  seemed  to  swav  the  func- 
tions of  the  body.  The  doctor  noticed  this 
steady  increase  of  strength  one  day,  and  prom- 
ised her  that  on  the  following  day  she  «houId  be 
removed  to  Lord  Chetwyndes  room.  She  re- 
ceived this  intelligence  with  thirdeepest  itrati- 
tude.  ^       "^   ' 

"  Lord  Chetvvynde's  symptoms,"  continued  the 
doctor, ' '  are  still  favorable.  He  is  no  longer  in 
delirium,  but  in  a  kind  of  gentle  sleep,  which  is 
not  so  \*M  defined  bs  ^  be  a  stupor,  but  is  vet 
stronger  thMi  fth  ordinary  sleep.  The  medic'ipe 
which  is  being  administered  has  this  effect. 
Perhaps  yoii  Ire  aware  of  this  ?" 
Hilda  bowed. 
"I  was  told  so." 

"Will  yon  allow  me  to  ask  how  it  was  that 
you  obtained  that  particuUr  medicine?"  he  ask- 
ed.    "  Do  you  know  what  it  involves  ?" 

"  Yee,"  said  Hilda ;  "  it  is  only  too  well  known 
to  me.    The  horror  of  this  well-nigh  killed  me. " 
"  How  did  you  discover  it— or  how  did  yon 
suspect  it?" 

Hilda  answered,  withont  a  moment's  hesita- 
tion: 

"The  snddenneu  of  Lord  Chetwynde's  dis- 
ease ahtrmed  me.  His  valet  wrote  about  his 
symptoms,  and  these  terrified  me  still  more.  I 
hurried  up  to  London  and  showed  his  report  to 
A  UMuiiin  txfhmn  pliysKiaii.  '"vxe  looked^sfaixTlt^^ 
od,  asked  me  much  about  Lord  Chetwynde's 
health,  and  gave  me  this  medicine.  I  suspected 
fW>m  his  manner  what  he  feared,  though  he  did 
not  express  his  fiiar  in  words.  In  short,  jt  seem- 
ed to  me,  from  what  he  said,  that  this  medicine 
waa  the  ontitlote  to  tomepoUbn." 


ikY,i^i:/^'jLi.j^.2j.^.'^J^^i^i7>:.\ 


.  190     ' 

"Yon  are  right,"  gaid  the  doctor,  lolemnly'; 
and  then  he  remained  silent  for  a  long  time. 

"  Do  you  suspect  any  one  ?"  he  asked  at  last 

Hilda  sighqd,  and  slowly  taid  : 

"Yes— I  do. " 

"Who  is  the  one?" 

She  paused.  In  that  moment  there  were 
struggling  within  her  thoughts  which  the  doctor 
did  not  imagine.  Should  she  be  so  base  as  to 
•ay  what  was  in  her  mind,  or  should  she  not? 
That  was  the  question.  But  rapidly  she  pushed 
aside  all  scruples,  and  in  a  low,  stem  voice  she 
said: 

"I  suspect  his  valet." 

"  I  thought  so,"  said  the  doctor.  "  It  could 
have  been  no  other.  But  he  must  have  had  a 
motive.  Can  you  imagine  what  motive  there 
could  have  been  ?" 

"I  know  it  only  too  well,"  said  Hilda, 
"though  I  did  not  think  of  this  till  it  was  too 
late.  He  was  injured,  or  fancied  himself  injured, 
by  Lord  Chetwynde,  and  liis  motive  was  venge- 
ance." 

"And  where  is  he  now?"  asked  the  doctor. 

"He  was  thunder-struck  by  my  appearance. 
He  saw  me  nearly  dead.  He  helped  me  np  to 
his  master's  room.  I  charged  him  with  his 
crime.  ,  He  tried  to  felter  out  a  denial.  In  inm. 
He  waS  crushed  beneath  the  over^vhelming  sur- 
prise. He  hurried  out  abruptly,  and  has  fled,  I 
suppose  forever,  to  some  distant  country.  As 
for  me,  I  forgot  all  about  him,  and  fainted  away 
'  by  the  bedside  of  my  husband." 

The  doctor  sighed  heavjiy,  and  wiped  a  tear 
from  his  eye.     .  if 

He  had  never  known  so  sad  a  case  as  this. 


THE  CRYPTOGRAM. 


CHAPTER  LVII. 

BACK   TO   LIFE. 

On  the  next  day,  according  to  the  doctor's 
promise,  Hilda  was  taken  into  Lord  Chetwynde's 
room,  t^he  was  much  stf'onger,  and  the  new- 
fpund  hope  which  she  possessed  of  itself  gave  her 
increased  vigor.  She  was  carried  in,  and  gently 
hiid  upon  the  sofa,  which  had  been  rolled  up 
close  by  the  bedside  of  Lord  Chetwynde.  Her 
first  eager  look  showed  her  plainly  that  during 
the  interval  which  had  elapsed  since  she  saw  him 
last  a  great  improvement  had  taken  place.  He 
was  still  unconscious,  but  his  unconsciousness 
was  that  of  a  deep,  sweet  sleep,  in  which  pleasant 
dreams  had  taken  the  place  of  delirious  fancies. 
His  face  had  lost  its  aspect  of  horror ;  there  was 
no  longer  to  be  seen  the  stamp  of  death ;  the  lips 
were  full  and  red;  the  cheeks  were  no  longer 
simken ;  the  dark  circles  had  passed  away  from 
around  the  eyes ;  and  the  eyes  themselves  were 
now  closed,  as  in  sleep,  instead  of  havingthat  half- 
open  appearance  which  before  was  so  terrible 
and  so  deathlike.  The  chill  damp  had  left  his 
forehead.  It  was  the  face  of  one  who  is  sleeping 
in  pleasant  slumlwr,  instead  of  the  face  of  one 
who  was  sinking  rapidly  into  the  realm  where 
the  sleep  is  eternal.  All  this  Hilda  saw  at  the 
tint  ginnce. 

Her  heart  thrilled  within  her  at  the  rapture 
of  that-discovery.  The  danger  was  over.  'I'he 
crisis  had  passed.  Now,  whether  he  lay  there 
for  a  longer  or  a  shorter  period,  his  recovery  at 


last  was  certain,  as  far  as  any  thing  human  and 
mortal  can  be  certain.  Now  her  eyes,  as  fliey 
tamed  toward  him,  devoured  him  with  all  their 
old  eagerness.  Since  she  had  seen  him  last  she 
too  had  gone  down  to  the  gates  of  death,  and 
she  had  come  back  again  to  take  her  place  at 
his  side.  A  strange  joy  and  a  peace  that  passed 
all  nnderstanding  arose  within  her.  She  sent 
the  nurse  out  of  the  room,  and  once  more  was 
alone  with  this  man  whom  she  loved.  His  face 
was  turned  toward  her.  She  flung  her  arms 
about  him  in  passionate  eagerness,  and,  weak  as 
she  was,  she  bent  down  her  lips  to  his.  Uncon- 
scious he  lay  there,  but  the  touch  of  his  lips  wns 
now  no  longer  lijse  the  touch  of  death. 

She  herself  seemed  to  gain  new  strength  from 
the  sight  of  him  as  he  thus  lay  in  that  manly 
beauty,  which,  banished  for  a  time,  had  now  re- 
tumed  again.  She  lay  there  on  her  sofa  by  his 
bedside,  and  held  his  hand  in  both  of  hers.  She 
watched  his  ^ce,  and  scanned  every  one  of  those 
noble  lineamehts,  which  now  lay  before  her  with 
something  like  their  natural  beaitty.  'Hopes 
arose  within  her  which  brought  new  strength 
every  moment.  This  was  the  Jfe  vriiich  she  had 
saved.  Sheforgot— did  not  choose  to  think— that 
she  had  doomed  this  life  to  death,  an/i  chose 
only  to  think  that  she  had  saved  it  from  death. 
Thus  she  thought  that,  when  Lord  Chetwynde 
came  forth  out  of  his  senselessness,  she  would 
be  the  first  object  that  would  meet  his  gaze,  and 
he  would  know  that  he  had  been  saved  from 
death  by  her. 

Here,  then,  she  took  np  her  place  by  his  bed- 
side, and  saw  ho^^ry  day  he  grew  better. 
Evety  day  she  he|||^BHined  her  old  streneth, 
and  could  at  lend^^Htbout  the  room,  though 
she  was  still  thi'alM|lble.  So  the  time  pass- 
ed ;  and  in  th«  room  the  one  who  first  escaped 
from  the  jaws'^f  death  devoted  herself  to  the  task 
of  assisting,  the  other. 

At  last,  one  morning  as  the  sun  rose.  Lord 
Chetwynde  waked.    He  looked  around  the  room. 

£e  lifted  himself  up  on  his  elbow,  and  saw  Hil- 
i  asleep  6n  the  sofa  near  his  bed.  He  felt  be- 
wilfjered  at  this  strange  and  unexpected  figure. 
How  did  she  get  here?  A  dim  remembrance 
of  his  long  sickness  suggested  itself,  and  he  had 
a  vague  idea  of  this  figure  attending  upon  him. 
But  the  ideas  and  remembrances  were  too  shsd' 
owy  to  be  grasped.  The  room  he  remembered 
partially,  for  this  was  the  roopi  in  which  he  ha^ 
sunk  down  into  this  last  sickness  at  Lausanne. 
But  the  sleeping  form  on  the  sofa-puzzled  him. 
He  had  seen  her  last  at  Chetwynde.  What  was 
she  doing  here?  He  scanned  her  narrowly, 
thinking  that  he  might  be  mistaken  from  some 
chance  resemblance.  A  further  examination, 
however,  showed  that  he  was  correct.  Yes,  this 
was  "his  wife,"  ret  how  changed!  Pale  as 
death  was  that  face;  those  features  were  tBln 
and  attenuated ;  the  eyes  were  closed  ;  the  hair 
hung  in  black  masses 'round  the  marble  brow; 
an  expression  of  sadness  dwelt^ there;  and  in 
her  fitful,  broken  slumber  *he  sighed  hearilv. 
He  looked  at  her  long  and  stcadfusily,  and  then 
jank  wearily  down  upon  the  pillows,  btit  still 
kept  his  eyes  fixed  upon  this  woman  whom  he 
saw  there.  How  did  she  get  here  ?  What  was 
she  doing?  What  did  it  all  mean?  His  re- 
membrance could  not  supply  him  with  facts 
which  might  answer  this  question.     He  conU 


not  understand,  and  so  he  lay  there  in  bewUdep- 
ment,  making  feeble  conjectures. 

When  Hilda  opened  her  eyea  the  first  thing 
that  she  saw  was  the  face  of  Lord  Chetwynde, 
whose  eyes  were  fixed  upon  hers.  She  started 
and  looked  confused ;  but  amidst  her  confusion 
an  expression  of  joy  darted  across  her  face, 
■'  which  was  evident  and  manifest  to  Lord  Chet 
wyndo.  It  was  joy— eager,  vivid,  and  intense ; 
joy  mingled  with  surprise ;  and  her  eyes  at  last 
rested  on  him  with  mute  inquiry. 

"Are  you  at  last  awake,  my  lord  ?"  she  mur- 
mured.    "  Are  yon  out  of  your  stupor  ?" 

"  1  suppose  so,"  said  Lord  Chetwynde.  "  But 
I  do  not  understand  this.  I  think  I  must  be  in 
Lausanne. " 

T, ."  T^i.y""  ""^  '"  Lausanne,  my  lord,  at  the 
Hotel  Gibbon. 

"The  Hotel  Gibbon?"  repeated  Lord  Chet- 
wynde. 

"Yes.     Has  your  memory  returned  vet ?" 
<   "Only  partiany.     I  think  I  remember  the 
journey  hero,  but  not  \erj  well.     I  hardly  know 
where  I  came  from.    It  must  have  been  Baden. " 
And  he  tried,  but  in  rain,  to  recollect. 

"You  went  from  Frankfort  to  Baden,  thence 
to  Munich,  and  from  Munich  you  came  here  " 

"Yes,"  said  Lord  Chetwynde,  slowly,  as  he 
began  to  recollect.  "You  are  right.  I  begin 
to  remember.  But  I  have  been  ill,  and  I  was  ill 
at  all  these  places.    How  long  have  I  been  here*" 

"five  weeks."  F 

"Good  God!"  cried  Lord  Chetwynde.  "Is 
It  possible  ?  I  must  have  been  senseless  all  the 
time. 

"  Yes,  this  is  the  first  timd  that  you  have  come 
to  your  senses,  my  lord." 

'^  I  can  scarcely  remember  any  thing." 

"Will  you  take  your  medicine  now.  i*v 
lord  ?  •' 

"My  medicine?" 

"Yes,"  said  Hilda,  sitting  up  and  taking  a 
vial  from vthe  table;  "the  doctor  order«33  this 
to  be  given  to  you  when  you  came  out  of  vour 
itnpor.  ^ 

"  Where  is  my  nune  ?"  asked  Lord  Chetwynde. 
abruptly,  after  a  short  but  thoughtful  silence. 

She  IS  here,  my  lord.     She  wante  to  do  your 
bidding.     I  am  your  nurse." 

"You!" 

"Yes,  my  lord.  And  no\t— do  not  speak, 
btit  take  your  medieihe,"  said  Hilda;  aiid  she 
poured  out  the  mixture  into  a  wine-glass  and 
handed  it  to  him.         j 

He  took  it  mbchanically,  and  without  a  word 
and  then  his  head  fell  back,  and  he  lay  in  silenci 
lor  a  long  time,  trying  to  recall  his  scattered 
thoughts.    While  he  thus  lay  Hilda  reclined  on 
the  sofa  in  perfect  silence,  motionless  yet  watch- 
ful, wondering  what  he  was  thinking  about,  and 
waiting  for  him  to  speak.     She  did  not  venture 
to  interrupt  him,  although  she  perceived  plainlv 
hat  he  was  fully  awake.     She  chose  rather  to 
leave  him  to  his  own  thoughts,  anil  to  rest  her 
late  upon  the  course  which  those  thbughu  might 
.fv  ,.    '  '"*' '''®  silence  was  brokton. 
Mwve  been  very  illf  he  safiTilt  last,  Tn- 
qtunngly.  ^ 

"Yes,  my  lord,  very  ill.      Y*m  have  been^ 
I^'"  *•)*  ^^'y  borders  of  the  gmve." 
Yes,  it  must -have  been  severe.    I  felt  it 
commg  on  when  I  aitived  in  France,"  he  mur- 


•FHE  CRTPTOGftAM. 


mnred;  'i I  remember  now., 
near  about  it  ?" 


m 

'6^t  how  did  yon 


"  Your  valet  telegraphed.  He  was  frightened." 
said  she,  "and  sent  for  me." 
"  Ah  ?"  said  Lord  Chetwynde. 
Hilda  said  nothing  more  on  that  subject.  She 
would  wait  for  another  and  a  better  time  to  tell 
him  about  that.  The  story  of  her  devotion  and 
of  her  suffering  might  yet  be  made  known  to 
him,  but  not  now,  when  he  had  but  partly  re- 
covered from  his  deliriQm.  r      j 

Little  more  was  said.  In  about  an  hour  the 
nurse  came  in  and  sat  near  him.  After  some 
tinie  the  doctor  came  and  congratulated  him. 
Let  me  congratulate  you,  my  lord, "  said  he, 
on  your  favorable  condition.  You  owe  yoiTr 
hfe  to  Lady  Chetwynde,  whose  devotion  has  sur- 
passed any  thing  that  I  have  ever  seen.  She  has 
done  every  thing— I  have  done  nothing. " 

Lord  Chetwynde  made  some  commonplace  ' 
compliment  to  his  skill,  and  then  asked  liim  how 
'o"«'' would  be  before  he  might  recover. 

"  Ihat  depends  upon  circumstances, 'said  the 
doctor.  "Rest  and  quiet  are  now  the  chief 
things  which  are  needed.  Do  not  be  too  impa- 
tient, my  lord.  Trust  to  these  things,  and  rely 
upon  the  watchful  care  of  Lady  Chetwynde." 

Lord  Chetwynde  saidnothing.  'mfilda,  who 
had  listened  ««gerly  to  this  conversation,  though 
she  lay  with  closed  eyes,  his  silence  was  perplM- 
ing.  She  could  not  tell  whether  he  had  softened 
toward  her  or  not  A  great  fear  art>se  within 
her  that  all  her  labor  might  have  been  in  vain ; 
but  her  matchless  patience  came  to  her  rescue. 
She  would  wait— she  would  wait— she  should  at 
last  gam  the  reward  of  ber  patient  wailing. 

The  doctor,  after  fully  attending  to  Lord  Chet- 
wynde,  turned  to  her. 

"Yon  are  weak,  my  lady,"  he  said,  with  re- 
spectful sympathy,,  and  full  of  pltj-  for  this  de. 
vot^  wife,  who  seemed  to  him  only  to  live  in 
her  husband  s  presence.  "  You  must  take  mora 
care  of  yourself  for  hit  sake." 

Hilda  murmured  some  inarticulate  words,  and 
the  doctorjMlfter  some  further  directions,  with-  ' 

Days  passed  on.  Lord  Chetwynde  grew  stron- 
ger every  day.  -  He  saw  Hilda  as  his  chief  at- 
tendant and  most  devoted  nurse.  He  marked 
her  pale  facff,  her  wan  features,  and  the  traces  of 
snftenng  which  still  remained  visible.  He  saw' 
that  all  this  had  been  done  for  his  sake  Once 
when  she  was  absent  taking  some  short  rest,  he 
had  missed  that  instant  attention  which  she  had 
shown.  With  a  sick  man's  impatience,  he  waa 
troubled  by  the  clumsiness  of  the  hired  nurw. 
and  contrasted  it  with  Hilda's  instant  readinw^ 
and  gentle  touch,  and  soft  voice  of  love. 

At  last,  one  day  when  Hilda  was  giving  him 
soine  medicine,  the  vial  dropped  from  her  hands.      ■ 
and  she  sank  down  senseless  by  his  bedside! 
She  was  carried  away,  and  it  was  long  before 
she  came  to  herself. 

"  You  must  be  careful  of  yonr  lady,  my  lord  "      ' 
said  the  doctor,  after  he  had  seen  her.     "She 

has  worn  herself  out  for  you,  and  will  die  lume 

day  by  your  bedside.  Never  have  I  seen  sodi 
tenderness,  and  such  fond  devotion.  She  is  the 
one  who  has  saved  you  from  death.    She  ii  now 


pving  herself  to  death  to  insure  your  racoTerr 
Watch  over  her.  Do  not  let  ber  sacrifice  hendf 
now.    The  time  has  come  when  she  can  spu« 


193 


THE  CKYPTOGRAM. 


herself.  Snrely  now,  at  lost,  thei^  ought  to  be 
8ome  peace  and  rest  for  this  noble-hearted,  this 
gentle,  this  loving,  this  devoted  lady !" 

And  as  all  Hilda's  devotion  came  before  the 
mind  of  this  tender-hearted  physician  he  had  to 
wipe  away  his  tears,  and  turn  away  his  head  to 
conceal  his  emotion. 

But  his  words  sank*  deep  into  Lord  Chet- 
wynde's  souL 


CHAPTER  LVUI. 

AN  EXPLANATION. 

Time  passed  away,  and  Lord  Chetwynde  stead- 
ily recovered.  Hilda  also  grew  stronger,  and 
something,  like  her  former  vigor  began  to  come 
back.  She  was  able,  in  spite  of  tier  own  weak- 
ness, to  keep  up  her  position  aa  nurse ;  and  when 
the  doctor  remonstrated  she  declared,  piteously, 
that  Lord  Chetwynde's  bedside  was  the  place 
where  she  could  gain  the  most  benefit,  and  that 
to  banish  .her  from  it  would  be  to  doom  her  to 
death.  Lord  Chetwynde  was  perplexed  by  this 
'devotion,  yet  he  would  not  have  (Keen  human  if 
he  had  not  been  affected  by  it. 

As  he  recovered,  the  one  question  before  hiii' 
mind  was,  What  should  he  do?  The  business 
with  reference  to  the  payment  of  that  money 
which  General  Fomeroy  had  advanced  was  ar- 
ranged before  he  left  England.  It  was  this 
which- had  occupied  so  much  of  his  thoughts. 
All  was  arranged  with  his  solicitors,  and  noUiing 
remained  for  him  to  do.  He  had  come  to  the 
Continent  without  any  well-defined  plans,  n;iere- 
ly  in  search  after  relaxation  and  distraction  ftf 
mind.  His  eventful  illness  had  brought  other 
things  before  him,  the  most  prominent  thing 
among  which  waa.the  extraordinary  devotion  of 
this  woman,  from^,ifhd)n  he  had  been  planning 
an  eternal  separation.  He  could  not  now  accuse 
her  of  baseness.  Whatever  she  might  once  have 
done  she  had  sureir  atoned  for  during  those 
hours  when  «he  stood  by  his  bedside  till  she  her- 
self fell  senseless,  aa  he  had  seen  her  fall.  It 
would  have  been  but  a  common  generosity  which 
would  have  attributed  good  motives  to  her ;  and 
he  could  not  help  regarding  her  as  full  of  devo- 
tion to  himself. 

Under  these  circumstances  it  became  a  vary 
troublesome  question  to  know  wha!t  be  was  to 
do.  Where  was  he  to  go?  Should  he  loiter 
about  the  Continent  as  he  once  proposed  ?  But 
then,  he  was  uhder  obligations  to  this  devoted 
woman,  who  had  done  so  much  for  him.  What 
was  he  to  do  with  regard  to  her?  Could  he  send 
her  home  coldly,  without  a  word  of  gratitude,  or 
^without  one  sign  expressive  of  that  thankfulness 
which  any  human  being  would  feel  under  such  cir- 
cumstances ?  He  could  not  do  that.  He  must  do 
or  say  something  expressive  of  his  sense  of  obli- 
gation. '  To  do  otherwise — to  leave  her  abruptly 
— would  be  brutal.  What  could  he  do?  He 
could  not  go  back  and  live  with  her  at  Chet- 
wvnde.  There  was  another,  whose  image  filled 
.  all  his  heart,  and  the  memory  of  whose  looks 
TBd  words  made  all  other  things  nnattniciive. 
Had  it  not  been  for  this,  he  mast  have  yielded  to 
pity,  if  not  to  love.  Had  it  not  been  for  this,  he 
would  have  spoken  tender  words  to  that  slender, 
i^hite-faced  woman  who,  with  her  imploring  eyes, 
hovered  about  him,  finding  her  highest  happiiieu 


in  being  his  slave,  seeking  her  only  recompense 
in  some  kindly  look,  or  some  encouraging  word. 
All  the  circumstances  of  his  present  |>osition 
perplexed  him.  He  knew  not  what  to  do ;  and, 
in  this  perplexity,  his  mind  at  length  settled  upon 
India  as  the  shortest  way  of  solving  all  difficul- 
ties. He  could  go  back  there  again,  and  resume 
his  old  duties.  Time  might  alleviate  his  grief 
over  his  father,  and  perhaps  it  might  even  miti- 
gate the  fervor  of  that  fatal  passion,  which  had- 
arisen  in  his  heart  for  another  who  could  never 
be  his.  There,  at  any  rate,  he  would  have  suf- 
ficient occupation  to  take  up  his  Uioughts,  and 
break  up  that  constant  tendency  which  he  now 
had  toward  memories  of  the  one  whom  he  had 
lost.  Amidst  all  his  perplexity,  therefore,  the 
onlything  left  for  him  seemed  to  be  India. 

The  time  was  approaching  when  he  wduld  bs 
able  to  travel  once  more.  Lansarine  is  the  most 
beautiful  place  in  the  world,  on  the  shore  of  the 
most  beautiful  of  lakes,  with  the  stupendous  forms 
of  the  Jura  Alps  before  it ;  but  even  so  beautiful 
a  place  as  this  loses  all  its  charms  to  the  one 
who  has  been  an  invalid  there,  and  the  eye 
which  has  gazed  upon  the  most  sublime  scenes  in 
nature  from  a  sick-bed  loses  all  power  of  admir- 
ing their  sublimity.  And  so  Lord  Chetwynde 
wearied  of  Lausanne,  and  the  Lake  of  Geneva, 
and  the  Jura  Alps,  and,  in  his  restlessness,  he 
longed  for  other  scenes  which  might  bo  fresher, 
and  not  connected  with  such  mournful  associa- 
tions. So  he  began  to  talk  in  a  general  way  of 
going  to  Italy.  This  he  mentioned  to  the  doc- 
tor, who  happened  one  day  to  ask  him  how  he 
liked  Lausanne.  The  question  gnve  him  an  op- 
portunity of  saying  that  he  looked  upon  it  simply 
as  a  place  where  he  had  been  ill,  and  that  he  was 
anxious^o  get  off  to  Italy  as  soon  as  possible. 
"  Italy  ?"  said  the  doctor. 
"Yes." 

"  What  part  are  you  going  to?" 
"  Oh,  I  don't  know.      Florence,  I  suppose — 
at  first — and  then  other  places.     It  don't  much 
matter." 

Hilda  hoard  this  in  her  vigilant  "watchfulness. 
It  awakened  fears  within  her  that  all  her  devo- 
tion had  been  in  vain,  and  that  he  was  planning 
to  leave  her.  It  seemed  so.  There  was,  tliei-e- 
fore,  no  feeling  of  gratitude  in  his  heart  fur  all 
she  had  done.  What  she  had  done  she  now  re- 
called in  her  bitterness — all  the  love,  the  devo- 
tion, the  idolatry  which  she  had  lavished  npoc 
him  would  be  as  nothing.  lie  had  regained  the 
control  of  his  mind,  and  his  first  thought  was  to 
fly.  The  discovery  of  this  indifference  of  hii 
was  terrible.  She  had  trusted  much  to  her  de- 
votion. She  had  thought  that,  in  a  nature  like 
his,  which  was  at  opce  so  pure,  so  high-minded, 
and  so  chivalrous,  the  spectacle  of  her  noble  self- 
sacrifice,  combined  with  the  discovery  of  her  pro- 
fonnd  and  all-absorbing  love,  would  have  awak- 
ened some  response,  if  it  were  nothing  stronger 
than  mere  gratitude.  And  why  Should  it  not  be 
so?  she  thought.  If  she  were  ugly,  or  old,  it 
would  be  different  But  she  was  young ;  nnd, 
more  than  this,  she  was  beautiful.  True,  her 
cheeks  were  not  cb  roundedin  they  once  were, 
her  eyes  were  more  hollow  than  they  used  to  be, 
the  pallor  of  her  complexion  was  more  intense 
than  usual,  and  her  hps  were  not  so  red ;  but 
what  then  ?  These  were  the  signs  and  the  marks 
which  had  been  left  apon  her  face  by  that  death- 


.i,R,;t/l,.-;.t.:'^:A.i^t^ 


,-;»'ii;'-:.i'.'iaii,.....^ 


.i. ...,,*»»:,>■-■    ')^       ■   ^i\ 


iMi  deroUonMich  she  had  shown  toward  him. 
If  there  wis  any  change  in  her,  he  alone  was  the 
cause,  and'  she  had  ofTered  herself  np  to  him 
ITiat  pallor,  that  delicacy,  that  weakness,  and 
that  emaciation  of  frame  were  all  the  visible  signs 
and  tokens  of  her  self-sacrificing  love  for  him 
These  things,  instead  of  repelling  him,  ought  to  at- 
tract him.    Moreover,  in  stite  of  all  these  things, 

«^en  ""n  her  wasted  form,  she  could  see  that 

The  was  yet  beautiful.     Her  dark  eyes  beamed 
more  darkly  than  before  from  their  hollow  orbs 
against  the  pallor  of  her  face  the  ebon  hair  shone 
more  lustrously,  as  it  huni;  in  dark  voluminous 
masses  downward,  and  the  white  face  itself 
showed  features  that  were  faultlessly  beautiful 
Why  should  he  turn  awajr  from  so  beautiful  a 
woman,  who  hyl  so  fully  proved  her  love  and 
her  devotion  ?    She  felt  that  after  thU  conspicu- 
ous example  of  her  loVe  he  conld  never  again 
bMg  forward  against  her  those  old  charges  of 
deceit  which  he  had  once  nttered.     These  at 
Ims^  were  dead  forever.    All  the  letters  which 
she  had  written  from  the  very  first,  on  to  that 
last  letter  of  which  he  had  spoken  so  bitterly— 
1^  were  now  amply  atoned  for  by  the  devotion 
of  the  last  few  weeks— a  devotion  that  shrank 
not  ftom  suffering,  nor  even  from  death  itself. 
Why  then  did  he  not  reciprocate?    Why  was  it 
that  he  held  himself  aloof  in  such  a  manner  from 
her  caresses?    Why  was  it  that  when  her  voice 
grew  tremulous  ftom  the  deep  love  of  her  heart 
she  found  no  response,  but  onlv  saw  a  certain 
embarrassment  in  his  looks?    "There  mtistlWe 
some  cause  for  this.    If  he  had  been  heart-whole 
she  thought,  he  must  have  yielded.    There  is 
something  in  the  way.     There  is  some  other 
love.    Yes,  that  is  it,  she  concluded ;  it  is  what 
I  saw  before.     He  loves  another  I 

At  length,  one  day,  LcW  Chetwynde  began 
to  sp^k  to  her  more  directly  about  his  plans. 
He  had  made  np  his  mind  to  make  them  known 
to  her,  and  so  he  availed  himself  of  the  first  op- 
portunity. "^ 
"I  must  soon  take  my  departwre,  Ladv  Chefr. 
wynde,  said  he,  as  he  plunged  at  once  into  iba 
midst  of  affairs.  "I  have  made  up  my  mind 
to  go  to  Italy  next  week.  As  I  intend  to  return 
to  India  I  shall  not  go  back  to  England  again. 
All  my  business  affairs  are  in  the  hands  of  my 
•ohcitors,  and  they  will  arrange  all  that  I  wish 
to  be  done." 

By  this  Lord  Chetwynde  meant  that  his  so- 
licitors would  arrange  with  Hilda  those  money- 
matters  of  which  he  had  once  spoken.  He  had 
too  much  consideration  for  her  to  make  any  di- 
rect allusion  to  them  now,  bit  wished,  neverthe- 
less, that  she  should  onderMand  his  words  in 
this  way.  \ 

And  in  this  way  she  did  understand  them. 
Her  comprehension  and  apprehension  were  full 
•nd  cemplete.  By  hU  ton(e  and  his  look  more 
than  by  his  words  she  .pdrceived  that%he  had 
gained  nothing  by  all  her  devotion.  He  had  not 
mwit  to  inflict  actual  suffering  on  her  by  these 
words.  He  had  simply  used  ihem  because  he 
_^^!>mtJtma Jiest  to  acqni^  ber  with  hia 
n»Ue  liTthe  most  direct  way,  and^u  he  had  tried 
|w  a  long  time  to  find  some  delicate  way  of  do- 
^tlus  without  success,  he  had  at  length,  in 
Wspenjtion,  adopted  that  which  was  most  sim- 
*  and  plain,  bat  to  Hilda  it  was  abrupt,  and 
•««MJ«h  she  waa  not  altogether  unprepared,  yet 
N 


TEIB  CRYPTOGRAM. 


193 

ih!^*!,'!!"'  *  ^"nder-chip,  and  for  a  moment 
she  sank  down  into  the  depths  of  despair. 
„f  li.  ^  she  rallied.  In  spite  of  the  consciousness 
of  the  truth  of  her  position— a  truth  which  wal 
unknown  to  Lord  Chetwynde-she  felt  as  though 
Wh.?"?  'I^'aT""'^  ingTBtitude  and  injustice 
Wha  she  had  done  entitled  her,  she  thought,  to 
something  more  than  a  cold  dismissal.  All  her 
pnde  and  her  dignity  arose  in  arms  at  this  slight. 

she  listened  to  his  Words.     Then  all  the  pent-up 
feelings  of  her  heaSt^urst  forth  irrepressiW 

Lotd  Chetwynde,"  said  she,  in  a  low  and 
mournful  vo.ce,  "I  once  would  not  have  said  to 

the  right  to  say  it,  nor  if  I  had  would  mv  pride 
have  permitted  me.  But  now  I  feel  thati  hive 
^rned  the  nght  to  say  jt ;  and  aa^lo  my  pride, 
that  has  long  since  b«en  buried  in  the  dust! 
Besides,  your  words  render  it  necessary  that  I 
should  speak,  and  no  longer  keep  silence.  We 
had  one  interview,  in  which  you  did  all  the 
speaking  and  4  kept  silence.  We  had  another  - 
interview  in  Which  I  made  a  vain  attempt  at' 
conciliation.  I  now  wish  to  speak  merely  to 
explain  thingb  as  they  have  been,  and  as  they 
are,  so  that  hereafter  you  may  feel  this,  at  least, 
that  I  have  b^n  frank  and  open  at  last. 

'Lord  Chetwynde,  you  remember  that  old^ 
bond  that  Wund  me  to  von.  What  was  I  ?  A 
^1  of  teny^a  child.  Aflerward  I  was  held  to 
,»^  bond;  under  circumstances  that  have  been 
impressed  upon  my  memory  indelibly.  My  fa- 
ther  in  the  last  hour  of  his  life,  when  delirium 
was  upon  him,  forced  me  to  carry  it  out  You 
were  older  than  L  You  were  a  grown  man.  I 
was  a  child  of  fourteen.  Could  you  not  have 
found  snme  way  of  saving  me?  I  was  a  child. 
You  wei-e  a  man.  Could  you  not  have  obtained 
some  onj  who  was  not  a  priest,  so  that  such  a 
mockeiy  of  a  marriage  might  have  remained  a 
mockery,  and  not  have  become  a  reaUty?  It  • 
would  have  been  easy  to  do  that  My  fether's 
last  hours  would  then  have  been  lightened  all 
^jesame,  while  you  and  I  would  not  have  been 
J^'^Kin  that  irrevocable  vow.  I  tell  you.  Lord 
Chet^^e,  Jhat,  in  the  years  that  followed,  this 
thought  was  often  in  my  mind,  and  thus  it  was 
tliat  I  learned  to  hiy  upon  yon  the  chief  blame 
of  the  events  that  resulted. 

"You  have  spoken  to  me,  Lord  Chetwynde, 
in  very  plain  language  about  the  letters  that  I 
wrote.  You  found  in  them  taunts  and  sneers 
which  you  considered  intolerable.  Tell  me,  my 
lord,  if  you  had  been  in  my  position,  would 
j'on  have  been  more  generous?  Think  how  gall- 
ing It  is  to  a  proud  and  sensitive  natote  to  dis- 
cover that  it  is  tied  np  and  bound  beyond  the 
possibility  of  release.  Now  this  is  fiir  worse  toY 
4  #oman  than  it  is  for  a  man.  A  woman,  un- 
less she  is  an  Asiatic  and  »fllave,  does  not  wish 
to  be  given  up  unasked.  I  found  myself  the 
property  of  one  who  was  not  only  indifferent  to 
me,  but,  as  I  plainlv  saw,  averse  to  me.  It  was 
but  natural  that  I  should  meet  scorn  with  acorn. 
Injom  Mtenf  eouid  iwni  botwaen^e  Bhat"— 
and  in  your  cold  and  constrained  answers  to 
your  father's  renurks  about  me  I  saw  how  strong 
was  your  aversion.  In  yonr  letters  to  me  this 
was  ftUl  more  evident  What  then?  I  waa 
proud  and  impetuous,  and  what  yon  merely 
hinted  at  I  expressed  openly  and  unmistakably. 


194 


V 


THE  CRYPTOGRABf. 


You  found  fault  with  tliis.     You.  may  be  right, 
but  my  conduct  was  after  all  natural. 

"  It  is  this,  Lord  Chet\\ynde,  which  will  ac- 
count for  my  last  letter  to  you.  Crushed  by  the 
loss  of  my  only  friend,  I  reflected  upon  the  dif- 
ference between  you  and  him,'  and  the  thought 
brought  a  bitterness  which  is  indescribable. 
Therefore  I  nrrote  as  I  did.  My  sorrow,  inst^ul 
of  softening,  imbittered  me,  and  I  poured  forth 
all  my  bitterness  in  that  letter.  It  stung  you. 
You  were  maddened  by  it  and  outraged.  Yon 
saw  in  it  only  the  symptoms  and  the  proofs  of 
what  you  chose  to  call  a  'bad  mind  and  heart.' 
If  you  reflect  a  little  you  will  see  that  your  con- 
clusions were  not  so  strictly  jost  as  they  might 
hare  been.  You  yourself,  you  will  see,  were  not 
the  immaculate  being  which  you  suppose  your- 
self to  be. 

_"  I  say  to  you  now.  Lord  Chetwynde,  that  all 
this  time,  instead  of  hating  you,  I  felt  very  dif- 
ferently toward  you.  I  had  for  you  a  feeling  of 
regard  which,  at  least,  may  be  called  sisterly. 
Associating  with  your  father  as  I  did,  possessing 
his  love,  and  enjoying  his  confidence,  it  would 
have  been  strange'  if  I  hod  not  sympathized  with 
him  somewhat  in  his  affections.  Your  nan^e  was 
always  on  his  lips.  You  were  the  one  of  whom 
he  was  always  speaking.  When  I  wished  to 
make  him  happy,  and  such  a  wish  was  always  in 
my  heart,  I  found  no  way  so  sure  and  certain  as 
when  I  spoke  in  praise  of  you.  During  those 
years  when  I  was  writing  those  letters  which 
vou  think  showed  a  '  bad  mind  and  heart, 'J  was 
incessantly  engaged  in  soiinding  your  praises  to 
yqur  father.  What  he  thought  of  me  you  know. 
If  I  had  a '  bad  mind  and  heart,'  he,  at  least,  who 
knew  me  best,  never  discovered  it.  He  gave  me 
his  confidence — more,  he  gave  me  his  love. 

"  Lord  ChetwjTide,  when  you  came  home  and 
crushed  me  with  your  cruel  words  I  said  nothing, 
for  I  was  overcome  by  your  cruelty.  Then  I 
thought  that  the  best  way  for  me  to  do  was  to 
show  you  by  my  life  and  by  my  acts,  rather  than 
by  any  words,  how  unjust  you  had  been.  How 
you  treated  my  advances  you  well  know.  With- 
out being  guilty  of  any  discourtesy,  you  contrived 
to  make  me  feel  that  I  was  abhorrent.  Still  I 
did  not  despair  of  clearing  my  character  in  your 
sight.  I  asked  an  interview.  I  tried  to  explain, 
but,  as  you  well  remember,  you  coolly  pushed  all 
my  explanations  aside  as  so  much  hypocritical 
pretense.  My  lord,  you  were  educated  by  your 
father  in  the  school  of  4ionor  and  chivaliy.  I 
will  not  ask  yon  now  if  your  conduct  was  chival- 
rous.   I  only  ask  you,  was  it  even  just  ? 

"  And  all  this  time,  my  lord,  what  were  my 
feelings  toward  you?  Let  me  tell  you,  ond  you 
yourself  can  judge.  I  will  confess  them,  though 
nothing  less  than  despair  would  ever  have  wrung 
Bnch.a  confession  out. of  me.  Let  me  tell  yon 
then,  my  lord,  what  my  feelings  were.  Not  as 
expressed  in  empty  words  or  in  prolix  letters,  but 
as  manifested  by  acts. 

"  Your  valet  wrote  me  that  you  were  ill.  I 
left  immediately,  filled  with  anxiety.  Anxiety 
and  fadgoe  both  overpowered  me.  When  I 
ch«tFnii&fbrrt  wu  RiHick  down  by  f&rir. 
It  was  becanae  I  fonnd  that  yon  had  left  that  my 
fever  was  so  severe.  Scarce  had  I  recovered 
than  I  hnrried  to  Baden,  finding  out  your  ad- 
dress from  the  people  of  the  Frankfort  Hotel. 
Yon  bad  gone  to  Munich.    I  followed  yon  to 


Munich,  so  weak  that  I  had  to  be  carried  into 
my  cab  at  Baden,  and  out  of  it  at  Munich.  At 
Munich  another  attack  of  fever  prostrated  me. 
r  had  missed  you  again,  and  my  anxjety  was  in- 
tolerable. A  thousand  dreary  fears  oppressed 
me,    I  thought  that  you  were  dying-^    • 

Here  Hilda's  voice  faltered,  and  she  popped 
for  a  time,  struggling  with  her  emotion.^' 

"  I  thought  that  you  were  dyirtg,"  she  repeat- 
ed. "In  my  fever  my  situation  was  rendered 
infinitely  worse  by  this  fear.  But  at  length  I  re- 
covered, and  went  on.  I  reached  Lausanne. 
I  found  you  at  the  last  point  of  life.  I  had  time 
to  give  you  your  medicine  and  leave  directions 
with  your  nurse,  and  then  I  fell  down  senseless 
by  your  side. 

"  My  lord,  while  vou  were  ill  /  was  worse. 
My  life  was  despaired  of  Would  to  God  that  I 
had  died  then  and  there  in  the  crisis  of  that  fe- 
ver I  But  I  escaped  it,  and  once  more  rose  from 
my  bed. 

*'  I  dragged  myself  back  to  your  side,  and 
staid  there  on  my  sofa,  keeping  watch  over  you, 
till  once  more  I  was  struck  down.  Then  I  recov- 
ered once  more,  and  gained  health  and  strength 
again.  Tell  me,  my  lord,"  and  Hilda's  eves 
seemed  to  penetrate  to  the  soul  of  I^rd  Cli'ct- 
wynde  as  she  spoke — "  tell  me,  is  this  the  sign 
of  a  '  bad  mind  and  heart  }>' " 

As  Hilda  had  spoken  she  had  evinced  tiie 
strongest  agitation.  Her  hands  clutched  one 
another,  her  voice  was  tremulous  with  emotion, 
her  face  was  white,  and  a  hectic  flush  on  either 
cheek  showed  her  excitement.  •  Lord  Chetwynde 
would  have  been  eithei*  more  or  less  than  hunlhill 
if  he  had  listened  unmoved.  As  it  was,  he  felt 
moved  to  the  depths  of  his  souL  Yet  he  could 
not  say  one  word. 

"  I  am  alone  in  the  world,"  said  Hilda,  mourn- 
fully. "  You  promised  once  to  see  obout  my  hap- 
piness. That  wos  a  vow  extorted  from  a  boy,  and 
it' is  nothing  in  itself.  You  said«  not  long  aRo, 
tliat  you  intended  to  keep  your  promise  by  sep- 
a|4ting  yourself  from  me  and  giving  me  some 
money.  Lord  Chetwynde,  look  at  me,  think  of 
what  I  have  done,  and  answer.  Is  this  the  wny 
to  secure  my  happiness  ?  What  is  money  to  me  ? 
Money !  Do  I  care  for  money  ?  What  is  it  that 
I  care  for  ?  I  ?  I  only  wish  to  die !  I  have  but 
a  short  time  to  live.  I  feel  that  I  am  doomed. 
Your  money.  Lord  Chetwynde,  will  soon  go  back 
to  you.  Spare  your  solicitors  the  trouble  to 
which  you  are  putting  them.  If  you  can  give 
me  death,  it  will  be  the  best  thing  that  you  can 
bestow.  I  gave  you  life.  Can  you  not  return  the 
boon  by  giving  me  death,  my  lord  ?" 

These  last  words  Hilda  wailed  out  in  low  tones 
of  despair  which  vibrated  in  Lord  Chetwynde's 
breast. 

"At  least,"  said  she,  "do  not  be  in  haste 
about  leaving  me.  I  will  soon  leave  you  forever. 
It  is  not  much  I  ask.  Let  nte  only  be  near  yea 
for  a  short  time,  my  lord.  It  is  a  small  wish. 
Bear  with  me.  You  will  see,  before  I  die,  that  I 
have  not  altogether  a  ' bad  mind  and  heart.'" 

Her  voice  sank  down  into  low  tones  of  suppli. 
cstion ;  TierTjead  drooped  forward ;  her  intensr^ 
feeling  overcame  her ;  tears  burst  from  her  eyes 
and  flowed  unchecked. 

"  Lady  Chetwynde,"  said  Lord  Chetwynde,  in 
deep  emotion,  "  do  as  you  wish.  You  have  kJt 
gratitude  for  your  noble  devotion.    I  owe  my 


life  to  yon      If  yoa  really  care  about  accomoa 
nying  me  I  will  not  thwart  your  wishes     Te^„" 

ZTa.C''"-     ^-"'o""  never  againVk  Of 
And/hi«  was  all  that  Lord  Chetwynde  said. 


THE  CKYPTOGRAM. 


]i>^ 


CHAPTER  LIX. 

ON   THE   BOAD. 


Before  Lord  Chetwynde  left  Lausanne  the 

r^d V  rh  !  *'f^  "'*  K^'  enthusiasm  upon 
Lady  Chetwynde 8  devotion  and  foresight:  but 
his  information  caused  Lord  Chetwynde  to  med 

that  the  doctor  had  said  this,  and  gave  ],er  ex- 
phination.  She  said  that  the  valet  hid  des^rited 
thesymptoms ;  that  she  had  asked  aUndTdS 

dote,     bhe  herself,  she  said,  did  not  know  what 

^e  ""''sha\'Id'"'h  '"'^r""^'y  "uspectM  the 
relet,     hhe  had  charged  him  with  it  on  her  ar-  I 
nval.     He  had  looked  very  much  confused  «nd  ' 
had  immed  atcly  fled  from  the  place.     iRuiU 
hj  her  opinion,  had  been  confirmed  by  his  fllX 
To  her  opinion  Lord  Chetwynde  assented   and 
wnclude<f  that  his  valet  wished  to  plunder 'hto 
.^.n- "*""""/  """y  """PJcious  circurtstane" 
about  him  and  remembered  that  be  had  taken 

ufied  with  the  letters  of  ^Commendation  ^hTch 
he  had  brought  and  which  he  had  not  takOT  the 
trouble  to  verify.  He  now  believed  that  these 
ette«  were  al  no  better  than  forgerics.^nd  that 
he  had  we  l-nigh  fallen  a  victim  to  one  of  the 
worst  of  villains.  In  his  mind  this  revelafl  of 
the  doctor  only  gave  a  new  claim  upon  his  irrat- 
itade  toward  the  woman  who  had  rescued  him 

witlrlura.,  His  position  was  embarmssing.  Here 
was  ft  won,r.n  to  whom  he  lay  under  the  deep- 
«t  obligations^  whose  tender  and  devoted  lo,^ 
was  manifested  in  every  word  and  action,  and 
SSm     W""^  utterly  incapable  of  reciprocating 

^Iff^l  i,-^''"  T  •*"•"''"'•  *""  her  b^utv  d"d 
aot  atfect  him  ;  she  was,  as  he  thought,  his  "wife 
yet  he  could  never  be  a  husband  to  her.     He; 
piteous  appeal  had, moved  his  heart,  and  forcal 

ward  impatiently  for  some  opportunity  of  lefving 
her.    He  could  think  of  India  only  as  the  olace 
*"■;<=»«  '^"f  i'ke'y  to  give  him  this^pp^rtuSv 
Md  concluded  thrfl  after  a  short  ml  i„  Floil 
ence  he  would  leave  for  the  East,  and  resume 

wrote  to  the  aiithonties  in  England,  and  applied 

^^ir'^^^i!^  V"  ?""«  P"""'""  in  the  Indian 
wrv ice,  which  he  had  not  yet  quitted,  or,  if  poss" 
be,  to  go  back  to  his  old  place.     A  return  t'^^n- 

whilt  """.'i'''  **"'y  '"'P«-  «nd  the  only  way  by 
which  he  could  escape  from  the  very  pecn  iar  di^ 
acuities  of  his  situation.  F^uimr  an 

A  T,.f-  ^'.g  gJgitioiu^Jie  loot4«f««j 
Mm"  ,??■  ui?^  coureMy^ch  well  tecame 
Mm^ and  whibh  might  pas.  very  well  foTthat 

S  t^ir  «^  °^  ^5''=''  •">  '««'  •'estitute.     His 

Zi.  V  .  "]'"^  ""^  •"'«  sense  of  obligation 
made  him  tenderiy  considerate.  If  Hilda  couW 
luve  been  content  with  any  thing  except  Sve  1 


content  with  this  she  was  not     It  was  «»w«I 

ai  remarks;  now  there  were  thinw  wlii.H  «I! 
Tnce"""^  "'""ft  to  an.intereiafge  S  'JonT 

oTh^fei^^J^sKKtSfRi: 

So^SLsfs^s^SS 

in  the  carriage;  she  touched  him/her  a™  S 

e  /n'th^oilih  J'l'"  *"•"='•  thrilled' tCS  her 
even  though  she  knew  too  well  that  he  was  col. 
and  calm  and  indifferent.  But  this  w«.  .?i  . 
a  better  thing  than  that  abhonSce Tnd  rS 
nance  which  he  had  formerly  m«^f^,edf'a„; 
the  fnend  y  smile  and  the  genid  rem^  k  ;hich 
he  often  directed  to  her  were  received  by  her  wth 
joy,  and  treasured  up  in  the  depth,  of  her  ^3 
us  something  precious;  "' 

Traveling  thus  together,  through  wenea  of 
grandeur  and  of  beauty,  «ated  .?de  bTsWeft 
was  impossible  to  avoii  a  closer  infimacv  thai 
r^sThe  ve^%''''i'!,'^  J^'^^•'«'^^™e?l•^ 
ness,  the^very  fact  that  he  wa«  thus  throm-n  into 
constant  contact  with  a  woman  who  wm  «  oncl 
beautiful  and  clever,  and  who  auBK  toe 
had  made  an  open  confession  of  •yC^tion  to 
him,  was  pf  itself  sufficient  to  Ins^REChinff 
hke  kindliness  of  sentiment  at  feaSt  iXTCrL 
even  though  that  heart  were  the^lS  and^he 
^8t  susceptible  that  ever  beat      The  "cLneS 

calculated  in  the  highest  degree  to  excite  a  mm 
munion  of  soul.  Hilda  was  dever  and  ven-r3 
with  a  deep  love  for  the  beautiful,  and  a  foS 
acquaintance  with  all  modem  literature^    There 

K,"sun".'rv"'''"/  '^'  '"i  i''«  "^^  *h-h  had 
w^^h  .h  *  ^  •P*^"'  "•■  "^eJebrated  in  fiction  of 
M  she  was  ignorant.  Femey,  «,cred  to  Vol- 
taire ;  Geneva,  the  birth-place  ofJiousaeau  •  the 
J^ira  Alps,  sung  by  Byron ;  the  tVu^nd  placM 
of  lesser  note  embalmed  by  French  ^  oIZ.- 
writers  in  song  and  story.Vere  aU  JrSt Jd^SJ 
her  with  a  delight  that  was  girlish  in  if^^lhusr 
nstic  demonstrativeness.  llrd  ChetwJndJ  h^' 
self  intellectual,  recogniiod  and  resL-t^  »ivl 

brilliant  intellect  ofhia'TompanTon.  "IK  tha? 


—  „,^  iMxcu  iiiB  lire  at  iije  risk  nf 

his  beds  de,  overworn  with  duties  8elf-iimms«l 
through  love  for  himc-the  woman  w^o  had  oviS 

at?aeTiirwffffKa"te:j^ 

thA^fc™.*."  "='"'"n"tance  had  contributed  toward 
theforma  ion  ofa  closer  association  between  thee» 
two.  Hilda  had  no  maid  with  her,  but  was  tr«! 
t"f,  ""•ttended.  On  leaving  Lausanw  Ae 
found  that  Gretchen  wa«  unwilling  to  go  to 
ftaly,  and  had,  therefore,  parted  wi*  her^ri* 
many  kind  word.,  and  the  bestowal  of  jot^S 


3^* 


190 


THE  CRYPTOGRAM. 


'      ^ 


i* 


sufficiently  valuable  to  make  the  kind-hearted 
German  maid  keep  in  Iver  memory  fur  many 
yearn  to  come  the  recollection   of  that  gentle 

tflauifenng  English  lady,  whose  devotion  to  her 
husband  hod  been  shown  so  signally,  and  almost 
at  the  cost  of  her  own  life.  Hilda  took  no  maid 
witli  her.  Kither  she  could  not  obtain  one  in  so 
sm.ill  a  place  as  Lausanne,  or  else  she  did  not 
cliooso  to  employ  one.  Whatever  the  cause  may 
,havo  been,  the  result  was  to  throw  her  more  upon 
the  cnro  of  Lord  Chetwynde,  who  was  forced,  if 
not  from  gratitude  at  least  from  common  polite- 
ness, to  show  her  many  of  those  little  attentions 
which  are  demanded  by  a  lady  from  a  gentleman. 
Traveling  together  as  they  did,  those  attentions 
were  required  more  frequently  than  under  ordi- 
nary circuiiistances ;  and  although  they  sfeemed 
to  Lord  Chetwynde  the  most  ordinary  common- 
places, yet  to  Hilda  every  separate  act  of  atten- 
tion or  of  common  politeness  carried  with  it  a  joy 
v*vhicli  was  felt  through  oil  her  being.  If  she  hod 
'  reasoned  about  that  joy,  she  might  perhaps  have 
seen  how  unfounded  it  was.  But  she  did  not 
reason  about  it ;  it  was  enough  to  her  that  he  was 
by  her  side,  and  that  acts  like  these  came  from 
him  to  her.  In  her  mind  all  the  past  and  all  the 
future  were  forgotten,  and  there  was  nottiing  but 
an  enjoyment  of  the  present. 

Their  journey  lay  through  regions  which  pre- 
sented every  thing  that  could  charm  the  taste 
or  awaken  admiration.  At  first  there  was  the 
grandeur  of  Alpine  scenery.  From  this  they 
emerged  into  the  softer  beauty  of  the  Italian 
clime.  It  was  the  8implon  Koad  which  they 
traversed,  that  gigantic  monument  to  the  genius 
of  Napoleon,  which  is  more  enduring  Lhati  even 
the  fame  of  Marengo  or  Austerlitz ; '  and  this 
road,  with  its  alternating  scenes  of  grandeur  and 
of  beauty,  of  glory  and  of  gloom,  had  elicited 
the  utmost  admiration  from  each.  At  length, 
one  day,  as  they  were  descending  tiiis  road  on  the 
slope  nearest  Italy,  on  leaving  Domo  d'Ossola, 
they  came  to  a  place  where  the  boundless  plains 
of  Lombardy  lay  stretched  before  them.  There 
the  verdurous  fields  stretched  away  beneath  their 
eyes — an  expanse  of  living  green ;  seeming  like 
the  abode  of  perpetual  summer  to  those  who 
looked  down  from  the  habitation  of  winter. 
Far  awny  spread  the  plains  to  the  distant  hori- 
zon, where  the  purple  Apennines  arose  bounding 
the  view.  Nearer  was  the  Lago  Maggiore  with 
its  wondrous  islands,  the  Isola  Bella  and  the 
Isola  Madre,  covered  with  their  hanging  gardens, 
whose  green  foliage  rose  over  the  dark  blue  wa- 
ters of  the  lake  beneath ;  while  beyond  that  lake 
lay  towns  and  villages  and  hamlets,  whoso  far 
wliite  walls  gleamed  brightly  amidst  the  vivid 
green  of  the  surrotmding  plain ;  and  vineyards 
also,  and  groves  and  orchards  and  forests  of 
olive  and  chestnut  trees.  It  was  a  scene  which 
no  other  on  earth  can  surpass,  if  it  can  equal, 
and  one  which,  to  travelers  descending  the  Alps, 
has  in  every  age  brought  a  resistless  charm. 

This  was  the  first  time  that  Hilda  had  seen 
this  glorions  land.  Lord  Chetwynde  had  visit- 
ed Naples,  but  to  him  the  prospect  that  lay  be- 

_1)eath  waa  as  striking  as  though  he  had  never 


seen  any  of  the  beauties  of  Italy.  Hilda,  however, 
felt  its  power  most.  Both  gazed  long  and  with 
deep  admiration  upon  this  matchless  scene  with- 
out uttering  one  word  to  express  their  emotions ; 
viewing  it  in  silence,  as  though  to  break  that  si- 


lence would  break  the  spell  which  had  been  thrown 
over  them  by  the  first  sight  of  this  wondrous  land. 
At  last  Hilda  broke  that  spell.  Carried  awny  by 
the  excitement  of  the  moment  she  started  tu'her 
feet,  and  stood  erect  in  the  carria«»;<Kiid  tlicn 
burst  forth  into  that  noble  paraphrase  which  By- 
ron has  made  of  the  gk>riou8  sonnet  of  Filicnja : 

"Italia I    O  lUlial  thou  who  hut 

The  fatal  gift  of  l)cauty,  which  became 
A  fuiicml  duwcr  of  present  woes  and  paMt, 
On  thy  sweet  brow  ia  sorrow  plowed  by  shame, 
And  annals  graven  in  characters  of  flame. 
O  Uod  I  that  thou  wert  In  thy  nakedncwi 

Less  lovely,  or  more  poweifnl,  and  conldxt  claim 
Thy  right,  and  awe  the  robbers  back,  who  ttcwn 
To  Bbed  thy  blood  and  drink  the  tears  of  thy  distress." 

She  stood  like  a  8ibyl,  iiospired  by  the  scene 
before  her.  Pale,  yet  lovely,  with  dl  her  Intel- 
lectual beauty  refined  by  the  sorrows  through 
which  she  had  passed,  she  herself  might  hn^-e 
been  taken  for  an  image  of  that  Italy  which  i-lie 
thus  invoked.  Lord  Chetwynde  looked  at  her, 
and  amidst  his  surprise  at  snch  an  outburst  of 
enthusiasm  he  had  som?  such  thoughts  as  these. 
Jiut  .suddenly,  from  some  unknown  cause,  Hilda 
sank  back  into  her  seat,  and  burst  into  tears. 
At  the  display  of  such  emotion  Lord  Chetwynde 
looked  on  deeply  disturbed.  What  possible  con- 
nection there  could  be  between  th^se  words  and 
her  agitation  he  could  not  see.  Bat  he  was  full 
of  pity  for  her,  and"  he  did  what  was  most  nat- 
ural. He  took  her  hand,  and  spoke  kind  words 
to  her,  and  tried  to  soothe  her.  At  his  touch 
her  agitation  subsided.  She  smiled  through  her 
tears,  and  looked  at  him  with  a  glance  that  spoke 
unutterable  things.  It  was  the  first  time  that 
Lord  Chetwynde  had  shown  toward  her  any  thing 
approaching  to  tenderness. 

On  that  same  day  another  incident  occurred. 

A  few  miles  bej-ond  Domo  d'Ossola  there  was 
nn  inn  where  they  had  stopped  to  change  horses. 
They  wailed  here  for  a  tima  till  the  horses  were 
ready,  and  then  resumed,  their  journey.  The 
road  wa»t  on  before  them  for  miles,  winding 
along  gently  iti  easy  curves  and  with  a  gradual 
descent  toward  those  smil(ng  vale^vhich  lay  be- 
neath them.  As  they  drove  onward  each  turn 
in  the  road  seemed  to  bring  some  new  view  be- 
fore them,  and  to  disclose  some  fresh  glimp.se  to 
their  eyes  of  that  voluptuous  Italian  beauty  wliich 
they  were  now  beholding,  and  which  appeared 
all  the  lovelier  from  the  contrast  which  it  pre- 
sented to  that  sublime  Alpine  scenery-^the  gloom 
of  awful  gorges,  the  grandeur  of  snow-cnjiped 
heights  through  which  they  had  been  journey- 
ing. 

Inside  the  carriage  were  Lord  Chetwynde  and 
Hilda.  Outside  was  the  driver.  Hilda  was  just 
pointing  out  to  Lord  Chetwynde  some  peculiar 
tint  in  the  pnrple  of  the  distant  Apennines  wlien 
suddenly  the  carriage  gave  a  lurch,  and,  with  a 
wild  bonnd,  the  horses  started  off  at  full  speed 
down  the  road.  Something  had  happened. 
Either  the  harness  had  given  way  or  the  horses 
were  frightened ;  at  any  rate,  thev  were  running 
away  at  a  fearful  pace,  and  the  driver,  erect  on 
his  seat,  was  striving  with  all  his  might  to  hold 
in  th«  maddened  animals.  His  efforts  were  iSL 
to  no  purpose.  On  they  went,  like  the  wind, 
and  the  carriage,  tossed  from  side  to  side  at 
their  wild  springs,  seemed  sometimes  to  leap  into 
the  air.  The  road  before  them  wound  on  down 
a  spur  of  the  mountains,  with  deep  rannes  on 


THE  CRYPTOGRAM. 


It  was  n  foarful  moment.  For  a  time  Hilda 
said  not  a  word;  she  sat  motionless,  like  one 
paralyzed  by  terror;  artd  then,  as  the  c^iZ 
gave  a  wilder  lurch  than  fcual   she  gave  ut^ 

around  Lord  Chetwynde.    /  °  "" 

"Save  me  I  fth,  save  me!"  she  exclaimed, 
hhe  clung  to  him  desperately,  as  thoueh  in 
Jus  chnging  to  him  she  fad  so^le  assur^cS  o" 
safety     Lord  Chetwynde  sat  erect,  lookipK  ont 
rhn""  "^'^  '^f"™  W"".  dowiKwhicluhS  w^' 
dashing  and  saying  not  a  wonl*    Mechanicals 
he  put  his  arm  around  this  paniclstrlcken  woman 
who  clung  to  him  so  tightly,  as  though  1^  U^a 
Bdent  gesture  hff  meant  ^^s'how  that^he^oSd 
protect  her  as  f^  as  possible.     But  in  so  neril 

At  last  the  horsM,  in  their  onwani  career. 

^e  to  a  carve  ra  th^  roftd,  where,  on  one  side. 

there  was  a  hill,  and  on  the  itherVd^livhy      It 

^«s  a  sharp  turn.     Their  impetus  was  "(k,^ ,wif 

S.rmv^nffTK""''^/'?""*'ri'»«'-  them, 'and  was 
tiirown  off  the  road  down'^e  decUvity.    For  a 


L4I0  HBB'DOWN.toeON  THB  OaASS." 


few  paces  the  horses  dragged  itxnward  as  it  lay 
on  Its  side,  and  then  the  weight  6f  the  carriage 
was  too  mnch  for  them.  They  .topped,  then 
staggered,  then  backed,  and  then,  with  a  heavy 
plunge,  both  carriage  and  horses  went  down  into 
the  gully  beneath. 
h  was  not  more  than  thirty  feet  of  a  descent 

fnl.  l"  ^rlT  """  """  '^'7  bed  «<■  «  mountniu 
torrent.     The  horses  struj^led  and  strove  to  free 
themselves.     ITie  driver  jumped  off  uninjured, 
and  sprang  at  them  to  stop  them.     This  he  sir! , 
ceeded  m  domg,  at  the  cost  ef  some  severe 

Meanwhile  the  occupants  of  Ui4  carriage  had 
telt  the  full  consciousness  of  the  danger      As  the   ' 
carriage  went  down  Hilda  clung  more  closely  to 
Ix>rd  Chetwynde.     Ho,  on  his  part,  said  not  a 
word,  but  braced  himself  for  the  fall.     The  car- 
nage rolled  over  and  over  in  its  descent,  and  all 
ast  stopped.     Lord  Chetwynde,  with  Hfldh  in 
nis  Arms,  was  thrown  violently  down.    A«  soon  ^ 
as  ho  could  he  raised  himself,  and  drew  HUda 
put  from  the  wreck  of  the  carriage. 

She  was  senseless. 

He  laid  her  down  upon  the  grass.  Her  eves 
were  clowd,  her  hair  was  all  disordered,  her  face 
was  as  Avhite  as  the  face  of  a  coti)sc.     A  stream 


l\ 


J 


of  blood  trickled  down  over  her  marble  forehead 
from  a  wound  in  her  head.  It  waiTa  piteoui 
■light. 

Lord  Chetwjrnde  took  her  in  liii  armi  and  car- 
rfed  her  off  a  little  diitunce,  to  a  place  where 
there  wm  some  water  in  the  l«d  of  the  brook. 
With  thii  he  nought  to  restore  her  to  conscipns- 
ncsg.  For  •  long  time  his  eftorts  were  unarkil- 
ing. 

At  last  he  called  t»-  the  driver. 

other,  he  said,  "and  ride  for  your  life  td^ the 
nearwJt  house.  Bring  help.  Theladyisstunnbd, 
and  must  be  taken  away  mi  soon  as  possible. 
Oct  tliem  to  knock  up  a  litter,  and  bring  a  couple 
of  stout  fellows  back  to  help  us  carry  her.  Make 
haste— for  your  life."  '  - 

The  driver  at  once  comprehended  the  whole 
litaation.     He  did  as  he  was  bid,  and  in  a  few 


THE  CRYrtOORAM. 


CHAPTER  LX.  '      / 

^*HB   CLAWi   OF  TUB   AMKBICAH   EAOLB. 

vi.u*Jr^''i"'*^.P1P'.'*^  ♦»  'P"^«  Naples  and 
^isit  other  places  in  Italy.  lie  intended  to  go 
to  Kome  and  Florence,  after  which  he  expfectS 
to  go  to  Venice  or  Mihin,  and  then  across  th'e 
Alps  to  Germany.  Two  vetturas  held  the^am- 
ihr,  And  in  due  time  they  arrived  at^Terraciuif 
Here  they  parsed  the  night,  and  ^Ur  on  the 

fhi  l^IIf  '^V^'%  •"'  ""i''  •"P**""*  to  traverse 
the  I'ontuie  Bfarshes  and  reach  Albono  by  even- 

'ITiese  famous  marshes  extend  from  Terraclna 
to  Nettuno.  iThey  are  about  forty-ffve  miles  in 
length  ond  from  four  to  twelve  in  breadth 
Drained  successively^by  Roman,  by  Goth,  arid  by 
pope,  they  successively  relapsed  into  their  natu- 
\   "?"•  ""'"  '■>«  perseverance  of  Mus  VI  com- 


shoulder,  tenderly  supported  ;  that  face  white, 
and  the  lips  bloodless,  the  eyes  closed,  and  blood 
trtfckhng  from  the  wound  on  her  head.     It  was 

m  '  ^'"''''*  "'*"  "  *''^*'  ""^  ""^  "'*'"  'P"''  ""■ 

And  I^rd  Chetwynde  was  moved  to  his  inmost 
■oul  by  that  sight. 

Who  was  this  woman  ?  His  wife !  the  one 
who  stood  between  him  and  his,de^ires. 

Ah,  true !     But  she  was  something  more. 

And  now,  as  he  looked  at  her  thus  lying  in 
tas  arms,  there  came  to  him  the  thought  of  all 
that  she  had  been  to  hira-the  thought  of  her  nn- 
aylng  love— her  matchless  devotion.  That  pale 
face,  those  closed  eyes,  those  mute  lips,  that 
beautiful  head,  stainea  wth  oozing  blood,  all 
spoke  to  him  with  an  eloquence  which  awakened 
a  response  within  him. 

"Was  this  the  end  of  all  that  love  and  that  de- 
votion? Wa*  this  the  fulfiUraent  pf  ^is  promise 
to  Geneml  Pomeroy?  Was  he  doing  by  this 
woman  as  she  had  done  by  him  ?  Hid  she  not 
made  more  than  the  fullest  atonement  for  the 

followed  himjthrough  Europe  to  seek  him  and  to 
snatch  hun  from  the  grasp  of  a  villain  ?  Had 
she  not  saved  his  life  at  the  risk  of  her  own? 
Had  she  not  stood  by  his  side  tHl  she  fell  lifeless 
at  his  feet  in  her  uni>arnlleled  self-devotion? 
ihese  were  the  questions  thai^cnme  to  him. 

~.^l?  ^^"S^V'  •""  ''  ''«  "i^hed  for  love, 
could  he  ever  find  any  equal  to  this?  That 
poor,  fr^l.  Blender  frame  pleaded  piteously ;  that 
white  face,  as  it  lay  upturned,  was  itself  a  prayer. 

Involuntanly  he  stooped  down,  and  in  his  deep 
ptty  he  pressed  Jiis  lips  to  that  icy  brow.  Then 
^a^t^UlT  '"'  ''^^'«d  «t  her.    Once  more  he 

w  if*  ^!!i?,?l  '•"*  »*"»  h"  «P»  met  hers. 
MyOgiir  he  groaned ;  "what  can  I  do? 
JVhy  did  r  ever  see— that  other  one  ?" 

An  hour  passed  and   the  driver  returned. 
Four  met.  came  wth  hwn,  <rarryi„g  »  rSde  lit- 
h       k   H'Ua's  senseless  form  was  placed 


■'^. 


A_  1  .1.       t "»<iioc»«ioo  luiiu  was  piaceu. 

whn«  T   V^l^f"^?*,'""  •»  *•"  »«""«'  house, 


.  ,;-,  -—  —  ■■  ■■■■—■.uiiiD  luuiiu  nere  jret 
their  living  by  hunting  and  by  robbery,  and  ore 
distinguwhed  by  their  pole  and  sickly  appear- 
ance, ^t  this  time  the  duturbed  state  of  Italy 
and  pai^larl^  of  the  papd  dominions,  made 
traveling  Sometimes  haaardous,  and  no  place  wm 
more  dapgerous  th^n  this.  Yet  Obed  gave  this 
I  no  thought,  but  started  on  the  journey  with  as 
much  cheerfidness  as  though  he  were  mnkiuK  a 
railway  trip  from  New  York  to  Philadelphia 

About  half-wav  there  is  a  solitary  inn,  situated 
close  by  the  road-side,  with  a  foHom  and  deso- 
late air  about  it.  It  is  two  stories  high,  with 
small  windows,  and  the  whitewashed  st^o  walU 
made  It  look  more  like  a  lazaretto  than  any  thine 
else.     Here  they  stopped  two  hours  to  f4d  the 

w«^/.S^  !P  "^^^  ""i' *''5«""'''-  The  place 
1^1.1  'c  *•""'  L^'P*  ^y  a  misereblft  old  man 
and  his  wife  on  whom  the  ujhiealthy  atmosphere 
ol  the  marshes  semaed  to  hkio  brought  a  prema- 

UII^K*^^-  .^^  «*"'••  "»'  "l^k  Italian,  so 
that  he  wos  debarred  from  the  pleasure  of  talk- 
ing with  this  man ;  but  he  exhibited  much  svm- 
pathy  toward  him,  and  made  hini  a  present  of  a 
bundle  of  cigars  — an  act  whicl*  the  old  mart 
viewe<l,  nt  first,  with  absolute  incredulity,  and  at 
length  with  rinutterable  gratitude. 

Leaving  this  place  thev  drove  on  for  i||)nt 
two  miles,  when  suddenly  the  cart-iage  in  wliich 
Obed  and  the  family  were  traveling  fell  fornnrd 
with  a  crash,  and  the  party  were  thrown  pell-  ■ 
mellK)gether.  The  horses  stoppedi  No  imury 
was  done  to  any  one,  and  Obed  got  out  to  see 
what  had  taken  ptace.  The  front  axle  was 
liroken. 

Here  was  a  rerv  awkward  dilemma,  and  it  was 
difficult  to  tell  what  ought  to  be  done.    There 
was  the  other  carriage,  but  it  was  small,  and     ' 
co^ld  not  contain  the  family.     The  two  maids, 
ateor  would  have  to  be  left  behind.  ,Obed  thou  At 
at  first,  of  sending  on  his  familf  and  waiting:     / 
but  he  soon  dismissed  this  idea.     For  the-pres-    / 
ent,  at  least,  lie  saw  that  they  would  have  to 
drive  back  to  the  inn,  and  this  they  flnallv.did. 
Here  Obed  exerted  all  his  ingenuity  and  all  his 
mechanical  skill  in  a  futile  endeavor  to  repair 
the  axle.     But  th«  rough  ^tch  which  he  suc- 
ceeded at  Inst  in  making  was  so  inefficient  that, 
on  attempting  to  start  once  more,  the  carriage 
again  broke  down,  and  they  were  forced  to  give 
np  this  hope. 


THE  CRYPTOGRAM. 


J 


«,.«,  „-  "     Z  ""  """o  '^     Ko  go  back  wm 

cWon  Ol[:Kf/l' "  "r  .««'T?<?'-     Th«  ele- 


ction OM  £,"a ny  a  rived  aTaTnf  •     '^''"'  ''* 
they  could  haveany  accommodation  Ahe  nl^h, 


projjoMl.;'"/^"'""  """'""!?»  "wrnned  at  this 
th«  Nme  K8  as  dangerous  ^^  ,he  n.Jd''^' it  iil 


•~"°"  •-  ,»  regular  lort.     J 
that  would  ottack  an  inn  ?'- 
"The  brigands,"  said  the  valet. -" rheVn, 

"Not  •  bit  of  it,"  said  Obad  •   "  !•»,  a„  n 
aware  that  I'm  alone  "  '      ^  ™''*®" 

"Pooh  I"   anul    niv.^  .    41  .L 


Alter  this  the  vulet  dravn  Imflt  »!.i,  .u 
H^l-i^^ocomerill^jr^-- 

heard  nothing  of  what  had  liS'Th"'" 
were  quite  iguortint  of  Ehe^xistmil^r  '^^^^ 
ger,  and  Obed  thoMht  it  ,he  iZ  „.    '"^  J*""- 

^  '*h[;£s9r^-^°" 

lawless  condition  an7,L"?;o"vrn'l  E'1  "^.f ' 
ber,  wen,  scouring  the  t^XVn-.o^es    °'j^ 


against  a  thousand.     But  Obed  W.  nln„„       !,' 
thU     Th.tl      T""*  "'''"^''  he  occupied  fArored 

exhalations.    Outside  of  thf.  '.' .  1"  ?  ""^^y, 


"Pooh!"  said  Obw]  •  «f.i,—  ,  '"K  pe«t  fla,  _„„„  „i. 


dammr      V  "  "■■•'."■»"  m  on  tne  look- 

.how,  himsei?  iTKdy  If  rr.:"?^  T'^y 

.r  •"?.'««'  Pl-e  for  th™  family^oS-f^K 
tt;i     a^Xcktar^     '  woul^^ti"! 

It -11  be  dSfbifo!:"  rn;:Vnd  z'  "•^'""•.'^  '«!"i'-« -' -« 

do  for  uT"  ^     *  ****"•  *""*  «*«  '^*'"  they  can 

2n?fan  he^S"^!l*?'r'^    HeVadcon. 
As hTU'J'tS,X^;«»<l had  madenphi, mind. 

which  WM  «„f,«  ..  •      '  *"••£' »'"'  *^"8"»  too. 


jSedtss^hS^sHS 

f^h.oned  four.posted   structure  oTUUus" 

.  All  these  things  Obed  took  i»  with  oiJe  ranid 
glance,,and  saw  the,«dvantage"of  his  Zirion      • 
In  these  roomt/with  his  revolver  nn,l  ^i 
nition,  he  felt  quite  at  ^^     He  ?eh  '^Z!i!"^  •" 

B^^eved  at  tha?  mcJIhent  tLt  he' 2  rTnow 
Italian,  for  he  wished  very  much  to  ..b  . 

questions  of  the  old  inn-kwiTr    h„?,v^  *"""' 

misfortune  which  he  hadSdire      """  ""^  * 

abou't  oufsfdV^S'^d'  "^""^  "^  ""^^"^ 
thanhnS-hu^^e^S^^i^hl^^I  - 

th.  h^T  """"^eives  possibly  in  alliance  with    tI^  r^j'  *"**  V^^  ""'*  he  replenished  the  fira       ^ 
S^s^B.^O,::^"^'""'-*'^ '"'«'»  change  S  -Pfo've  c^ken .  bedstid  i^^     . 


»<r2.r  ",T""«*  *"  •"«  '«Je»  had  produced  this 
Hw^ke.  ?^d  th3..,fj*^!^r°!*.  «».  ««^» 


awake,  and  thougl.  such  watchfulness  migteTtot 
be  needed,  yet  he  felt  that  for  his  fatBHy^ffi- 
it  was  wisest  and J)est.     To  sit  >A>  ^7-  i.f* 


a^<- 


200 


THE  CRYPTOGRAM. 


II    '/ 


Time  passed  on.  Midnight  came,  and  no- 
tliing  had  occurred.  Another  hour  passed ;  and 
then  another.     It  was  two  o'clock. 

About  a  quarter  of  an  hour  after  this  Obed 
was  roused  by  a  sudden  knoclting  at  the  door  of 
the  inn.  Shouts  followed.  He  heard  the  old 
man  descend  the  stairs.  Then  the  door  was 
opened,  and  loud  noisy  footsteps  were  heard  en- 
tering the  inn. 

At  this  Obed  began  to  feel  that  his  watchful- 
ness was  not  useless. 

Some  time  now  elapsed.  Those  who  had  come 
were  sufficiently  disorderly.  Shouts  and  cries 
nnd  yells  arose.  Obed  imagined  that  thev  were 
refreshing  themselves.  He  tried  to  guess' at  the 
possible  numl)er,  and  thought  that  there  could 
not  be  more  than  a  dozef,  if  so  many.     Yet  he 


only  some  brigands.  Bat  keep  cool.  I'll  take 
care  of  you.  Perhaps  you'd  better  get  up  ana 
dress,  though.  At  any  rate,  keep  cool.  You 
needn't  bother  as  long'as  you've  got  me." 


CHAPTER  LXI. 

Al  FLOREKCE. 


had  acquired  such  a  contempt  for  Italians,  and 
had  such  confidence  in  himself,  that  he  felt  very 
much  the  same,  at  the  prospect  of  an  encounter 
with  them,  as  a  grown  man  might  feel  at  an  en- 
counter with  as  many  boys. 

During  this  time  he  made  no  change  in  his 
position.  His  revolver  was  in  his  breast  pocket, 
and  he  had  cartridges  enough  for  a  long  siege. 
He  smoked  still,  for  this  habit  was  a  deeply  con- 
firmed one  with  Obed  ;  and  lolling  at  the  foot  of 
the  bed,  with  his  head  against  the  wall,  he  awnit- 
ed  further  developments. 

At  last  there  was  a  change  in  the  noise.  A 
silence  followed;  and  then  he  heard  footsteps 
moving  toward  the  hall.  He  listened.  The  foot- 
steps ascended  the  stairs ! 

They  ascended  the  stairs,  and  came  nearer  and 
nearer.  There  did  not  seem  to  be  so  many  as  a 
dozen.  Perhaps  some  remained  below.  Such 
were  his  thoughts. 

They  came  toward  his  room. 

At  length  he  heard  the  knob  of  the  door  turn- 
ing gently.  Of  course,  as  the  door  was  locked, 
and  as  the  bed  was  in  front  of  it,  this  produced 
no  effect  On  Obed  the  only  effect  was  that  he 
fat  upright  and  drew  his  revolver  from  his  pock- 
et, still  smoking. 

Then  followed  some  conversation  outside. 

Then  there  came  a  knock. 

"Who's  there?"  said  Obed,  mildly. 

• '  Aperite  1 "  was  the  answer,  in  a  liarsh  voice. 

"What?" 

"Aperite.  Siamo  poveri.  Date  vostro  ar- 
gento. 

"Me  don't  understand  /talian,"  said  Obed 
"Me  American.  Speeky  English,  and  go  to 
bkzesl 

At  this  there  was  a  pause,  and  then  a  dull 
deep  crash,  as  if  the  whole  body  outeide  had 
precipitated  themselves  against  the  door. 

Obed  held  his  pistol  qnickly  toward  the  door 
OBBpsite  the  thinnest  panel,  which  had  yielded 
■lightly  to  that  blow,  and  fired. 

Once  I 

Twice!! 
•Thrice!!! 

Three  explosions  burst  forth. 

And  then  came  sharp  and  sudden  deep  groans 
^jmin,  .intermingled  with  savage  yells  of  ragfc 


There  wag  a  sound  as  of  bodies  falling,  and  re- 
treating footsteps,  and  curses  low  and  deep. 

Loud  outcries  came  from  the  adjoining  room 
The  noise  hod  awaket<ed  the  fiunily. 

Obed  stepped  to  the  door. 

"Don't  be  afraid,"  Mid  he,  quietly.     "It'g 


After  her  accident  Hilda  was  carried  to  the 
nearest  house,  and  there  she  recovered,  after 
some  time,  from  her  swoon.  sHe  knew  nothing 
of  what  Lord  Chetwynde  had  thought  and  done 
during  that  timtf  when  she  lay  in  his  arms,  and 
he  had  bent  ov^er  her  so  full  of  pity  and  sorrow. 
Some  time  elapsed  before  she  saw  him,  for  he 
had  ridden  off  himself  to  the  nearest  town  to 
get  a  conveyance.  When  he  returned  it  was 
very  late,  and  she.  had  to  go  to  bed  through 
weakness.  And  thus  they  did  not  meet  until 
the  following  morning. 

When  they  did  meet  Lord  Chetwynde  asked 
kindly  about  her  health,  but  evinced  no  stronger 
feeling  than  kindness — or  pity.  She  was  pale 
and  sad ;  she  was  eager  for  some  sign  of  ten- 
derness, but  the  sign  was  not  forthcoming 
Lord  Chetwynde  was  kind  and  svmpathetic. 
He  tfied  to  cheer  her;  he  exerted"  himself  to 
please  her  and  to  soothe  her,  but  that  was  all 
That  self-reproach  which  had  thrilled  him  as«he 
lav  lifeless  in  his  arms  had  passed  as  soon  as  she 
left  those  arms,  and,  in  the  presence  of  the  one 
absorbmg  passion  of  his  soul,  Hilda  was  no- 
thing. 

When  they  resumed  their  journey  it  was  as 
before.  He  was  courteous  to  an  extreme.  He 
anticipated  her  wishes  and  saw  after  her  com- 
forts with  the  greatest  solicitude,  but  never  did/ 
he  evince  any  desire  to  pass  beyond  the  limit 
of  conventional  politeness.  To'  him  she  wi» 
simply  a  lady  traveling  in  his  company,  to 
whom  he  was  under  eveiy  obligation,  as  far^j 
gratitude  was  concerned,  qr  kindly  and  watcjifql 
attention,  but  toward  whom  no  feeling  of  ten/der- 
ness  ever  arose. 

He  certainly  neglected  none  of  those  ordinaiy 
acts  of  courteous  attention  which  are  ctitnmon 
between  gentlemen  and  Udies.     At  JUlan  he- 
took  her  around  to  see  all  the  sights /of  that 
famous  city.     The  Breda  Palace,  the/Ami)hi- 
theatre,  above  all,  the  Cathedral,  were  visited, 
and  nothing  was  omitted  which  migh/give  her 
pleasure.     Yet  all  this  was  different  from  what 
it  had  been  before.    Since  the  accident  Ifilda 
had  grown  more  sad,  and  lost  her  sArightlinew 
and  enthusiasm'.     On  first  recorerin*  her  senses 
she  had  learned  about  the  events  of  that  acci- 
dent, and  that  Lord  Chetwynde  had  tried  to 
bring  her  to  life  again.     She  had/hoped  much 
from  this,  and  had  fully  expected  Avhen  she  saw 
him  again  to  find  in  him  somethuig  softer  thin 
before.      In  this  she  bad  been/ utterly  disap- 
pointed.    Her  heart  now  sank  ilrithin  her,  and 
scareely  any  hope  was  left.     Lrtiguid  and  dull, 
ane  txie(r~no  longer  to  wiff  Lowl  Chetwrlidc  1^   ~ 
brilliancy  of  conversation,  or  bfr^enthnsiastic  in- 
terest in  the  beautiful  of  nature  and  of  art 
These  had  failed  once;    wh(^  should  she  try 
them  again  ?    And  since  he  Mad  been  unmoved 
by  the  spectacle  of  her  lifelesf  foim— the  narrow 
etcape  from  death  of  one  ^ho  ho  well  knew 


201 


I 

THE  CBYPTOGRAM.  .      ' 

At  lengtl/they  nsumed  their  journey  and  in  iT'  '?'"  "?''"«^  '"  hw  heart     K^i  1" 


took  placed  Their  arrival  here  terminated  that 
clo  e  assoj^mtion  enfonSbd  by  their  joumeywhch 
had  been^o  precious  to  Hilda.    Here  Lord  Chet 

tervnkT  t^*^  him  except  at  certain  stated  in 
hn^/ T?*"!  """^  ">«>  e™"-  she  began  to  lose 

hav^  loved  her  «nder  such  cireumstan^s  ?   ^" 

t  *'o«nce  Lord  Chetwvnde  went  his  o«t, 

ly.     He  visued  most  of  the  places  of  int«rf«J 

iri  company  with  her,  took  her  to^he  I  "?- 

!  Church  of  Santa  r»^„    .1,-  1.  .        .  t.   " 


merest)  1 


t.  rcu      L-'  ^  „      "  '  '"**  "or  10  tne  i;uo 
t^^  Church  of  &m,a  Cmce,  the  Palazzi  V^— 
M  l.>"i,  walked  with  her  thrpngh  the  oictuS 
f^^ne,  and  drove  oat  with  her  Mvemf  timel 

ana  ne  was  left  to  his  own  reSonrces,  and  she 
necessarily  to  hers.  She  could  not  teU  where 
wli  '"L**"'  ^^"^^y  conjectured  that  he  was 
rfhng  about  without  any  "^rticuhir  purwL  ?„ 
the  character  of  a  common  sight-seer.    ^^' 

with     f  i  "'•'"  '?«''''  '"'^  "o  rauch  to  herself 
without  the  ,oy  of  his  presence  to  softenTor 

there  began  to  rise  within  her  bitter  fe^lin,« 

o-:?™S™.r«s?th-rts?£E 

^tt  that  she  had  ever  left  Ch^^wjnde  and 

for  at  times  hope 'wou'w  '^S  S.^i 
tenderness  take  the  place  of  vindSk^n^^ 
From  hope  she  would  ,<gain  sink  into  desp^ 

SSScfbhon"  °"''  ""'^  '"•«'"^''«'  «  'he 
.1.^^  M ''?  *"  "'''' ''«''  P"*^e  '"»■  rowed.    Whv 


l«l  •      u  ——••— "(5   "CI    UCVOl 

honor' iit  rv'""  ''^•'-  Not  «H"t^"8ens;'of 
Ws  rnstrnrf,^f  ""  *""'-°"'  of  K'«titude,  not  nil 
brance  of  his  Jf  "'"""^'  ?°'«^'="  the  remem- 
e^v  !...  u  ^•'^™"  P"^"'**  f°  General  Pom- 
woy   could  excite  within  him  any  desire  Zf 

asJ^t^t^fKii^c^^^^^^^^^^^^^ 

mrhtr'hlm'^  TWs Tr  ^"^  ''"^  ''"-  «» 
on  that%he2l':?"«VeTu  S^^^ 
could  not  force  himself  to  muse  oCht  o^ 

Steirrte;rSiS-?s 

Fo    .?te"'rL7'i':?^''"'^'"''y"''=°"'="«dt^he  . 
».«„  .k  •  "^  '"*  '=oo'«'"  ™o«l8  he  now  feh 

nes  ot  His  life.  She  it  was  who  had  been  thn 
cause,  unwilling  no  doubt  as  he  now  thouKh?  bS 
«.ll  no  less  the  cause  of  the  blight  that  had  dt 

^nS'pre'^P^!?™"*  the  day  when%n,t 


— rnrni„„  I,       ,; ' '"  "'"  pos't'on— a  hanger-on  he  could  not  hoi.,  T     •        ,  '  ""  """  Pa''«ed 

forcing  herself  on  an  unwilling  man  who  at  fi«n««l  p        ^^  *'""""«  *''«  '^"y  when  first 

best  only  tolerated  her?    The  only  soft  ZLir  m^^?     if  °'"*'^?  P~P«^  ">«t  unholy  agree- 

for  Jier  that  had  ever  arisen  in  his  heart  w«  ^T'  i  *»*""•«  that  had  exiled  him  LThU 

S"?  r/«  than  Pi.y.    Could  ."e  t,^tl"  iTwliSSSPf  ^^P'^r'" 

ever  this  pity  would  change  to  love,  or  that  even  t.,Z^        ^"*  .'"emed'to  him  the  joys  of  vir- 

Ae  p,ty   tself  would  las??    Was  he  not  Iven  ^f2    '^  "'"^  '""  ^^"^  »"«»  been  filled  Vi^h 

BOW  longing  to  get  rid  of  her,  and  iW  ienHv  " '.  "^^V™"**  *'"«=h  "«*  was  never  a^ 

Kt"f  V^'i?**  .°f  »"•  I"d'»"  -pSS  ^"^.^^"l  ^y'\^^  to  this  woma^fwho 


«""  t  !ririi^\ri(ij-* ««' ""« «aid 


Wie  ■]..  ««^j -T*  «^*«»^  riw  «a,d,  be-   to  write.     Ahnv-  .hIT  -r*.  .^  ""^  «««* 


»»„ .«     .    T        .^  ""  ™""'  never  hope  in  aiiv 

^"^K"  ^'t^'r  *•"  J""'"  «»^s  h^x 

™!!i   I??'    Between  him  and  those  hopes  that 

h™^'  iSsr  •"'  "^  •"'•  -de«Tt£ 

lif- !!.*"f  !S^'  ''?.'?»"'«l  not  avoid  recaUina  hia 


new:  and  «»rn  ,nito  o£  WJf  J- ^TT' 
-«6*e  .lie  conid  not  i?  ^**'*^  *•  ««'^.  be- 

«iS*S'"not*S/*'*'  •"  ^"^  Chetwynde'. 
found  hkl Jr. „•  '"T  ,""*"•  «'»l«ble.  He 
SiSriU"  ,•  ^T"*""  "^^"^  »«  «»  once 
faT^,^  r  ^.  ^  •'J™'  "»««™'r  embarms- 

*  Of  common  generiMitr,  compeUirf  him  »o 


to  Write.    Ab;;i-riXre'  cZldTeve"rX;nr 

£w£Sh^/h!:;?'mSrrirr 
^s^^teX-"cr.tfe^^ 


^i**'- 


203 


THE  CRYPTOGRAM. 


him  from  death.  She  had  watched  by  him  day 
and  night  till  her  own  life  well-nigh  gave  way. 
i^he  hud  repented,  Bn4  had  mark^  her  repent- 
ance by  a  devotion  which  could  not  be  surpassed. 
For  all  this  he  felt  giUit^fnl.  His  gratitude,  in- 
deed, had  been  so  profound^and'so  sincere  that 
it  had  risen  up  between  him  and  his  just  hate, 
and  had  forced  him  to  forgive  her  fully  and  free- 
ly, and  to  the  uttermost,  for  all  that  she  had  done 
of  her  own  accord,  and  also  for  all  of  which  she 
had  been  the  accidental  cause.  He  had  lost  his 
repugnance  to  her.  He  could  now  talk  to  her, 
he  could  even  take  her  hand,  and  could  have 
transient  emotions  of  tenderness  toward  her. 
But  what  then  ?  What  was  the  value  of  these 
feelings  ?  He  had  fivrgiven  her,  but  he  had  not 
forgotten  the  past.  That  was  impossible.  The 
memory  of  that  past  still  remained,  and  its  re- 
sults were  still  before  him.  He  felt  those  results 
every  hour  of  his  life.  Above  all,  she  still  stood 
before  him  as  the  one  thing,  and  the  only  thing, 
which  formed  an  obstacle  between  him  and  his 
happiness.  He  might  pity  her,  he  might  be 
grateful  to  her ;  but  the  intense  fervor  of  one 
-^j^ssion,  and  the  longing  desire  to  which  it  gave 
rise,'ini[de-(t  impossible  for  her  ever  to  seem  to 
him  any  thing  else  than  the  curse  of  his  life. 

At  Florence  he  was  left  more  to  himself.  He 
was  no  longer  forced  to  sit  by  her  side.  He 
gradually  kept  by  himself;  for,  though  he  could 
tolerate  her,  he  could  not  seek  her.  Indeed,  his 
own  feelings  impelled  him  to  avoid  her.  The 
image  of  that  one  who  never  left  his  memory 
had  such  an  effect  on  him  that  he  preferred  soli- 
tude and  his  own  thoughts.  In  this  way  he 
could  best  struggle  with  himself  and  arrange 
his  lonely  and  desolate  future.  India  now  ap- 
peared the  one  hope  that  was  left  him.  There 
tie  might  And  distraction  from  troublesome 
thoughts  in  his  old  occupations,  and  among  his 
old  associates.  He  had  bidden  farewell  to  Cliet- 
wynde  forever.  He  had  left  the  fate  of  Chet- 
wynde  in  the  hands  of  his  solicitors;  he  had 
signed  away  all  his  rights ;  he  had  broken  the 
entail ;  and  had  faced  the  prospect  of  the  ex- 
tinction of  his  ancient  family.  This  resolution 
had  cost  him  so  much  that  it  was  impossible 
now  to  go  back  from  it.  The  exhibition  of  Hil- 
da's^evotion  never  changed  his  resolution  for 
anJMtant.  The  papers  still  remain^  with  his 
solicitors,  nor  did  he  for  one  moment  dream  of 
countermanding  the  ordera  which  he  had  once 
given. 

What  Lord  Chetwynde  most  desired  was  soli- 
tude. Florence  had  been  chosen  by  him  as  a 
resting-place  where  he  might  await  letters  from 
England  about  his  Indian  appointment,  and  for 
those  letters  he  waited  every  day.  Under  these 
circunfstances  he  avoided  all  society.  He  had 
taken  unpretending  lodgings,  and  in  the  H6tel 
Meubles,  overlooking  the  Ponta  delU  Trinita, 
he  was  lost  in  the  crowd  of  fellow-lodgers.  His 
suite  of  apartments  extended  over  the  third  story, 
lielow  him  was  a  Russian  Prince  and  a  German 
Grand  Duke,  and  above  and  alt  around  was  a 
crowd  of  travelers  of  all  nations.  He  brouKht 
no  letters.  He  desired  no  acquaintances.  FJ^- 
ence,  under  the  new  regime,  was  too  much  agi- 
tated by  recent  changes  for  its  noblesse  to  pay 
•nvattention  to  a  stranger,  howeverdistinguished, 
oniess  he  was  forced  upon  them ;  and  so  Lord 
Chetwynde  had  the  meet  complete  isolation.    If 


Hilda  had  ever  had  any  ideas  of  going  with  Lord 
Chetwynde  into  Florentine  society  she  was  soon 
undeceived,  when,  as  the  days  passed,  she  found 
that  Florentine  society  took  no  notice  of  her. 
Whatever  disappointment  she  may  have  felt. 
Lord  Chetwynde  only  received  gratiflcation  from 
this,  since  it  spared  him  every  annoyance,  and 
left  him  to  himself,  after  the  first  week  or  so. 

By  himself  he  thus  occupied  his  time.  He 
rode  sometimes  through  the  beautiful  country 
which  surrounds  Florence  on  every  side.  When 
wciary  of  this  he  used  to  stroll  about  the  city, 
along  the  Lungh'  Amo,  or  through  the  Casino,  or 
among  the  churches.  But  his  favorite  place  of 
resort  was  the  Boboli  Gardens ;  for  hero  there 
was  sufficient  life  and  movement  t(^  be  found 
among  the  throng  of  visitors ;  or}  if"l)e  wislied 
seclusion,  he  could  find  solitude  among  the  se- 
questered groves  and  romantic  grottoes  of  this 
enchanting  spot. 

Here  one  day  ho  wandered,  and  found  a  place 
among  the  trees  which  commanded  a  view  of 
one  of  the  principal  avenues  of  the  gardens.  In 
the  distance  there  opened  a  vista  through  which 
was  revealed  the  fair  outline  of  Florence,  with 
its  encircling  hills,  and  its  glorious  Val  d'Amo. 
There  arose  the  stupendous  outline  of  II  Duomo, 
the  stately  form  of  the  Baptisteir,  the  graceful 
shaft  of  the  Campanile,  the  medieval  grandeur 
of  the  Palazzo  Vecchio ;  and  the  severe  Etruscan 
massiveness  of  the  Pitti  Palace  was  just  below. 
Far  away  the  Amo  wound  on,  through  the  ver- 
durous plain,  while  on  either  side  the  hills  arose 
dotted  with  white  villas  and  deep  green  olive 
groves.  Is  there  any  view  on  earth  which  can 
surpass  this  one,  where 

"Amo  wins  us  to  the  fair  white  walls, 

Whe^  the  Etrurian  Athens  claims  and  keeps 
A  softer  feeling  for  her  fairy  lialls. 
Qirt  by  her  theatre  of  hUfg,  she  reaps 
Her  com  and  wine  and  oil,  and  Plenty  leaps 
To  laughing  life,  with  her  redundant  hnm. 

Along  the  banks  where  nulling  Amo  sweeps 
Was  modmi  Luxury  of  Commerce  bom, 
And  buried  Loaming  rose,  redeemed,  to  a  new  mom." 

It  was  upon  this  scene  that  Lord  Chetwynde 
was  looking  out,  lost  in  thoughts  which  were 
sometimes  taken  up  with  the  historic  charms  of 
this  unrivaled  valley,  and  sometimes  with  his 
own  sombre  future,  when  suddenly  his  attention 
was  ail«sted  by  a  figure  passing  along  the  path- 
way immediately  beneath  him.  The  new-comer 
was  a  tall,  broad-shouldered,  sqnare-faced  man ; 
he  wore  a  dress-coat  and  a  felt  hat ;  he  hnd  no 
gloves,  but  his  thumbs  were  inserted  in  the  arm- 
holes  of  his  waistcoat*;  and  as  he  sauntered  along 
he  looked  around  with  a  leisurely  yet  compre- 
hensive stare.  Lord  Chetwynde  was  seated  in  a 
place  which  made  him  unseen  to  any  in  the~path, 
while  it  afforded  him  the  fullest  opportunities  of 
seeing  others.  This  man,  who  thut  walked  en, 
turned  his  fnll  face  toward  him  and  disclosed  the 
well-known  features  of  Obed  Chute. 

The  sight  of  this  man  sent  a  strange  thrill  to 
the  inmost  heart  of  Lord  Chetwynde.  He  here ! 
In  Florence  I  And  his  family,  were  they  with 
him?  And  <Aer— when  he  saw  him  UL London- 
he  said  that  she  was  yet  with  him — was  she  with 
him  now  ?  Such  were  the  thoughts  which  came 
to  Lord  Chetwynde  at  the  sight  of  that  face. 
The  next  instant  he  rose,  hurried  down  to  the 
path  after  Obed,  who  had  strode  onward  and 
catching  hia  arm,  he  laid  t 


THE  CRYPTOGRAM. 
When  did  you  ar 


.  "Mr.  Chate,  yon  here  I 
nve  ?" 

OM  turned  with  a  start  and  saw  his  friend. 
.In...  J  !5  ,a«ain!"  he  exclaimBd,  "by  all 

that  s  wonderful!    But  how  did  you  ^t  here?" 

Unf  iV.1^  !.    "^  •**"  '■""'  '*"  •"■  "'fee  weeks. 
But  It  doesn  t  seem  possible  that  it  should  really 

w,/.?  '  w"  u^'^'^'  "■'"'  K™"'«f  warmth  Xn 
was  usual  to  h.m  as  he  wrung  Obed's  hand. 

.  Its  possible,"  said  Obed,  with  a  character- 
istic squeeze  of  Lord  Chetw^nde's  hand^which 
made  u  numb  for  half  an  hour  aftenvaixl  ^'  It's 
possible,  my  boy,  for  it's  the  actual  fact.  But 
sull,  1  must  say,  you're  about  the  last  man  I  ex- 
pected to  see  in  these  diggins.  When  I  sHw  you 
ind  w«™  «v^^"  r'^!  "Pto  yo-ceyes  in  business, 

ny'XIhere.""  '*'""  ^'"^  *^°'"«  "°'^'  ^'^  °" 

"On  your  way  there?     You  don't  say  so' 

Bat  you'll  stay  here  some  time  ?"         '  ""^  *«  • 

&,f!^r^**'  '1.''°  *"'"*""'« ''""e  to  spare.  The 
fiictis  I  came  here  to  pass  my  leisureUme.  I'm 
expecung  a  letter  every  day  which  may  wnd  m" 
off.^   But  it  may  not  come  for  weeks. '^ 

"  W'""  ™  ^'"*  '*'''' '°  ^"'''*  ^"•"''^  Obed. 

"I  should  think  you'd  rather  stay  home- 
among your  friends."  «uy  nome— 

wi,hY*"~i.'?"",'l''"*"^'"«^'^r^fdChetwynde, 
with  assumed  indifference.  •'  The  fact  is,  fife  in 
Indm  unfits  one  for  life  i„  Enghind  We\« 
new  tastes  and  acquire  new  habits,  i  „eVer  ye 
Mwa  returned  Indian  who  could  he  oontent 
For  my  part,  I'm  too  young  yet  to  go  inX  £^: 
ing  a  returned  Indian;  «nd'«,  aftir  I  flnTshed 
my  business  I  applied  for  a  reappointment  " 
-.  1.  J  l^f  ^  K*^  ^eal  in  what  you  sav  "  re- 

S  ^^  "l^T  »"""»'  i^landl^col 
tawtcd.  A  man  who  has  lived  in  a  country  like 
India  feels  this.    We  Americans,  accustomed  as 

Kn^o'nr",""'"^  ?'r««P''««'  of  atunS! 
Z  SnS  '  Tif^'  •>*  depressed  in  a  country 
like  Kngland.     There  is  in  your  country.  Sir  a 

S<r  "^  AnH""i;  *"""'"«"»?'  American,  is  ;„ffo- 
Sy."  ""*  ""-^  ^•'''""'  ^  'h"  "■other 

ml!"^  1""'^  on  tog,ther  chatting  about  nn- 
memuH  things.    Obed  referred  onfe  more  to 

is  M^t^TnT'"  11!'^  •)* '  "y""'  British  Empire 
After  M!ft?h"  'S?'  *'  '?*'"'  •"  ""'"''  'he  earth. 
Tu  i  '*"  ^he  States  it  seemed  to  mo  that  I 

S  Th^re'"vL*A  r  ^!''°"  '^'"^  '"^^  "Ssh 
«dIIo7/K„^^  "^"'i?";.'  *  '""'"'e"'  in  itself; 
«5  aT^  .V  '"•*  Indin,  another  continent  • 
«d  Aden,  and  Malta.  You  have  a  smal  Icounl 
^"  Win  "  ""/t  '!?er  than  New  York  State." 
"weVmn-  '""^/^"^  Chetwynde,  with  a  smile, 
\rl\T  **,'^.'^  *  K™"*  "Jeal  mon^  yob  know 
Wejud  colonies  that  were  worth  all  the  rLt 
23«»njuely  those  colonies  took  it  Into  C 
_^*'o  set  up  for  themselves,  and  itaB^l^t 
=W^«naeat  notimj  of  ths^tin  mid  8tnBra£# 

*"  not «,.    The  only  hope  now  left  is  tlit  our 


20S 


countries  may  always  be  good  friends,  as  tliev  are 
m.w^,w  you  and  I  are-as  we  always  are,  JuZ. 
ever  we  meet  under  such  circumstances  l^s  those 

n«il  J^l  ^, "  ""'"^^r  'han  water, '  said  old  Tat- 
nail,  when  he  sent  his  Yankee  sailors  to  helo 
Admiral  Hope;  and  the  same  sentiment  is  s*» 
n  the  mind  of  every  true  Englishman  whenever 
he  sees  an  American  of  the  right  sort  "  '  ' 
"  Ami  X'  •"•Ve'ltiments,"  said  Obed,  henrtilv. 
And  although  I.  don't  generally  hanker  after 
Bmishers,  yet  I  have  «  kind  of  respect  fo.  £ 

ScZ  2'i '",."':''"  "*■ '"'  "»™*ne8s  and  con! 
traction,  and  all  the  more  when  I  see  that  it  can 
turn  out  men  like  vou."  " 

.  After  a  short  stroll  the  two  seated  themselvpj. 
■n  aqmet  sequestered  place,  and  had  a  longco^ 
versation  Obed  informed  him  of  the  many  even"s 
which  had  occurred  since  their  last  meeUng  l"  e 
news  about  Black  Bill  was  received  brCd  Chet! 
hr**fw"'l.'^'^  «"'T"^'  ""d  he  4d  a  strong 

wh  ch  ^e  h J  K  H  ""Pri"""  '^'''^^  connection 
«  he  had  had  with  the  principals  in  this 

He  then  questioned  Obed,  with  deep  interest 
about  his  Ufe  in  Naples,  about  his  joi^mey  to 
Florence,  and  many  other  things,  with  the  pur- 
pose of  drewmg  him  on  to  speak  about  one  whom 
whoT  i"."'  ""r  '"[""'"'  •""""on.  hut  abo« 
iuT  W  K*^''- '°  k''"""-  "^  «^'J  "othing 
t^on  h^tnb  1  •  K  'he  course  of  the  convars,^ 
tion,  he  told  all  about  that  affair  in  the  iWtino 
Marshes,  in  which  he  recently  vanished  ?rom 
view  at  o  very  critical  moment. 
MtV^lt  !h^""'  **"  P'^en  with  his  usual  mod- 
esty for  this  man,  who  was  often  so  grandilo- 
quent on  the  subject  of  his  country,  ^  "4^ 
meek  on  the  subject  of  himself.     To  g  ve  his  ml 

r??oThe"'chi'l  ^•^'«"  "  "-"^  ""important 
TnW  In  ij^fP"^'  !"  "  '«"7  remarkable  af- 
fair, so  that  the  facts  themselves  may  be  more 
appropriately  stated.  These  facu  Lord  Chet- 
wynde gathered  from  Obed's  narrativein  sjuo 
ot  his  extreme  modesty.  ^ 

fJI^^^Jl^'"  "'1°*'  '.''^"'  '•'«"'  had  been  silence 
„n..  V?k'  "•".'^^her  inaction  among  the  assail- 
ants.   1  he  agitation  of  his  fumilyexcited  hissym- 

t^him  Ih'n'jiT'lS-'^""' ''"'  "^""-^  'hem,  telling 
them  that  the  affair  was  not  worth  thinking  aboutT 
and  urging  them  to  be  calm.    His  words  inspired 

dZ^  Ti?"*^  "••""'  '"<*  "•''y  «"  arose  and 
dressed  Their  room  was  at  the  end  of  the  build- 
ing, as  has  been  said.  Obed's  room  adjoined  it, 
and  the  only  entrance  into  their  room  was  through 
--fe,  nfrrow  passage  ran  from  the  central  hall 
as  far  as  the  wall  of  their  room,  and  on  the  side 

Ob^'s  '**'^  ''"  ""  ''°*"'  ^^'"^  '^"^  ""'" 

^n^^1 1""'"*  """®  """^  Pe«*  on  the  flre,  he 
called  to  his  sister  to  watch  at  the  window  of  her    - 
i^Ti  "i-  't""  "^plenishing  his  pipe,  and  load-      - 
ing  the  discharged  chambers  of  his  revolver,  he 
awaited  the  renewal  of  hostilities.     The  long  si- 
lence  that  followed  showed  him  that  his  flre %«*= 


;~v«  niuiTcu  mm  mat  nis  nre  hm 

been  very  serious,  and  he  began  to  think  that 
X'^ft  T  "«"™-  «o  the  time  passed  nn- 
til  five  o  clock  came.     The  women  in  the  adjoin- 

irLTn?.  ""T  P*'^*?."}'  '""'"'•  h"'  watchfulTand 
apparently  calm.  Below  there  were  occas  onal 
jonnd.  of  fbotsteps,  which  showed  that  the  as- 
soitanUwerestlUinthepkce.    The  excitement    -. 


'% 


204 


THE  CBTFTOOBAM. 


TO  SrRINO  FORWAHO  WITH  LEVELED  FI8TOL  UPON   HIS  ASSAILANTS  WAS  TUB   WOUK 

OF  A  MOMENT." 


of  the  occasion  was  rather  agreeable  to  Obed 
than  other\vi8e.  He  felt  that  he  hod  the  advant- 
age in  every. respect,  and  wag  certain  that  there, 
could  not  be  very  many  assailants  below.  Their 
long  delay  in  resuming  the  assault  showed  that 
they  were  cowed. 

At  last,  however,  to  his  intense  gratification, 
he  heard  footsteps  on  the  stairs.  Ho  knew  by 
the  sound  that  there  could  not  be  more  than  four, 
or  perhaps  six.  When  near  his  door  the  foot- 
steps stopped.  There  was  a  momentary  silence, 
and  then  suddenly  a  tremendous  blow,  and  a 
panel  of  the  door  crashed  in  at  the  stroke  of  an 
axe,  the  head  of  which  followed  it.  Quick  as 
lightning  Obed  took  aim.  He  saw  how  the  axe 
hod  fallen,  and  judged  exactly  the  position  of 
the  man  that  dealt  the  blow.  lie  fired.  A  shriek 
followed.  That  shot  had  told.  Wild  curses 
arose.  There  was  a  mad  rush  at  the  door,  and 
again  the  axe  felW 


Once  more  Obed  watched  the  fall  of  the  axe 
and  flred.  Again  that  shot  told.  There  were 
groans  and  shrieks  of  rage,  and  deep,  savage 
curses. 

And  now  at  lost  Obed  rose  to  the  level  of  the 
occasion. '  Ue  rapidly  reloaded  the  emptied  cham- 


bers of  his  revolver.  Stepping  to  the  door  of  tiie 
inner  room  he  spoke  seme  soothing  words,  and 
then  hurrying  back,J|p  drew  the  ponderous  bed- 
stead away.  Ontsi^he  heard  shuffling,  as  of 
footsteps,  and  thougbt  they  might  be  dragging 
away  those  who  had  been  wounded  last.  AU 
this  had  been  done  in  a  moment.  To  unlock 
the  door,  to  spring  forward  with  leveled  pistol 
upon  his  assaiknts,  was  but  the  work  of  another 
moment. 

It  was  now  dim  morning  twilight.  The  scene 
outside  was  plainly  revealed.  There  were  three 
men  dragging  away  two — those  tn-o  who  had  been 
wounded  by  the  last  shots.  On  these  Obed  sprang. 
One  went  down  before  his  shot  The  others, 
with  a  oty  of  terror,  ran  down  the  stairs,  and  out 
of  the  house.  Obed  pursued.  They  ran  wildlr 
up  the  road.  Again  Obed  fired,  and  one  wretch 
fell.    Then  he  pnt  the  revolver  in  his  pocket, 

anil    <*hag<vi    tha  Atlinr  tnaW-      T^ha   i" ' 

nnu    VUtlUWU . ,  49II'   WXBMr    llMlUt         JLUB    1 

tween  thAm  lestenedrap^dly.  At  last  Obed  came 
up.  He  reached  out  Ills  arm  and  caught  him  by 
the  collar.  With  a  shriek  of  terror  the  Moun- 
drel  stopped,  and  fell  on  his  knees, uttering  fhintie 
prayers  for  mercy,  of  which  Obed  understood  nqt 
one  word.    He  dragged  him  badk  to  itte  booiCk 


■^'„  'iln.'. 


a  TUB   WOUK 


fonnd  a  rope  in  the  stable,  boand  him  lecnrelv 
and  put  him  in  the  dining-room.  Then  he  went 
about  to  8eek  the  hindlonL  He  could  not  be 
fonnd  Both  he  and  his  wife  had  apparently 
fled.    But  Obed  fonnd  something  else. 

In  a  lower  room  that  opened  into  the  dininc- 
room  were  three  men  on  two  beds,  wounded, 
fcmt,  and  shivering  with  terror.  These  were  thi 
men  that  had  been  wounded  at  the  first  attack 
In  the  anguish  of  their  pain  they  made  gestnreii 
of  entreaty,  of  which  Obed  took  no  notice.  iUp 
stairs  m  the  hall  were  those  two  whom  he  had 
struck  with  his  last  shote.'  There  were  no  others 
to  be  seen.  "■.•■«;•  uj 

After  finishing  his  search,,  Obed  went  np  the 
road,  and  earned  back  the  man  whom  he  had 
ibot.  He  then  informed  his  family  of  the  result 
In  the  midst  of  their  horror  at  this  tragedy,  and 
^eir  joy  at  escaping  from  a  terrible  fate,  thev 

.K  V!?"'"  P"^  *'°'"  *^  sufferers,  wr^tchM 
Apugh  t^  were.     Obed  shared  this  feeling. 

JlS/T  rf*''^''"  l^P*^*^  "'">  *e  end  of  the 

fi^.  He  lifted  one  by  one  the  wounded  ^vretches, 

jutting  Aem  on  the  beds  in  th«  rooms  which  he 

^^red.     Then  he  and  his  sister  dressed  their 

Etwie         '        "*     *'"^*^'  *"'*  "•*  *•'"  »' 

^^^L^^°  ^'^  S?"  '"'""^»'  happened  that 
•  troop  of  papal  gendunjerie  came  along,  Obed 
«TOed  them,  and  calmly  handed  over  the  pris- 

ZVl  k""  **^r  ?*"^  """""d  bewildered, 
tat  took  charge  of  them,  evidently  not  at  al 
Mmprehendmg  the  situation.  An  hour  or  «> 
^ard  the  valet  arrived  with  a  fresh  carriage. 
^  -M^.  ""^"i"?  9»'«d's  stoiy  with  won^ T; 
WM  able  to  explain  it  to  the  soldiers. 

Obed  then  set  out  for  Home,  and,  after  some 
^  itay,  came  on  to  Florence. 

Such  was  the  substance  (if  his  stoiy. 


THE  pbyptogram:' 


MS 


CHAPTER  LXII. 

"         TliB   VILLA. 

T^ERE  were  many  things  in  Obed  Chute's 
narra  ion  which  affected  Lord^Chetwynde  pro- 

»)ntme  Marshes  had  an  interest  for  him  which 
WM  greater  than  any  that  might  be  created  by 

S^r'ST.lff "'  l^"!"^  ""<•  indomitable  plucfe 
ftat  had  been  exlubited  on  that  occasion  by  the 
modest  narrator.  Beneath  the  careless  and  ofT- 
Und  recital  of  Obed  Lord  Chetwynde  wm  able 

heCS'lI*"  ^""  *?'«"*  of  the Zier  to"  uJh 
he  had  been  exposed,  and  from  WWch  his  own 
cool  courage  had  saved  him.  An  onIin.nr  mT 
^mL'"'''  "'P»«"«««:es,  would  have  base"; 
ffl^i!.  *"'  *•  ?•  P""""**  »'  W.  family  hadta- 
j'oiild  have  been  ot  best  a  sort  of  frennr  at  the 
We  to  the  love  which  he  had  for  his  familv  and 

te^yi^TiCrnt:Af^'? 

Sa.mM.tlfr'*  *•  "•^*  r'*^*  devotion-! 
««M  stUl  maintain  the  «,rene.t  calm  «nd  the 
mort  complete  preMnco  of  mind  in  the  face  of 
«wfW  danger.    Ewiy  point  In  thiu  itoiy  pro. 


dneed  an  effect  on  the  mind  of-ihe  liat«n«F  o..^ 

eySa'' m^ir  ^  "''"^  H?  hi'^oM 
eyes  tbat  memorable  scene :  Obed  watchinir  and 
smoking  on  his  bed  by  the  sideTf  the  do^,i.^J 

She\':^Z''"^f»f"'«'"""^  •"  *«  adjoinl^^^^ 
-the  sound  of  fooutepr,  of  violent  knockinm: 
of  funous  entrance,  of  wild  and  lawles^m^^ 
He  imagined  the.flight  of  the  old  man  a"d  mI 

%n^  »"'''°i"  '*'™'' «»'  P"*"!*  through  c„„„i^ 
%nd  treachery,  gaw  np  thdr  hotel  and  the^ 
guests  to  the  fury  of  the  brigands.     He  bron/ht 

SThS'oiJ^d'  L'"'  '"•"'^/'^^  of  watchfulTat 
ing  wnen  Obed  lay  quietly  yet  viirilantlv  rwlin 

ing  on  the  bed,  wit^  his  pi^  i"C mouthlnd' 
bis  pistol  in  his  pocket,  lis.Vning  t^  Z  ^ouS 
below,  to  see  what  they  might  foreshadow  •  wheth 
er  they  told  of  peace  or  of  war  wWl..,  ii. 
nouncfed  theJ^^f^^Z'llStl^^rZ 
of  an  assault  made  by  flendsiby  thoS^  Sn 
bngands  whose  name  has  becomeTho^r 
whose  tenderest  mercies  are  pitiless  crnehv^^ 
to  fall  into  the  hands  of  whorShe™£  SS 
that  man  or  woman  may  know 

One  thought  gave  a  horror  to  this  narrative. 
Among  the  women  in  that  room  hJL  tKn^ 
who  to  him  was  infinitely  dearer  thanany  other 
upon  earth.      And  this 'danger  had  th^ten^ 

her-adangertoo  horrible  to  think  ot^nTS 
made  his  very  l.fe-blood  freeze  in  the  course  of 

tl^w  ".r^'r •  ^i^  ""^  the  one  S  on 
which  his  houghts  turned  most;  that  hoirib^ 
tha  appalling  danger.  So  fearih'l  was  it  to  hiS 
^t  he  en«ed  Obed  the  privilege  of  having  savS 
W  He  longBd  to  have  been  there  in  Ob^ 
place,  so  as  to  hM:e  done  this  thing  for  her  He 
him«lf  had  once  saved  her  from  death,  and  tS 
scene  could  never  depart  fh)m  his  memory  •  .but 

Yet,  during  ©bed's  narmtive,  althonsh  thesA 
feelings  were  within  hU  heart,  he  said  Ht.K 
nothing.  Hi  listened  with  apparent  cJmnesS. 
offering  no  remark,  thonsh  at  that  rim^  ^ 
Noughts  of  his  heaA  were*!!,  ?ntent     fn  faS" 

that  he  forced  himself  to  keep  sUence.    For  ^ 
he  had  spoken  he  would  have  reveal^  all.    If 

to  the  T'T  '"  r"''*  ^'-^  •»«'«  kno^  evil 

to  the  most  careless  or  the  most  preoccnniS 

listener,  all  the  depth  of  that  loVe  SS 

his  whole  being.     Her  very  name  to  hSn  Jraa 

something  which  he  eoold  not  mSS  J^  Sh^ 

nsibls  emotion.     And  she,  in  fearful  SX 

temfic  danger,  in  a  situation  so  hoiriblS;  could 

•no  so  precions.  -  ""*•»« 

And  so  he  listened  in  silence,  with  only  a  casn- 

&  KV"'"  "^^  h-^flnidied  h^s^rj. 

coollv   L^u"  **"""  •PPropriate  remarks,  ve^ 

tnend;    which  remarks  were  at  once  ouiatlv 

Th<Jni  •«<»  *e;  "what  wv^aftSTiUf 
These  ItaUans  are  mbbish,  at  the  best  They  are 
about  equal  to  Mexican.^  YonVo  re«l  aSS 
our  Mexican  war,  of  coaree.  To  inVricSr 
ovw,ach  rnbWdi  is  almost .  disgrSi:"  ^°^ 
feftis  e^iT?'.!'*?:  **•  *°"«''  "hrther  ha 


i^i^ifiifii"'" 


206 


THE  CRYPTOGRABl 


Yet,  in  spite  of  Lord  Chetwynde's  interest  ^n 
the  alfair  or  the  Pontine  Marehes,  there  was  an- 
other story  of  Obed's  which  produced  a  deeper 
eflect  on  his  mind.  This  was  liis  account  of  his 
interview  witli  Blacl(  Bill,  to  which  he  had  been 
summoned  in  London.  The  story  of  Black  Bill 
which  Obed  gave  was  one  wHich  was  full  of  awful 
horror.  It  showed  the  unrelehting  and  pitiless 
cruelty,  of  those  who  had  made  themselves  her 
enemies ;  their  profound  genius  for  plotting,  and 
their  far-reaching  cunning.  He  saw  that  these 
enemies  must  be  full  of  boldness  and  craft  far  l>e- 
yond  what  is  ordinarily  met  with.  Black  Bill's 
account  of  Gualtier's  behaviqr  on  the  boat  when 
the  men  tried  to  mutiny  impressed  him  deeply. 
The  man  that  could  commit  such  a  deed  as  he 
had  done,  and  then  turn  upon  a  desperate  crew 
as  he  did,  to  baffle  them,  to  subdue  them,  and  to 
bring  them  into  submission  to  his  will,  seemed 
to  him  to  be  no  common  man.  His  flight  after- 
word, and  the  easy  and  yet  complete  way  in  which 
\0k  had  eluded  all  his  pursuers,  confirm^  this  view 
^0f  his  genius.  Obed  himself,  who  bad  labored 
80  long,  and  yet  so  unsuccessfully,  coincided  in 
^is  opinion. 

\  The  chief  snbje(it  of  interest  in  these  affairs  to 
b(>th  of  these  men  was  Zillah ;  yet,  though  the 
c<inversation  revolved  around  her  as  a  centre,  no 
direct  allusion  was  for  some  time  made  to  her 
present  situation.  Yet  all  the  while  Lord  Chet- 
w^rJide  was  filled  with  a  feverish  curiosity  to 
know  where  she  was,  whether  she  was  still  with 
Obed's  family,  or  had  left  them ;  whether  she  was 
far  away  from  him,  or  here  in  Florence.  Such  an 
immensity  of  happiness  or  of  misery  seemed  to 
him  ^t  that  time  to  depend  on  this  thing  that 
he  did  not  dare  to  ask  the  question.  He  waited 
to  see  Whether  Obed  himself  might  not  put  an 
end  to  this  suspense.  But  Obed's  thoughts  were 
all  abso^-bed  by  the  knotty  question  which  had 
been  raised  by  the  appearance  of  Black  Bill  with 
his  story!  From  the  London  police  ho  had  re- 
ceived no  fresh  intelligence  since  his  departure, 
thoujiti  evipry  day  he  expected  to  hear  something. 
From  the\  Marseilles  authorities  he  had  heard 
nothing  since  his  last  visit  to  that  city,  and  a 
letter  which  he  had  recently  dispatched  to  the 
prefect  at  Naples  hod  not  yet  been  answered. 
As  far  as  his^knowledge  just  yet  was  concerned, 
the  whole  thing  had  gone  into  a  more  impene- 
trable mysteiT  than  ever,  and  the  principals  in 
this  case,  after  committing  atrocious  crimes,  aft- 
er baffling  the  police  of  diti'erent  nations,  seemed 
to  have  vanished  into  the  profoundest  obscurity. 
But  on  this  occasion  he  reiterated  that  determ- 
ination which  habad  made  before  of  never  losing 
Bight  of  this  puipose,  but  keeping  at  it,  if  need 
were,  for  years.  \Ue  would  write  to  the  police, 
he  said,  perpetnolW,  and  would  give  information 
to  the  authorities\of  everr  conntnr  in  Europe. 
On  his  return  to  America  he  would  have  an  ex- 
tensive and  comprehensive  search  instituted.  He 
would  engage  detec^tives  himself  in  addition  to 
any  which  the  polled  might  send  forth.  Above 
all,  he  intended  to  linake  free  use  of  the  news- 
"^pSpers.  Ho  had,  he  said— Miffiirfliis lie  was  n 
-true  American — great\foith  in  |tdvortising.  He 
had  drawn  up  in  his  mind  alHitodv  the  formulas 
of  various  kinds  of  notllces  which  he  intended  to 
Kave  inserted  in  the  principal  papers,  by  which  he 
hopetl  to  get  on  the  track\of  the  criminals.  Once 
on  t|ie|r  track,  he  felt  assured  of  success. 


The  unexpected  addition  of  Black  Bill  to  the 
number  of  actors  in  this  important  case  was  right- 
ly considered  by  Obed  as-of  great  moment.  He 
had  some  idea  of  seeking  him  oat  on  liis  return 
to  London,  and  of  employing  him  in  this  search. 
Black  Bill  would  be  stimulated  to  such  a  search 
by  something  far  more  powerful  than  any  mere 
professional  instinct  or  any  hope  of  reward. 
The  vengeance  which  he  cherished  would  make 
him  go  on  this  errand  with  an  ardor  which  no 
other  could  feeL  He  had  his  own  personal 
grievance,against  Gualtier.  He  had  shown  this 
by  his  long  and  persistent  watch,  and  by  the 
maligiuincy  of  his  tone  when  speaking  of  his 
enemy.  Besides  this,  he  had  more  than  passion 
or  malignancy  to  recommend  him ;  he  had  that 
qualification  for  the  purpose  which  gave  aim  and 
certainty  to  all  his  vengeful  desires.  He  hnd 
shown  himself  to, have  the  instinct  of  a  liloud- 
hound,  and  the  stealthy  cunning  of  an  Indian  in 
following  on  the  trail  of  his  foA  True  he  had 
been  once  outwitted,  but  that  arose  trSia  the  fact 
that  he  was  forced  to  watch,  and  was  not  ready 
to  strike.  The  next  time  he  would  be  ready  to 
deal  the  blow,  and  if  he  were  once  put  on  the 
trail,  and  caught  up  with  the  fugitive,  the  blow 
would  fall  swiftly  and  relentlessly. 

Debate  about  such  things  as  these  took  up  two 
or  three  hours,  during  which  time  Lord  Chet- 
wynde  endured  his  suspense.  At  length  they 
rose  to  leave  the  gardens,  and  then,  as  they  were 
walking  along,  he'  said,  in  oa  indifferent  a  tcne 
as  he  could  assume ; 

"  Oh — by-ihe-way — Miss  Lorton  is  here  with 
your  family,  I  suppose  ?" 

"Yes,"  said  Obed ;  "she  is  with  us  still." 
At  this  simple  answer  Lord  Chetwynde's  heart 
gave  a  great  bound,  and  then  seemed  to  gtojn 
beating  for  some  seconds.     He  said  nothing. 

"  She  is  here  now  in  Florence  with  us,"  con- 
tinued Obed.  "  She  is  quite  one  of  the  family. 
We  all  call  her  Ella  now ;  she  insisted  on  it.  I 
have  taken  a  villa  a  few  miles  away.  Klla 
prefers  the  country.  We  often  drive  into  tlie 
city.  ,It^  a  wonder  to  me  that  we  never  met 
before." 

"Yes;  it  is  odd." 

"She  came  in  with  us  this  morning  with  a 
watch,  which  she  left  at  I'enafrio's  to  be  mended. 
It  will  bo  done  this  evening.  She  could  not  wait 
for  it,  so  I  staid,  so  as  to  take  it  out  to  her  to- 
night. I  strolled  about  the  town,  and  finally 
wandered  here,  which  I  think  the  prettiest  place 
in  Florence.  I'd  been  walking  through  the  gar- 
dens for  an  hour  before  you  saw  me." 
"  How  has  she  been  of  late?" 
"  Very  well  indeed — better,  in  fact,  than  she 
has  ever  been  since  I  first  saw  her.  She  was  not 
very  well  at  Naples.  The  journey  here  did  her 
much  good,  and  the  affair  of  the  Pontine  Marshes 
roused  her  up  instead  of  agitating  her.  She  be- 
haved like  a  trump — she  was  as  cool  as  a  clock ; 
but  it  was  a  coolness  that  arose  from  an  excite- 
ment which  was  absolutely  red-hot.  Sir.  She 
seemed  strung  up  to  a  pitch  ten  notes  higher  than 

nRual,  and  oiice  or  twice  ail  raingfiTfiOT  vftt - 

they  seemed  to  me  to  haVe  a  deep  fire  in  them 
that  was  stunning  I  I  never,  in  all  my  bom 
days,  saw  the  equal  of  that  little  thing,"  ex- 
claimed Obed,  tenderly. 

"It's  having  an  occupation,"  he  continued, 
*'aa  I  believe,  that's  done  her  this  good.    She 


■■..miii 


ton  is  here  with 


was  afraid  she  would  be  a  dependent,  and  the 
fear  arose  out  of  a  noble  feeling.  Now  she  finds 
her  positton  an  honorable  one.  It  gives  her  a 
fine  feehi^K  of  pride.  The  poor  little  tUng  seems 
to  have  beeXjbrought  up  to  do  nothing  at  all: 
but  now  the  disew^enr  that  she  can  do  somethinff 
actually  intoxicates  W  And  the  beauty  of  it 
is,  she  does  it  weU.  Y^ir.  My  children  have 
been  pushed  along  at  a  ti^endous  pace,  and 
^ey  love  Ella  better  than  me  or  sister  ten  times. 
But  you  II  see  for  yourself,  for  you've  got  to  come 
right  straight  out  with  me,  my  boy.  You  Wind- 
ham, are  the  one  that  Ella  would  rather  see  than 
any  other  You're  the  man  that  saved  her  from 
death,  j^nd  gave  her  to  me." 

At  this  Lord  Chetwynde's  stont  heart,  that  had 
never  quailed  in  the  face  of  death,  throbbed  fever- 
ishlv  in  his  intense  joy,  and  his  whole  frame 
thnUed  at  the  thought  that  arose  in  his  mind 
Uoing  to  her  was  easy  enough,  through  Obed's 
warm  fnendship.  And  he  was  going  to  her ' 
This  was  the  only  thought  of  which  he  was  conl 

SCIOUS. 

The  carriage  was  waiting  in  front  of  the  watch- 
maker s  shop,  and  the  watch  was  ready  ;  so  thev 
drove  out  without  delay.  It  seemed  to  Lord 
Chetw^nde  like  a  dream.  He  was  lost  in  an- 
ticipations of  the  coming  meeting— that  meeline 
which  he  had  never  dared  to  hope  for,  but  which 
wsfl  now  before  him. 

Obed  Chute,  on  coming  to  Florence,  had  rent- 

w  i"  J. »    °"     ®  "'"P**  "^  *■»«  •>'"*  overlooking 
Val  dArno.     It  was  about  twelve  or  fifteen 
miles  away.     The  road  ran  through  the  plain, 
and  then  ascended  thp  hills  gently,  in  a  winding 
direction,  till  it  reached  the  place.    The  villa  wjw 
MiTounded  by  beautiful  grounds,  wherein  trim 
gsrdens  were  seen,  and  fair  winding  walks,  in- 
terspersed with  fountains  and  statuary  and  pavil- 
ions    Besides  these  there  were  extensive  forests 
of  fhick-growing  trees,  whose  dense  branches,  in- 
terlacing overhead,  threw  down  heavy  shadows. 
Through  thrae  dim  woods  many  pathways  pene- 
trated, leading  to  sequestered  nooks  and  roman- 
tic grottoes.     Here  there  wandered  several  little 
brooklets,  and  in  the  midst  of  the  forest  there 
was  a  lake,  or  rather  a  pond,  from  the  middle 
of  winch  rose  a  marble  Triton,  which  perpetiinllv 
spouted  forth  water  from  his  shell.    The  villa  it- 
self was  of  generous  dimensions,  in  that  style 
which  IS  so  familiar  to  us  in  this  country,  with 
broad  piazzas  and  wide  porticoes,  and  no  lack 
of  statuaiy.     Here  Obed  Chute  had  made  him- 
self quite  at  home,  and  confided  to  Lord  Chet- 
wynde  the  fact  that  he  would  prefer  this  to  his 
hou,e  on  the  Hudson  River  if  he  could  only  see 
the  bars  and  Stripes  floating  from  the  Campa- 
nile at  Florence.    As  this  was  not  likely  to  him- 
Pen,  he  was  forced  to  look  upon  himself  as  mere- 
ly a  pilgnm  and  a  sojourner. 

Lord  Chetwynde  entered  the  villa.    Obed  re- 
huuned  behind  for  a  few  moments  {o  giV^ome 

SZ'hf  •n'"'  '^r""*'-  AloftAallZ 
.  fc,!!^i  "  ""h  "'''•'  »'»'"'»  °"  «»ch  side,  and 
Jfonn^n  at  the  farthest  end.  On  eith^^ide 
««»  were  doorg  opening  into  spncioiBjSfcrt- 
ments.    Lord  Chetwynde  tumed^o  tiffi, 

S  th«!h1"r«"u'''r'  '"«"''  which'extelid- 
M  the  whole  length  of  the  housaAUft  looked 
"oand,  and  his  attention  was  a?onc?tr^t^ 


THE  CRYlTXXJRAM. 


S07 

JieUrt  beat  fast  and  furiously ;  for,  though  he 
^ou Id  not  d  stinguish  her  features,' which* wer^ 
partly  turned  awa^,  yet  the  shapTwas  famiUal! 

of  hirHfr^SLlj"*'  'he  sweetest  memoriS 
oi  ms  hte.  The  lady  was  sitting  in  a  half-re- 
clming  position  on  an  Egyptian  couch,  her  head 
was  thrown  back,  a  book  hung  listlessly  in  o^e 
hand  and  she  seemed  lost  in  thought.  tJo  deep 
was  her  abstraction  that  the  noise  of  Lord  Chet- 

««A  .^  r"  ""'r"*  •'*'■  '•«  P^us^d  involuntarily, 
and  stood  for  a  few  moments  in  silence  ^ ' 

Ye8,ltwa8s/,e/    One  look  told  him  this     It 

aU  his  thoughts,  who  in  his  illn^had  been  ever 
present  to  his  delirious  dhjams.  It  wasZ  one 
to  whom  his  heart  had  never  censed  ,o  turn 
since  that  first  day  when  that  head  had  lain  f™ 

LrhTH"fl''°  Y  ^'^''  '^^  'hat  rich,  luxuriant 
hair  had  flowed^m  a  sea  of  gknr  over  his  arms 
burnished  by  the  red  rays  o^?risini  sip.  To 
walked  softly  forward  and  drew  near.    Then  the 
no.se  of  his  footsteps  reused  her.     S^he  turned 
.  Ihere  came  over  her  facB  the  sudden  light  of 
joyous  and  rapturous  wonder.    I„  that  sudden 
She  Zrt'i?  r"""*,  *"  ^«  ^'h  »"d  senl 
IllfW^Tw^'^r'^i*'  ''^'  f**''  »"^  »he  book 
W  nS  ^  J'^l^-    ^°V"  '"""""  "h*  pressed 
her  hand  to  her  heart,  ahd  then,  with  both  hands 
outstretched  and  with  her  beautiful  face  all  aglow 
with  joy  and  delight  that  she  could  not  conceal, 
she  stepped  forward.    But  suddenly,  as  though 
some  other  thought  occurred,  she  stopped,  and  a 
crimson  glow  came  over  her  pale*  face.    She  cast 
down  her  eyes  and  stood  waiting. 
„WK^5;l'*"^^"''^''.1"«ht  her  outstretched  hand, 
which  still  was  timidly  held  toward  him,  in  both 

11a-1  *hem  spoke,  but  he  held  her  hand,  and 
she  did  not  withdraw  it. 

"  Oh  1"  he  cried,  suddenly,  As  though  the  words 
were  torn  from  him,  "how  1  have J^iiged  for 
this  moment !"  .^b'="  '"^ 

.Ko^!!'*l?J'*^  f  ''!"'  h««*»J'  4d  confusedly,  and 
then  withdrew  her  hand,  while  Another  flush  swept 
over  her  faca  "^ 

"Mr.  Windham,"  she  falteksd,  in  low  tones, 
what  an  unexpected  pleasurBl    I-I  thought 
you  were  in  PIngland."  ^ 

"And  so  I  was,"  said  I^rd  Chetwvnde,  as  he 
devoured  her  with  the  ardent  jaze  of  his  eves; 
but  my  busine^  was  finished,  and  1  left-"'.'- 
How  did  yo^  find  ns  out  ?f  she  asked,  smil- 
ingly, as,  once  more  resuming  li  er  self-poss^sion. 
she  sat  down  again  upon  the  itgyptian  sofa  and 
picked  up  her  b^k.     "  Have  JSi  been  in  con^ 
[r.  Chute  ?"  / 

Lord  Chettvynde.     "It  was 

iim  into  my /way  at  the  Boboli 

irning.    I  haf\e  been  here  for— 

eternity— ahd  ^va■  thinking  of 

-  •,   ,-      v.-'"  he  came  up,  Jltd  now  I  am 

reconciled  to  all  my  past."         . 

A  silence  foUowed,  and  each  seemed  to  take  a 
hasty  jjhinceatth^er.    On  2ilkh'«  face  there= 


spondence  with 
"No,"  laugh 
fate  that  threw 
Gardens  this  m 
well,  for  a  sma 
going  away  w 


were  the  traces  of  sorrow;  its  lines  had  grown 
hnor,  and  Its  air  more  delicate  and  spiritual.  Lord 
Uietwynde  s  face,  on  the  other  hand,  showed  stilt 
he  marks  of  that  disease  which  had  brought  him 
to  d^th  s  door,  and  no  longer  hiid  that  glow  of 


"y  a  figure  at  the  farthest  end.     It  was  a  lad7    mnX  ZiT*"'!.' k  HVT*^*"  h-^d  that  glow  of 
•ho*,  youthful  fi«e  and  rfendei- figure  made  t  .t£rS!i      '"••  *^^  ^  its  Characteristic 


4\- 


808 


THE  CBTPTQ09A1C. 


■•/■   •  I 


SHE  SEEMED  U>8T   IN   TUOUOUT. 


"Ton  have  been  ill,"  said  Zilkh,  suddenly, 
and  with  some  alarm  in  her  voice. 

' '  Yes,"  said  Lord  Chetwynde,  sadly ;  "  I  hare 
been  as  near  death  as  it  is  possible  for  one  to  be 
and  live." 

"In  England?" 

"No;  in  Switzerland." 

"Switzeriand?" 

"Yes." 

"  I  thonght  that  perhaps  some  private  troubles 
in  England  bad  caused  it,"  said  Zillab,  with  tones 
of  deep  sympathy,  for  she  reccdlected  his  last 
Words  to  her,  which  expressed  such  fearful  an- 
ticipations of  the  future. 

"  No ;  I  bore  all  that.  It  was  an  unexpected 
circumstance,"  he  said,  in  a  cautions  tone,  "  that 
caused  my  illness.  But  the  Italian  air  has  been 
beneficial.  But  yon — how  have  yon  been?  I 
fear  that  yon  yourself  have  been  ill." 

"  I  have  had  some  troubles,"  ZiUah  replied. 

Lord  Chetwynde  forbore  to  qnestiwi  her  riwnt 
those  ^ooGlBi;  He  wenroirttr  speak  Bbont^ie 
air  of  Val  d'Arao  being  the  best  thing  in  jthe 
world  for  all  illness,  and  congratulated  her  on 
having  so  beantifhl  a  spot  in  which  to  live.  Zil- 
lab grew  enthusiastic  jn  her  •praises  of  Florence 
and  all  the  surrounding  sceneiy;  and  a>  each 


learned  bow  long  the  other  had  been  here  they 
wondered  why  they  had  not  met.. 

"  But  I,"  said  Zillab,  "  have  not  gone  often 
to  the  city  since  the  first  week.  It  is  so  beanti- 
fnl  here.'"^  , 

"And  I,"  said  Lord  Chetwynde,  "have  rid- 
den all  about  the  environs,  but  have  never  been 
near  here  before.  And  even  if  I  had,  I  shonld 
have  gone  by  it  without  knowing  or  suspecting 
that  yon  were  here." 

OI>ed  Chute  had  much  to  see  about,  and  these 
two  remained  long  together.  They  tnlked  wer 
many  tilings.  Sometimes  there  were  long  pauses, 
which  yet  were  free  from  embarrassment.  The 
flush  on  Zillah's  cheek,  and  the  kindling  light 
of  her  eye,  showed  a  pleasure  which  she  could 
not  conceal  Happiness  was  so  strange  to  her 
that  she  welcomed  eagerly  this  preseiit  hour, 
which  was  so  bright  to  her  poor  sorrow-laden 
heart.  Lord  Chetwynde  forgot  liis  troubles, 
he  banished  the  fatnre,  and,  as  before,  he  saied 


ISffprBient,  and  enjoysdlt  to  the  ML- 

Oped  returned  at  last  and  joined  them.  IIm 
time  fled  by  rapidly.  Lord  Chetwynde  made  s 
move  to  return  at  about  eleven  o'clock,  but  Obei 
would  not  allow  him.  He  made  him  stay  thst 
night  at  the  villa. 


K-a&- 


CHAFTER  LXIir, 

A  ORAXOB. 

Although  Lord  Chetwynde  wm  always  out 
'  day,  yet  he  had  alwRira  ~>»...^^i  ._  u.-  ' 


THE  CRYPTOQBAM. 


M9 


k.,  ,i„„ — .  u    u  J    '^"""Tnae  was  always  out 
by  day  yet  he  had  always  returned  to  his  Vooms 

&l  "''''*•  °."u'"'  •'"'tf"'  niKht,  that  twelve 
odock  came  without  any  signs  of  his  return 

111  if  7  ''  "'"'  ungovernable  passion  her  whole 
lie,  in  which  it  was  with  difficulty  that  she  kept 

t^T,  i.'u"?'™^  *"•*""«»  within  her.  This 
Bight  she  had  grown  more  nervous  than  nsnid. 

LiT  V£"\^*'  '•'•.'"^  •'»»'"«**  ^  '»»«  culmin- 
•Uon  of  the  long  excitements  through  which  she 
bid  passed.  His  absence  filled  her  with  a  thou- 
nnd  fears.  The  longing  of  her  heart  grew  in- 
Merablo  as  the  hours  passed  by  Without  any 

■  SSL.?M  iT'vT'k  lr"y  "'  «J"ng  to  her 
•wrant  to  ask  if  he  had  come  back,  she  at  hut 
dbfflissed  the  servant  to  bed,  and  saf  herself  at 
fti»  door  of  her  room,  lisfeijing  for  the  sound  of 
fcotsteps      In  that  watiSiful  attitude  she  sat. 

,  dumb  and  motionless;  but  the  hours  passed  by 
tarw  she  sat  there,  and  fltiU  he  came  not. 
.  Jr^It^A  f  °*^  hours  her  mind  was  filled  with 
SjSr.K  fT"  1"^  '?""«••  Sometimes  she 
ttonght  that  he  t^  been  assjissinafed.  At 
otter  times  she  fkricied  thot  Gnaltier  might 

!!l!!i„r' r  ?.  ''>  P"""'*^'  «"<•  «'"»e  back  from 
iSl   'h«   h  °^^'«>8?*''ce,  to  track  the  man 

tagth  left  her,  and  another  took  possession  of 
Ii«,  which  was  far  more  natural  and  probable, 
»»i  which  finally  became  a  deep  and  immof- 
•ble  conviction.  She  thought  that  Lord  Chet- 
wynde had  at  last  yielded  to  his  aversion;  and 
BnwUhng,  from  motives  of  gratitude,  to  have 
•V  forawl  fareweU,  he  had  concluded  to  leave 

«l^nV^''?.'l!''  *?  "J^"*""'  **  """  "«>08ht  first 
Mme  toTieV,  "  that  is  it.  He  wearies  of  my  per- 
petna  presence.  He  does  not  wish  to  subjwt 
lumself  to  my  mean  entreaties.  He  has  cut  the 
connection  abruptly,  and  is  this  night  on  his 
wiy  to  Leghorn  to  take  the  steamer.  He  has 
gone  to  India,  and  left  me  forever.  To-morrow, 
no  doubt,  I  shall  get  a  letter  acamdnting  me 

Sidlrjir?"*'  '"'P-  ""^  •''^^*"«  -« - 

tJ^'h.T'*  "he  thought  of  tj»8  the  more  in- 
toise  her  ronviction  became,  %ptU  at  hist,  from 
fte  foree  of  her  own  fancies,  she  became  IsVe™ 

toM  her  of  his  departure.  Then  there  came 
ow  her  a  mighty  sense  of  desolation.  What 
Aoald  she  do  now  ?    Life  seemed  l„  that  Z- 

ttg.  Again  diere  came  to  her  that  thought 
wh^ch  many  time*  daring  the  last  few  weSs 
M  occurred,  and  now  had  grown  familiar- 
A.  .wful  thought  of  suicide.    The  life  she  li»^ 


and  of  passion,  who  once  had  Ms«n  superior  to 
I  all  feeling,  now  Uy  a  prey  to  an  agonrof  soul 
that  threatened  n«son  ana  life  itself*^^  '^ 

But  suddenly  aU  this  was  brought  to  an  end. 
A  about  mid-day  Lonl  Chetwynde  return^ 
Hilda  heard  his  footstep  and  his  /o  ce  A  gSi 
joy  darted  through  her,  and  her  ««t  top^ 
was  to  fling  herwif  upon  him.  and  w,^p  3S 
happiiiess  upon  his  breast  But  that  wLTthing 
which  was  denied  her-a  privilege  which  St 

the  fimt  rush  of  joy  she  restnuned  he^elf/nnd 
I«:king  the  door  of  her  room,  she  sat  listening 
.,lv^"'f''  """^  ^'*^y  breathing.  She  heard  him 
speak  a  few  careless  words  to  the  servant,     "h™ 

about  an  hour.     She  watched  and  waited    but 

to™:'r1  r*^  '"""••"«  '"  «°  «>•>»•     '^I  hare 

tonnented  him  too  much,"  she  said  to  hewelf 

"I  have  forced  my«Jf  upLn  him ^I  Imve  2 

myselt  common.     A  greater  delicacy  and  a  more 

retiring  habit  will  be  more  agreible  to  hC 

Let  me  not  destroy  my  present  happiness.    It  U 

joy  enough  that  my  fears  are  dispe'ISedH^d  thiS 

^if  T°'  rV'"^'  "?,"•      ^  »he^treined  hw- 

f!ll~  ^T  5»"»t  seJf-restraint  was  the  mightest 

task  which  she  had  ever  undertaken-and  m 

passively  listening,  when  every  feeling  prompted 

her  to  rush  forth  eagerly  to  g^et  him.       ^ 

He  went  away  that  day,  and  came  back  by 

meS'ih«  Mr-'^'''  ""M^"""  ''i-.  »«^  thSj 
met  on  the  following  morning 

ahi^'r,'  »'."•«.«""  8'an<=«  which  she  stole  at  him. 
Ae  noted  in  him  a  wonderful  change.  His  faw 
had  lost  Its  gloom ;  there  was  an  ixpression  of 
peace  and  blissful  tranquillity  which  she  had 
never  observed  before,  and  which  she  had  nerer 
thought  possible  to  one  who  had  appeared  to  her 
as  he  always  had  She  sat  wonE^as  thev 
waited  for  breakfast  to  be  served-a  mSiHvS 
they  generally  took  together-and  baffled  herself 
n  vain  conjectures,  A  great  change  had  cer- 
tMnly  come  over  him.  He  greeted  her  with  . 
h»jff  ?r''l.  genial  smUe.  He  had  shaken  her 
hand  with  the  warm  pressure  of  a  good-hearted 

^  nnf .vi^*.r"  ''P"8!">We'»  with  the  seryanu. 
He  noticed  he  exquisite  beauty  of  the  day.  He 
had  something  to  say  about  many  little  trifles, 
fcven  in  his  best  moods,  during  the  journey,  he 

?ln  Tul '^"J'^"  "■"•  '^'''«»  he'  had  never 
been  otherAvise  than  resened  andnelf-contained ; 
his  face  had  never  altogether  lost  its  cloud  of 
core.  Now  there  was  not  a  vestige  of  care  to  be 
seen;  he  was  joyous;  he  was  even  hilnrions; 
and  seemed  at  peace  with  himself  and  all  the 
world* 

What  had  happened? 

This  was  flie  question  which  Hilda  incessantly 
asked  herself.  It  needed  something  umumal  to 
change  so  completely  this  strong  nature,  and 
transform  the  sadness  which  had  filled  it  into 
peace  and  joy.    What  had  happened?    What 


l«t  now  the  kst  hope  had^eK  J^dTw  •k  Ihe ffi„  Coalf^hegtmtifledre'ngewice? 
JMf  waa-nntWn-  kJU  .  u—j  JT  ^:     ..  'I'^^^Ltne  foeUngjuato^M|h(  for  that  -Wasrit 

lews  of  some  raddeSwIane?    She  did  not 


l«t  were  sent  away ;  and  this  >voman  of  feeling 


-_,..-..  „  „.  ^^  Miuueinmrane  r  yue  did  not 
^''■V^J^r^  Chetwynde  heard  that  he 
had  inherited  millions  it  would  give  such  joy  m 
this,  which  would  make  itself  maniibit  in  alLldi  \ 
looks  and  words  and  acts  and  tones.  WhS-^ 
would  be  needed  to  produce  such  a  change  in 
herself?    Would  vengewioe,  or  riches,  or  tonor 


L'-tt. . 


210 


THE  CRYPTOGRAM. 


,  be  Bufflfient  ?    No.     One  thing  alone  could  do 

thi«.  Were  the,  by  any  po88ibil!tv,-ever  to  gam 
Lord  Chetwynde  to  beritelf,  then  she  felt  that  f(he 
would  know  the  same  aweet  peace  and  calm  joy 
Oil  that  which  she  now  read  in  his  face.  In  that 
event  she  thought  that  she  could  look  npon  her 
worst  enemy  with  a  smfle.  But  in  him  what 
could  it  mean?  'Coul^  it  be  possible  that  he  had 
any  one  whose  smile  would  bring  him  such  peace 
as  this?  Once  before  she  suspected  that  beloved 
another.  Could  it  be  within  the  bounds  of  pos- 
sibility tlfat  the  one  whom  he  loved  lived  in  Flor- 
ence? 

Thi»  thought  filled  her  with  dismay.  And 
yet,  why  not?  Had  he,  not  set  out  from  Kn- 
glond  for  Italy?  Uad  he  not  dragged  himself 
out  of  his  sick-room,  almost  before  he  could 
walk,  to  pursue  his  journey  ?  Had  lie  not  broken 
off  almost  oil  intercourse  with  herself  after  the 
^  first  week  of  their  arrival  ?    Had  he  not  been 

■%|  occupied  with  some  engrossing  business  all  the 
time  sime  then  ?  What  business  could  have  at 
once  so  occupied  him  and  so  changed  him,  if  it 
were  not  something  of  this  kind  ?  '  There  was 
one  thing  whjch  could  at  once  account  for  his 
coolness  to  her  and  his  inaccessibility  tot  her  ad- 
vances, for  his  journey  to  Florence,  for  his  occu- 
pation all  the  time,  and  now  for  this  strange 
mood  of  happiness  which  had  come  so  suddenly 
yet  so  gently  over  him.  And  that  one  thing, 
which  alone,  to  her  mind,  could' at  once  account 
for  all  these  things,  was  Love. 

Tlie  time  passed,  and  Lord  Chctwjtnde's  new 
mood  seemed  lasting.  _  Never  had  he  been  so 
considerate,  so  gentle,  and  w  kind  to  Hilda. 
1  At  any  other  time,  or  under  any  other  circum- 

stances, this  change  would  |iave  stimulated  her 
mind  to  the  wildest  hoj)efl ;  but  now  it  prompted 
fears  which  filled  her  with  despair.  So,  as  the 
davs  passed,  the  struggle  rnged  within  her  breast. 

Meanwhile  Lord  (^lietwj-nde  was  a  constant 
visitor  at  the  villa  of  Obed  Chute,  and  a  welcome 
^  guest  to  alL    As  the  days  possed^he  constant 

assocLf^tioii  which  he  had  with  Zillalrinade  each 
better  known  to  the  other  than  ever  bef«re.  The 
tenderness  that  existed  between  thera  was  im- 
pressed in  the  presence  of  the  oihors  Vout  on  the 
frequent  occasions  when  they  were  left  alone  to- 
gether it  found  expression  by  acts  if  not  by 
words,  by  looks  if  not  by  acts.  Lord  Chetwynde 
conid  not  forget  that  first  look  of  all-absorbing 
and  overwjielming  joy  with  which  Zillah  hod 
,  greeted  him  on  his  sudden  oppearonce.     A  ipos- 

\^f  ter,  to  a  certaui  extent,  over  himself,  he  coerced 

himself  so  far  as  not  to  alarm  Zillah  by  any  ten- 
der words  or  by  any  acts  which  told  too  much ; 
yet  in  his  face  and  in  his  ey^  fih«  could  read,  if 
me  chose,  all  his  devotion.  As-  for  Zillah,  the 
change  which  she  had  felt  from  the  d^  monot- 
rmy  of  her  past  to  the  vivid  joy  «f  tin  present 
.^  was  so  great  and  so  powerful  that  its  effects  were 
too  manifest  to  be  concealed.  She  could  not 
conceal  tlie  glow  of  health  that  sprang  to  her 
cheek,  the  light  that  kindled  in  her  eye,  the  res- 
onant tone  that  was  added  M  her  voice,  and  the 
s^ag  thatcame  ttf  her  Btep.  .Nor  could  she,  in 
her  girlish  innocence,  conceal  altogether  how 
completely  sho'  now  rested  all  her  hopes  and  all 
'  her  happineM  npon  Lord  ChetwVnde ;  the  flush 
of  joy  that  arose  at  his  arrival,  the  sadness  thot 
overspread  her  at  his  departore\  Bat, Obed 
^  Chute  and  his  sister  were  not  obiwrvant;  and 


these  things,  which  would  haVe  been  so  ntanifest 
to  others,  were  never  noticed  by  them.  It  deem- 
ed to  both  of  them  as  though  Zillah  merely 
shared  the  pleasure  which  they  felt  in  the  socioiy 
of  this  Windham,  whom  Obed  loved  and  admired 
and  they  thought  that  Zillah 's  feelings  were  nfere^ 
ly  of  the  same  character  as  their  own. 

Neither  Lord  Chetwynde  nor  Zillah  cared  to 
disclose  the  true  state  of  the  cose.  Lord  Cliet- 
wvnde  wished  to  see  her  every  day,  but  did  not 
wish  them  to  know  that  he  came  every  d«y. 
That  might  seem  strange  to  them.  In  point  of 
fact,  they  would  have  thought  nothing  of  it,  but 
would  ha^ve  welcomed  him  as  warmly  as  ever; 
but  Lord  Chetwvndo  could  not  feel  Sure  of  this. 
Apd  if  he  nsitcd  her  every  day,  he  did  not  wish 
to  let  the  world  know  it  How  it  happened  can 
not  be  told ;  by  what  mysterious  process  it  oc- 
curred can  scarcely  be  related;  such  a  process  , 
is  too  indefinable  for  description;  but  certain  it 
is  that  a  mysterious  understanding  ^rang  up  l)e- 
tween  him  and  Zillah,  so  that  on  every  olternnte 
day  vvhen  he  rode  toward  the  villa  he  would 
leave  his  horse  at  a  house  about  a  quarter  of  n 
mile  away,  and  walk  to  the  nearest  part  of  tlio 
park,  whete  there  was  a  small  gate  among  tho 
trees.  Here  he  usually  entered,  and  soon  reach- 
ed a  smoll  kiosk  near  that  pond  among  the  woods 
which  has  alreodv  been  spoken  of.  The  liouse- 
(lold  was  so  small  and  so  quiet,  and  the  woods 
were  so  unfrequented  and  so  shadowy,  that  there 
was  scarcely  any  possibility  of  intemiption. 
Even  if  they  hod  been  di^overed  there  by  Obed 
himself.  Lord  Chetwynde's  presence  of  mind 
could  have  readily  furnished  a  sotisfactor}'  story 
to  account  for  it.  He  hud  olreody  arranged  that 
in  his  mind.  lie  would  hove  ' '  hoppened  to  meet"' 
Zilltth  on  the  road  near  the  ^te,  and  come  in 
here  with  her.  By  this  it  will  be  seen,  on  the 
strength  of  this  mysterious  understanding,  that 
^illoh  was  not  averse  to  tliis  clandestine  meet- 
ing. In  fact,  she  always  was  there.  Mouv  timss 
they  met  there  in  the  weeks  which  Lord  Chet- 
wynde passed  in  Florence,  and  never  once  did 
she  fail  to  be  there  first  to  await  him. 

Perhaps  it  was  because  each  had  a  secret  be- 
lief that  this  was  all  temporary — a  happiness,  a 
bliss,  in  fact,  in  this  part  of  their  mortal  livei, 
but  a  bliss  too  gmat  to  last.  Perhaps  it  was 
this  that  gave  Zillah  the  courage  and  spirit,  to  be 
at  the  trysting-place  to  receive  this  man  vho  ^ 
adored  her,  and  never  to  fail  to  be  there  firat— ' 
to  think  that  not  to  be  (here  ^rst  would  be  al- 
most a  sin — and  so  to  receive,  his  deep  and  fer- 
vent expressions  of  gratitude  for  her  kindness, 
which  were  reiterated  kt  evciry  meeting.  At  ^ 
any  rate,  Zillah  was  always  there  on  tho  dayi 
when  Lord  Chetwynde  wished  ^ei^  be  there; 
and  on  the  occasions  when  he  vi^nd  the  villa 
she  was  not  there,  but  was  seated  in  the  drawii^- 
room  to  receive  him.  Obed  Chnte  thought  thai 
Lord  Chetwynde  came  three  tipes  a  week. 
Zillah  knew  that  he  came  seven  times  a  week. 

For'^Some  time  this  state  of  things  had  con- 
tinued. Windhatti  was  the  chosen  friend  of 
Obed,  and  the  fitvored  ggest  at  Obed's  vil&. 
Zillah  knew  that  this  could  not  Ust,  and  used  to 
try  to  check  her  happiness,  and  reason  it  down. 
But  as  the  hour  of  the  tnrst  approached  all  at- 
tempts of  this  kind  were  foi]gotten,  and  she  was 
there  watching  and  waiting. 

To  her,  one  day  thus  waiting,  Lord  Chet«yad« 


JiA 


ctnie  with  a  ud  imUe  on  hia  face.'  am 

WM  melancholy  and  preoccupied.  ' 

You  do  not  look  well  to-day,^'  said  Zilkh 
wondenngly,  and  in  toaes  which  we^  fu     of 

«irff  hSyT  '  '""""'  -"•«•"/«  her  and 

"MiM  Lorton,"  «aid  he,  sadly,  ".omethinf 

ha.  happened  which  ha.  throwfr  the  "«,d«? 

gloom  over  me.     Shall  I  tell  you?    WilT^u 

KTh'"'?  *'"'  '^y «'«"» '  ^  will  tou  vou.^ ; 

kave  thi.  day  received  a  letter  giving  memv  an- 
"India  I 


THE  CRYPTOGRAM. 


SIl 


!.„  ;       «"»l«"  tnw  out  with  white  lipi 

li.TntTIl'^  'he  a.hj)nJ«Rnsf  dcpiir. 

India  I    "he  repeated,  a.  her  gteatV^es  were 

fixed  m  agony  upon  him ;  and  thfn  .he^top^^ 

prewinj^er  hand  to  her  heart  "WPPOU, 

Ixifd  rhlK?/^  """  l°">'^  •«  "'enw  that 
ejught  her  ham!  in  hU,  .fcarce  knowing  wiat^ 

i  'nS.""'  ?!f^^„"T' "  ''•''  ""ll^  " ''°  "«'  '"^k  «> 
•I  me.  i«nim  despair;  lam  heart-brJken- 
L"h':!J!°'.A°°''  «,tho  futUhi;  but  the  fuXk 


?tS?  frt;  '^'.'^•.  ™*"""«  »f -oh  one  wa.  subiect. 
ter  a.^»T""r  "^ »!"■  °""^  »»«J m^hbughl 
m«^e  from  t  me  to  time  about  the  best  coatum^^ 
For  some  day.  Lord  Chetwynde  busied  Wm^S      • 

pecially  for  the  occasion,  and  tailor,  had  to  fee  \ 
•een,  and  measuremenu  had  to  be  Uken     OfS 

KTee  wuh  his 'constant  attendance  upon  Zillah 
for  every  day  he  was  punctual  at  the  ^rm  m- 
pUce  or  in  the  villa.  "7«ing- 

Meanwhile  Hilda',  intolerable  anxiety  had 
taken  another  and  «  rery  natural  turn.  sL  b^ 
gap  to  feel  mten«5ly  curio.».bout  the  object^ 
Lord  Chetwynde's  daily  Xji^ations.  IlavinK 
ma^  InZl'' *^  '=on«''''»iShth.uhe«  was  a wc? 


Zillah  gasped  this  out  with  white  lips  while   m„*!f  ?^'^h '° *"'°"'''"*'**h.t  there  was  a  w"^ 


jiK  T^r.  Vp^7rm"arhrh^vy 

tarfiM.    But  she  said  not  a  word.  ' 

Ktfo^rmir^"^'er»^«"-'  yo„ 

,4"?i^iSi^rittt-'iS^^ 

Wfl,  and  her  lips  moved :  ^- 

"  Never'" 


:rr "",  ""»>  ""oiy  nour  on  y  strentrthenpH 

this  conviction,  until  at  length  it  was  rSy 

fi^m  th^  '*"«'  °f  J^^onsy  which  she  suffered 
\?  u  "^"  ^""  "'«'*  "  extreme  as  those  which 
she  had  .QfferM  before  from  fear,  of  anxieTv  or 
juspense,  heth  when  hurrjingTn  t«  ^ve  i^rd 
ChetwynCafld  when  watchfng  at  hi^^S 
In  her  wild,  ungovernable  passion  and  her  unconl 

which  a  betrothed  mistress  might  feel,  and  thefeme 
nnreason.ng  indignation  which  a  t'rSe^lLw! 

lul  wife  milrht  hm-o  lul.o.^  =.,. ••  .       .        ..' 


.-..^  ..„.  ..^.w  Hune  luturt;  but  the  fut 

not  immediate;  lean  vetwaitafew  we«U1i7";:Sil  r".""'.?""".*^  inuignation  which  a  tn 
Tou  will  ,.iU  come  f.r^  r>myt:Z-^o^^r^^;  ™^'" ^-^^ -hen  «us™,cting a husb^^^^ 
"•  ^  tL  HJ?r  ^  f  '^''".*^  """*  '"*'■  "'ith  an  insatia- 

e.   2^'„!fe»'^.'!^.™J!^."!.*J«!'^  •-  his  secret,  and 


»•■•  t  .■       '..  ikL«  jJ^T     »    .    ■»""■•"»•"=■  Willi  an  insatia- 

Zdlah  caught  he^  hand  away,  and  her  eve.  t^lT!^X'^?'  whatteight  be  his  secret,  and 

II.     T^r.  dropped  from  ben'^th  hw  h^v^  «h^    "'.**'  '"  T^"  '^ '""  ">"  ""^  might  be  of 

she..    But  Kha  .„:.!  „„ ._ .         ""^  neavy  whoM  existence  shn  nnur  &)>  ««.,flj._»  *  i.^,    . 


''Never!' 

IMt  Wju  the  only  word  that  she  said. 


-_♦ 


CHAPTER  LXIV. 

MASQUKRADE. 

m^^S.Xrfi'.r' «"!'.'l«y  f-Uof  new., 


TUB 


-JT^-i    1    .    f™"  "owe  one  day  full  of  new. 
Md  particularly  dihted  upon  the  grandeu?  of  a 
m^Tii     »?•"*='*.  r"'"  t-kf  place"  1: 
j^Tk     ^u"-.,  "*  *"hed  to  go,  ind  to  take 
f  !„►  ^^  """  ""«»  "^^  »•»  "i^d.  and  his  «! 
dTL^Ji"  T^^y  communicate!  toaillh. 
thl^.^"*:^''"*^"'^*^  who  happened  to  be   mo™  «r%;;V"'u'u°"  '"".  I'"T"»  was  to  re- 
there  at  the  time.    Obed  had  learnedthat  {» -^        1  **'  ***  P"""h  her  rival  in  the  affections  of 
to  be  conducted  with  the  WghS  dSS  of  ^  ^H."*."  "".•"'«■•  ™ther  an^bstacle  in  rtTe  wav  of 
"•flcence.    He  had  talked  a^tlf\!?»hl^*  k*""?""*  •»'"  "''*«tioij8.    Dmirivedthusof  Xlid 

American,  with  whom  he  h'aftetWe  ««    " IflS"!' ^^ J^V' °  «^'»  «^ ""y ^^^^ 
^  ^rS  ^  r!'.  '^"  »"«.  he  w«^'S  In  theS  ^l^^hetwynde  became  inte^ted 
5>-    liord  Chetwynde  exDressad  tka  .««^  j  .   .  .  *™"'^  of  the  masquerade.    The  state  of 

•K  Md  ZUlah  at  once  sho^  2riiJ?ZK*^  "'"''  *"*«  ***'=''  he  hadSllen  evir  n^nwihe  dS 
•i-m  that  wa.  »«.  ^^y^^  *^''?''  «"th..-  |  covey  of  Zil|ah  had  deprived  him  of^hat  cJn^ 

stant  reticence  Which  ns^d  to  1»  hi.  „!..  ".!2" 


whoM  existence  she  now  felt  confident  BeWnd 
tins  dMire  there  lay  an  implacable  resolve  to  take 
l^^H'^''  ■'"  .*?.^/  .""y  "P""  her.  and  the  discov- 
tXh    [  '"«'•'**''  ""'n*!  *«  only  .ynonymou. 

r.^r.K*- '*?'"^''*"«~'"='' -hich  she  would  wreak 
npoh  this  destroyer  of  her  peace.  . 

dJl'rr"%''i»i'"'''  howevei-,  to  accomplish  sach  a  , 
fmrn^i,  "  *"■  """""f  *^°"''>  he  found  out 

from  the  wrvants,  nor  was  there  any  one  whom 
she  could  emptey  to  obse^e  her  "  hu.bandV  2S 

dZ.»  V  •'"'  ^"■"  ^  *■«"  *•  »eed  of  tha^ 
deep  4evotion  and  matchless  fidelity  which  she 
had  once  received  from  Gualtier,    But  he  wS 

fr  T^:*  ??"'•'  "•'•'  "°»  «"«>  for  him?  8h2 
thought  of  this  often,  but  still  deUyed  "  dol^ 

m,nH  K  ""'  m".  "'•'  •"""■«•"  "he  ^ve  the  coml 
ThtKn  ?/''•'  'T**  «"«'7  thingMd  comeTo 
do  her  bidding.  But  she  hesitated.  Even  n 
her  unscrupulous  mind  there  was  a  Dercention 
of  the  fitness  of  things,  and  she  w^Zr  to 

TLt  i!'"J\'i!"»"'^  '^^  "'» »f  'he  man  who  w 
deeply  loTed  her,  when  her  purpose  was  to  re- 

TZV  ***  P""'"''  uh"""  "^''' '"  tl«  affections^ 

another  nrmn   ni- n>>k__  __  vl...  i    .     ..   ""•"»"• 


"«,  ana  ^uiali  at  once  showed  a  gMisl 

iZ  ^?Sel2J^*"»  „?•«»  '"tended  to 
"CSld  rfS^  *^PP?'"'  ^'•''  ••  •"  Athe. 


-^^^^^^mBmmm 


:;   y    :  '■"i«m'»u  aepnvea  him  of  that  con- 
stant reticencrWfiich  us^d  to  be  his  char^t^ 

U«L  ^JS.^u''**  P'r?""  ■"'J'8enW«nd  talkaT 
rl^L,  .fc  .change  had  inspired  ahirm  in  Hilda 
Mther  than  joy,  and  she  had  considered  tliis  the 
S^nT:Z  *"  "ll'ir*  "•«  love  w«  Ae'a'ni! 
Z««I.^*^''L"'"''  him  now.  Afker  the  maa. 
querade  had  been  mentioned  he  himsetf  so 
nhoutit    Int hefuU««ofhisJoyit.li» 


.tea-',   «W-i 


^» 


sit 


THE  CBTPTOORAH. 


, ,'»» , 


and  Hilda,  tttu  Wondering  wh ^  •«  ihoold  mvoi- 
don  inch  •  thing,  began  to  wonder  wlut  inter-, 
est  tlie  tiling  might  lutre  t*  him.  No  donbt  he 
wu  going.  Of  th»r  the  (bit  aisured.  .  If  lo,  the 
myBterioni  being  R>  whom  slw  believed  he  waa 
devoted  would  necestwilr  be  there  toow  She  be- 
lieved that  the  expectation  6f  being  there  with 
her  had'eo  intoxicated  him>that  this  maranerade 
was  the  chief  thing  in  his  thouglits,  and  there- 
fore he  had  made  mention  of  it.  So  she  watch- 
ed to  find  ODt  the  meaning  of  this,  ■> 

One  day  a  parcel  c^me  for  Liord  Chetwynde. 
The  senrantt  were -out  of  sight,  and  she  u|>ened 
it.  It  waa  a  salt  of  clothes  in  the  Cavalier  fash- 
ion, with  ifvrj  accessory  necessanr  to  make  up 
the  costume.  The  meaning  of  this  was  at  unce 
evident  to  her.  He  was  going  to  this  masquer- 
ade as  a  Cavalier.  What  then  7  This  discovery 
at'once  made  plain  befora>her  all  that  she  might 
■  do.  Under  these  circumstances  it  would  be  pos-i 
sible  for  her  to-  (aUow  and  to  track  him.  Per- 
haps her  own  g6od  fortune  and  cleverness  might 
enable  hpr  to  discover  the  one  to  whom  he  was 
devoted.  But  a  complete  disguise  was  necessary 
for  herself.  She  was. not  long  in  cfioosfng  such 
a  disguise.  She  decidednpon  the  costume  of  the 
Conpagttia  deUa  J/isertcorc/ia-rfne. which  was 
eminently  Florentine,  and,  atiMpmie  time,  bet- 
ter adapted  for  purpbiies  of  conbMlment  than  anr 
other  cbnld  possibly  be.  It -consists  of  a  black 
robe  with  a  girdle,  and  a  hood  thrown  over  the 
head  in  sucha  way  as  to  show  only  the  eres.  It 
would  be  as  suitable  a  disguise  for  a  woman  as 
Ibr  a  man,  and  would  give  no  possible  chance  of 
<«cognition.  At  the  same  time,  belonging  as  it 
did  to  that  fkmons  Florentine  society,  it  ijronld 
be  recogniud  by  all,  and  while,  insuring  a  com- 
plete 'disguise,  would  excite  no  comitaent. 

Lord  Chetwynde  left  early  on  the  morning  of 
.  Ae  iSte,  taking  hia  coatnme  with  him,  showing 
^  Hilda  that  he  waa  evidently  going  in  company 
with  others.    It  was  with  great  impatience  that 
she  waited  the'progrcss  of  the  hours ;  and  when, 
at  length,  the  tihie  came,  and  sh|B  was  depoeited 
at  the  gate  of  the  Villa  Rinalci,^En-  agitation  was 
excessive.    Entering  here,  sba||Hid  the  grounds 
illuminaied. 
\      They  were  extenstve,  and  filled  with  groves 
and  spacious  avenues  and  dashing  fountains  and 
beantiftil  sculptures.    Already  a  large  crowd  bad 
assembly, and  Hilda walkedaqiongthem,  watch- 
ing on  every  side  for  the  man  Whom  she  sought. 
,  In  so  large  a  place  as  this,  where  the  grounds 
were,^  extensive,  it  was' difficult  indeed  to  find 
plar  person,  and  two  hours  passed  away 
l^atrch.    ^t  she  was  patient  and  de- 
mand there  was  but  one  idea  in  her  mind, 
lie  and th«jra^ty  of  thejMsembled  throng 
»t  for  one  nmBiM  divert  her,  though  this 
ithe  first  scenffisrthe  kind  that  she  had  ever 

held,  and  its  novelty  might  virell  have  attracted 
her  attention.  The  lights  which  flashed  out  pa 
brightly  through  the  gloom  of  nig^t— thejiouy 
crowd!  which  thronged  ererr  where — the  roam- 
ing «pray  that  danced  upward  from  tiie  ftnmtaiiis, 

glftWfinJng  in  ttia  Hirht  t\t  thft  lhr*n»      frtin  ♦tiftwti<l 

HivmMtwy  >u  sucuKus  us  uarMntt|iB  '  "luvunniaMiHs^ 

scenes  of  mirth  and  revelry  that  arose  on  every 
side— all  thesjB  had  no  attraction  (br  this  woman, 
who  had  come  hero  tat  one  purpose  only,  and 
who  carried  this  pnipoae  deep  in  her  heart  The 
company  wore  vveryimaginaae  attire.  Most  of 
thtm  were  in  masks,  bat  some  of  them  had  none : 


while  Hilda,  In  her  monmftil  robe,  that  spoke  to 
all  of  death  and  funereal  rites,  was  alone  in  tli^ 
singularity  of  her  costume. 

She  wandered  throughout  all  the  grounds,  and 
through  the  villa  i|Mlf,  in  search  of  one  thing, 
but  that  one  thing  shj; could  not  find.    At  length 
her  weary  feet  refused  to  support  her  any  lonv.^ 
ger  in  what  seemed  a"  hopeless  search,  and  sli^ 
sat  down  near  ohe  of' the  fouutains  in  the  rcif-1 
tral  avenue,  and  gave  herself  up  to  desDopdenw 
thoughts.  ^    ,    WL^'A. 

About  half  an  hour  pissed,  wMpi  *adM||^b|i'o 
figures  approached  that  riveted  hei^MpWon. 
1%ey  were  a  man  and  a  wt>ma!i.  Her  hjnrt  bent 
fast.  Th^re  was  no  mistake  about  the  mJkn.  Ijis 
dress  was  the  dress  which  she  herself  had  teen 
and  examined.  He  wore  a  domino,  but  beneath 
it  could  be  seen  his  whiskers,  cut  after  the  Kn- 
gliih  fashion,  and  long  and  pendent;  But  Hilda 
knew  that  face  so  familiarly  that  there  wag  no 
doubt  in  her  mind,  although  she  only  saw  the  low- 
er portion.  And  a  woman  was  with  him,  rat- 
ing on  his  arm.  They  pass^  by  her  in  silenra 
Hilda  waite<l  till  they  had  gone  by,  and  tli'en 
arose,  and  followed  stealthily.  Now  had  come 
the  time  for  discovery,  perhaps  for  vengenQce. 
In  her  wild  impulse  she  had  brought  a  <lngger 
'with  her,  which  she  had  secreted  in  her  bi-east. 
As  she  fbllowed  her  hand  ployed  mecijnnicaNy 
with  tlie  hilt  of  this  dagger.  It  was  on  tliiit  that 
she  had  instinctively  placed  her  ultimate  resolve. 
They  walked  on  swiftly,  but  neither  of  them  turn- 
ed td'  see  whether  they  were  followed  or  not. 
The  idea  of  such  a  thing  never  seemed  to  hare  en- 
tered into  the  mind  of  either  of  them.  After  a 
time  they  left  the  avenue,  and  turned  into  a  side- 
path  ;  andr  following  its  course,  they  went  on- 
ward to  the  more  remote  parts  of  the  grounds. 
Here'.there  were  but  few  p^ple,  and  these  grew 
fewer  as  they  went^on.  At  length  they  came  to 
the  end  of  this,  path,  and  turned  to  the  right. 
Hilda  hurried  onwkrd  stealthily,  and,  turning, 
saw  an  arbor  embowered  among  the  trees.  Near 
by  wtw  '^JUljL^M^^pnK  Item  the  branch  of ' 
a  tree  <>'^^iBHMHOfli^  heard  low  voices,*  and 

knew  '^^ffllnPnHI  '"^  the..i||iiapi'"'i' 
crept  nii|MH|^B|WBPt  close  to  i^^lnclose, 
indeed,  nNlHHPf^'^HFsItting  at  the  back,  had 
but  a  few  inches  between  themselves  and  this  list- 
ener. The  rays  of  the  lantern  shone  in,  so  that 
Hilda  could  see,  as  they  sat  between  her  and  the 
light,  the  outlines  of  their  forms.  .But  that  light 
was 'obstructed  by  the  leaves  that  clung  to  the 
arbor,  and  in  the  shadow  then-  features  were  in- 
visible. Two  dork  figures  were  before  her,  and 
that  was  all. 

"  We  can  stay  here  alone  for  some  time,"  said 
Lord  Chetwynde,  after  a  long  silence.  He  spoke 
in  a  whisper,  which,  however,  was  perfectly  aod- 
ible  to  Hifda. 

"  Yes,"  said  the  other,  speaking  in  the  same 
whisper.  "'He  is  amusing  himself  in  the  Grand 
Avenue." 

"  And  we  have  air  hoar,  at  least,  to  ourselves.. 
We  are  to.meet  him  iHt  the  Grand  Foantain.  He 
irilI«aifr&Ku^ 


There  was  another  silence. 

Hilda  heitrd  this  with  stAuige  feelings.  Who 
waa  this  h»  of  whom  they  spwe?  Was  he  the 
hnslband  of  this  woman?  Ofconne.  There  was 
no  other  expUuiation.  They  conld  not  be  so  cao- 
tkrat  aiul  10  regoMfol  aboat  any  oAer.  -  Nor,  hi- 


h» 


THB  CRTPlioiUM. 


;i»  injuriaftMband,  and  usetitn  aa  an 


A  ligh  escaped  the  other.  / 


of  the  future."  ^ 

"  Don't  think  of  the  futnre'.    The  D»»n»  i. 
onr  only  concern.     When  r  Vw„v    r  .P^"'  " 

H|P^e'to  fc'«oV'ifr<:„^^"«''- 

TnitaMn?.^  "'"^.'^w  »"  impaggioned  and  in- 

"  Oh  rl!7^^' K*'''.'''  P'«"*^  *«r  heart. 
And  I    ^    I."''*'  l''°"«'"'  " »'°''  he  loves  her ' 
what  blessed  fortune  was  it  "  r<»n.»^  r     j 
Chetwynde   "that  led  me  to  ^^  heTi^FC 
jnce-thatirought  us  both  her^  t^  this  o,^"  See 
m,InT,  ft   '*''"  '"'»  ""«  ""Other's  society? 
aiosf r/orri^"^-  '  thought  ^^I 
The  lady  said  flothing. 


tion  -^nighty  aslE         "^  '^"^  "^"^  "'^ 
W«f^  °'<  '^r  '^'*"  "■•  conscioua  of  time. 

side  was  the  mighty  po,vcr  of  love;  onThe^ 
the  dread  for^e  of  hate.  TenderneU  d wel!  ^ 
vengeance  waited  there.  Clor^Sl^ 
these  three,  but  while  Hilda  heard  ^n,LZ^ 
b«athi„g  of  M,o  lovers,  the;  wrr^1.:;:2.So«''o? 
her  presence,  and  honrj  „„.  .i.-  ...^r"*"':"*"' 


"AnBvoaunha'p^yr-    ™"  ^'On,  Chetwynde.    bn«thi„gof  M,e  lov.  ..  _  ,.„.__^,„^^^ 

of;;i?i^*'''p^'''-'-'-i'-h.nki.g  to^^^^^ 
"^- '  ■         o^"rh2!^''^--''>""-«3/K^^^ 

Unconscious  of  all  else,  and  oblivioos  of  #1,- 

fcjich  knew  tJio  IdSpf  the  Other,  thomrh  aowS'. 
had  spoken  It.  ^K^        •""^' """WnnowonU 

Phl',^'''  ™J'.'"en<fPtaddeply  exclaimed  Lord 
thetwynde,  m  a  vo  ce  which  Wm  low  .^  j-!^ 
and  fufi  of  pa«,ion-.  voke  ww"h  Z  U.  o«? 
and  no  longer  a  whispei^"Oh  niTftCrf?!^ 
beov^!  fotgive  my 'IJord^,  foVK't^^ifl"/ 
nes^mypassmn;  fonfive  m^  lovS^  ItfiaZZ 
to  me  when  I  know  that  I  must  lose  you    TS^ 

I  must  go  to  the  other  end  of  the  earth  and  mv 
er  never,  nev^r  mon,  can  we  hope^^Tj^" 


-—  ■■wi  aireiuiy  let 

first,  that  both  were  Enffliah     tu'^ua 

dSn«    ''^I'^'^V  «n  which  this  might  have  b^n 
0B^  saiiea  in  the  same  steamer     PnMif.i„  Zi.-£ 

;;  And  do  you  remembe^  what  I  said  ?"     ' 
I  have  not  forgotten. " 

it.    Tbiil^..»  **•  «"^*'"  ••*"■  •»"«•  «n*held 


But  Hilda  had  alre^v  I«.rn.rf  .k-  ..        "'  ""at  divide 

«t,  that  bothlSX^iiir™^^'''"  ™°«h-H'\°"'your 


« Ji'l^r'"!'''  P**.""^  *■»"''  <"">ra  him  in  pwsion. 
ate  mpetuosity-bnming  wonls  thev  w™  .n^ 

H«^i„n  »  t'  '?  "y'nP'thy  With  their  meaniV 
He  clung  to^lier  hand.  Every  moment  d«^ri^ 
h.m  monp  and  more  of  that  sdT^Xt  JS  tS 
pmfonnd  consideration  for  her^The^Sd^ 

.^tten  himself  as  to  speak  wonls  UkTtl^  Bui 
W  separation  was  near,  and  .he  W«SSe S 
J;m,  and  the  hour  and  the-opporttmi^'^SS 

IB  mtoleroble,    he  groaned.    •''God  knows  how 
WthfuHy  I  have  kept  a  ^nard  over  my  Wort,  and 

fi^tS™  ^.  Vr^"*;!: '°"P"«  ovrirmasti,  me.  Sy 
»..  ?■'*  hke  hell  without  you.    Oh  love  I  oh 


6^-K-c,c..'r<,si'a3sj 


?«^ts« 


^deop  sUence  foUowed,  broken  bya  «,b  from 

'«Tui!!!!!lil?  ™'""'  y*»"  ■"»  ">'ne!"  he  cried, 
s.^    r  "  "'i??  """^ '"'«  d«oWon  and  Si: 

K^wiu^L;g!c  Jag  ^^£ 

fo.««t  HllThHS^hlnKJkSf 
K  fw    ^?  *^'*  y**"  ^"-    SmI  I  gjve  up 

winds.    I  trample  even  on  Aonor  and  Atf»  for 

yonr  sake.     Come  with  me !"  ^     ' 

He  paused,  breathkiM  fit>m  tiM  terrible  emo. 


k4[^;^c, 


'  t^s. 


214 


THE  CBYI 


)GBA&L 


tion  that  had  now  oveqwwered  him.  The  lady 
trembled.  She  tried  to  withdraw  her  hwd,  l>ut 
he  clung  to  it.  She  staggered  to  herieet,  and 
Mood  trembling.  / 

"Oh  !"  she  fullered,  "do  not  teJhpt  rao!  I 
am  weak.     I  am  nothing.     Do' not;  do  not!" 

; ''Tempt  you?  No,  no!"  cried  Lord  Chet-i 
wynde,  feverishly.  "  Do  not  say  so.  I  ask  you 
only  to  save  me  from  despair.",  / 

lie  rose  to  his  feet  as  he  said  this,  and  stood  b; ' 
her,  still  holding  that  hand  which  he  would  nc  I: 
relinquish.  And  the  one  who  watched  them  i  \ 
her  agony  saw  an  anguish  as  intense  as  hers  i:  i 
that  quivering  frame  which  half  shrank  awa  f 
twm  Lord  Chetwynde,  and  half  advanced  toward 
him ;  in  those  hands,  one  of  which  was  held  in 
his,  wliile  the  other  was  clasped  to. her  heart; 
and  in  Lord  Chetwynde  himself,  who,  though  he 
stood  there  before  her,  yet  stood  trambling  from 
head  to  foot  in  the  frightful  agitation  of  the  hour. 
All  this  Hilda  saw,  and  as  she  saw  it  she  learned 
this — that  all  the  hopes  which  she  had  ever^irm- 
ed  of  winning  this  man  to  hei-self  were  futile  and 
baseless  and  impossible.  In  that  moment  thej; 
faded  away ;  and  what  was  left  ?  What  ?  Venge- 
ance I 

Suddenly  Lord  Chetwynde  roused  himself  from 
#  the  struggle  that  raged  within  him.  It;  was  as 
"though  ho  had  resolved  to  put  an  end  to  all  these 
conflicts  with  himself.  He  dragged  Zillah  towafd 
him.  Wildly  and  madly  he  seized  her.  He 
flung  his  arms  about  her,  and  pressed  her  to  his 
heart. 

"  My  love!  my  darling !"  he  exclaimed,  in  low 
tones  that  were  broken,  and  scarce  audible  in  the 
.  inteiisity  of  his  emotion,  "you  can  not — you  will 
not — you  dare  not  refuse  mo !" 

Zill&h  at  first  was  overwhelmed  by  this  sudden 
outburst.  But  soon,  by  a  mighty  effort,  she 
seemed  to  gain  control  over  hereelf.  She  tore 
herself  away,  and  staggered  back  a  few  paces. 

"^are  me!"  she  gasped.  "Have  pity! 
have  mercy !  If  you  love  me,  I  implore  you  by 
'  your  love  to  be  merciful !  I  am  so  weak.  As 
you  hope  for  heaven,  spare  me !" 

She  was  trembling  violently,  and  her  words 
were  scarcely  coherent.  At  the  deep  and  pite- 
ous entreaty  of  her  voice  Lord  Chetwynde's  heart 
was  touchal  With  a  violent  etfort  ho  seemed 
to  regain  his  self-control.  A  moment  before  he 
had  been  possessed  of  a  wild,  ungovernable  pas- 
sion, which  swept  all  things  away.  But  now  this 
was  succeeded  by  a  calm,  and  he  stood  for  a  time 
silent. 

"You  will  forgive  me/'  he  said  at  last,  sadlv., 
"  Yon  are  more  noble  than  I  am.  Yon  do  right 
to  refuse  me.  My  request  seems  to  you  like  mad- 
ness. Yes,  you  are  right  to  refuse,  even  though 
^  I  go  into  despair.  But  listen,  and  yoci  will  see 
how  it  is.  I  love  you,  but  can  never  win  yon, 
for  there  is  a  gulf  between  ns.  You  may  have 
suspected — I  am  married  already !  Between  ns 
there  stands  one  who  keeps  us  forever  asunder ; 
and  —  that  —  one — / —  hate  —  tcorte  — Man  — ' 
<imtkt"  — -- V— ^- , 

He  spoke  these  last  words  slowly,  and  with  a 
savage  emphasis,  into  which  all  the  intensity  of 
his  love  had  sent  an  indescribable  bitterness. 

And  there  was  one  who  heard  those  words, 
in  whose  etrs  they  rang  like  a  death-knell ;  one 
croached  behind  among  the  shnibbery,  whose 
bands  clung  to  the  lattice  of  tlie  arbor ;  who, 


nongh  secure  in  her  concealment,  could  scarcely 

ide  the  anguish  which  raged  within  her.     At 

hese  words  the  anguish  burst  forth.     A  groan 

escaped  her,  and  all  her  senses  seemed  to  fail  in 

that  moment  of  agony. 

Zillah  gave  a  cry. 

"  What  was  that  H  Did  you  hear  it  ?"  she  ex- 
claimed, catching  Lord  Chetwynde's  arm. 

Lord  Chetwynde  had  heard  it  also. 

"It's  nothing,"  said  he,  after  listening  for  a 
moment.     ' '  Perhaps  it's  one  of  the  deer. " 

"I'm  afraid,"  said  Zillah. 

"  Afraid !     Am  not  /  with  you  ?" 

'  'Xet  us  go, "  murmured  Zillah.  ' '  The  place 
is  dreadful;  I^an  scarcely  breathe." 

"  Take  off  jpur  ma8k,"^said  Lord  Chetwynde; 
and  with  trembling  hands  he  assisted  her  to  re- 
move it.  Hi^  tone  and  manner  reassured  her. 
She  began  to  think  that  the  sound  was  nothing 
after  nil.  Lord  Chetwynde  himself  thought  but 
little  of  it.  His  own  excitement  had  been  so  in- 
tense that  every  thing  else  was  disregarded.  He 
saw  that  ^he  was  alarmed,  but  attributed  this  to 
J;h.cS-.e3;ei(cment  which  she  had  undergone.  He 
now  did  his  best  to  soothe  her,  and  in  his  new- 
found calm  he  threw\  awny  that  impetuosity 
which  had  so  overpowered  her.  At  last  she  re- 
gained something  like  her  former  self-possessiun. 

^We  must  go  back,"  said  he  at  length. 
"Wait  hefe  a  few  moments,  and  I  will  go  up 
the  path  a  short  distance  to  see  if  the  way  is 
clear." 

He  went  out,  and  went,  as  he  said,  a  little 
distance  up  the  path. 

Scarcely  had  his  footsteps  died  out  in  the  dis- 
tance when  Zillah  heard  a  noise  directly  behind 
her.  She  started.  In  her  agitated  state  she  was 
a  prey  to  any  feeling,  and  a  terror  crept  over  her. 
She  hastened  out  with  the  intention  of  following 
Lord  Chetrfynde. 

The  figure,  crouching  low  behind  the  arbor, 
had  seen  Lord  Chetwynde's  departure.  Now 
her  time  had  come — the  time  for  vengeance! 
His  bitter  words  had  destroyed  all  ho|ie,  and  all 
of  that  patient  cunning  which  she  might  other- 
wisis  have  obsen°ed.  Blind  with  rage  and  jms- 
sion,  there  was  only  one  thought  in  her  mind, 
and  that  was  instant  and  immediate  vengeance. 
She  caught  her  dagger  in  her  hand,  and  siruds 
out  upon  her  victim. 

The  light  which  hung  from  the  branch  of  the 
tree  shone  upon  the  brbor.  The  back-ground 
was  gloomy  in  the  dense  shadow,  while  the  in- 
tervening space  was  illumined.  Hilda  took  a 
few  quick  paces,  clutching  her  dagger,  and  in  a 
moment  she  reached  the  place.  But  in  that  in- 
stant she  beheld  a  sight  which  sent  through  her 
a  pang  of  sudden  horror — so  sharp,  so  intense, 
and  accompanied  by  so  dread  a  fear,  that  she 
seemed  to  turn  to  stone  as  she  gazed. 

It  was  a  slender  figure,  clothed  in  white, 
with  a  white  mantle  gathered  close  About  tRe 
throat,  and  flowing  down.  The  face  was  white, 
and  in  this  dim  light,  defined  against  the  dark 
4Hi«k-£rouBd  of  trees,  it  8«eraed-Uke  thelitceat—; 
the  dead.  The  eyes — large,  lustrous,  burning- 
were  fixed  on  her,  and  seemed  filled  with  con- 
suming fire  as  they  fastened  themselves  on  her. 
The  dark  hair  hung  down  in  vast  voluminons 
folds,  and  hy  its  contrast  added  to  the  marble 
whiteness  of  that  face.  And  that  face !  It  wu 
a  face  which  was  never  abs^t  from  hor  thougbti^ 


ou?" 

nh.  «' The  place 
uhe." 

Lord  Chetwyiide; 
ssisted  her  to  re- 
er  reassured  her. 
iind  was  nothing 
nself  thought  but 
It  had  been  so  in- 
Jisregarded.  He 
attributed  this  to 
undergone.  He 
,  and  in  his  new- 
that  impetoosity 
At  last  she  re- 
9r  self-possessiun. 
1  he  at  length, 
ind  I  will  go  up 
lee  if  the  way  is 

he  said,  a  little 

ed  ont  in  the  di»- 
e  directly  behind 
ited  state  she  was 
or  crept  over  her. 
ition  of  following 


he  branch  of  the 
rhe  back-ground 
Dw,  while  the  in- 
.  Hilda  took  a 
dagger,  and  in  » 
But  in  that  in- 
sent  through  her 
iharp,  so  intense, 
a  fear,  that  she 
gazed. 

lothed  in  white, 
1  close  About  tite 
e  face  was  white, 
against  the  dark 

IUIcA  thfl  frtCfl  o' 

itrous,  burning— 
I  filled  with  cun- 
emselves  on  her. 
vast  voluminoni 
id  to  the  marble 
lat  face !  It  wu 
•Ota  hor  tbougbti^ 


-"«■«  BKHKUI  A  WOHT  yUlUII  IMIT  TBgOPOg  ggl^XTjntg  gf ^WHaRHr.* 


•  fcc«  which  haunted  her  dreams— the  face  of 
ber  Tictlm— the  face  of  Zillah ! 

Hilda  bad  only  one  thought,  and  that  was  this, 
u«t  the  sea  had  given  np  its  dead,  and  that  her 
flctim  had  come  to  ponfront  her  now ;  in  the 
boar  of  vengeance  to  stand  between  her  and  an- 


other victim,  It  was  but  for  an  instant  that  she 
stood,  yet  in  that  instant  a  thousand  thoughts 
swept  through  her  mind.  But  for  nn  instant ; 
and  then,  with  a  ll^ud,  piercing  shrieit,  she  leaped 
back,  and  with  a  thrill  of  mortal  terror  plunged 
into  the  thick  wood  and  fled  afar— fled  with  tha 


v^^-ttJ^u,  ^iLf  ^^3,t'i 


\ 


216 


THE  CBTFTil^atAMr 


feeling  that  the  aTenger  waa  following  fast  after 
her. 

The  shriek  roosed  L<^  Chetwjrnde.  He 
nuhed  backi  Zillah  had  fainted,  and  wns  lying 
senseless  on  the  grass.  He.  raised  her  in  his 
arms,  and  held  her  prowad  convulsively  to  hif 
heart,  looking  with  unotterable  longing  upon  her 
pnle  face,  and  pressing  his  burning  Upa  to  her 
cold  brow.  There  was  a  great  terror  in  his  heart, 
for  he  conid  not  think  what  it  might  be  that  had 
happened,  and  he  feared  that  some  sudden  alann 
had  done  this.  "Bitterly  he  reproached  himself 
fi)r  80  agitating  her.  He  had' excited  her  with 
his  despair ;  and  she,  in  her  agitatiota,  had  be- 
come an  easy  prey  to  any  sudden  fear.  Some- 
thing had  happened,  he  could  not  tell  what,  but 
he  feared  that  he  had  been  to  some  extent  the 
cause,  by  the  agitation  which  he  had  excited 
within  her.  All  these  thoughts  and  fears  were 
in  his  mind  as  he  held  her  upraised  in  his  arms, 
and  looked  wildly  around  for  some  means  of  re- 
storing her.  A  fountain  was  playing  not  far 
away,  under  the  trees,  and  the  baJtMpaf  running 
water  came  to  his  ears  amidst  thrdei^  stillness. 
There  he  carried  his  precious  burden,  and  dashed 
water  in  her  face,  and  chafed  her  hands,  and 
mnnnured  all  the  time  a  thousand  words  of  love 
and  tenderness.  To  him,  in  his  intense  anxie- 
ty, the  moments  seemed  hours,  and  the  passage 
M  every  moment  threw  him  into  despair.  But 
at  last  she  revived,  and  finally  opened  her  eyes  to 
see  the  face  of  Lord  Chetwynde  bending  over 
her. 

"  Thank  God ! "-  he  murmured,  as  her  opening 
eyes  met  his.  ^ 

"Do  not  leave  me!"  moaned  Zillah.  "It 
may  come  again,  and  if  it  does  I  shall  die !" 

"  Leave  you !"  said  Lord  Chetwynde ;  and 
then  he  said  nothing  more,  but  pressed  her  hand 
in  silence. 

After  a  few  moments  she  arose,  and  leaning 
heavily  on  his  arm-  she  walked  with  him  up  the 
path  toward  the  fountain.  On  the  way,  with 
many  starts  and  shudders  of  sudden  fear,  slie 
told  nim  what  had  happened.  She  had  heard  a 
noise  among  the  tries,  and  had  hurried  out, 
when  suddraly  a  figure  rushed  up  to  her — an 
■wfiil  figure  I  It  wore  a  block  robe,  and  over 
its  head  was  a  cowl  with  two  holes  for  the  eyes. 
This  figure  waved  its  Arms  wildly,  and  finally 
gave  a  long,  wild  veil,  which  pierced  to  her 
heart  She  fell  senseless.  Nevu  while  life  lusts, 
she  said,  would  she  be  able  w  foiget  that  ab- 
horrent cry. 

Lord  Chetwynde  listened  eagerly. 

"That  dress,"  he  said,  "is  the  costume  of  a 
Florentine  society  that  devotes  itself  to  the  burial 
of  the  dead.  Some  one  has  woni  it  here.  I'm 
aflnsid  we  have  bden  watched.    It  looks  like  it." 

"  Watched!  who  could  think  ofnidi  a  thingf  ** 

"I  doift  know,"  said  Lord  Chetwynde, 
thoughtfully.  "It  tanj  have  bam  acddentak 
Some  masker  has  watched  ns,  and  luu  tr^  to 
frighten  yon.  Tliat  is  all.  If  I  thought  that  we 
coold  have  any  enemy,  I  would  say  that  it  was 

'SiirthM  is  Ifliposslbte:  ^¥e 
known  here.  At  any  rate,  you  must  not  think 
that  there  has  been  an  v  thing  supernatural  about 
it.  It  seems  to  me,  he  concluded,  "that  we 
havk  been  mistaken  for  some  others." 

This  way  of  accounting  for  it  served  to  quiet 
ZUlah's  (bars,  and  by  the  time  that  they  reached 


the  fountain  she  was  more  calm.  Obed  Chute 
was  waiting  there,  and  as  she  pleaded  fatigue, 
he  at  once  had  the  cai^ge  ordered. 


CHAPTER  LXV. 

niLDA's^DBOISION. 

Hilda  fled,  and  eoittinned  long  in  that  frantic 
flight  through  the  thick  woods.  As  the  branches 
of  the  underbrush  crackled  behind  her,  it  seemed 
to  her  that  it  was  the  noise  of  pursuit,  and  the 
horror  of  thkt  unexpected  vision  was  before  her, 
for  to  face  it  again  seemed  to  her  worse  thnn 
death.  She  was  strong  of  soul  naturally ;  Iter 
ner>-e8  were  not  such: as  give  way  beneathiM^ 
pressure  of  imagination ;  she  was  not  n  ii.fipi" 
who  was  in  any  degiiee  liable  to  tl^o  ordinitiT 
weaknesses  of  a  woman's  nature;  ^t>^9  latt 
few  months  had  opened  new  iieelings  lyithln  her, 
and  under  the  assault^  of  those  fierce,  resistless 
feelings  the  strength  ^f  her  nature  had  given 
way.  Even  had  shd  possessed  oil  her  old 
strength,  the  sight  of  Ihis  unparalleled  appari- 
tion might  have  overwMlmed  her,  but  as  it  was, 
it  seemed  to  mak«  her  Insane.  Already  shaken 
to  her  inmost  soul  by^  long  suffering  and  wild 
alternations  of  feeling,  she  had  that  night  at- 
tained the  depths  of  datfaairin  those  words  which 
she  had  overheard.  {Immediately  upon  that 
there  came  the  direful  phantom,  which  she  felt 
that  she  could  not  look  upon  and  live.  That 
fece  seemed  to  bum  itseff  into  her  mind.  It  was 
before  her  as  she  fled,  a^  a  great  horror  thrilled 
through  her,  diving  her  onward  blindly  and 
wildly,  until  at  but  nature  itself  gave  way,  and 
she  fell  shrieking  with  tema^ 

Then  sense  left  her.  ' 

How  long  she  lay  she  knew  not  There  was 
no  one  near  to  bring  back  the  lost  sense.  She 
awaked  shuddering.  She  had  never  feinted  thus 
before,  and  it  seemed  to  her  now  as  though  she 
had  died  and  risen  again  to  the  sadness  of  life. 
Around  her  were  the  solemn  forest  trees.  The 
wind  sighed  through  their  bimnches.  The  san 
was  almost  at  the  meridian.  It  was  not  mid- 
night when  she  feinted.  It  was  mid-day  almost 
when  she  recovered.  There  was  a  sore  pain  at 
her  heart ;  all  her  limbs  seemed  full  of  bruises ; 
but  she  dragged  herself  to  a  little  opening  in  the 
trees  where  the  rays  of  the  sun  came  down,  and 
there  the  sun's  rays  warmed  her  once  more  into 
life.  There,  as  she  sat,  she  recalled  the  evenu 
of  the  night  The  horror  had  passed,  and  she  ^o 
longer  had  that  awful  sense  of  a  pursuing  phan- 
tonf;  but  there  renulned  the  belief,  fixed  within 
her  soul,  that  she  had  seen  the  form  of  the  dead. 
She  was  not  superstitions,  but  in  this  instance 
the  sight,  and  the  eflTects  of  that  sight,  had  been 
so  tremepdons  that  she  oodd  not  reason  tliein 
awiy. 

She  tried  to  dismiss  these  thooghts.  Whst 
was  she  to  do?  She  knew  not  And  now  ss 
she  thought  there  came  back  to  her  the  remem- 


Dhetwyndc  s.  wonls,"  and  tfae'a^"' 
terancfl  of  his  hate.  This  tecollection  rose  op 
above  the  remem1(rance  of  her  terrors,  and  gave 
her  something  dse  for  thought  What  should 
she  do?  Should  she  give  up  her  purpose  and 
return  to  Englabd?  This  seemed  to  her  intoU 
erable.     Chetwynde  Castle  had  no  attnutioui 


*^  dJnL^4»j^  ?'(■  ■4*-''  JW    -»f   ^^     ^  4  ^,*i/^'4i"l^» 


■n*  even  if  .he  were  now  auared  beyond  all 
doubt  that  she  should  be  for  aU  the  rest  of  her 

Zh  f  *««»«'»«' were  fixed  on  her  brow  be- 
yond  the  chance  of  removal-even  if  the  court 
and  the  anstpcracy  of  England  were  eager  to  re- 
ceUe  her  into  their  midst-yet  even  Te "she. 
foand  in  th«e  thing,  nothing  which  could  aVvi^ 
ate  ner  smDf.  nnH  nnfhin..  ».k:.i ■  •    .»    . 


THE  CRYPrrOGRAJtt 


.».  iZ^lZe    •"■"»"  """""g  wnicn  could  allevi- 
ate her  gnof,  and  nothing  which  could  afford  any 

nn«  M?""  i**K  '•'?,'""  "»*"  penetmted  with 
one  Idea,  and  that  idea  was  all  set  upon  Lord 
Chetwynde.  If  he  was  lost  to  her.  then  there 
wjs  only  one  of  two  alternative^-^i^Lh  to  £ 
mH^  or  vengwnce.  Could  she  Jie?  Not  yet 
IVom  that  she  tnmed,  not  in  fcr,  but  rather 
*  £^I„«      i"5""'*  »omething  yit  remained  to 

«fH  ?£'  •^?m''^**t°^  vengeance  lt>se  np  fiercely 
and  irremtibly.  It  retnmed  witi  something  of 
that  vehemence  which  had  markted  iu  presence 
Z3t  fr^T  "'«'"'  !:'••'"  "•»«  ^o'hed  forth  to 
how  could  she  now  act  ?  She  felk  as  though  the 
•ffort  after  vengeance  would  draW  her  once  more 
to  confront  the  thing  of  horror  which  she  h.S  ai! 
ready  met  with     Could  she  face  it  again  ? 

the  memory  of  Goaltier.    He  wiis  yet  faithful 
Ae  behevirf    ^„d  ready  to  act  for  her  in  ani 

lo  liim  she  could  now  turn.  He  coijd 
now  do  what  she  could  not.  IfshehadhimXe 
ISrJ°.  ™'  "^  ^Z'  I?""  '""'«».  "he  miihtTs^ 
IZ  Sh^fu'  ^°'  »'»»•":«*»''  *nd  for*venge- 
BMs,  and  longed  with  a  weary  Mhse  of  deiX 
uon  for  some  one  who  might  assUt  her  and  do 
this  work  which  lay  before  her  ' 

ml^V'fS'  *"*!  «>«"o  go.    The  warmth  of  the 
•un  had  restored  something  of  her  strength 
ne  new  resohition.  which  she  bad  fonned  had 
Jjven  energy  to  her  sonl.    She  wwdered  about 

«U  fi.li  ^''*^'''?'  "•"  boundai^^of  the  villa. 
She  followed  this  for  wme  distande,  expec  ng 

w  f  "^^  ""'*  '•J'  *•"'  •'<««  of  4  wall.  Go- 
tag  up  to  the  top  of  thi.,  she  looked  oW  the  wait 

Ftoence  m  tiie  dtetance.  She  mw  ^ttv  iear  y 
where  she  WM,  and  knew  that  thi.  ^  tfie  near- 
•Jt  point  to  her  lodging..    To  co  back  to  Thi 

J^entr,ncowo«ld*;4iire  ."lo^ZSur  'u 
w»ld  ahK,  excite  snrprise.  One  in  her  peculiar 
Mstam«v^on  going  oa(  of  the  grounds,  mloht  be 
CM'  ••«« '"ought  it  better  to  ivoRk 
Btatooked  up  and  down  the  road,  anj^seeing  no 
23tetr*[L,r'!f  '*^P^*^  *e  ^p  oflhelSu 

6aI&er'^.n^L!h-'!!!L'!<^"J''»«'ni  letter  to 

~T^/'.ffl^.?''^'**^"'*'>^J^www*«  once. 

After  this  exdtemont  she  kept  hertied  ft^ 

•wdays.    Lord  Chetwynde  he^  Saithe  w.t 

W  without  expreidng  inr  en^     %  " 

J^ner  again,    g^  „,^ 

***  ««>  «cite  M  much  hope  wlMn  her,  now  feU 


differently  on  her  ear..    She  had  made  nk>  her 

^thT-  ,.^?*  ''".•";  ">"'  'here  was  noTopl 
She  had  called  to  he.»  side  the  minister  o?  C 
vengeance.  Lord  Chetwvnde  saw  her  ^iXe 
and  downcast  eyes,  but  did  not  trouble  hinCelf 
h-'^i.  '"'"  ""f  ""T  "f  ""•*  "ew  changein 
him  h^l  "ee^ed^to  be  growing  indifferent  to 
H  mI  '"' '^"8'"  5  »>■'  'he  change  concerned  him 
M.  rhn..  K."*  ""*  """'her  in  his  heart,  and  all 
his  thoughts  were  centered  on  that  other 

After  the  masquerade  Lord  Chetwynde  had 
burned  out  to  the  nlLi,  on  the  following  day  to 
S?n^t  "•.I.'"""  about  her  health.    He  found 

f  ^J"'i  """='•  '"^*"'  «•«*  exhibiting  suS- 
cient  weakness  to  excite  his  anxiety.  Which 
of  the  many  causes  that  she  had  for  agitation 
and  trouble  might  now  be  disturbing  her  he 

Zhl."""*'i\"'  '"'  «"'K»'t  to  allefiate  he? 
troubles  as  much  as  possible.  His  departure 
for  Indw  had  to  be  postponed,  for  how  could 
L  Atlfrf  "  ""*=''.  a  state?  Indeed,  as  long 
as  Obed  Chute  remained  in  Florence  he  did  not 
see  how  he  could  leave  for  India  at  aU. 


CHAPTER  LXVL 

FAITHFUL  STILL. 

Whew  Hilda  sent  off  her  note  to  Gnaltier  she 
felt  certain  that  he  would  come  to  her  aid     AU 

!h-'o^!l^-i''"**^  ^':!**T  *hem  had  not  shaken 
the  confidence  which  she  felt  in  his  willingnew 
to  assist  her  in  a  thing  like  this.    She  undemwd 
his  feelings  so  perfectly  that  she  saw  in  this  pni^ 
pose  which  she  offered  him  something  which 
would  be  more  agreeable  to  him  than  any  other 
and  all  that  he  had  ever  expressed  to  her  of  hii 
feelings  strengthened  this  view.    Even  his  at- 
tempts  to  gain  the  mastery  over  her,  his  coer- 
cion  by  which  he  foreed  fhJm  her  thai  memoSi 
ble  promise,  his  rage  and  his  menaces  at  Lau- 
sanne  were  so  many  proofs  of  his  love  for  her 
Thlu"  "w^'P""'  hate  to  Lord  Chetwynde: 
m«LT  *?  ?^"''«  had  once  despised  while  s^ 
made  use  of  it  she  now  called  to  her  aid,  so  a.' to 
make  use  of  it  again,  not  thinking  of  what  tte 
reward  would  be  which  he  would  claim,  not ««! 
ing  what  his  hope  might  be,  indifferent  to  wStI 
ever  the  future  might  now  reveal,  and  intent! 
?"i^-!L'!?".*.1??!:*"«."".'.h«  hest  aniT^ickest yny^ 


....J  _^..  .^„r.„K  ,„  ine  oest  ana  ahickest  way 
the  accompKshment  of  her  own  ven^fUl  deslrei 
rhi.  confidence  which  she  felt  in  GualUer  wu 
not  ""founded  nor  was  her  hope  disappointed.  4 

JL^VnT'' "'**"?'"'  '•"•^  •«"'  herfetterX- 
irtllr.u"  T'l*';  It  was  dated  Florence.  It 
•bowed  that  he  had  arrived  in  the  city,  ^d  in! 
formed  her  that  he  would  caU  upon  heJ  «  i>on 
M  he  could  do  so  with  safety.  There  was  no 
signature,  but  hi.  handwriting  was  well  known 

her,  and  told  her  who.  the  writer  was. 

About  an  hour  after  her  receipt  of  the  letter 

SS'i'JS'norr"^  T.  "*"•''''«  '°  her  presSic? 
ne  had  not  changed  in  appewrnncfl  sincp  ah*  w' 

WW  BIW,  But  had  the  fame  aspect.    Like  aU  pale 

?h«,^  M*?"*  °"^  .**  "»*»  of  consnmpUve  laok. 
*•«  ~nW  be  Karcely  any  change  In  Li  which 

^a^'™'rfl'\  I»Hild4however,the« 
Z,lUfS  T"^^  K?'"*^  *hlch  wat  at  one. 
manifest  to  the  warehing  gase  of  hU  .mall,  keen 
eye.  a.  they  rested  upon  her.  She  was  nit,  in- 
deed,  K>  wretched  in  her  appearance  a.  on  thrt 


THE  CiRTPTOGEAM. 


218 

eventful  day  when  she  had  astonished  him  by  her 
arrival  at  Lausanne.  Her"  face  was  not  ema- 
ciated, nor  *ere  her  eyes  s«  in  darlc  cavernous 
hollows  as  then,  nor  was  there  on  her  brow  the 
stamp  of  mortal  weakness.  What  Gualtier  saw 
in  her  now  had  reference  to  other  things.  He 
had  seen  in  her  nervousness  and  agitation  before, 
but  now  he  marked  in  her  a  loss  of  all  her  old 
self-control,  a  certain  feverish  impatience,  a  wild 
and  unreasoning  eagerness— all  of  which  seemeti 
to  rise  out  of  recklessness  and  desperation,  tier 
gestures  were  vehement,  her  words  carele 
impassioned  in  tone.  It  was  in  all  this  tUt  he 
marked  the  greatness  of  the  change  in  her.  ^  The 
feverish  warmth  with  which  she  greeted  him  was 
of  itself  totally  different  from  her  old  manner, 
end  from  its  being  so  different  it  seemed  to  him 
unnatural.  On  the  whole,  this  change  struck  him 
painfully,  and  she  seemed  to  hijn  rather  like  one 
in  a  kind  of  delirium  than  one  in  her  sober  senses. 
"When  I  last  bade  you  good-by,"  said  she, 
alluding  in  this  very  delicate  way  to  their  part- 
ing at  the  hotel  in  Lausanne,  "  you  assured  me 
that  I  would  one  day  want  your  ser^ic^.  You 
were  right.  I  was  mad.  I  have  overcome  my 
madness.  I  do  want  you,  my  friend — more  than 
ever  in  my  life  before.  You  are  the  only  one 
who  can  assist  me  in  this  emergency.  You 
gave  me  six  months,  you  remember,  but  they 
are  not  nearly  up.  You  understood  my  position 
better  than  I  did." 

She  spoke  in  a  series  of  rapid  phi  uses,  hold- 
ing his  hand  the  while,  and  looking  at  him  with 
Wning  intensity  of  gaze— a  gaze  which  Gualtier 
felt  in  his  inmost  soul,  and  which  made  his  whole 
being  thrill.  Yet  that  clasp  of  his  hand  and 
that  gaze  and  those  words  did  not  inspire  him 
with  any  pleasant  hope.  They  hardly  seemed 
like  the  nets  or  words  of  Hilda,  they  were  all  so 
imlike  herself.  Far  different  from  this  was  the 
Hilda  whom  he  had  known  and  loved  so  long. 
That  one  was  ever  present  in  his  mind,  and  had 
been  for  years- her  image  was  never  absent. 
Through  the  years  he  had  feasted  his  soul  in 
meditations  upon  her  grand  calm,  her  sublime 
lelf-poise,  her  statuesque  beauty,  her  superiority 
te  all  human  weakness,  whether  of  love  or  of  re- 
morse. Even  in  those  collisions  into  which  she 
had  come  with  him  she  had  risen  in  his  estima- 
tion. At  Chetwynde  she  had  shown  some  weak- 
ness, but  in  her  attitude  to  him  he  had  discov- 
ered and  had  adored  her  demoniac  beauty.  At 
Lausanne  she  had  been  even  grander,  for  then  she 
had  defied  his  worst  menacei^  and  driven  him 
utterly  discomfite'd  from  her  presence.  Such 
was  the  Hilda  of  his  thoughts.  He  found  her 
now  changed  Jrom  this,  her  lofty  calni  trans- 
formed to  feverish  impatience,  her  domineering 
manner  changed  to  one  of  obsequiousness  and 
flattery.  The  qualities  which  had  once  excited 
his  admiration  appeared  now  to  have  given  way 
to  others  altogether  commonplace.  He  had  part- 
ed with  her  thinking  pf  her  as  a  powerful  demon, 
ha  came  back  to  her  finding  her  »we»kwoman. 
~  But  nothing  In  Mi  manner  showed  Mi  thoughts. 
Beneath  all  these  lay  his  love,  iind  the  old  devo- 
tion manifested  itself  in  his  reply. 

"You  know  that  always  and  under  all  clr- 
cnmstances,  my  lady,  yon  can  command  my 
services.  Only  one  exceptional  case  has  ever 
•risen,  and  that  you  yourself  can  understand  and 
mouie." 


Hilda  B4t  down,  motioning  him  also  to  a  seat, 
and  for  a  moment  remained  silent,  leaning  her 
head  on  her  hand  in  deep  thought.  Gualtier 
waited  for  her  next  words. 

"You  must  not  expose  yourself  to  danger," 
said  she  at  length. 
"What  danger?" 

■""  iecognize  you  if  he  sees  you  here." 

that,  and  have  guarded  against  it. 

not  at  home  now,  is  he  ?" 
No." 
,"I  knew  that  very  well,  and  waited  for  his 
departure  before  venturing  here.     I  know  very 
well  that  if  he  were  to  catch  even  the  faintest 
glimpse  of  me  he  would  recognize  me,  and  it 
would  be  somewhat  difficult  for  me  to  escape.    . 
But  to-day  I  happened  to  see  him  go  out  of  the 
Porta  Livoma,  and  I  know  he  is  far  off  by  this 
time.    So,  yon  see,  I  am  as  cautious  as  ever.    Mn 
the  whole,  aad  as  a  general  thing,  I  intend  to  be 
guided  by  circumstances.     .Perhaps  a  disguise 
may  be  necessary,  but  that  depends  upon  many 
different  things.    I  will  have,  first  of  all,  to  learn 
fh)m  you  what  it  is  that  yon  want  me  to  do,  and 
then  I  can  arrange  my  plan  of  action.     But  be- 
fore yon  begin  I  think  I  ought  to  tell  you  a  very 
remarkable  incident  which  happened  m  London 
not  long  ago— and  one,  too,  which  came  very 
near  bringing  my  career,  and  yours  also,  my 
lady,  to  a  very  sudden  and  a  very  unpleasant 
termination." 
At  this  Hilda  gave  a  start. 
"What  do  you  mean?"  she  asked,  hurriedly. 
"Oh,  only  this,  that  a  very  nice  little  trap 
was  laid  for  me  in  London,  and  if  I  had  not  been 
unusually  cautious  I  would  have  fallen  into  it. 
Had  that  been  the  case  all  would  have  been  up 
with  me ;   though  as  to  yon,  I  don't  see  how 
vour  position  would  have  been  affectetl.     For," 
ho  added,  with  deep  and  uncontrollable  emotion, 
"  whatever  may  happen  to  me,  you  must  know 
enough  of  me  by  this  time,  in  spite  of  my  occa- 
sional rebellions,  to  be  as  sure  of  my  loyalty  to 
yon  as  of  your  own  existence,  and  to  know  that 
there  could  be  no  possibility  of  my  revealing  any 
thing  abont  you ;  no, "he  added,  as  his  clenched 
fist  fell  upon  the  table,  and  his  face  flushed  up 
deeply  at  his  rising  feeling—"  no,  not  even  if  it 
were  still  the  fhrfiion  to  employ  torture;  not 
even  the  rack  cotUd  extort  fh)m  me  one  syllable 
that  could  implicate  you.    Afler  all  that  I  have 
said,  I  swear  that  by  all  that  is  most  holy  !" 

He  did  not  look  at  Hilda  as  he  said  this,  bat 
his  eyes  were  cast  on  the  floor,  and  he  seemed 
rather  like  a  man  who  was  uttering  a  resolution 
to  himself  than  like  one  who  was  making  a 
statement  to  another.  But  Hilda  showed  no 
emotion  that  corresponded  with  his.  Any  dan- 
ger to  Guidtier,  even  though  she  herself  were  im- 
plicated, had  no  terrors  for  her,  and  could  not 
make  her  heart  throb  fiister  by  one  single  pulsa- 
tion. She  had  other  thhigs  on  her  mind,  which 
to  her  far  outweighed  any  considerations  of  P*'; 
gonal  danger.  Personal  danger,  indeed,  instead 
of  being  drMd«df  would  bow,  1h  her  preaart 
mood,  have  been  almost  welcomed,  so  as  to  af- 
ford some  distraction  flrom  the  torture  of  her 
thoughts.  In  the  secret  of  her  heart  she  more 
than  once  wished  and  longed  for  some  appalling 
«alamity— something  which  might  have  powerto 
I  engage  all  her  thoughu  and  all  her  mind.  The 
I  angiush  of  her  heart;  arising  out  of  her  lore  nX 


J-^i.  - 


s.vt.iu:<iitii^^&ijiM 


Ji*/'  ; 


^THE  CBYPTOOBAM. 


1 


elf  to  danger," 


Lord  Chetwynde,  had  grown  io  intolerable  t^at 
any  thing,  even  danger,  eren  discovery,  even 
death  itself,  seemed  welcome  now. 
»  It  was  this  feeling  which  filled  her  as  she  wgnt 
on  to  ask  Gnaltier  about  the  nature  of  the  danger 
which  he  had  escaped,  wishing  to  know  what  it 
might  be,  yet  indifferent  to  it  except  so  fur  as  it 
might  prove  to  be  a  distraction  to  her  cares. 

When  Gnaltier  last  vanished  from  the  scene 
he  had  sent  the  boy  to  his  lodging-house,  with 
the  agreement  that  he  should  meet  him  at  eight 
o'clock.  The  boy's  visit  and  its  results  have  al- 
ready been  narrated. 

As  for  Gnaltier,  he  was  profonndly  conscious 
all  tlie  while  of  the  possibility  that  a  trap  might  be 
laid  for  him,  and  that,  if  this  were  the  case,  the 
advent  of  his  messenger  would  be  seized  npon 
by  those  who  might  be  in  pursuit  of  hiin,  so  as  to 
pt  on  his  track.     The  very  cautiousness  which 
had  caused  him  to  seek  out  so  carefully  a  proper 
messenger,  and  instruct  him  in  the  part  which  he 
was  to  play,  kept  him  on  the  anxious  look-out  for 
the  progre**of  events.     From  the  Hme  that  the 
boy  left  he  stationed  himself  at  the  window  of  his 
room,  which  commanded  a  view  of  the  main 
entrance,  and  watched  with  the  closest  scrutiny 
every  one  who  came  into  the  hotel.    After  a 
time   he   thought   that  the  supposed  pursuers 
might  come  in  by  some  other  entrance.    With 
this  fear  he  retreated  into  his  bedroom,  which 
also  looked  ont  in  front,  and  locked  the  do6r. 
He  found  another  door  here  which  led  into  an 
adjoining  room,  which  was  occupied.     The  key 
of  the  door  between  the  bedroom  and  the  sitting- 
room  fitted  this  other  door,  so  that  he  was  able 
to  open  it.    The  occupant  was  not  in.    Throngh 
this  door  he  designed  to  retreat  in  case  of  a  sur- 
prise.   But  he  still  thought  it  most  likely  that 
any  pursuers  woMd  come  in  by  the  main  door 
of  the  hotel,  relying  npon  his  information  to  the 
boy  that  he  was  to  be  absent.    80  with  this  view 
he  stationed  himself  at  the  bedroom  window,  as 
he  had  at  first  stationed  himself  at  the  sitting- 
room  window,  and  watched  the  main  entranca 
It  was  a  task  which  needed  the  utmost  vigilance. 
A  great  crowd  was  thronging  there  and  sweepl 
ing  by ;  a^  among  the  multitudes  that  filled  the 
sidewalk  it  was  impossible  to  distinguish  any 
particular  forms  or  faces  except  among  those 
who  passed  up  the  steps  into  the  hotel.     Any 
one  who  had  less  at  stake  would  have  wearied 
of  such  a  task,  self-imposed  as  it  was ;  but  Gnal- 
tier had  too  much  at  stake  to  allpw  of  weariness 

fsi'  '*'"  ^^  ''^P'  ■"  '''*  ^^'^  "'"le  awake, 
iwtking  with  his  eyes  at  the  main  entrance,  and 
with  his  ears  listening  to  the  footsteps  that  came 
•long  the  haU,  to  discover  any  signs  of  danser 
to  himself. 

At  last  a  cab  drove  op  and  stopped  in  fiwnt 
of  the  door.  Gnaltier,  who  had  been  watching 
•roiy  thing,  noticed  this  also.  A  man  got  out! 
m  sight  of  that  man  sent  a  shock  to  Gualtier's 

.."• ,  ?"  ^"«''  »■'«'  *■«»  «nd  that  figure  in 
ipite  of  the  changed  dress.  It  wm  Blank  Bill. 
—A  second  took  to  confirm  that  first  impres- 
*m  was  enough.  Like  Ughtning  there  came  to 
Ms  mind  the  thought  that  Black  BiU  had  been 
Wtehing  for  him  ever  since  with  inexhaustible 
Proenee,  bad  enoonnterad  the  b«>y,  perhaps  with 
no  co-operation  of  the  landloid,  and  had  now 
ewne  to  arrest  him.  One  moment  sufficed  to 
tring  to  his  mind  the  thoaght,  ud  the  few  which 


'     219 

was  bom  of  the  tbonght.  Without  waiting  to 
take  another  glance,  or  to  see  who  else  might 
bo  in  the  cab,  he  hastily  unlocked  the  doors  of 
the  bedroom,  glided  into  the  hall,  passed  down 
a  back  stairway,  and  left  the  hotel  by  a 'side  en- 
trance far  removed  from  the  front^loor.  Then 
Oaning  swiftly  for^¥ard  he  mingled  with  the 
crowd  in  the  Strand,  and  was  soon  lost  to  the 
pursuit  of  any  followers. 

Such  was  Gualtier's  ^tory.  To  all  this  strange 
account  Hilda  listened  attentively. 

"I'  seems,"  said^he  at  length,  "as  though 
Black  Bill  has  befen  more  persevering  tlian  we 
suppofced. ' 

"  Far  more  so  than  I  supposed,"  said  Goal- 
tier,  "I  thought  that  he  would  have  given  up 
his  watch  long  ago;  or  that,  whether  be  wished 
or  not,  he  had  been  forced  to  do  so  from  want  of 
resources.  But,  after  all,  he  certainly  has  man- 
aged  to  hold  on  in  some  way.  I  suppose  he  has 
secured  the  co-operation  of  the  landlord,  and  has 
got  np  some  business  at  no  great  distance  from 
the  phice,  so  that  on  the  appearance  of  my  mes- 
senger hs^wns  sent  for  at  once." 

"  Did  you  see  the  others  in  the  cab  ?" 
"  No ;  Black  Bill  was  enough  for  me.    I  sup- 
pose the  boy  was  there  with  him." 
.     "Don't  you  think  it  likely  that  Black  BiU 
may  have  had  some  communication  with  the 
police  ?" 

"I  have  thought  over  that  question,  and  it 
does  not  seem  probable.  You  see  Black  Bill  is 
a  man  who  has  every  reason  to  keep  clear  of  the 
poUce,  and  the  very  information  which  he  would 
give  against  me  would  be  equally  against  him- 
self. Such  information  would  first  of  all  lead 
to  his  own  arrest.  He  would  know  that,  and 
would  keep  clear  of  them  altogether.  Besides, 
he  IS  an  old  offender,  and  beyond  a  doubt  very 
well  known  to  them.  His  past  career  has,  no 
doubt,  been  marked  by  them ;  and  this  informa- 
tion which  he  would  give  would  be  to  them  mere- 
ly a  confession  of  fresh  crime.  Finding  them- 
Mlves  unable  to  catch  me,  they  would  satisfy 
themselves  by  detaining  him.  Oh  no;  Bhick 
Bill  is  altogether  too  cunning  to  have  any  thihir' 
todo  with  the  police." 

"All  that  you  have  been  saying,"  ramariced 
Hilda,  "is  very  well  in  ite  way,  but  unforto- 
nately  it  is  based  on  the  supposition  that  Black 
Bill  would  tell  the  truth  to  the  police.  But,  on 
the  contrary,  it  is  highly  probable  that  h^  would 
do  nothing  of  the  kind.  He  has  ingenuity  enough, 
no  doubt,  to  make  np  a  stoty  to  suit  his  partica- 
lar  case,  and  to  give  it  such  a  coloring  as  to  keep 
himself  free  from  every  char^." 

"I  <lon't  see  how  he  could  do  that  very  well 
After  all,  what  would  be  the  essence  of  his  storr  ? 
Simply  this:  that  a  crime  had  b«en  committwi, 
and  that  he,  with  some  others,  had  participated 
init.  The  other  offenders  would  be  out  of  reach. 
What  then?  What?  Why,  Black  Bill,  from  the 
fact  of  his  own  acknowledgment,  would  be  taken 

in  AhaMwA  " 


ioj^mje^ 


I  don't  see  that.  As  I  see  It,  then  ore  m- 
rions  ^y«  by  which  a  man  with  any  cnnnins 
could  throw  all  the  guilt  on  another.  He  might 
deny  that  he  knew  any  one  was  on  board,  bat 
only  inipected  it  He  might  iwcmt  that  he  and 
the  rest  were  ibreed  into  the  boat  by  you,  he  and 
they  being  nnarmed,  and  TOO  weU  armed.  There 
an  other  nnioaitioiu  abo  by  which  he  woidd 


^^  ^it-tfii^. W  , 


'J^^^L'f^i"'..  ^,a\i,JS.f€,i4U^' 


^ 


THE  CRYPTOGRAM. 


i' 


be  able  to  present  himgolf  in  the  ligWt  of  aiAinno- 

cent  seaman,  wllo,  forced  to  witness  the  conimis- 

.  sion  of  a  crime,  had  Ipst  no  time  to  commnnicate 

to  the  authorities  the  knowledge  of  that  crime." 

"There  is  something  in  what  you  say.  But 
in  thftt  case  it  woi)ld  have  been  necessary  for  Him 
to  inform  the  police  months  ago." 

"Very  well.?  and  why  may  he  not?"    ' 

"He  niay  haw;  but  it  strikes  me  that 
would  be  more  inclined  to  work  the  thing  .u; 
himself;  for  in  that  cade,  if  he  succeeded,  thi 
prize  wonld-'be  all  his  own." 

Some  furdier  discussion  followed,  and  then 
Hilda  asked : 

"I  suppose,  by  the  way  tou  speak,  that  you 
saw  nothing  more  of  them  ?'' 

•>No." 

• "  You  were  not  tracked  ?" 
■    "No." 

"  Where  did  yon  go  after  leavirig  the  hotel?" 

"  I  left  London  that  evening  for  iSouthampton, 
and  th^n  I  went  west  to  Bristol ;  after  that  to 
Chetwynde.  I  staid  at  Chetwyndetill  I  got 
your  note." 

"Did  yon  jiot  see  any  thing  in  any  of  the  pa- 
pers which  might  lead  to  the  suspicion  that  you 
were  sought  aft^,  or  that  any  thing  was  being 
done?" 

"No,  nothing  whatever."  ,-^,^ 

"  If  any  thing  is  going  qp,  then,  it  must  Be  in 
eecret." 

"Yes ;  and  then,  yon  know,  in  a  country  like 
England  it  is'impossible  for  the  police  to  work  so 
comprehensively  or  so  efficiently  as  they  do  on 
the  Continent— in  France,  for  instance. 

"  I  wonder  if  the  French  police  are  at  work  ?" 

"  How  could  they  be  ?" 

"I  hardly  know,  unless  BMck  Bill  has  really 
informed  the  London  police,  and  they  have  com- 
municated'to  the  authorities  in  France.  Of 
course  it  aD  depends  on  him.  The  others  can 
bave  done  nothing.  He  alone  is  the  man  from 
whom  any  danger  could  possibly  arise.  His 
Bteadv  perseverance  has  a  dangerous  look,  and 
It  is  difficult  to  tell  what  may  come  of  it  yet^ 

After  some  further  conversation  Hilda9n>- 
oeeded  to  give  Gualtier  a  general  idea  ^the 
circumstances  which  had  taken  place  since  they 
parted  at  Lausanne.  Her  account  was  bri^f  and 
meagre,  since  she  dtt  not  wish  to  say  more  Ihan 
was  absolutely  necessary.  From  what  she  tfrtd 
Gualtier  gathered  this,  however— that  Lord  Chet- 
wynde had  continued  to  be  indifferent  to  Hilda, 
and  he  conjectured  that  his  indifference  bad  grown 
into  something  like  hostility.  He  learned,  more- 
over, most  plainly  that  Hilda  suspected  him  of 
an  intrigue  with  another  woman,  of  whom  she 
"was  bitterly  jealops,  and  it  was  on  this  rival 
whom  she  hated  that  she  desired  that  venge- 
ance for  which  sh?  had  summoned  him.  This 
much  he  heard  with  nothing  but  gratification, 
since  he  looked  upon  her  jealousy  as  the  be- 
ginning of  hate ;  and  the  vengeance  which  she 
once  more  desirisd  could  hardly  be  thwarted  a 
aecond  time. 

When  she  OHJidt*  describe  the  affair  of  ificT 
masquerade,  however,  her  tone  changed,  and  she 
became  much  more  explicit.  8he  went  into  all 
the  details  of  that  adventure  with  the  utmost 
minnteneaa,  describing  all  the  particulars  of 
every  scene,  the  dreaaea  which  were  worn  both 
by  Lord  Chetwynde  and  herself  an4  the  general 


appearance  of  the  grounds.  On  the«eshe  linger* 
ed  long,  describing  little  incidents  in  her  search, 
as  though  unwilling  to  come  to  the  denouement. 
When  she  reached  this  point  of  her  story  she  be- 
came deeply  agitated,  and  as  she  described  the 
memorable  events  of  that  meeting  with  the  fear- 
ful figure  of  the  dead  the  horror  that  filled  her 
soul  was  manifest  in  her  looks  and  in  her  words, 
and  communicated  itself  to  Gualtier  so  strongly 
that  an  involuntary  sjiudder  passed  through  him. 

After  she  had  enjpd  he  was  silent  for  a  long 
time. 

You  do  not  say  any  thing?"  said  she." 
I.hardiv  knojv  what  to  say  on  the  instant," 
'as  the  reply. 

But  are  you  not  yourself  overawed  when 
ybu  think  of  my  attempt  atf  vengeance  being 
foiled  in  so  terrible  a  manner  ?  What  would  you 
think  if  yours  were  to  be  baffled  in  the  same 
waV  ?  What  would  you  say,  what  would  you 
do,^  there  should  come  to  you  this  awful  phan- 
tom? Oh,  my  God !"  she  cried,  with  a  groan 
of  horror,  "  shall  I  ever  forget  the  agony  of  that 
moment  when  that  shape  stood  before  me,  and 
all  life  'seamed  on  the  instant  to  die  out  into 
nothintj^ness!" 

Gualtier  was  silent  for  a  long  time,  and  pro- 
foundly thouglitful. 

"W'^hat  ore  you  thinking' about  ?"  asked  Hil- 
da at  lasl'^  with  some  impatience^ 

"I  am\  thinking  that  this  event  may  be  ac- 
counted for  on  natural  grounds,"  said  he. 

"  No,"  sVid  Hilda,  warmly ;  "  nothing  in  na- 
ture can  account  for  it.  When  the  dead  come 
back  to  life;  reason  falters." 

She  shuddered  as  she  spoke. 

"  Yes,  my  l^dv,"  said  Gualtier,  "  but  the  dead 
do  not  come  back  to  life.  You  have  seen  an  ap- 
parition, I  doul^t  not ;  but  that  is  a  very  different 
thing  from  tho  factual  manifestation  of  the  dead. 
What  yoii  saw  was  but  the  emanation  of  your 
own  brain.  It  Was  your  own  fancier  which  thus 
became  visible,  o^d  the  image  which  became 
apparent  to  your  eye  was  precisely  the  saqae  as 
those  which  cbmd  in  delirium.  A  glass  of 
brandy  or  so  may  aerve  to  bring  up  before  the 
eyes  a  thousand  abhorrent  spectres.  You  hare 
been  ill,  you  have  bopn  excited,  yon  have  been 
taking  drugs;  add  to  this  that  on  that  occa- 
sion you  were  in  a  state  of  almost'fi-enzy,  and 
you  can  at  once  accotint  for  the  whole  thing 
on  the  grounds  of  a  stimulated  imagination  and 
weak  or  diseased  optic  ner^'es.  I  can  bring  for- 
ward from  various  treatises  on  the  optic  nerves 
hundreds  of  cases  as  singular  as  yours,  and  ap- 
parently as  unaccountable.  Indeed,  if  I  find  that 
this  matter  continues  to  affect  you  so  deeply," 
he  continued,  with  a  fiiint  smile,  "  my  first  duty 
will  be  to  read  up  exclusively  on  the  subject, 
and  have  a  number  of  books  'sent  here  to  you, 
so  as  to  let  yon  see  and  judge  for  yourself." 


CHAPTER  LXVlt 


A  SHOCK. 


GcALTiER  made  atill  further  oxplanationi  on 
this  point,  and  mentioned  several  ipecial  cases  of 
aptiaritiona  and  phantom  illuaioni  of  which  he 
hul  read.  He  showed  how  in  the  lives  of  many 
great  men  inch  thinga  bad  token  place.    The 


\ .»«_ 


t^:i.i  **°''/^f  ed.  »««  maintained,  mw  real 
apparitions  of  thi.  sort,  and  was  thus  prepared, 
*s  he  thouKht,  for  the  propheUc  oflSce.     ITie 
Mchontes  and  lainu  of  the  Middle  Ages  had 
the  same  ejtpenemce.    Jeanne  d'Ans  was  a  most 
conspicnons  instance.     Above  all  these  stood 
forth  two  men  of  a  later  day^  the  representatives 
of  two  opposite  pnnciples,  St  two  systems  which 
were  in  etenud  antagonism,  yet  these  two  were 
alike  m  their  intense  natures,  their  vivid  imair- 
inations,  and  the  forca  of  their  phantom  iUu- 
sions.    Lnther  threw  his  ink-bottle  at  the  head 
of  the  dew^  and  Loyola  had  many  a  midnight 
straggle  with  the  same  grim  personage. 
-  ^S""  ^«   ?.""**  «»tened*attenti!^y,  mider- 
standing  fully  his  theory,  and  foUy  appreciating 
theexamploi  which  he  cited  in  order  to  illn* 
towe  that  theory,  whether  the  examples  were 
ttMe  weU-known  ones  which  belong  to  general 
Urtoiy,  or  special  instances  which  had  come 
under  hu  own  personal  observation.     Yet  1.II 
his  arguments  and  examples  failed  to  have  any 
2«fn  JTJ®"  'r'"'*e''«f-    After  all  there  r^ 
S!r5?  ♦    t!^  'u  5"'  "'"'''  ""d  immoTable,  the 
Mm  that  she  had  seen  the  dead,  and  in  very 
deed;  and  that  ZiUah  herself  had  risen  up  bZ 
fore  her  eyes  to  confound  her  at  the  moment  of 
the  execution  of  her  rengeanca     Snclv  a  con 
viction  was  too  strong  to  be  removed  by  any  ar- 
cnmento  or  illiistntinna     ti,.. :—•/_' 


^  CBYPTOGRAM, 


sai 


riiienta  o^uiiii^tior  m^rrctfrr.^  I  IS  TuYtT"^'  r  "''r'' »--  «t  -Ji«^^in^ 


Xni.  k.j  I. •--""""•    ^'wiconvicuon,more- 

ow^had  bem  deepened  and  intensified  by  the 
horror  which  had  followed  when  she  had  fl^  "^ 
mad  fear,  feehng  herself  pursued  by  that  afr- 
horrent  shape,  till  she  had  &llen  senseless,  ^t 
thing  ofthl.  could  be  ai^ued  .war.    Nor  dM 

^1^11'"  T"  ''^"»  **•  While  she  list- 
med  carefully  and  attentively  to  Gualtier's  woids. 

mSJef  "  '*'^**  reiteretion  of  h«r  for- 

go this  WM  dismissed.  One  thing  remained 
however,  and  that  was  the  conclusion  thft  LoS 
Chetwynde  was  canying  on  a  desperate  intrigue 
•  rt  K  T"  ^"^^Jl  """^«<1  ^?'  »ho"K»»  whether 
Ztnr:!"u  °^^'''  ^fP  '""'  h'mself  English  or 
rfc™^?""*'*'"''^  ItwasevidentthatLord 
Chetwynde  s  case  was  not  that  of  the  convention- 
alccsbeo  There  was  too  much  desperation  in 
S^!  !^  ;fW»explained  the  course  wKich  would 
be  ewiest  to  them  To  tn«,k  Lord  Chetwynde, 
and  find  out  who  this  woman  was,  should  be  the 
flm  thing.  On  learning  this  he  waa  to  Im™ 
i7;;^H"d«-  Hilda's  ;orko"f"eSi?;| 
would  begin  whh  a  reveUUon  of  the  whotecase 

IS  J  "IT^k'"'*.'*"*''  •""»  'ft"*  this  S« 
wrid  be  guided  by  circumstances.  ^ 

ViL'™„'"J?  f"  nnderstending  as  this  Gualtier 
fW^T^  ***  ^^  ''"  ''''*  •'  «"«*•  Lord 
SL"!-!^"'''%^"1'«  *''«  ^"*  continued  as  h^ 
»m.»  ni^"*^  o  ^^^  «""«»  '''«''Iy  romantic  cir- 

from  his  thoughts  further  and  further  ererr  day. 
He  did  not  feel  capable  of  rousing  himwlf  to 

1™ '•'•  ««J«y  of  "Miss  Lorton,"  so  long  he 

Cd'S^mflS^'^  Chute's  leaving  Florence,  he 
3«Lr«^kf '  ****"  "/  ""y  '"7  immediate 
nSS  2"  ^l'  ?"J*-  -*«  f""  Z«^h  'he  soon 
ff  :l^..'.'^jLr.  rP««?,  .nd  ceased  to 


house  of  the  fSte  champdtre.     Lord  Chetwynde 

wM.hT"i^  '>'  "f""*  '=°««'»  "'^r  himself 
Y'Wcb  he  had  fonnerly  maintained,  and  guard- 

^  r?  ^/^}y  '«»'"'"  ""y  ««"'  intbreakinre 
that  o^  the  Villa  Rinalci.  fet  though  he  cbuld 
control  his  acts,  he  could  not  control  his  iXl 
and  there  were  times  in  these  sweet,  stolen  interl 
view,  of  theirs  when  his  eyes  would  rest  on  her 
with  an  expression  which  told  more  plninlv  than 

Te^d^'il  """^  "'  "^  '"-^'^''•'"^  '»-  -S 

But  While  Lord  Chetwynde  was  thus  contlnu- 

mg  his  secret  visits,  there  waa  one  on  his  track 

whom  he  little  suspected.    Looking  upon  hU 

lessness  had  aUowed  to  get  into  his  employ  he 
had  let  him  go,  and  had  never  made  any Tffon 
to  follow  him  or  punish  him.  As  for  Hiir^r 
^U^nlV^^A^  ^^  *  "'?"«'"' »'  ^'^  »ne  of  vSca. 
still  stay  with  him  rather  than  leave.  "  Whv 
cant  she  go  quieUv  back  to  Chetwynde?"  he 

l.^^\  '"'*  '»*?  ^'t  """^  generous  nature  in- 
teiTosed  to  quell  the  thought  He  could  not  for- 
get her  devotion  m  saving  his  life ;  though  there 
were  times  when  he  felt  that  the  prelongition  of 
that  life  was  not  a  thing  to  be  thankful  for 
.„^'  J  *''*  '"S''^'  ^"^  thing  went  on  plois- 
^te^-  "JT'hly.  Obed  was  always  delighted 
!S  ^K^u"^*"*™'  '^^  **"^<*  have  felt  disapMint- 


m;.I  r-I  .  ""»"<=«  wuHug  evBiy  alternate  day. 
Miss  Chute  shared  her  brother's  appreciation  of 
the  visitor.  ZiUah  herself  showed  no  signs  which 
they  were  ab  e  to  pereeive  of  the  depth  of  her 
feelings.  Filled,  as  she  was,  with  one  stronir 
I»Mion,  It  did  not  interfere  with  the  performance 
of  her  duties ;  nor,  if  it  had  done  so,  would  her 
fnends  have  noriced  it    She  had  the  morning 

Sct^J^de!'"'''"'  "^  "^^  "'^'-«'»  f- 
In  setting  about  this  new  task  Gualtier  felt  the 
need  of  cauuon.    It  was  far  more  perilous  than 
any  which  he  had  yet  undertaken.     Once  he  re- 
lied upon  Lord  Chetwynde's  ignorance  of  his  face, 
or  his  contemptuous  indifference  to  his  existence 
On  the  strength  of  this  he  had  been  able  to  come 
to  him  undiscovered  and  to  obtain  emplovment 
,Bnt  now  all  was  changed.     Lord  Chet^vynde 
was  keen  and  obsenant    When  he  had  once 
chMcn  to  take  notice  of  a  face  ho  would  not 
readily  forget  it ;  and  to  venture  into  his  pres- 
ence now  would  be  to  insure  discovery.    To 
guard  against  that  was  his  first  aim,  and  so  he 
determined  to  adopt  some  sort  Of  a  disguise, 
liven  with  a  disguise  he  saw  that  it  woiHd  be 
perilous  to  let  Lord  Chetwynde  see  him.     Hilda 
had  told  him  enough  to  make  known  to  him 
tnat  his  late  master  was  fullv  conscious  now  of 
th^  cause  of  his  disease,  and' suspected  his  valet 
only,  so^t  the  watch  of  the  pursuer  must  now 
be  maintiA|ied  without  his  ever  exposing  himself 
to  the  view  of  this  man. 

After  a  long  and  fiareful  deliberatioii  he  chose  ' 
'0?*  disguise  the  coatnme  of  > Tnscaa peasast. 
^tfiongfi^he  hid  once  fold  HSIda  that  he  never 
adopted  any  disguises  but  such  as  were  suited  to 
his  character,  yet  on  this  occasion  his  judgment 
waa  certainly  at  fault,  since  sflch  a  disguise  was 
not  the  one  most  appropriate  to  a  man  of  his  ap- 
pearance  and  nature.  HU  figure  had  none  of 
the  litheness  and  grace  of  movement  which  is  so 

entninnn  «mnn.«  *i..a  .a x_j  &.         ..  .. 


Sin 


'  tblnk  .bo,.rthrft^fllSrefa,TeZ^^  thejitheness  and  grace  of  mc^lment  whkhTs  w 
wuiui  Dgnra  in  the  inmmer- 1  common  among  that  class,  tod  bis  sallow  skin 


4.       . 


i' 


tn 


THE  CBTFTOGRAM. 


'■  i 


"bk  roi.Lon-KD  watchfAllt  add  btkaltbilt." 


Iiad  nothing  in  common  with  the  rich  olive  com- 
plexion of  &e  Taiean  face.  But  it  is  joat  poBsi- 
ble^that  Gualtier  may  have  had  some  little  per- 
■owJ  vanity  which  blinded  him  to  his  shortcom- 
ings in  this  respect.  The  pallor  of  his  face  was, 
however,  to  some  extent  corrected  by  a  red  leer- 
chief  which  he  bound  around  his  head,  and  ihe 
effect  of  this  was  increased  by  a  darlc  wig  and 
mnstoche.  Trusting  to  this  disguise,  ho  pre- 
pared for  his  nndertidiing. 

The  next  day  after  his  intoniew  with  Hilda 
he  obtained  a  horse,  and  waited  at  a  spot  near 
Lord  Chetwynde's  lodgings,  wearing  a  volumin- 
ous cloak,  one  comer  of  which  was  flung  over  liis 
left  shoulder  in^lUtyltnlian  fashion.  A  horse 
was  brought  np  to  tli^oor  of  the  hotel ;  Lord 
Chetwynde  rnmo  out,  mounted  him,  and  rode  off. 
Oualtier  followed  at  a  respectful  distance,  and 
kept  up  bis  watch  for  about  ten  miles.  He  was 
not  noticed  at  olL  At  length  he  saw  Lord  Chet- 
wynde  ride  into  the  gateway  of  a  villa  and  dis- 
appear. Ho  did  not  core  about  following  any 
further,  and  was  very  well  satisfied  with  having 
found  out  this  much  so  easily. 

Le(lving  his  horse  in  a  safe  phkce,  Gualtier 
then  posted  himself  amidst  a  clump  of  trees,  and 
kq>t  up  his  watdi  for  houra.    Ue  hod  to  wait 


almost  nntil  midnight ;  then,  at  last,  his  patience 
was  rewarded.  It  was  about  half  past  eleven 
when  he  saw  Lord  Chetn^nde  come  out  and 
pass  down  the  road.  He  himself  followed,  bat 
did  not  go  back  to  town.  He  found  an  inn  on 
the  road,  and  put  up  here  for  the  night 

On  the  following  day  he  passed  the  morning 
in  strolling  along  the  road,  and  had  sufficient  ac- 
quaintance with  Italian  to  inquire  from  the  peo- 
ple about  the  viUa  where  Lord  Chetwynde  had 
gone.  He  learned  that  it  belonged  to  a  rich 
Milor  Inglese,  whoso  name  no  one  knew,  bat 
who  was  quite  popular  with  the  neighboring 
peasantry.  They  spoke  of  ladies  in  the  rilla; 
one  old  one,  and  another  who  was  young  and 
very  beautiful.  There  were  also  children.  All 
this  was  very  gratifH'ing  to  Gualtier,  who,  in  his 
own  mind,  at  once  settled  the  relationship  of  all 
these.  The  old  woman  wot  the  mother,  he 
thought,  or  perhaps  the  sister  of  the  Milor  In- , 
glese  J  the  voung  lady  was  bis  wife,  and  they  lad 
children.  'HelesrnAd  that  the  Milor  Inglar-^ 
was  0%-er  fifty  years  old,  and  the  children  were 
ten  and  twelve ;  a  circumstance  which  seemed  to 
show  that  the  younger  ladv  must  at  least  be  thir- 
ty. He  would  have  liked  to  ask  more,  but  vu 
aJBraid  to  be  too  inquisitive,  for  fear  of  excitkg 


i$^t 


i'l^* 


,^iJ.^ti!l^ 


THE  CBYPTOGRAM. 


fwpicion.  On  the  whole,  he  wm  veiy  well  satis- 
fled  with  the  information  which  he  had  gained ; 
yet  tliere  still  remained  far  mor*  to  be  done,  and 
there  was  the  necessity  of  continued  watching  in 
person.  To  this  necessity  he  devoted  himself 
with  untiring  and  zealous  patience. 

For  several  days  longer  he  watched  thus,  and 
fcamed  that  on  alternate  days  Lord  Chetwynde 
was  accustomed  to  ride  in  at  the  chief  gate, 
while  on  the  other  days  he  would  leave  his  horse 
behind  and  walk  in  at  a  little  private  gate  at  the 
nearer  end  of  the  park,  and  some  considerable 
distance  from  the  main  entrance.    This  at  once 
excited  his  strongest  suspicions,  and  his  imagin- 
ation suggested  many  different  motives  for  so 
tery  clandestine  yet  so  very  methodical  a  sys- 
tem of  visiting.     Of  course  he  thought  that  it 
had  reference  to  a  lady,  and  to  nothing  else. 
Then  the  question  arose  once  more — what  to  do. 
It  was  difficult  to  tell ;  but  at  length  his  decision 
was  made.     He  saw  that  the  only  way  to  get  at 
the  bottom  of  this  mystery  wonid  be  to  enter  the 
grounds  and  follow  Lord  Chetwynde.     Such  an 
enterprise  was  manifestly  full  of  danger,  but 
there  was  positively  no  help  for  it.     He  could 
not  think  of  going  back  to  Hilda  until  he  had 
gained  some  definite  and  important  information ; 
and  all  that  he  had  thus  far  discovered,  though 
TBiy  useful  as  for  as  it  went,  was  still  nothing 
more  than  preliminary.    The  mystery  had  not 

Sheen  solved.  He  had  only  arrived  at  the 
inning  of  it  The  thought  of  this  necessity, 
which  was  laid  upon  him,  determined  him  to 
make  the  bold  resolution  of  running  all  risks 
and  of  tracking  Lord  Chetwvnd^  through  the 
smaller  gate. 

So  on  one  of  those  days  when  he  supposed 
that  Lord  Chetwynde  would  be  coming  there 
he  entered  the  little  gate  and  concealed  himself 
in  the  woods,  in  a  place  from  which  he  could  see 
any  one  who  might  enter  while  he  himself  would 
.  be  free  flom  observation. 

He  w4  right  in  his  conjectures.  In  about 
half  an  flour  the  man  whom  he  was  expecting 
came  alonfl^  and  entering  the  gate,  passed  close 
beside  him.  Gualtier  waited  for  a  time,  so  as  to 
pot  a  respectful  distance  between  himself  and 
the  other.  Then  he  followed  watchfully  and 
stMlthily,  keeping  always  at  the  same  distance 
behind.  For  a  hundred  yards  or  so  the  path 
woand  on  so  that  it  was  quite  easy  to  follow 
without  being  perceived.  The  path  was  bH)ad, 
•mooth,  well-kept,  with  dark  trees  overhanging, 
and  thus  shrouding  it  in  gloom.  At  last  Lord 
Chetwynde  suddenly  turned  to  the  left  into  a 
Mrrow,  rough  pathway  that  scarce  deserved 
the  name,  for  it  was  litde  better  than  a  track. 
Gualtier  foUowed.  ThU  path  wound  so  much, 
Md  put  so  many  intenrening  obstacles  between 
mm  and  the  other,  that  he  was  forced  to  hurry 
up  so  as  to  keep  nearer.  In  ^oing  so  he  stepped 
Mddenly  on  a  twig  which  lay  across  the  tract 

\\y)?u  !?*  ?  '""^  ""P-  -A'  »•'«  "oment 
wrd  Chetwynde  was  but  a  few  yards  away. 
|y  t^"|8a.  «md  just  as  Gualtier  had  poiaed  him- 


IT  ™  *^  w»-  M«»  Br  «Mlght  tto%jrw  of 

SlIT"^*^  "P""  •'•'^  There  wos  no  time 
w  wait     iTie  danger  of  discovery  was  too  groat. 

iJ.u^'3'?"'  *•?  P'""«^  *"'»  »h«  tWck,  dense 

!?^i  *?'  *?*^  ""  *■»'  •  '<»»«  «J«'*nco  in  » 
wntog  direction.  At  first  he  heard  Lord  Chet- 
wynde •  voice  shouting  to  him  to  stop,  then  steps 


228 

at  if  in  pursuit  j  but  flnaUy  the  iioundi  of  pursuit 
ceased,  and  Gualtier,  discovering  this,  stopped 
to  rest.  The  fact  of  the  case  was,  that  Lord 
Chetwynde  8  engagement  was  of  too  great  im- 
portance to  allow  him  to  be  diverted  from  it— to 
run  the  risk  of  being  late  at  the  tryst  for  th»jake 
of  any  vagabond  who  might  be  strolling  about. 
He  had  made  but  a  short  chose,  and  then  turned 
hack  for  a  better  purpose. 

GMialtier,  while  Ije  rested,  soon  discovered  that 
he  had  not  the  remotest  idea  of  his  position. 
He  was  in  the  middle  of  a  dense  forest.  The 
underbrush  was  thick.  He  could  see  nothing 
which  might  give  him  any  clew  to  his  where- 
abouts. After  again  assuring  himself  that  nil 
was  quiet,  he  began  to  move,  trying  to  do  so  in 
as  straight  a  line  as  possible,  andH^inking  that 
he  must  certainly  come  out  somewh^bw 

He  was  quite  right  j  for  after  abouThalf  an 
hours  rough  apd  difficult  journeying  he  came  to 
a  path.  Whether  to  turn  up  or  down,  to  tlie  right 
or  the  left,  was  a  question  which  required  some 
time  to  decide ;  but  at  length  he  turned  to  the 
right,  and  walked  onward.  Along  this  he  went  for 
nearly  a  mile.  It  then  grew  wider,  and  finally 
became  a  broad  way  with  thick,  well-cut  hedges 
on  either  side.  It  seemod  to  him  that  ho  was 
approaching  the  central  port  of  these  extensive 
grounds,  and  perhaps  the  house  itself.  This 
belief  was  confirmed  soon  by  the  appearance  of 
a  number  of  statues  and  vases  which  ornamented 
the  pathway.  The  fear  of  approaching  the 
house  and  of  being  seen  made  him  hesitate  for 
some  time;  yet  his  curiosity  was  strong,  and 
hid  eagerness  to  investigate  irrepressible.  He 
felt  that  this  opportunity  was  too  good  a  one  to 
rose,  and  so  he  walked  on  rnpidlv  yet  watchful, 
ly.  At  length  the  path  made  a 'sudden  sweep, 
and  he  saw  a  sight  before  him  which  arrested 
his  steps.  He  saw  a  broad  avenue,  into  which 
his  patli  led  not  many  paces  before  him.  And 
at  no  great  distance  oflT,  toward  the  right,  ap- 
peared the  top  of  the  villo  emerging  from  among 
trees.  Yet  these  things  did  not  attract  his  au 
tention,  which  centered  itself  wholly  on  a  man 
whom  he  paw  in  the  otqiibB. 

This  man  was  tall,  MS|dyhonldered,  with 
rugged  features  and  widjb-square  brow.  He 
wore  a  dress-coat  ond  a  brood-brimmed  hat  of 
Tuscan  straw.  In  ojHnStant,  and  with  a  snr- 
pnse  that  was  only  e<^aled  by  his  fear,  Guol- 
tier  recognized  the  form  and  features  of  Obed 
Chute,  which  had,  in  one  interview  in  New  Yoi*. 
been  very  vividly  impressed  on  his  metnorr. 
Almost  at  the  same  time  Obed  happened  tq  see 
him,  so  that  retreat  was  impossible.  He  looked 
at  him  carelessly  and  then  turned  kway ;  but  a 
sudden  thought  seemed  to  strike  Lim ;  he  tnmed 
once  more,  regarded  the  intruder  intently,  and 
then  walked  straight  np  to  him. 


CHAPTER  LXVIIL 
TUB  vnioH  d»  «»  maoK- 


GuALTiRR  Stood  rooted  to  the  spot,  astounded 
at  such  a  discovery.  His  first  impolse  was  flight 
Bnt  that  was  impossible.  The  hedgeway  on 
either  side  was  high  and  thick,  preventing  any 
Mcape.  'llie  flight  would  have  to  he  made  along 
the  open  path,  and  in  a  chose  he  did  not  feet  ooi»i 


!:l 


, 


aa:sj4«,i'.r  -v- 


S24 


THE  CRYFTOGKAM. 


fldent  that  he  could  escape.  Besides,  he  felt 
more  like  relying  on  his  own  resources.  Ho  had 
a  hope  that  his  disguise  might  conceal  him.  Otiv- 
er  thoughu  also  passed  through  his  mind  at  that 
moment.  How  did  this  Ubed  Cliut'e  come  ^re? 
Was  he  the  Milor  Ingleso  ?  How  did  he  come 
into  connection  with  Lord  Chetwynde,  of  all  oth- 
ers ?  Were  they  working  together  on  some  dark 
plot  against  Hilda?  That  seemed  the  mg«t  nat- 
ural thing  to  believe. 
^  But  he  had  no  time  for  thought,  for  even  while 
'  these  were  passing  through  his  mind  Obed  was 
advancing  toward  him,  until  finally  he  stood  be- 
fore him,  confronting  him  with  a  dark  fitjwn. 
There  was  something  in  his  face  which  showed 
Gualtier  that  he  was  recognized. 

"You!"  cried  Obed;  "you!  I  thought  so, 
and  it  is  so,  by  the  Lord !  I  never  forget  a  face. 
You  scoundrel  I  what  do  yon  want?  V\'hat  are 
you  doing  here?  What  ore  you  following  me 
for  ?  Are  you  on  that  business  again  ?  Didn't 
I  give  you  warning  in  New  York '(" 

There  was  something  so  menacing  in  his  look, 
and  in  his  wrathful  frown,  that  Gualtier  standi 
back  a  pace,  and  put  his  hand  to  his  breast-pock- 
et to  seize  his  revolvert  " 

"No  you  don't!"  exclaimed  Obed,  and  quick 
as  lightning  he  seized  Gualtier's  hand,  while  he 
held  his  clenched  fist  in  his  face. 

"  I'm  up  to  all  those  tricks,"  he  continued, 
"  and  you  can't  come  it  over  me,  you  scoundrel ! 
Here — off  with  all  that  trash." 

And  knocking  oif  Gualtier's  hat,  as  he  held  his 
hand  in  a  grasp  from  which  the  unhappy  prison- 
er could  not  release  himself,  he  tore  off  his  wig 
and  his  mustache. 

Gualtier  was  not  exactly  a  coward,  for  he  had 
done  things  which  required  grpot  boldness  and 
presence  of  mind,  andObed,him8elf  had  said  this 
much  'lit  his  criticisms  u)>on  Black  Bill's  story ; 
but  at  the  present  moment  th^  was  something 
in  the  tremendous  figure  of  Obdd,  and  also  in  the 
fear  which  he  had  that  all  was  discovered,  which 
made  hiiii  cower  into  nothingness  before  his  an- 
tagonist.    Yet  he  said  not  a  word. 

"And  now,"  said  Obed,  grimly,  "perhaps 
you'll  have  the  kindness  to  inform  me  what  you 
are  doing  here — ^y6u,  of  nil  men  in  the  world — 
dodging  about  in  disguise,  and  tracking  my  foot- 
steps. What  the  devil  do  y6n  mean  by  sneak- 
ing after  me  again  ?  Yota  saw  me  once,'and  that 
ought  to  have  been  enough.  What  do  yon  want  ? 
Is  it  something  more  about  General  Pomeroy  ? 
And  what  do  you  mean  by  trying  to  draw  a  pis- 
jfiX  on  nie  $n  my  own  premises  ?  Tell  me  the 
truth,  you  pean,  sallow-faced  rascal,  or  I'll  shake 
the  bones  out  of  your  body !" 

In  an  ordinary  case  of  sudden  seizure  6ual- 
,jtier  might  have  contrived  to  get  out  of  the  diflB- 
cnlty  by  bin  cunning  and  presence  of  mind.  But 
this  was  by  no  meaOS  an  -ordinary  case.  This 
giant  who  thus  seemed  to  come  down  upon-bim 
as  suddenly  as  though  be  had  dropped  from  the 
skies,  and  who  thundered  forth  these  fierce,  im- 
perative questions  in  his  ear,  did  not  allow  him 
inch  space  in  which  to  collect  Ms  thoughts,  or 
time  to  put  them  into  execution.  There  began 
to  come  over  him  a  terror  of  this  man,  whom  he 
fancied  to  he  intimately  acquainted  with  his 
whole  career.  "Thus  conscience  does  make 
cowards  of  us  all,"  and  Gualtier,  who  was  gen- 
•rally  not  a  coward,  felt  raiy  much  like  one  on 


this  occasion.  Morally,  as  well  as  physically, 
he  felt  himself  crushed  by  his  o])pon^ri^'  It  was' 
therefore,  with  utter  helplessness,  and  the  loos  of 
all  his  usual  strength  of  mind  and  (wlf-contrfil, 
that  he  stammered  forth  his  answer ; 

"I— I  taipe  here— to— to  get  some  informa- 
tion." 

''  "  You  came  to  get  information,  did'  you  ?  Of 
course  yoif  did.     bpies  generally  do. 

"I  came  (o  see  you." 

"  To  see  me,  hev  ?  Then  w^  didn't  you  come 
like  a  man?  What's  tfib  meaning  of  this  dis- 
guise?" **  . 

"  Because  you  refuAe^ j^gbrmation  once,  and  I 
thought  that  if  I  came  in\lotlier  character,  with 
a  different  story.  I  mig^^^e  a  better  chonce." 

"  Pooh !  don  1 1  sea  tKf  tyqu're  lying  ?  Why 
didn't  you  come  up  tbrojigh  the  avenue  like  a 
man,  instead  of  snmkin^algng  the  paths  ?  An- 
swer me  that" 

"I  wasn't  sneaking.  I  was  merely  taking  a 
little  stroll  in  your  beautiful  grounds.' 

"Wasn't  sneaking?"  repeated  Obed;  "then 
I'd  like  very  much  to  know  what  sneaking  is,  for 
my  owT^  private  information.  If  any  man  ever 
looked  like  a  sneak,  you  did  when  I  first  caught 
yourfley^"' 

■^9?'' '  sneaking,"  reiterated  Gualtier;  "I 
was  pgnply  strolling  about.  .  I  found  a  gate  nt 
the  lower  .end  bf  the  park,  and  walk^  up  quietly. 
I  was  anxious  to  see  you." 

"Anxious  to  see  me?"  said  Obed,  with  a  pe- 
culiar intonation. 

"Yes," 

"  Why,  then,  did  yon  look  scared  out  of  yonr 
life  when  you  did  see  me  ?    Answer  me  that." 

"  My  answer  is,"  said  Qualtier,  with  an  effort 
at  calmness,  "that  I  neither  looked  scared  nor 
felt  scared.  I  dare  say  I  may  have  put  myself 
on  my  guard,  when  you  rushed  at  me," 

"  1  didn't  rush  at  you."   * 

"It  seemed  to  me  so,  and  I  fell  back  a  step, 
and  prepartid  for  the  shock." 

"Fell  back  a  step!"  sneered  Obed;  "yoa 
looked  around  to  see  if  yoa  had  any  ghost  of  a 
chance  to  run  for  it,  and  saw  you  hod  none. 
That's  about  it." 

"  You  are  very  much  mistaken,"  snid  Gunliier. 

"Young  man,"  replied  Obed,  severely,  "I'm 
never  mistaken !     So  dry  up." 

"Well,  since  I've  found  yon,"  said  Gualtier, 
"  will  you  ollow  me  to  ask  you  a  question  ?" 

"What's  that?— ^o«  found  mef  Why,  yon 
villain !  /  found  you.  Yoa  are  a  cool  case,  too. 
Answer  you  a  question  ?  Not  a  bit  of  it.  But 
I'll  tell  yon  what  I  will  do.  I  intend  to  teach 
yoa  a  lesson  that  you  won't  forget." 

"Beware,"  said  Gualtier,^  understanding  the 
other's  threat — "beware  how  you  offer  violence 
to  me." 

"  Oh,  don't  trouble  yourself  at  all.  I  intend 
to  beware.  My  first  idea  was  to  kick  yon  all 
the  way  oat;  but  you're  snch  a  poor,  pale,  piti- 
ftd  concern  that  I'll  be  satisfied  with  only  one 
parting  kick.     So  off  with  yoa!" 

At  tiiia  Obed  released  hit  {pram,  and  keepisg 
Gualtier  before  him  he  forced  him  along  the 
avenue  toward  the  gate. 

"  Yoa  needn't  look  round,"  said  Obed,  grim- 
ly, as  he  noticed  a  fhrtlTe  glance  of  Gualtier's. 
"  And  yoa  needn't  try  to  get  at  yonr  revolver. 
"Tain't  any  manner  of  nse,  for  IVe  got  oitt,  and 


Obed,  with  s  pe- 


fell  back  a  step, 


THE  CHYITSOGKAM.  "  i  '  : 

fcster.than  vpu.  rnvJlean  LTfV'    ^  ''""  "■""    '«""'»'  ha<l  been  of  «,T^  ""  '''"  Chetwynda 

don't  know  ^  Sdf  eiSe/  hZ'^"  ,T°"  "'"'e'friendsMp  Uko  ll^LlTT  """  "".'""l- 
I  do,  although  iCTmv  Wvl.  il  '"  ""1'  «»UiiRht  l«  exZtedsnT '*'*,'!"' •''•"8  ^^'ch 
•bout  hem  e%ereKr«C  %^'JJ""''''''"«N°«nt..bleoB^S^^  un.o- 

can't  coma  it  «..,'.»_  '_  "'.""°™*"?n-     You   of  it;  yet  what  Lord  Ph«,        .  "^"fflc'ent  proofs 


can't  Pnn,«ir'  ""^  J""'  "ntormat  rfn 
cant  come  it  over  mo,  nohow  for  r™  »  r 


ed  by  him  on  the  de«tmv^"f l.^""'*^  ^  "wt- 


could  not  tell.  It  M>pi^Zii""V  "?'  ^''*'*  he 
singular  freak  of  fo«^^„i  ««  though,  by  soma 
with  Obed  cimte'I  ""feV'd  '"""^"«"  '"  '"^e 
destine  meetiZ  wirh  h«!  i*"".^""*?  «'■"•- 
Obed  Chute  wf!  th«  v«J!.  •°""'**ere.    If  go, 


eJ  by  him  on  ti;'^':.  :^;^7  *»"''l  ^  «act. 
violator  of  his  frLn^^     "'  "^  »**««  *"''  ""o 

thlt.ViSi'SlJ'V'Sl'"- 
help  wondering  whether  in  [hi.  V  j'°"'*'^°» 
tion  of  these  two  thiv  h.i" _?>  ?'<««  omocS*.^ 


,- vj^uiivu  lb  lur- II 

a  wild  bound  forward.     But  i,« "  ""■""ineip  wonderinir  wh^thA-  :^'ZZ'<     '.""^""'u-not 

enough;  for«bed   t™e  if  h  .  n  ""^  ""'  q"ick   tion  of  these  two  thivh.i    *'''■  ?'°«'  •»«>cS»- 


behavior  toward  her  show^  h^  Chetwynde's 
of  toferance  of  her  «  thom.h^  T^'^  *  '''"<» 
riecesaarv  evil   hift  „^„i    r"*u  ^^  ^'^'^^  her« 

he  wo„7d  r Ar  hai  t^vrttri''^ 

suspicion  of  the  tmth     al...^t  "*«  f^'P'est 


■tUl  non.  .to  iJi  ■h,3,lS;'l^¥«^  ™ 


---T—— .uai,  vuuH  larsne  was  Mfc 
•li«TO ,  >i«l,  moi«>»ir.  Hun;  .-'ill'S'''' 


f««hlr  drie*?74*ea  Jf* ''?''"*''"'^°^  "^ 
•fflODg  th«f  t,!r*^  i""*  ^""l"-  Concealed 
iKiuK  to  hL^    J   ""^  motionless,  hardly 


ther%«&7aThWS'  "^^^  "»- 
tainlv  the  hist  m      •      w       "'*''"*"'''"■  ce»* 


226 


THE  CRYPTOGRAM. 


«!^ 


were  based  on  lelf-evident  irttlu.  Yet  «tiU  the 
question  remnined :  How  Wte'  It  thdt  these  two 
men,  who  more  thi^n  all  Others  were  connected 
with  those  atfsirs  which,  most  deeply  affected 
himself  and  Hilda,  and  fkrom  whom'^ie  had  the 
chief  if  not  the  only  reason  to  fear  danger, 
could  now  be  joined  in  such  intimate  friend- 
ship ?  And  this  was  a  question  which  was  un- 
'  answeriible.        ' 

As  Hilda's  position  seemed  safe,  he  thought 
of  his  own,  and  wondered  whether  there  Ctoulu  he 
danger  to  himself  ffom,  this.  Singularly  enough, 
on  that  eventful  day  fie  had  been  seen  by  both 
Lord  Chetwynde  and  Obed  Chute.  Lord  Chet- 
wynde,  he  believed,  could  not  have  recognized 
him,  or  he  would  not  have  given  up  the  pursuit 
so  readily.  Obed  Chute  had  not  only  recognized 
him,  but  also  captured  him,  and  not  onl^  cap- 
tured him,  but  tery  severely  punished  him ;  yet 
the  verv  fact  that  Obed  Chute'  had  suffered  him 
to  go  showed  how  complete  hir  ignorance  must 
be  of  the  true  state  of  the  case.  ,  If  he  had  but 
.known  even  a  portion  of  the  truth  he  would  nev- 
er have  allowed  him  to  go ;  if  lie  and  Lqrd  Chet- 
wynde were  rcallv  allied  in  an'^nterprisd  such  as 
he  at  first  feared  when  he  discovered  t|^  alli- 
ance, then  he  himself  would  have  been  deutined. 
True,  Ol^d  Chute  knew  no  more  of  him  than 
this,  thjt^t  he  had  once  made  inquiries  about  the 
Chetwyiide  family  affairs ;  yet,  in  case  of  any  se- 
rious alliance  on  their  part,  this  of  itself  would 
have  been  si).fficient  cause  for  his  detention.  Yet 
Obed  Chute  had  sent  him  off.  \Vhat  did  that 
show  ?  This,  abdve  all,  that  he  could  not  have 
any  great  purpose  in  connection  with  his  friend. 

Amidst  all  these  thoughts  his  sufferings  were 
extreme.  He  lay  there  fearful  of  piirsnit,  yet 
unable  to  move,  distracted  by  pain  both  of  body 
and  mind.  Time  passed  on,  but  his  fears  con- 
tinned  unabated.  H^  was  excited  and  nervous. 
The  pain  had  brought  on  a  deep  physical  pros- 
tration, which  deprived  him  of  iliis  usual  self- 
possession.  Every  moment  he  expected  to  see 
a  gigantic  figure  in  a  dress-coat  and  a  broad- 
brimmed  hat  of  Tuscan  straw,  with  stejp,  re- 
lentless face  and  gleaming  ej-es,  striding  along 
the  road  toward  him,  to  seize  him  in  a  resistless 
grasp,  and  send  him  to  some  awful  fate ;  or,  if 
^ot  that,  at  any  rate  to  administer  to  him  some 
tremendous  blow,  like  that  catapultian  kick,  which 
would  hurl  him  iit  an  instant  into  oblivion. 

The  time  passed  by.  He  lay  there,  in  pain 
and  in  fear.  Excitement  and  suffering  had  dis- 
ordered his  brain.  The  constant  apprehension 
•f  danger  made  him  watchful,  and  his  distem- 
pered imagination  made  him  fancy  that  every 
sound  was  the  footstep  of  his  enemy.  Watch- 
ful against  this,  he  held  his  pistol  in  his  nerveless 
grasp,  feeling  conscious  at  the  same  time  how  in- 
effectively he  would  use  it  if  the  need  for  its  use 
should  arise.  The  road  before  him  wound  round 
the  hill  up  whici)  h^  had  clambered  in  such  a 
way  that  hut  a  small  part  of  it  was  visible  from 
where  he  sat  Behind  him  rose  th?  wall  of  the 
park,  and  all  aroand  the  trees  grew  thickly  and 

~ifieifere31itm.  - -^^      -  -~--    -  - 

'  Sndd^nlr,  as  he  looked  there  with  ceaseless 
^igi||bce,  he  became  aware  of  a  figure  that  was 
Rioving  up  the  roadi  It  was  a  woman's  form. 
The  figure  was  dressed  in  white,  the  face  was 
white,  and  round  that  face  .there  were  gathered 
great  masses  of  dark  bAir.     To  his  disordered 


senses  it  seemed  at  that  moment  as  if  this  ngure 
gUded  along  the  ground. 

Filled  with  a  kind  9f  horror,  he  raised  him- 
self up,  one  hand  still  grasping  the  pistol,  wliilo 
the  other  clutched  a  tree -in  front  of  him  with  n 
convulsive  grasp,  his  ciyes  fixed  on  this  figure. 
Sonwthing  in  its  outline  served  to  create  all  iliii 
new  mar  that  had  arisen,  and  fascinated  kits  gnzo. 
To  his  excited  sensibility,  now  rendered  morbid 
by  the  terrors  of  the  last  few  hours,  this  figure,  ' 
with  its  white  robes,  seemed  like  lomething  ru. 
peniatnral  sent  across  his  path.  It  was  dim 
twilight,  and  the  object  was  a  little  indistinct; 
yet  he  could  see  it  sufficiently  well.  There  v.m 
that  about  it  which  sent  an  awful  suspicion  over 
him.  AU  that  Hilda  had' told  him  recurred  to 
his  mind. 

And  now,  just  as  the  figure  was  passing,  and 
while  his  eyes  were  riveted  on  it,  tUe  face  sluwly 
and  solemnly  turned  toward  him. 

At  the  sight  of  the  face  which  was  thus  pre- 
sented there  passed  through  him  a  sudden  )inng  . 
of  unendurable  anguish — a  spasm  of  terror  so  in- 
tolerable that  it  might  make  one  die  on  the  spot. 
For  a  moment  only  he  saw  that  face.  The  next 
moment  it  had  turned  away.  The  figure  passed 
on.  Yet  in  that  moment  he  had  seen  the  face 
fully  and  perfectly.  He  had  recognized  it !  He 
knew  it  as  the  face  of  one  who  now  lay  far  down 
beneath  the  depths  of  the  sea-rof  one  whom  he 
had  betrayed— whom  he  had  done  to  death! 
This  .was  the  face  which  now,  in  all  the  pallor 
of  the  grave,  was  turned  toward  him,  and  seem^ 
cd  to  change  him  to  stone  as  he  gazed. 

The  figure  passed  on — the  figure  of  Zillah— to 
this  conscience-stricken  wretch  a  phantom  of  the 
dead  ;  and  he,  overwhelmed  by  this  new  hofTor,  j; 
sanj(  back  into  insensibiUty.  '^ 


CHAPTER  LXIX. 

TBB   VIBIO)(  or  TUB  LOST. 

It  was  twilight  when  Gnaltier  sank  hack  sense- 
less. When  he  at  last  came  to  himself  it  was 
night.  The  moon  was  shining  brightly,  and  the 
wind  was  sighing  through  the  pines  solemnly  and 
sadly.  It  was  some  time  before  he  could  recall 
his  scattered  senses  so  as  to  understand  where 
he  was.  At  lost  he  remembered,  and  the  gloom 
around  him  gave  additional  force  to  the  thrill  of 
superstitious  horror  which  was  excited  by  that 
remembrance.  He  roused  himself  with  a  nild 
effort,  and  hunted  in  the  grass  Jor  his  pistol, 
which  now  was  his  only  reliance.  Finding  this, 
he  hurried  down  toward  the  road.  Every  limb 
now  ached,  and  bis  brain  still  felt  the  stupefying 
effects  of  his  late  swoon.  It  was  only  with  ex- 
treme difiicult^that  he  could  itf&g  himself  along; 
yet  such  was  ttlB  horror  on  his  mind  that  he  de- 
spised the  paiiy  «i\4  hnrried  down  the  road  rap- 
idly, seeking  only  to  escape  as  soon  as  possible 
out  from  among  the  shadows  of  these  dark  and 
terrible  woods,  and  into  the  open  phiin.  His 
liasty,  hurried  step*  were  siiended  with  ih 
verest  pain,  yet  he  sped  onward,  and,  at  last, 
after  what  seemed  to  him  an  interminable  time, 
he  emerged  out  of  the  shadows  of  the  fo»est  into 
the  broad,  bright  moonlight  of  the  meadovi 
which  skirt  the  Amo.  Hurrying  along  for  a  few 
hundred  yards,  he  sank  down  at  last  by  the  road- 


.**. 


nt  as  if  till*  flgura 


ilile,  completely  cxhniuted.  In  about  an  hour 
he -resumed  hin  journey,  and  then  sank  exhaust- 
ed once  more,  after  tmversing-a  few  miles.  If 
wa»  sunriiMj  »)efore  he  reai'hed  the  inn  where  he 
stonped.  All  that  day  and  the  next  nightJie  lay 
in  bed.  On  the  following  day  he  went  to  Flor- 
ence ;  and,  Uking  the  hour  when  he  knew  that 
Lord  Chetwynde  wag  ouj,  he  called  on  Hildii. 


THE  CnYPTOGRAM. 


nt 


visit  which  ho.  had  paid  on  his  first  anivnl  at 
, Florence  fi-om  England.  He  hod  firmly  resolved 
notMo  see  Iier  until  he  had  dpne  something  of 
some  consequence,  and  by  this  resolution  he  in- 
tended that  he  should  go  to  her  as  the  tribmph- 
ant  discoverer  of  the  mystery  which  she  sought 
to  unravel.  8<fmething  had,  indeed,  been  domj, 
but  the  dark  mystery  lay  still  unrevepled  ;  and 
what  he  had  discovered  was  certainly  important, 
vet  not  of  such  a  kind  as  could  excite  any  thing 
like  a  feeling  of  triumph.  He  went  to  her  now 
because  he  could  not  help  it,  and  went  in  bitter- 
ness and  humiliation.  That  he  should  go  at  all 
under  such  circumstances  only  showed  how  com- 
plete and  ^ttcr  hod  l)eon  his  discomfiture.  But 
yet,  in  spite  of  this,  there  had  been  no  cowardice 
of  which  he  could  accuse  himself,  and  he  had 
•hrank  from  no  danf^er.  He  had  dared  Lord 
Chetwynde  almost  face  to  face.  Flying  from 
him,  he  had  encountered  one  Vvhom  he  might 
never  have  anticipated  meeting.  Last  of  all,  he 
had  been  overpowered  by  the  phantom  of 'the 
dead.  All  these  w^re  suflicient  causes  for  an  in- 
terview with  Hilda,  if  it  wore  only  for  the  sake 
of  letting  her.  know  the  feorful  obstacles  that 
were  accumulating  before  her,  the  alliance  of 
her  worst  enemies,  and  the  reappearance  of  the 
ipectre. 

As  Hilda  entered  the  room  and  looked  at  him 
ihe  was  startled  at  the  change  in  him.  The  hue 
of  his  face  had  changed  from  its  ordinary  sallow 
complexion  to  a  kind  of  grizzly  pallor.  His  hands 
ihook  with  nervous  trcmulousness,  his  brow  was 
contracted  through  pain,  his  eyes  had  a  wistful 
eagerness,  and  he  seemed  twenty  years  older. 

"  You  do'not  look  like  a  bearer  of  goo<l  news," 
laid  she,  after  shaking  hands  with  him  in  si- 
lence. 

Gnaltier  shook  his  head  mournfully 

"  Have  you  found  oat  nothine(  ?" 

He  sighed. 

"I'm  ofraid  I've  found  out  too  muchbv  far  " 

"What  do  you  mean?"  ^ 

"I  hardly  know.  I  only  know  this,  that  my 
Marches  have  shown  me  that  the  mystery  is  deep- 
er than  ever."  ^ 

"Ton  seem  to  me  to  be  very  quickJv  discpur- 
•gwl,    said  Hilda,  in  a  disappointed  tone.      "' 

'That  which  I  have  found  out  and  seen  " 
•md  Gualtier,  solemnly,  "is  something  which 
•  discourage  the  most  persevering,  aiid  ap- 
e  boldest.     My  lady,''  hn  nddnH   Jn...^ 


able  to  speak.     His  word*  came  painfully  and 
ilo*ly,  and  in  this  wapr  he  told  his  story. 

He  began  by  narrating  the  steps  which  he  had 
taken  to  secure  himself  from  discovery  by  the  use 
of  a  disguise,  and  his  first  tracking  of  Lord  Chet- 
wynde to  the  gates  of  the  villa.  He  described 
the  situation  to  her  very  clearly,  and  told  her  all 
that  he  had  learned  from  the  peasants.     He  then 


ir.  h«.i  „1.  1,        .1.    " 7       '•"""•        """  "o  iiau  learnea  irom  ttie  peasants      He  then 


HI  the  boldest.  My  lady,''  he  added,  nlourn- 
fiiUy,  there  is  a  power  at  work  which  Stands 
Between  you  and  the  accomplishment  oif  your 
purpose,  ni)d  dashes  ns  back  when  thot  purpose 
_^wis  nearest  to  its  attainment." 
1.  Im"  "**'.  ""•'eretand  you,"  said  Hilda,  slow- 
ly, while  a  dark  foreboding  arose,  in  her  mind, 
ma  a  fearful  suspieioTi  of  Gunltier's  meaning. 

leii  me  wh.nt  you  mean,  and  what  you  have 
■  i^Z  r'^K  »in'=e  I  saw  you  last.     You  certainly 
must  have  had  a  very  unusual  experience.  " 

It  was  with  an  evident  effort  that  Gualtier  was 


ered  Lord  Chetwynde's  periodical  visits,  altern- 
ately made  at  tho  great  and  the  small  gate,  and 
had  resolved  to  find  out  the  reason  of  such  very 
singular  journeys.  ' 

To  all  this  Hilda  listened  with  breathless  in- 
terest and  intense  emotion,  which  increased,  if 
possible,  up  to  that  time  when  he  was  noticed  and 
pursued  by  Lord  Chetwynde.  Then  followed  the 
story  of  his  journey  through  the  woods  and  the 
paths  till  he  found  himself  face  to  face  with  Obed 
Chute. 

At  the  mention  of  this  name  she  intemipted 
him  with  an  exclamation  of  wonder  and  despair, 
followed  by  many  questions.  She  herself  felt  all 
that  perplexity  at  this  discovery  of  his  friendship 
with  Lord  Chetwynde  which  Gualtier  had  felt,  and 
nil  the  thoughts  which  then  had  occurred  to  him 
now  came  to  her,  to  be  poured  forth  in  innumer- 
able questions.  Such  questions  he  was,  of  course, 
unable  to  onswer.  Thp  nppeaiance  of  this  man 
upon  the  scene  was  a  circumstance  whi<;h  excited 
in  Hilda's  mind  vague  apprehensions  of  some  un- 
known danger;  yet  his  connection  with  Lord 
Chetwynde  was  so  inexplicable  that  it  was  im- 
possible to  know  what  to  think  ofte  fear. 

Tho  discussion  of  this  new  turn  in  the  prog- 
ress of  things  took  up  some  time.  Exciting  ai 
this  intelligence  had  been  to  HMa,  the  conclu- 
sion of  Gualtier'g  narrative  was  far  more  g<j. 
This  was  the  climax,  and  Gualtier,  who  Iwdl 
been  weak  and  languid  in  speaking  aboiu  tl)a 
other  things,  here  rose  into  unusual  excit«Dimt. 
enlarging  upon  every  particular  in  that  eccur- 
rence,  and  introducing  all  those  details  which 
I-*.°lr",  v''!^  '""fP""''""  had  in  that  moment 
of  half  delinum  thrown  around  the  figuro  which 
he  had  seen. 

"  /J  floated  before  me,"  said  hey  with  a  shud- 
der; "its  robes  Mere  white,  Md  hung  down  aa 
though  still  dripping  with  the  inator  of  the  sea. 
It  moved  noiselessly  until  it  mme  opposite  to. 
mo,  and  then  turned  its  fuU  face  toward  me 
Iho  eyes  were  bright  and  luiftinons,  and  seened 
to  bum  into  my  souL  Tb^  are  before  me  yet. 
Never  shall  1  forget  the  horror  of  that  moment 

nen  the  figure  passed  oo  ]  fell  down  sens^ess." 
In  the  name  of  God!"  burst  forth  Hilda 
whose  eyes  dilated  with  tho  terror  of  thftt  tateT 
while  she  trembled  fro»  head  to  foot  in  fearful, 
1^•mpathv,  "is  this  true?   Can  it  be?   Did  vou 
too,  see  Aw/"  ~.?"u» 

"  Herself;  and  no  oAor!"  answered  Gnaltier 
in  a  scarce  audible  voice.  * 

"Once  before,"  said  Hilda,  "that  appari^fo* 
came.  It  was  to  me.  Yon  know  what  the  et 
feet  wafc^told  TOO.  Yoti  were  fteii  yefyecW^ 
and  philojDplucal.  Yob  found  it  veiy  eeLoy  to 
account  for  it  on  scientific  principles.  You  spoke 
of  excitement,  imagination,  and  diseased  opifcs 
nenes.  Now,  in  your  own  case,  have  you  been 
able  to  account  for  this  in  the  same  way  ?" 

"I  have  not,"  said  Gualtier.     "Such  anrn- 
ments  to  me  now  seem  to  be  nothing  but  words. 


i 

'I 


I  1 

I 

,1 


/ 


228 


THE  CRYPTOGRAM. 


— empty  wovjls,  sathfectoiy  eitough,  no  doubt, 
to  those  who  have  never  had  this  revelation  of 

.  another  world,  but  idle  and  meaningless  to  those 
who  have  seen  what  I  have  seen.  Why,  do  I 
not  know  that  she  is  beneath  the  Mediterranean, 
and  yet  did  I  not  see  her  myself?    You  were 

'  right,  though  t  did  not  understand  your  feelings, 
when  you  found  all  my  theories  rain.  Now,  since 
I  have  had  your  experience,  I,  too,  find  them 
vain.  M^t's  the  old  story — the  old,  old  hackneyed 
sayinglr.he  continued,  wearily — 

" '  There  are  more  things  In  heaven  and  earth,  Horatio, 
Thau  are  dreamt  olia  yonr  piiUosophy."' 

A  long  silencd  followed.- 

"We  have  been  warned,"  said  Hilda  at 
length.  "The  dead  arise  before  us,"  she  con- 
tinued, solemnly,  "^to  thwart  our  plans  and  our 
purposes.  The  dead  wife  of  Lord  Chetwynde 
-  comes  back  from  beneath  the  sea  to  prevent  our 
undertakings,  and  tp  protect  him 'from  us." 

Gualtier  kaid  nothing.  In  his  own  soul  he  felt 
the  deep  truth  of  this  remark.  Both  sat  now  for 
some  time  in  silence  and  in  solemn  meditation, 
while  a  deep  gloom  settled  down  upon  them. 

At  last  Gualtier  spoke. 

" It  would  have  been  far  better," said  he,  "if 
yon  had  allowed,  me  to  complete  that  business. 
It  was  nearly  done.  The  worst  was  over.  You 
should  not  have  interfered." 

^ilda  made  no  reply.  In  her  own  heart  there 
were  now  wild  desires,  and  already  she  herself 
^d  become  familiar  with  this  thought.    <><   .: 

"It  can  yet  be  done,"  said  Gualtier. 

"But  how  can  you  do  it  again — after  this?" 
said  Hilda. 

"  You  ,are  now  the  one,"  replied  Gualtier. 
"You  have  the  powec  and  the  opportunity.  As 
for  me,  you  know  that  I  could  not  become  his 
valet  again.  The  chance  was  once  all  my  own, 
but  you  destroyed  it.  I  dare  not  venture  before 
him  again.  It  would  be  ruin  to  both  of  us.  He 
would  i-ecognize  me  under  any  disguise,  and  have 
me  at  once  arrested.  But  if  you  know  any  way 
in  which  I  can  be  of  use,  or  in  which  I  can  have 
access  to  his  presence,  tell  me,  and  I  nill  ghidly 
risk  my  life  to  please  you." 

But  Hilda  knew  of  none,  and  had  nothing  to 
say. 

"  Yon,  and  you  alone,  have  the  power  now^' 
said  Gualtier ;  "  this  work  must  be  done  by  you 
alone." 

"Yes,"  said  Hilda,  after  a  pause.  "  It  is  true, 
I  have  the  power — I  have  the  power."  she  re- 
peated, in  ^  tone  of  gloomy  resolve,  "  and  the 
power  shall  be  exercised,  either  on  him,  or  on 
mt/seff." 

''Gnyourtel/r 

"Yes."  '' 

"Are  you  still  thinking  of  such  a  thing  as 
that  ?"  asked  Gualtier,  with  a  shudder. 

"That  thought,"  said  Hilda,  calmly,  "has 
been  familiar  to  me  before,  as  you  very  well 
know.  It  is  still  a  familiar  one,  and  it  may  be 
acted  upon  at  any  moment." 


'Would  you  dare  10  do  ft?" 
"  Dare  to  do  it ! "  repeated  Hildo.  "  Do  you 
ask  that  question  of  me  after  what  I  told  you  at 
Lausanne  ?  Did  I  not  tell  you  there  that  what  I 
dared  to  administer  to  another,  I  dared  also  to 
-  administer  to  mvself  ?  You  surely  must  remem- 
ber how  weak  all  those  menaces  of  yours  proved 


when  you  tried  to  coerce  me  again  as  you  had 
done  once  before.  You ''must  know  the  reason 
why  they  were  so  powerless.  It  was  because  to 
me  all  Ufe,  and  all  the  honors  and  pleasures  of 
life,  had  grown  to  be  nothing  without  tlrnt  one 
aim  after  which  I  was  seeking.  Do  you  not  un- 
derstand yet  ?" 

\"My  God!"  was  Gnaltier's  reply,  "how  yoa 
love  that  rtan!"  These  words  burst  forth  in- 
voluntarily,  as  he  looked  at  her  in  the  anguish 
of  his  despair. 

Hilda's  eyes  fastened  themselves  on  his,  and 
looked  at  him  out  of  the  depths  of  a  despair 
which  was  deeper  than  his  own — a  despair  which 
had  now  made  life  valueless. 

"  You  can  not — ^you  will  not,"  exclaimed  Gual- 
tier, passionately. 

"1  can,"  said  Hilda,  "and  it  is  very  possible 
that  I  will." 

"  You  do  not  know  what  it  is  thot  you  speak 
about." 

"  I  am  not  dfraid  of  death,"  said  Hilda,  coldly, 
"  if  that  is  what  jou  mean.  It  con  not  be  worse 
than  this  life  of  mine.i" 

"  But  you  do  not  understand  what  it  means," 
said  Gualtier.  "  I  am  not  speaking  of  the  mei« 
act  itself,  but  of  its  consequences.  Picture  to 
yourself  Lord  Chetwynde  exulting  over  this,  and 
seeing  that  hated  obstacle  removed  which  kept 
him  from  his  perfect  happiness.  You  die,  and 
you  leave  him  to  pursue  uninterrupted  the  joy 
that  he  has  with  his  paramour.  Can  you  face 
such  a  thought  as  that  ?  Would  not  this  woman 
rejoice  at  hearing  of  such  a  thing  ?  Do  you  wish 
to  add  to  their  happiness  ?  Are  you  so  sublimely 
self-sacrificing  that  you  will  die  to  make  Lord 
Chetwynde  happy  in  his  love  ?" 

"How, can  he  be  happy  in  his  love?"  said 
Hilda.     "  She  is  married. 

"  She  may  not  be.  You  only  conjecture  that. 
It  may  be  her  father  whom  she  guards  against, 
or  her  guardian.  Obcd  Chute  is  no  doubt  the 
man — either  her  father  or  guardian,  and  Lord 
Chetwynde  has  to  guard  against  suspicion.  But 
what  then  ?  If  you  die.  can  he  not  find  some 
^other,  and  solace  himself  in  her  smiles,  and  in 
the  wealth  that  will  now  be  all  his  own '(" 

These  words  stung  Hilda  to  the  quick,  and 
she  sat  sileiit  and  thoughtful.  To  die  so  ns  to 
get  rid  of  trouble  was  one  thing,  but  a  death 
which  should  have  such  consequences  ns  these 
was  a  very  different  thing.  Singularly  enough, 
she  had  never  thought  of  this  before.  And  now, 
when  the  thought  came,  it  was  intolerable.  It 
produced  within  her  a  new  revolution  of  feeling, 
and  turned  her  thoughts  away  from  that  gloomy 
idea  which  had  so  often  haunted  her. 

"//is  is  the  only  one  against  whom  yon  can 
work,"  continued  Gualtier ;  ' '  and  you  alone  have 
the  power  of  doing  it." 

Hilda  said  nothing.  If  this  work  must  be 
done  by  her,  there  were  many  things  to  be  con- 
sidered, and  these  required  time. 

"But  you  will  not  desert  me,"  said  she,  aad- 
denly  4  for  she  fancied  fi-om  Gualticr'a  manner 


that  he  had  given  up  all  further  idea  of  helping 
her. 

His  face  flushed. 

"  Is  it  possible  that  tou  can  still  find  any  way 
to  employ  me?  This  is  more  than  I  hoped  for. 
I  feared  that  your  indignation  at  my  failnre 
would  cause  you  to  dismlM  me  at  useless.    If 


again  as  you  had 
t  know  tlie  reason 

It  was  because  to 
8  and  pleasures  of 
;  without  that  one 
;.    Do  you  not  un- 

i  reply,  "how  you 
ds  burst  forth  in- 
lier  in  the  anguish 

selves  on  his,  and 
spths  of  a  despair 
1 — a  despair  which 

:,"  exclaimed  Gual- 

it  is  very  possible 

is  that  you  speak 

said  Hilda,  coldly, 
it  can  not  be  worse 

d  what  it  means," 
saking  of  the  mere 
inces.  Picture  to 
Iting  over  this,  and 
moved  which  kept 
SB.  Yon  die,  and 
iterrupted  the  joy 
iir.  Can  you  face 
dd  not  this  woman 
ng  ?  Do  you  wish 
e  yon  so  sublimely 

die  to  make  Lord 

II 

1  his  love?"  said 

ly  conjecture  that 
le  guards  against, 
;e  is  no  doubt  the 
lardinn,  and  Lord 
St  suspicion.  But 
he  not  find  some 
her  smiles,  and  in 
1  his  own  ?" 
to  the  quick,  and 
To  die  so  ns  to 
hing,  but  a  death 
equences  ns  these 
'ingiilarly  enough, 
lefore.  And  now, 
IS  intolerable.  It 
olution  of  fueling, 
from  that  gloomy 
ed  her. 

Bt  wbt)m  yon  can 
ind  you  alone  have 

lis  work  must  be 

things  to  be  con- 

ie. 

ie,"Raid  she,  snd- 

aualtiet'a  manner 

er  idea  of  helping 


THE  CRYPTOGRAM. 


"the  bead  ANp  THE  LOST  ALL  COMB  TO  ME." 


yon  can  find  ony  thing  for  me  to  do,  I  can  as- 
sure yon  that  the  only  happiness  that  I  can  have 
wul  be  m  domg  that  thing." 

'  f  ■/"v  <■«'■'""■"•'>''*  ^"W"'  "«"">  not  your 
fault.    You  have  done  well,  and  suffered  much 
I  am  not  ungrateful.    You  will  be  rewarded  yet! 
i  shall  yet  have  something  for  you  to  do,    I  will 
send  for  you  when  the  time  comes." 

She  rose  as  she  said  this,  and  held  out  her 
hand  to  Gunltier.  Ha  took  it  respectfully,  and 
Jith  on  eamg^t  look  at  her,  full  of  gratitude  and 
devotion,  he  Withdraw. 

fi,„V"{!f  ^^HTu*""  "J"??  *'""«  involved  in  deep 

X.  h^""!^  '^'^"'T  """K*  ""ggested  thom- 
!!I^'.  ..■'*' .^T*.*^  "^''''''y  impracticoble,  or 
«t  iMst  objectionable.  Nor  was  she  as  yet  pre- 
pared to  begin  with  her  own  hands,  and  by  ter- 
«lf,  that  part  which  Gualtier  hod  suggested. 
^'yet  wgj^her  ner^■e8  steady  enough:    But 

anv  Zl?h  f  "Tf  i°  "'^°"*'"«  '■«"  t«  «fe  than 
any  thing  thnt  could  have  happened  short  of  act- 
Mlly  gaining  him  for  herself: 

Wearied  at  last  of  fruitless  plana  and  resnlt- 
w»  thoughts,  she  wont  out  for  «  walk.    She 


dressed  herself  in  blaj*,  and  wore  a  heavy  black 
crape  veil  which  entirely  concealed  the  futures. 
^he  knew  no  one  in  Florence  from  whom  she 
needed  to  disguise  herself,  but  her  nature  was  of - 
Itself  secretive,  and  even  in  a  thing  like  this  she 
chose  concealment  rather  than  openness.  Be- 
sides, she  had  some  vague  hopes  thot  she  miitht 
encounter  Lord  Chetwyndo  somewhere,  perhaps 
w'lth  this  woman,  and  could  watch  him  while  un- 
observed herself. 

She  walked  as  far  as  the  church  of  Santo 
Croce.  She  walked  up  the  steps  with  a  vague 
idea  of  going  in. 

As  she  walked  up  there  came  a  woman  down 
the  steps  dressed  in  as  deep  mourning  as  Hilda 
herself.  She  was  old,,  she  was  slender,  her  veil 
was  thrown  back,  and  the  white  face  was  plainly 
visible  to  Hilda  as  she  pissed.  Hilda  stooS 
rooted  to  the  spot,  thongh^e  other  woman  did 
not  notice  her  emotion,  inffiould  she  have  seer 
her  face  through  the  veil.  She  stood  paralyzed, 
and  looking  after  the  retreating  figure  as  it  moved 


away 

"The  dead  and  the  lost,"  she  murmured,  at 
she  stood  there  with  clasped  hands— "the  dead 
and  the  lost  all  come  to  met  Mrs.  Hart  I 
About  her  face  there  can  be  no  mbtake.    What 


fii 


.:;{.: 


M 


III 


m 
m 


I 


.li. 


THE  CRYPTOGRAM. 


is  she  doing  here— in  the  same  town  with  Lord 
Chetwynde?  Am  I  ruined  yet  or  not?  'I'm 
afraid  I  hare  not  much  time  left  me  to  run  my 
course. " 

In  deep  despondency  she  retraced  her  steps, 
and  went  back  to  her  room.  ( 


g  CHAPTER  LXX. 

NEW   PROJECTS. 

The  unexpected  appearance  of  Mrs.  Hart  was 
ip  many  respects,  and  for  many  reasons,  an  aw- 
ful  shock  to  Hilda.  » It  Was  a  new  danger,  lest 
,  terrible  than  that  which  had  arisen  from  the 
phantom  which  had  twice  appeared,  yet  perhaps 
in  reality  more  perilous.  It  filled  her  with  ap- 
prehensions of  the  worst.  All  that  night  she 
lay  awoke  thinking  over  it.  How  had  Mrs. 
Hart  come  to  Florence,  and  why,  and  what  was 
she  doing  here?  Such  were  her  thoughts.  Was 
she  also  in  connection  with  Lord  Chetwynde  and 
with  this  Obed  Chute  ?  It  seemed  probable.  If 
so,  then  it  seemed  equally  probable  that  there 
was  gome  design  on  foot  ngninst  her.  At  first 
the  thought  of  this  inspired  in  her  a  great  fear, 
and  a  desire  to  fly  from  the  impending  danger. 
For  a  moment  she  almost  decided  to  give  up  her 
present  purpose  forever,  collect  as  much  money 
as  she  conld,  and  fly  to  some  distant  place,  where 
she  might  get  rid  of  all  her  danger  and  forget  all 
her  troubles.  But  this  thought  was  only  mo- 
mentary, for  higher  than  her  desire  for  comfort 
or  peace  of  mind  rose  her  thirst  for  vengeance. 
It  would  not  satisfy  her  that  she  alone  should 
si^er.  Lord  Chetwynde  also  should  have  his 
own  share,  and  she  woidd  begin  by  unmasking 
him  and  revealing  his  intrigue  to  her  supposed 
husband. 

On  the  following  day  Gualtier  called,  and  in  a 
few  words  she  told  him  what  had  taken  place. 

"  Are  you  really  confident  that  it  was  Mrs. 
Hart  y"  he  asked,  with  some  anxiety. 

"As  confident  as  I  am  of  my  own  existence. 
Indeed,  no  mistake  was  possible." 

Gualtier  looked  deeply  troubled. 

" It  looks  bad,"  said  he ;  "  but,  after  all,  there 
are  ways  of  accounting  for  it.  She  may  have 
heard  that  Lord  Chetwynde  intended  to  go  to 
Italy  and  to  Florence— for  It  was  quite  possible 
that  he  mentioned  it  to  her  at  the  Castle— and 
when  she  went  away  she  may  have  intended  to 
come  here  in  search  of  him.  I  dare  say  she 
went  to  London  first,  and  found  out  from  his 
solicitors  where  he  had  gone.  There  isn't  the 
slightest  probability,  at  any  rate,  that  ho  can 
have  met  with  her.  If  he'  had  met  with  her, 
you  would  have  known  it  yourself  soon  enoogh. 
She  would  have  been  here  to  see  his  wife,  with 
the  same  affectionate  solicitude  which  she  show- 
ed once  before— which  you  told  me  of.  No. 
Rest  assured  Ldli  Chetwynde  knows  nothing 
of  her  presence  here.  There  are  others  who 
take  up  all  Jiis  thoughts.  It  seems  probable, 
^e  hta  jntt  arriTBd,  and  there  Ir no 
doubt  that  she  is  on  the  look-out  fbr  him.  At 
any  rate,  there  is  one  comfort.  You  are  sure, 
70U  say,  that  she  did  not  recognize  you  7" 

"  No ;  that  was  impossible ;  for  I  wore  a  thick 
rell.  No  one  could  poisibly  distinguish  mr  feat- 
u««." 


"  And  she  can  not,  of  conrsej^  snspect  that  yon 
are  here?" 

"She  can  not  have  any  such  suspicion,  unless 
we  have  been  ourselves  living  in  the  dark  all  this 
time — unless  she  is  really  in  league  with  Lord 
Chet^vynde.  And  who  can  tell?  Perhdps  all 
this  time  this  Chute  and  Mrs.  Hurt  and  Lord 
Chetwynde  have  their  own  designs,  and  are  qui- 
etly weaving  a  net  around  me  from  which  I  can 
not  escape.  Who  can  tell  ?  Ah !  how  easily  I 
could  escape-T-if  it  were  not  fbr  one  thing !" 

"Oh,  as  to  Ihat,  you  may  dismiss  the  idea," 
said  Gualtier,  confidently;  "and  as  for  Lord 
Chetwynde,  yOu  may  rest  assured  that  he  does 
not  think  enough  about  you  to  take  the  smallest 
trouble  one  way  or  another." 

Hilda's  eyes  blazed. 

"  He  shall  have  cause  enough  to  think  about 
me  yet,"  she  cried.  "  I  have  made  up  my  mind 
what  I  am  to  do  next." 

"What  is  that?" 

"  I  intend  to  go  myself  to  Obed  Chute's  villa." 

"TheviUa!    Yourself  1"     . 

"Yes." 

"You!" 

"  I— myself.     You  can  not  go." 

"  No.     But  how  can  you  go  ?" 

"  Easily  enough.     I  have  nothing  to  fear." 

"  But  this  man  is  a  perfect  demon.  How  will 
you  be  able  to  encounter  him  ?  He  woujd  treat 
yon  aa  brutally  as  a  savage.  I  know  bi|fi)vell. 
I  have  reason  to.  You  are  not  the  one  to  go 
there." 

"  Oh  yes,  I  am,"  said  Hilda,  carelessly.  "  Yoa 
forget  what  a  difference  there  is  between  a  visit 
from  you  and  a  visit  from  me." 

"There  is  a  diflference,  it  is  true ;  but  I  donbt 
whether  Obed  Chute  is  the  man  to  see  it.  At 
any  rate,  you  can  not  think  of  going  witliont 
some  pretext.  And  what  one  can  you  possibly 
have  that  will  be  at  all  plausible  ?" 

"  Pretext  I  I  have  the  best  in  the  world.  It 
is  hardly  a  pretext  either.  I  intend  to  go  open- 
ly, in  my  own  proper  person — as  Lady  Chet- 
wynde. " 

"  As  Lady  Chetwynde !"  repeated  Gualtier,  in 
amazement.  "  What  do  you  mean  ?  Would  it 
be  too  much  to  orfk  you  what  your  plan  may  be, 
or  what  it  is  that  you  may  have  in  view  ?" 

"It's  simple  enough,'  said  Hilda.  "It  is 
this.  You  will  understand  it  readily  enough,  I 
think.  You  see,  I  have  discovered  by.  accident 
some  mysterious  writing  in  cipher,  which  by  an- 
other accident  I  have  been  enabled  to  unravel. 
Now  you  understand  that  this  writing  makes 
very  serious  charges  indeed  against  tny  father, 
the  late  General  Pomeroy.  He  is  dead ;  but  I, 
as  an  afTectionnte  daughter,  am  most  anxidiis  to 
understand  the  meaning  of  this  fearful  accusa- 
tion thus  made  against  the  best  of  pien.  I  have 
seen  the  name  of  this  Obed  Chute  mentioned  in 
some  of  the  papers  connected  with  the  secret 
writing,  and  have  fbund  certain  letters  from  him 
refeiring  to  the  case.  Having  heard  very  unex- 
pectedly that  he  is  in  Florence,  I  intend  to  call 
on  him  to  implore  him  to  expiain  to  me  all  thlF 
mystery." 

"Thiit  is  admirable,"  said  Gnaltier. 

"  Of  course  it  is,"  said  Hilda ;  "  nothing,  inaeea, 
could  be  better.  This  will  give  me  admission  to 
th«  villa.  Once  in  there,  I  shall  have  to  rely  upon 
cinnimttancei.    Whatever  those  circumstance! 


')  snspect  that  yon 


Ed  Chute's  villa." 


may  be,  I  shall,  at  least,  be  confronted  with  Lord 
Clietwynde,  and  find  out  who  this  woman  is  I 
hope  to  win  the  friendship  and  the  confidence  of 
these  people.  They  will  pity  me,  sympathize 
with  me,  and  mvite  me  there.  If  Lord  Chet- 
wynde  18  such  a  friend,  they  can  hardly  overlook 
bis  wife.  The  woman,  whoever  she  may  be 
even  if  she  hates  me,  as  she  must,  will  yet  see 
that  It  IS  her  best_policy  to  bo  at  least  civil  to 
ine.  And  that  will  open  a  way  to  final  and  com- 
plete vengeance."  ^ 

To  this  plan  Gualtier  listened  in  unfelimed  ad- 
miration. *    T  " 

"You  have  solved  the  mystery !"  said  he,  ex- 
citedly. You  wijl— you  must  succeed,  where  1 
have  tailed  so  miserably." 

"No, "  said  Hilda,  "yon  have  not  failed.  Had 
It  not  been  for  you  I  could  never  have  had  this 
chance.  It  is  by  your  discovery  of  Obed  Chute 
that  you  have  made  ray  present  course  possible. 
You  have  suffered  for  my  cause,  but  your  suffer- 
ings will  make  that  cause  at  last  triumphant." 

!•  or  such  a  result  as  that  I  would  suffer  ten 
thousand  times  more,"  said  Gualtier,  in  impas- 
sioned tones.  ^ 

"You  will  not  be  exposed  to  any  further  suf- 
fenngs,  my  friend,"  said  Hilda.  "I  only  want 
your  assistance  now." 

"It  is  yours  already.  Whatever  you  ask  I 
am  ready  to  do." 

"  What  I  ask  is  not  much,"  said  HiWa  "  I 
merely  want  you  to  be  near  the  spot,  so  as  to  be 
ui  readiness  to  assist  me." 

i"  m"  '***  *P°' '  ^°  y°"  "'^"  *'  'lie  villa?" 
No,  not  at  the  villa,  but  near  it,  somewhere 
•Jong  the  road.  I  wish  you  to  see  who  goes  and 
comes.  Go  out  there  to-day,  and  watch.  You 
need  not  go  within  a  mile  of  the  villa  itself;  that 
will  be  enough.  You  will  then  know  when  Ivjrd 
Chetwynde.comes.  You  can  watch  from  behind 
•ome  hedge,  I  suppose.     Can  you  do  that  ?" 

•11'  l*'''Tr'!'n'  is  but  a  slight  thing.  Most 
wilhngly  will  I  do  this,  and  far  more,  no  matter 
what,  even  if  I  have  to  face  a  second  time  that 
phantom. 

"I  will  go  out  to-morrow,  or  on  the  following 
<l«y.  I  want  yon  to  be  on  the  watch,  and  see 
who  may  go  to  the  villa,  so  that  when  I  come 
you  may  let  me  know.  I  do  not  want  to  call 
unless  I  positively  know  that  Loi-d  Chetwynde 
will  be  there,  and  the  family  also.  They  may 
possibly  go  out  for  a  drive,  or  something  may 
happen,-and  this  is  what  I  want  you  to  be  on  the 
ook-out  for.  If  J^rd  Chetwynde  is  there,  and 
Uiat  woman,  there  will  probably  be  a  scene,  "con- 
hniicd  Hilda,  gloomily ;  "  but  it  will  be  a  scene 
in  which,  from  the  very  nature  of  the  case.  I 
onght  to  be  triumphant.  I've  been  sufTering  too 
much  of  late.  It  is  now  about  time  for  a  change, 
and  It  seems  to  me  that  it  is  now  my  tuifl  to  have 
good  fortune.  Indeed,  Ijcan  not  conceive  how 
there  can  be  any  failure.  The  only  possible  awk- 
wardness would  be  the  presence  of  Mrs.  Hart. 
If  she  should  be  there,  then-why,  then,  I'm 
•fraid  aU  would  be  over.    Th«t  U»  risk,  how. 

*,  and  l  mutt  ran  tC^ 


THE  CRYPTOGRAM, 


"If  M  rr^  r  ^  regarded,"  said  Gnaltier. 
J  M  !!*•  "S"  ''"^  '"""'•  ^^^  Chetwynde,  you 
would  have  known  it  before  this." 

^  That  is  my  chief  reliance." 
Have  you  those  paper*?" 

"P«j)er»?"  «i 


231 

"  Yes ;  the  cipher  and  the  letters." 

«' l^"*  ^T  t^^'**  ^  ""' ^'^y  'hat  I  had  them  all?" 

t^.    ;     '<  '^°!S^J,"  '!'?'  y°"  ^^^  gi^en  them  all 
to — to  fier,    said  Gualtier. 

iZ^  ^  '^I'^j  H"' ^  Kot  them  back,  and  have 
kept  them,  I  don't  know  why.  I  8„pp„se  it  was 
from  an  instinct  of  forecast.  Whatever  was  the 
reason,  however,  they  are  now  of  priceless  valuu 
J-or  they  enable  me  now  to  go  as  the  daughter 
of  one  who  has  been  charged  in*  these  paiwrs 
with  the  commission  of  the  most  atrocious  crimes 
rhis  must  all  be  explained  to  meTand  by  this 
Obed  Chute,  who  48  the  only  living  person  who 
can  do  it. 

"  I  am  glad  that  what  I  have  done  will  be  use- 
ful  to  you,  said  Gualtier.  "  You  may  tn.st  to 
me  now  to  do  aU  that  man  can  do.  I  will  cirand 
watch  and  wait  till  you  come." 

liilda  thereupon  expressed  the  deepest  gimi- 
tude  to  him,  and  she  did  this  in  language  far 
more  earnest  than  any  which  she  had  ever  before 
used  to  him.  It,  may  have  been  the  conscious- 
ness that  this  would  be  the  last  service  which  he 
was  to  perform  for  her;  it  may  have  been  an  in- 
tentional recognition  of  his  past  acts  of  love  and 
devotion ;  it  may  have  been  a  tardy  act  of  recog- 
nition of  all  his  fidelity  and  constancy;  but,  what- 
ever it  was,  her  words  sank  deep  into  his  soul. 

Those  words,"  said  he,  "are  a  reward  for 
all  the  past.  May  I  not  yet  hope  for  a  future 
reward  ( 

"  You  may,  my  feiend.  Did  I  not  give  vou 
my  promise?"  ■    ^     •' 

^"  Hilda/" 

This  word  Burst  from  him.  It  was  the  first 
time  that  he  had  so  addressed  her.  Not  even  in 
the  hour  of  his  triumph  and  coercion  had  he  ven- 
tured ujion  this.  But  now  her  kindness  had  em- 
boldened him.  He  took  her  hand,  and  pressed 
It  to  his  lips. 

««7  ''*'^  "  P™8«"t'«nent  of  e\-il,"  said  he. 

We  may  never  meet  again.  But  you  will  not 
forget  me  ?" 

Hilda  gave  a  long  sigh. 

"  If  we  meet  again,"  said  she,  "we  chall  see 
enough  of  one  another.  If  not"— and  she  paused 
for  a  moment- "if  not,  then"-and  a  solemn 
cadence  came  to  her  voice— "then  you  will  be 
the  one  who  will  remember,  and  /shall  be  the  one 
to  he  remembered.     Farewell,  my  friend !" 

She  held  out  her  hand. 

Once  more  Gualtier  pressed  it  to  his  lips. 

Then  he  took  his  departure. 


CHAPTER  LXXL 

A    RACE    FOB     LIFE, 

0.V  leaving  Hilda  Gualtier  went  out  to  the 
villa.  Beforo  his  departure  he  furnished  him- 
self with  a  new  disguise,  different  from  his  foI^- 
mer  one,  and  one,  too,  which  he  thought  would 
be  better  adapted  to  his  purposes  of  concealment, 
A  gray  wij;,  a  slouched  hat,  and  the  dress 


peasant,  served  to  give  him  the  appearance  of  an 
aged  countryman,  while  a  staff  which  ho  held 
in  his  hand,  and  a  itoop  in  his  shoulders,  height, 
ened  the  disguise.  He  got  a  lift  on  a  wine-carl 
for  some  miles,  and  at  length  reached  a  place  not 
far  away  fVom  the  villa. 
The  villa  itself,  as  it  rose  up  from  unong  son 


iii 

'1  m  i 
■  W-  i 

!    1    L* 


m 


>  3 


.'^i^^J 


832 


ta 


fi^YP 


TOGRAM. 


tr- 


ronnding  trees,  on  a  spnr  of  the  Apennines,  was  i  too  strong  to  be  resisted!     He  datermined  to 
in  sight.     Oneither  side  of  the  valley  rose  the  |  venture  ni«r*r-how  near  he  didZt  know ;    °i 


mountains.  The  Amo,  as  it  wound  "along,  ap- 
proached the  place  on  this  side  of  the  valley,  and 
the  mountains  were  not  more  than  half  a  mile 
distant,  though  on  th6  other  therjilain  was  sev- 
eral miles  in  width.  The  pkcp  vh'ch  Gualtier 
had  chosen  seemed  to  him  to  be  quite  near 
enough  to  the  villa  for  observati6n,  and  far 
enough  distant  for  safety.  The  thought  of  a 
possible  encounter  with  Obed  Chute  was  ever 
present  in  his  mind,  and  this  time  he  determined 
to  guard  against  all  surprise,  and,  if  an  encount- 
er should  be  inevitable,  to  use  his  revolver  be- 
fore his  enemy  could  prevent  him.  His  pride 
and  his  manhood  both  urged  him  to  gnin  some 
satisfaction  for  that  shame  on  both  which  he  had 
experienced. 
After  watching  one  afternoon  he  obtained  lodg 


any  rate,  he  could  safely  ventiire  much  nearer 
than  this.  Had  he  not  his  disguise,  and  was  he 
not  armed  ?  And  when  he  mot  Hilda  would  it 
not  be  shame  to  him  if  he  could  only  tell  her 
that  he  had  staid  so  far  away,  and  had  feared  to 
venture  nearer  ? 

He  started  off.  His  bowed  form,  white  face 
peasant  garb,  and  the  staff  which  supported  his 
unsteady  steps,  he  thought  would  be  surely  nn 
impenetrable  disguise.  True,  once  before  the 
keen  glance  of  Obed  Chute  had  penetrated  his 
disguise,  but  then  the  circumstances  under  whicli 
they  met  were  suspicious.  Now,  even  if  he 
should  chance  to  meet  him,  he  could  riot  be  sus- 
pected. Who  would  snspeet  an  aged  peasant 
toiling  along  the  public  highway  ? 

He  gained  fresh  courage  at  every  step.    As 


«„  r  i. — ""fi""^"/'" """■"■<' uuiKMieuioug-  lie  gainea  tiesh  courage  at  every  step.  As 
ing  at  a  humble  farm-house,  and  when  the  next  I  he  drew  nearer  and  still  nearer  to  the  vUla  he 

TrTr^  ^aT  i!'  ™'"'.  ''?.'?'"''^  ^y  ^''"P-  """1  i  "^"K*""  ♦"  """''  °f  venturing  into  the  ZLt 
encouraged  by  the  result  of  his  meditations.  He  once  more.  He  thought  that  rf  he  did^o  he 
began  to  be  hopeful  about  final  success.     The   could  be  more  guarded,  and  steal  along  through 

or,«  wti!!:h  "^  n'''*  ^^fT"''  '""'"'"^  '"  ^^  "■«  '"'''''  •^'d"  'he  paths,  and  not  on'  hem 
mJpvnr  Hi?H  ^   "       '^"'  ^^  ""y  .Possibility.    The  thought  became  a  stronger  temptation  to 

^^mn^Lf  ^°"*'  ""k^  Pl"'"'-^,!  "J"^  """  "'"'  '  "'"'^«''  "«»'«^' '"'  hnd  almost  decided  to  venture 
a  comple^te  and  irreparable  breach  between  her-  ;  into  that  little  gate,  which  was  now  full  in  view 
filT^^i^*""^  Chetwynde.  To  him  this  was  the  |  He  sat  down  bVthe  road-sido  and  looked  at  " 
first  desire  of  his  heart,  since  that  removed  the  At  length  he  rose  and  walked  on,  hJiving  made 
wie  great  obstacle  that^ay  between  him  and  her.  up  his  mind  to  pass  through,  «  any  rate,  a.Td  be 
If  he  could  only  see  her  love  for  Lord  Chetwynde  guided  by  circumstances  It  would  be  some- 
>  transformed  to  vengeance,  and  find  them  cliaiiged    thing  to  his  credit,  he  thought,  if  he  could  only 

oZ!inHirrVr'"''-°^'^L'''"1.'-'"P*'*r"f^^^^^  ""'>'*  '1"»'  >■«  ^ad  befn  in  those  gn,un<h 
open  and  implacable  enmity,  then  his  own  hopes   again. 

A^llaTTf "  T'^  ^  secured,  OS  he  thouglu.  |  But  as  he  advanced  he  heard  the  sound  of  «■>- 
^~  t  T^l^''  beginmngof  this.  In  Hilda's  ;  preaching  .wheels.  Some  carriage  was  coming 
W«  «;~r  'h  *'  '"r VJ  '??'"'•  ^^.  Tl^''^  *"  I  "'P'^'ly  •^"'^n  '•■«  ™'«J  t"*""!  hi-nVnnd  he  paused 
ik^n  ZZ.t^t  Tif  *^"'  feeling  which  had  now    for  a  moment,  as  the  idea  struck  him  that  pos*i 

taken  possession  of  her.     He  had  witnessed  also   «-•-— ^    -  —  *^ 

a  greater  consideration  for  himself;-  arising  this 


time  not  out  of  coercion,  but  from  free-will.    Alf 
this  was  in  his  favor.     Whether  she  couM  ever 


biy  the  tremendous  Obed  Chute  might  be  in  it. 

He  walked  on  very  slowly,  looking  keenly  ahead. 

Soon  the  carriage  came  into  view  from  behind 

a  bend  in  the  road.     A  thrill  passed  through 


A.ii  J  •    i       ..   '•"""^'  ■"■"  "-""'u  o»ci    B  ucim  111  uio  roBQ.     A  tnnu  passed  throuirh 

Mly  8ucc«Ki  in  her  thirst  for  vengeance  did  not  Gualtier  in  spite  of  himself.  He  grasp«i  his  staff 
much  matter.    Indeed  n  was  better  for  him  ttt^t  |  in  his  right  hand,  and  plunging  his  1^  "mo  hi, 

Ihnnlrrw?'**  ""'•'^  'a'I^  T'  ''.'"  '>'-*«  breast-pScket,  he'grasp^  hif piltoL  Nearer  and 
should  remain  unsausfied,  for  then  Lord  Chet-   nearer  the  carriage  came,  and  he  could  easily 

^^her  r^rl^""'^  "'fTI  f  ""^  "".T  '"'•«^"'  '"^"K"'^"  '•>«  «1"^«  face,'broadJhoSlders  a  ,d 
Iv!^/  l-%  Y'  ""''  '^^  .•"""  '^""'•^  ^"'^  »«  "t"''^"'  ff^we  of  Obed  Chute.  \Vith  him  here 
£mi?f  opportunities  of  binding  her  to  |  was  a  kdy,  whose  face  he  could  not  as  yet  reeo? 

All  »h««  .i,„n„i,..  -„  J  u-         .  .^        I  °'^*-     ^"^  "ow  there  arose  within  him  an  in- 

AU  these  thoughts  encouraged  him.    A  hope   tense  desire  to  see  the  fart  of  this  lady     She 

S  Z  tZ  T  A  ".  ^'^'*  ^"'^V ,""•"  "">'  "'"'  '^y*'"'*  *  "loubt  the  very  one  of  whom  Lord 
yhich  he  had  ever  dared  to  entertain  before.   He   Chetwynde  was  so  eager  and  so  constant  in 

S£'8  dTJitT  '"  "TP'"'*"^  '''^"?^  ^"•'  ''"  P«"""-     Could  hXt  see  her  Z  otc  i 

d«.n«r  «n  ri  P'f"^?""*  P«T«"«8,  and  SO  much  would  be  a  gttjat  gain,  for  he  could  recognise 

^^ITmZ^^^Tf'"^  '*'^'^"  i*"""'  '••"'  ''  '•*"■  eJse'^here,  and  Thus  do  something  of  import- 

^izinrhK^.  ^\}!'V  '?^'^"  ^"""^  *"'=°"'-  *"•="  '"  """""K  HiWa.     With  this  detem  in«- 

^Nnw  «.  hT  ^.^'""'""''•u.       u.    r  tion  in  his  mind  he  went  on,  and  bowing  down 

Now,  as  he  sat  there  watching,  his  fears  of  his  head  like  a  decrepit  old  man,  he  hobbled 

Jent^re^nTre^'^o'l'  f"f  fil/f  ^^oldened  to  along,  leaning  on  hisTaff,  but  aMheL^  time 
;rero?Hndi.''"  ^'. r^I"  !";"  .  l"'r!!:  ••l?   •'-P'n^  »■■->-  upturned  and  fixed  on  th,lady, 


wishes  of  Hilda.  Her  image  drove  out  from  his 
thoughts  tifc  frowning  face  of  Obed  Chute,  and 
the  white  form  of  that  phantom  whose  aspect 


hnH   ^„^  ~\j  \^-      ",.;,'"  '"i^"''    "*o  an  "ngu'HU  01  tear  and  of  wondv. 
Bad  on<»  crushed  him   into  hfelessness.     He  .the  lady's  face  tecarae  plainly  discenyble. 
Thought  that  it  was  but  a  feebla  <l«vntinn  »„  ».i,  ^fi.~.  i  ^wu:^  Zrzr:  F.T.J.}^^'^"^ 


"Thought  that  it  was  but  a  feeble  devotion  to  wait 
in  ambush  at  such  a  distance,  when,  by  Ventur- 
ing nearer,  he  might  learn  much  more.  Hours 
passed,  and  there  was  no  sign  of  any  one  be- 
longing to  the  villa  either  going  or  coming,  and 
•t  length  the  thought  tliat  was  in  his  mind  grew 


The  carriage  came  nearer  and  nearer.  A 
strange  feeling  came^  over  Gualtier— something 
like  an  anguish  of  fear  and  of  wondv-    At  lost 


face  I  White  it  was,  and  the  whiteness  was  in- 
tensified by  the  deep  blackness  of  the  hair,  while 
the  eyes  were  large  and  lustrous,  and  rested  full 
upon  him  in  something  like  pity.  That  fiicsl 
Was  this  another  vision  f 
Great  God  I 


i-f 


THE  CRrPTOGRAM. 


stop!'  she  cbikd,  teariko  with  one  hand  at  th,  reim." 


A  groan  burst  from  him  as  this  face  thus  re- 
Tealea  Itself.  What  was  this?  What  did  it 
mean?  Was  this,  too,  a  phantom?  Was  it  a 
dKeit  and  moclceiy  of  his,  senses  ?  Was  it  an 
eidolon  from  the  realms  of  death,  or  could  it  be 
an  actual  material  object— a  living  being  ?  Here 
was  one  whom  ho  knew  to  be  dead.  How  came 
she  here?  Or  by  what  marvel  conld  any  one 
dse  so  resemble  her?  Yet  it  waa  not  a  resem- 
blance.    Uvaahertelft 

His  brain  whirled  All  thoughts  of  all  things 
111  f  ?:?y  "»*•""  horror  and  in  that  sur- 
pnse.  Spell-bound  he  stood,  while  his  face  was 
upturned  and  his  eyes  were  fixed  on  the  ladv. 

And  thus,  as  he  stood  rooted  to  the  8pot,"mo- 

nr.„HTl.''*,"""«v"*'  '='"'ri«8e  came  whirling 
pp  and  flashed  past  him.  That  singular  flguroT 
L^  ^T^  «5arb,  with  rigid  face,  and  with 
«orror  m  his  eyes,  which  stared  like, the  eves 
«L'  "*."!.y.;  attracted  the  look  of  the  lady.  At 
MUhoii»a»T«gne  idea  th»l  it  was  a  beteftr. 
bat  on  cMUmg  closer  she  recognized  all.    As 

A.  «?„  •  .r'ercing  scream.     She  stiatt-hed 

fte^ins  convuUively  and  tor«  at  them  in  a  sort 

"It>  htl     It  is  he!     Stop!"  she  cried, 


j^.'jAS 


teanng  with  one  hand  at  the  reins  and  with 
inL^ii^f  .^^""'V''»'»"K  vehemently  in  some  nn- 
Stop!    Quick!     fceue  him,  or  it  wiU  be  too 

That  scream  and  those  words  roused  Olwd 
He,  too,  had  noticed  the  figure  by  the  roadl 
side,  but  he  had  only  thrown  a  careless  gl^ce 
It  "'t:  °[,Zj"."'.  however,  thrilled  thi-rgi; 
hira.    He  pulled  in  the  horees  savagely.    'Jhw 
were  foaming  and  plunging.  V 

«.i^'.'"'  fv  'H*  '^'"''''  '••■•'PP""^  'he  reins,  and 
with  trembhng  frame,  and  eyes  flashing  with  ex- 
citeinent,  stood  staring  back. 

"There!  there!"  she  cried— "there  I  tell 
yon,  is  Gualtierrm^  assassin !  He  isjis^dsed ! 
I  know  him!  It  Is  Gmiltier!  Ho:irScking 
me  now!  Stop  him!  Seize  him!  Doi,^  l"! 
him  escape!    Makehnfete!" 

TheM^wonls  burst  from  faeFlifceii^toiiwu,  ,Bd^- 
fhese,  v^ith  he^^ld  gesticulations,  showed  thd 
intensity  of  her  excitement.  In  an  instSht  Obed 
had  divined  the  whole  moaning  of  this.  A  man 
in  disguise  had  already  penetrated  oven  into  his 
pounds  This  he  thought  wis  the  same  man, 
m  another  disgiiuo.  atill  haunting  the  place  and 
prowLng  about  with  bis  sinister  motive.     Bjr 


';i 


>> 


284 


Zillah'g  words  he'sAw  that  \ho  had  recognized 
this  man  as  that  veiy  Gualtier  after  whom  he 
had  been  searching  so  long,  and  whose  name  had 
been  so  constantly  in  his  mind.  And  now,  ,i»4 
the  same'instant,  he  saw  that  the  man  who  had 
once  sought  him  in  America,  and  who  had  re- 
.  cemly  ventured  into  his  park,  was  the  very  nine 
whoi  had  betrayed  Miss  Lorton — the  'man  tm 
whose  track  he  had  been  setting  the  police  tf 
England,  F{ance,  and  Italy. 

It  was  but  for  an  instant  that  this  thought 
filled  his  mind.  In  another  instant  Obed  had 
flung  down  the  reins  and  sprung  into  the  road. 

Meanwhile  Gualtier  had  stood  motionless,  hor- 
ror-stpicken,  and  p/iralyzed.     But  the  scream  of 
Zillnh  and  her  frantic  words  had  shown  him  be- 
_^  rond  the  possibility  of  a  doubt  that  she  was  at 
any  rate  alive,  and  more  than  this,  that  she  had 
recognized  him.    How  she  had  thus  come  to  life 
he-«Q^ld'not  know,  nor  was  there  time  to  conject- 
ure.    For  now  angther  danger  was  impending, 
and,  in  the  person  of  Obed  Chute,  was  rushing 
down  swiftly  upon  him.     At  the  sight  of  this  new 
peril  he  hesitated  not  a  moment,  but  snatched 
his  pistol,  took  aim,  and  fired  shot  after  shot. 
But  in  his  haste  and  agitation  a  correct  aim 
was  impossible.    lie  fired  wildly.     Foi5  bullets, 
o»e  after  the  other,  whi'stled  through  Melair  past 
Obed's  head,  yet  he  still  came  on.     The  visiop 
of  that  awful  face  rushing  down  upon  him  thus 
throogh  the  smoke-clouds,  with  vengeance  gleam- 
ing from  the  eyes,  and  the  resolute  mouth  close 
shut  in  implacable  sternness,  was  sufficient  to 
show  Gualtier  that  his  career  was  nearly  run. 
He  had  a  sudden  feeling  that  all  was  lost.    With 
tt  wiljhleop  he  bouhded  over  the  ditch  by  the  road- 
tidd,  and  tore  over  the  fields  with  the  frantic  speed 
of  one  flying  from  death. 
But  the  avenger  was  at  his  heels. 
-■     To  fly  froni  vengeance  and  from  death  is  a 
thing  that  brings  a  strong  motive  to  exertion, 
but  there  are  other  things  sometimes  which  mav 
give  an  equal  impulse.     Gualtier  was  lithe,  sin- 
ewy, and  agile,  nimble  of  foot  too,  and  inspired 
by  the  conscionsness  of  danger ;  but  the  man  who 
pursued  him  was  one  whose  mighty  thews  and 
sinews  had  been  formed  under  the  shadows  of 
the  Alleghanies,  and  trained  by  years  of  early 
experience  to  every  exercise  of  strength.    This 
man  also  was  inspired  by  a  feeling  which  could 
contribute  a  motive  for  exertion  as  powerful  as 
the  fear  which  filled  the  heart  t)f  Gualtier,  and 
.  his  own  pride,  his'  honor,  and  his  affection  for 
Zillah,  all  urged  him  on.     He  followed  fast,  and 
followed  faster.    Gualtier  had  a  long  start,  but 
Obed  steadily  gaiiietl,  until  at  last  the  fugitive 
could  hear  the  footsteps  of  his  pursuer. 

Between  the  skirts  of  the  hills  and  the  Amo 
there  was  a  plain  about  two  miles  in  width.  On 
the  other  side  of  the  river  the  fields  spread  away' 
again  for  a  wider  extent,  interspersed  with  groves 
and  vineyards.  The  Amo  was  full,  and  flowing 
rapidly.  Hero,  then,  seemed  to  be  to  the  fugitive 
the  last  chance  for  escape— here,  in  that  swift- 
flowing  river.  Gualtier  could  swim  admirably. 
Toward  this  river  ho  turned  his  flying  steps, 
thinking  that  his  pnrsaer  mlgilt  not  bo  able  to 
follow,  and  hoping  for  safety  hero.  Yet  all  the 
time  he  expeoWd  to  hear  a  pistol-shot,  for  Obed 
had  already  told  him,  in  that  memorable  meeting 
in  the  park,  that  he  carried  a  revolver.  That  he 
did  not  aae  it  now  seemed  to  Gualtier  to  show 


'    THE  CRYFTOGRAM. 

plainly  that  he  must  have  left  it  behind,  ^s  for 
Obed,  b^  neither  fired  a  pistol-shot  nor  threatened 
to  fire  one.  He  did  not  even  draw  his  revolver 
from  his  pocket.  He  simply  ran  as, fust  as  he 
cQuldafter  the  fugitive.    • 

That  fugitive,  in  order  to  gain  the  river;  was 
confpelled  to  run  obliquelv,  and  thys  hogaVe  a\f 
additional  advantage  to  nu  pursuer,  who  tried 
to  head  him  off,  and  thns  was  able  to  gain  on 
him  b^  some  additional  paces.     But  to  Gualtier 
that  nvor-bank  was  now  the  place  oT  salvation, 
and  that  was  at  any  rate  a  lost  resort.    Besides 
this,  his  pistol  still  was  in  his  hand,  and  in  it 
there  still  remained  two  shots,  which  might  yet 
avail  him  at  the  last  moment.     Onward,  then, 
he  bounded  with  frantic  exertions  while  >heSe 
thoughts  sped  through  his  mind.     But,  mingled 
with  these,  there  came  strange  floating  thoughts 
of  that  figure  in  th^  carriage  —  that  one  who 
had.  met  with  a  wondrous  resurrection  from 
the  death  to  which  he  had.  sent  Her,  and  who 
was  now  looking  on  at  Ills  flight,  and  the  pur- 
suit of  her  avenger.     All  these  various  thoughts 
swept  confusedly  through  his  brain  in  the  mad- 
ness of  that  hour ;  for  thus  it  is  that  often,  when 
death  seems  to  impend,  the  mind  becomes  en- 
dowed with  colossal  powers,  and  all  the  events 
of  a  stormy  and  agitated  life  can  be  crowded 
into  one  moment     Now,  as  Gualtier  fled,  and 
as  he  contrived  his  ^lan  of  escape  by  the  rivcr7 
there  were  in  his   mind,  parallel  witli   these 
thoughts;  others  of  equal  power — thoughts  of 
that  fair  yoimg  girl  whoin  he  had  cast  adrift  in 
A  sinking  ship  on  the  wide  midnight  sea.    8aved 
she  had  been,  beyond  a  doubt,  for  there  she 
was,  with  her  eyes  fixed  on  him  in  his  agony. 
Avenged  she  would  be  also,  unless  he  could 
escape  that  terrible  pursuer  who  now  every  mo- 
ment came  faster  and  faster  behind. 
»    Avenged?  /No,  not  yet.  -  Still  there  was  a 
chance.      The  river  flowed  near  with  its  full 
stream.'    The  opposite  shores  seemed  to  invite 
hjm ;   the  tretes  and  groves  and  vineyards  there 
seemed  to  beckon  bim  onward.     At  last  his  feet 
were  on  theibank.     One  plunge,  he  thought,  and    ' 
he  would  bWsafe.    But  for  one  instant  he  delayed 
that  plunge.     There  were  other  desii-es  in  his 
heart  than/  that  of  safety — there  was  the  desire 
for  vengeitnce.     Still  there,  was  a  chance  left. 
His  pistol  was  in  his  hand — it  yet  held  two 
shots.     In  these  he  might  find  both  safety  and 
vcngeancei 

Suddenly  he  turned  as  he  reached  the  bank, 
and  instantaneously  he  discharged  the  last  shots 
of  the  pistol  at  his  pursuer.  Then  he  plunged 
headlong  into  the  river. 

Another  pursuer,  even  if  he  had  not  fallen, 
might  have  faltereid  at  all  these  pistol-shuts. 
Not  so  Ol^d.  To  him  the  revolver  was  &  h- 
miliar  j(hUp— a  toy,  in  fact,  the  sport  of  all  his 
life.  Often  before  had  pistol-shots  whistled 
about  his  head,  and  under  circumstances  far 
more  dangerous  than  this.  Obed's  life  had 
boon  a  varied .  one,  and  he  could  tell  many 
strange  tales  of  adventures  in  the  western  parts 
of  America^that  countiy  where  civilized  man 
tins  encountered,  and  can  still  enconntoi^lMg' 
tribes  which  are  his  most  formidable  foes.  Jf^. 
at  that  moment  Obed  could  have  bared  Kis 
mighty  body  to  plunge  into  the  Amo,  he  could  ^ 
have  exhibited  a  vast  number  of  old  scars  from 
woundf  which  hod  been  received  in  Kansas,  in 


£^ii^'..V.'«  i  'i  -J^.^kifrtM^  i-feji^ 


THE  CRYPTOGRAM. 


23S 


pistol  shots  flashed  b'ef^ie  Wn   he  h  d  not  ,  me    S  f^c  in^d  f„^°'  **°^'  '''"•.  '  '^'''"''  •"*??«"  ^^ 
even  tp  wink  his  eves,  but  rushinR  on  with  .m  ^^r  '"   a    i        • '^  T  "'"'''■«'"-     I'  didn't  seem' 
abated  vigor,  he  reached  thS^^rrbank   rjRi   ~v„fvo^'''^"'T'u''' "^^^ 
in  a  morn,„t  had  plunged  inlfter  GunS"'- ^  i^f^^^^^^^  breajt-pocket,  n.^d  exhibit- 


in  a  moment  had  plunged  in  after  GunltWr 

Ihe  fugittve  hejird  that  plunge.     He  heard 
behyid  h.m  the  quick  strokes  of  a  stfiong  swim- 

??^'n"."h  ir.  ^l  ''"*"'  """^  '«''  ""»*  «»  ««« lost. 
^nH^^l^r  I  'I'  l''""''*'  t" '""'  staked  every  thing, 
and  that  last  chance  had  failed  utterlv  This 
man  who  had  insulted  him,  bullied  him,  and 
ovorpowoi^d  him-this  man  who  had  bee.^  ?m- 

nver-bank-this  man  who  had  gained  on  him 

had  run-this  demon  of  a  man  was  now  gainiuK 
on  him  in  the  water  also!  If  his  pursuer  had 
.  stood  gn  the  bank  and  had  shot  him,  he  might 
have  received  the  wound  and  sank  to  death  with- 
out a  murmur.  But  to  be  followed  so,  to  be 
A^}t  *?  •^"^Kfi'l  back-this  was  the  terror 
and  the  shame.  This  stimulated  him  to  fiercer 
exertions."  D,apair  itself  gave  a  kind  of  mad- 

S,l  »*  T""^'**"  ?"""«■••     Nearer  and 
nearer  that  pursuer  came;  more  and  more  des 
perat«  grew  Gualtier's  efforts.     I„  vain      As  he 
Snrj'VT"!  •"'r''  ""Perhuman  exertions  he 

™nint  i^/'"i,°i"r-  That  despair  which  a 
moment  before  had  intensified  his  efforts  now 
relaxed  his  strength.  He  felt  himself  dragged 
back  to  the  shore  from  which  he  had  been  fly- 
ing. He  was  ost!  He  stniggled  no  lo^r  to 
^pe,  but  only  to  keep  his  head  above  water 
from  an  instinct  of  self-presenation.  And  in 
that  anguish  of  fear  aad  despair  that  now  settled 
npon  his  soul  he  Jiad  a  vagne  terror  that  on  the 
moment  of  landing  he  would  be  annihilated. 

But,  instead  of  that,  be  felt  himself  raised  to 

m«  feet,  and  the  strong  grasp  relaxed  its  hold. 

He  looked  up  at  his  captor,  and  saw  him  stand- 

ing  before  him  regarding  him  with  a  grim  smile. 

bo  you  re  the  Guajtier,  are  jou,"  said  Obed, 

of  whose  exploits  I  have  heard  8o  much? 

wJl^if'^*''"'*  '.'?'^'  P'""''^''  I  should  sav,  but 
you  rt)  done  con-siderahle  mischief,  somehbw." 
Guultier  did  not  know  what  to  make  of  this, 
>ot  thought  it  onlv  a  little  preliminary  play 
.fte  which  he  would  be  flung  headlong  into  the 
nver  by  gome  catapnltian  kick, 
tan^ff  '"'"'•"  ""''^  Obed;  "a  fellow  that  pre- 
rfhiJ.^.f?'^/-  «™>\<"' ought  to  be  ashamed 
ofhimself  for  flnng  such  shots  as  you  did.  ^  Yon 
mferea  fool,  you!  you've  gone.nnd  losj  six  of 
of  th/.l  n^"''**  *"^  ™'"'  "'«"■  •'««'•  »"d  "ot  one 

m  ve  gone  and  disgraced  America  in  the  perl 
•on  of  her  great  national  and  original  weapon- 
the  ereriasting  revolver.  Don't  you  feel  like  a 
looi  F    You  know  you  do !" 

K^hu'^^^tT"^.,"!^'^"^  Gualtierwas,  if 
poMiWe,  still  more  bewildered.         [ 

for  you  tempted  Providence.    Providence  mivi 


-  . -.1  tempted  Providence.    Providence  gave 
JMtha  roost  glorious  chance  I  ever  saw  in  all 

2  r^vniv-*^"-    V^^'  L'?'".«  "P  y""  "Chance  with 
the  W'olver  von  had  this  here  boundless  plain  to 

S  m?S"-    ^T-  ^  *"  ^"^f^  »  hundre,!  Indian. 
W  my  day  with  less  of  a  chance,  and  aU  the  odd. 


IpH'it  i\,  -  I     •  ■'•""".-I'ULiiei,  nnu  exliibit- 

"I saw  "iTon^^^L^^.^^t  '^"'"ndeJ  Gnahier. 
1  saw,  he  continued,  "  that  it  would  be  a  most 
unscientific  waste  of  lead.  The  very  first  Thht 
you  fired  showed  that  you  were  u  fertrnnac 
qoainted  with  out  American  invention, 'and  the 
next  was  as  bad.  Why,  out  of  the  whole  six 
only  one  hit  me.  See  here." 
•  :^"''  Obed  held  up  his  left  hand.     The  last 

|-!r^H°J""'.-M'«'^'''. ''"««''  »""*  heen  shot  off,  and 
blood  was  still  flowing.  ' 

Gnahier  looked  at  this  with  fresh  nma^ement. 

nort^i^'  "'u  ^^^  "^  ^'^  had  one-tenth 
part  of  vour  chances,  and  had  been  in  your 
place,  ra  have  got  off.  With  such  a  starl  W 
engage  to  escape  from  a  dozen  men.  I'd  droo 
SIX  with  the  pistol,  and  dodge  the  other  six.  See 
.T-  ?"  ,y.°",  ^^  'hat  bit  of  woods?"  And 
t?i'"^.,^r""""1.r'''"'  he  pointed  to  a  clump  of 
rees  that  rose  like_  an  island  from  the  plain. 

Do  you  see  that  ?"  ^ 

Gnahier  said  nothing. 

V.'.!-^^^"'i^?l  'u'  y""*  '^hat  you'd  ought  to  do. 
roud  ought  to  have  made  straight  foFthat  in  a 
btee-lme;  then  dodged  behind  it.  Perhaps  I'd 
ha^e  followed ;  but  then  you  could  have  crossed 

L».  1"  ?■  r'^^  «"'  ""'  "^  «8ht,  and  while  I 
was: looking  for  you,  off  you'd  get  to  the  river. 
It  1 U  have  gone  on  the  opposite  side  you  could 
have  cut  off  among  the  mountains.  A  man," 
concluded  Obed,  m  a  tone  of  intense  soleranity- 

as  that  has  tempted  Providence,  and  don't  desferv* 
any  thing.  Young  man,  you're  a  gone  sucker !  " 
Gualtier  heard  all  thig,  and  understood  this 
eccentric  but  gnm  address.  He  felt  that  it  was 
all  over  with  him  He  had  one  desperate  thought 
of  snatching  at  the  revolver,  which  Obed  still  held 
m  his  hand  with  apparent  carelessness ;  but  he 
saw  that  such  an  attempt  would  be  madness.  The 
rery  instant  that  he  had  looked  Obed  had  no- 
ticed it,  and  understood  it.  » 

He  gave  a  low  laugh. 
iiZlT-'^  better  not,"  said  he,  and  then  itio- 
tioned  him  toward  the  carriage.  Gualtier  walk- 
ed  on  m  sdence  Obed  did  not  deign  to  touch  hi. 
pnsoner,  nor  did  Gualtier  dare  to  make  any  ef- 
fort  to  escape.  Thare  was  no  chance  now,  since 
that  other  chance- had  failed;  and,  besides,  the 
sight  of  Obed  s  revolver  was  itself  suflScient  to  ' 
prevent  such  an  attempt. 

"You've  showed  considerable  sense  in  walk- 
ing quietly  along,"  said  Obed,  as  they  came  near 
to  the  carpaOT.  "  If  you'd  tried  to  run  it  would 
have  been  wirse  for  you.  You'd  have  16st  a 
limb,  sum: 

Then  Obed  stopped,  and  forced  him  to  look  at 
the  ground  which  they  had  gone.over,  and  show- 
ed  what  excellent  chances  he  had  thrown  away 

On  reaching  the  carriage  Zillah  was  calmer, 
tho^h  «tiU  gmtly  excited.    SbB^  Rthl  n^Kn^ 


to^ualtier,  nor  did  the  latter  venture  to  look  at 
her  In  the  flight  his  wig  and  hat  had  fallen  off 
so  that  now  his  hated  face  was  distinctly  visible 

Obed  put  hi.  hand  for  a  moment  on  Gualtier'i 
snoulder. 

' '  Is  this^the  man  ?"  he  asked. 

ZiUah  bowed. 


S'li 


I'll,' 

■•■'I  I   ., 

ii.il ', 
4 


236 


THE  CRYPTOGRAM. 


-%.. 


On  this  Obedmnde  tii;  pris|iiiner  get  on  the 
front  seat  of  the  carriage,  and  drove  rapidly  back 
to  the  villa.     -*^  ^  • 


^ 


CIUFIER  LX;XII. 

IN   PRISON. 

Gdai.tieii  was  driven  back  to  the  villa,  quite 
in  ignorance  as  to  his  final  destination.  He  was 
on  the  front  seat,  not  bound  at  all,  and  there  was 
one  moment  when  there  seemed  a  last  chance  of 
escape.  It  was  at  a  time  when  Zillah  had  no- 
ticed Obed's  wound,  and  began  to  question  him 
about  it  with  eager  sympathy,  while  Obed  tried  to 
assure  her  that  it  was  nothing.  But  Zillah  would 
not  be  satisfied.  She  insisted  on  binding  it  up. 
She  took  her  handkerchief,  and,  though  she  knew 
no  more  about  such  things  than  a  child,  prepared 
to  do  what  she  could.  Obed  soon  saw  her  ig- 
norance, and  proceeded  to  give  her  directions. 
At  lost  he  took  her  handkercliicf  and  tore  it  into 
several  strips,  with  ti,  laughing  promise  to  tear  his 
up  some  diiy  for  her.  At  this  moment  he  wos 
quite  intent  on  Zillah,  and  she  was  absorbed  in 
her  work.  It  seemed  to  Gnalticr  thai  he  was 
forgotten.  The  carriage,  also,  was  -  ascending 
the  hill.  On  each  side  were  lofty  trees  over- 
slmdowin^it,  while  beyond  them  lay  a  deep  for- 
est. All  this  Gualtier  saw.  Here  w/is  a  last 
chance.  Nq\fJBr  never  might  he  escape.  He 
watched  for  airinstant.  Obed  was  showing  Zil- 
lah how  to  mate  the  knot,  when  suddenly,  with 
a  quick  leap,  (ftaltier  sprang  from  the  carriage 
seat  out  into  tne  road.  He  stumbled  and  fell 
forward  as  his  feet  touched  the  road,  but  in  an 
instant  he  recovered  himself.  The  road-side  was 
a  steep  bank,  which  ascended  before  him,  covered 
with  forests.  .  Beyond  thi8_  were  the  wild  woods, 
with  rocks  and  underbrush'.  If  he  could  but  get 
there  he  might  find  a  refage.  Thither  he  fled  with 
frantic  haste.  He  rushed  up  the  steep  ascent, 
and  in  among  the  trees.  For  some  distance  the 
wood  was  open,  and  the  trees  rose  on  high  at 
wide  distances  with  no  underbrush.  Beyond 
that  there  was  a  denser  growth.  Through  this  he 
ran,  stimulated  by  this  new  chance  for  life,  and 
wishing  that  he  had  once  again  that  revolver 
whose  shots  he  had  wasted.  ' 

As  he  leaped  from  the  carriage  Zillah  had  given 
A  loud  cry,  and  in  another  moment  Obed  had  di- 
vined the  cause  and  had  sprung  out  in  pursuit. 
Gunltier's  start  did  not  amount  to  more  than  a 
dozen  paces.  Obed  also  was  armed.  His  chance 
of  escape  was  therefore  small  indeed.  Small  as 
it  was,  however,  it  wns  enough  to  stimulate  him, 
and  he  hurried  onward,  hearing  at  every  pace 
the  step  of  his  pursuef.  At  length  he  reached 
the  thicker  part  of  tha  wood.  He  turned  and 
doubled  here  like  a  fox.  He  did  not  know  where 
to  go,  but  sought  to  gain  some  slight  advantage. 
He  thought  that  he  might  find  some  place  where 
for  a  few  moments  he  might  baffle  his  pursuer. 
This  was  the  hope  |'that  now  remained.  Turning 
and  doubling,  therefore,  and  winding,  he  con- 
tinned  his  flight ;  but  the  pOrgnnr  still  maintain- 
ed  his  pursuit,  and  as  yet  Gnaltier  had  gained 
no  advontage.  In  fact,  he  had  lost  ground  grad- 
ually, and  the  underbrush  had  not  delayed  the 
progress  of  Obed.  \  Gnaltier  felt  this,  but  still 
strove  to  attain  his  nurpoBe.  "i 
At  last  he  saw  a  p^ce  where  there  was  a  steep 


precipice,  thickly  wooded  np  to  its  vety  margiK 
and  then  descending  abruptly.  Toward  this  he 
fled,  thinking  that  some  place  might  show  itself 
where  he  might  descend,  and  where  his  pursuer 
might  fear  to  follow.  He  bounded  along  in  a 
winding  direction,  trying  to  conceal  his  purpose. 
At  length  he  reached  the  edge  of  the  precipice. 
At  the  point  to  which  he  had  come  the  descent 
jvas  abrupt,  but  ledges  jutted  out  from  the  side 
of  the  clitf,  and  seemed  to  afford  a  chnncc  for  u 
descent  to  one  who  was  bold  enough  to  venture. 
There  was  no  time  for  examination  or  for  hesi- 
tation. Swiftly  Gualtier  ran  on  till  he  reached 
what  seemed  a  favorable  place,  and"  then,  throw- 
ing  himself  over,  his  feet  caught-  a  projecting 
ledge,  and  he  reached  down  his  hand  to  secure  a 
grasp  of  a  rock,  so  as  to  let  himself  down  further. 
He  loqked  down  hurriedly  so  as  to  see  the  rock 
which  he  wished  to  grasp,  when  at  that  very  in- 
stant his  arm  was  seized,  and  a  low,  stern  voice 
said : 

"No  go!  Up  with  you,  you  scoundrel!  ond 
thank  the  Lord  I  don't  blow  your  brains  out." 

He  was  dragged  up,  flung  on  the  ground,  nnd 
his  bands  bound  tightly  behind  him  with  ()l)ed'a 
handkerchief.  *  After  this,  he  was  dragged  back 
to  the  carringe. 
So  failed  his  lost  hope.  . 
"  You  couldn't  have  done  it,"  said  Obed.  "  I 
saw  it  all  the  time.  I  could  have  shot  you  fifty 
times,  but,  as  I  knew  I  was  going  to  catch  you,  I 
didn't  touch  my  pistol.  I  don't  blame  you  fur 
making  tlie  trial.  I'd  have  done  the  same.  But 
you  see  now  that  you  have  got  your  hands  tied 
up  by  way  of  punishment.  You  can't  sny  bi^ 
that  I've  treated  you  on  the  square,  any  how." 

Gualtier  said  nothings  but  was  taken'back  nnd 
pjit  in  the  carriage  once  more.  Zillah  saw  that 
ins  hands  were  tied,  and  felt  more  secure  as  to 
the  result  of  this  second  capture. 

The  carriage  now  soon  reached  the  villa.  Here 
Obed  handed  out  Zillah,  and  gave  orders  to  tlie 
sen-ants  to  make  ready  the  brougham.  He  in- 
formed Zillah  Hi«t  he  himself  intended  to  take 
Gualtier  to  the,  city  and  hand  him  over  to  tlie 
authorities ;  and  that  she  might  make  her  mind 
easy  as  to  his  capture  this  time,  for  he  would  not 
allow  even  an  attempt  at  an  escape  again. 

During  these  preparations  Obeid  stood  waiting 
near  the  carriage,  while  Gualtier  sat  there  with 
his  hands  bound.  Gladly  would  he  have  availed 
himself  of  any  other  chance,  however  desperate, 
but  there  was  none.  His  han^s  were  bound,  his 
enemy  was  watchful  and  armed.  Under  such 
circimistnnces  there  remained  no  hope.  His  last 
attempt  had  been  made  boldly  and  vigorously,  but 
it  had  failed.  So  he  gave  himself  up  to  despair. 
The  brougham  was  soon  ready.  Obed  pat 
Gualtier  inside  and  got  in  himself  after  bim. 
Then  they  drove  away.  Lord  Chetwynde  was 
expected  that  afternoon,  and  he  might  meet  him 
on  the  road.  He  had  made  up  his  mind,  how- 
ever, not  to  recognize  him,  but  to  let  him  leam 
the  great  event  from  Zillah  herself.  After  giving 
information  to  his  sister  as  to  the  time  at  which 
he  expected  tobe  back  he  dtw»  off';  andj 
the  brougham  with  its  occupants  was  moving 
swiftly  onward  out  of  the  villa  park,  down  the 
descending  road,  and  on  toward  Florence. 

Obed  rode  inside  along  with  Gualtier  all  the 
way.  Daring  that  drive  his  mind  found  full 
occupation  for  itael£    The  discovery  and  ths 


.^^^^4^^j££j*«!^l^UMd^^kl^Ji£SL^  .'U  /^ 


fftmi.^^^  Ax^U 


W 


4 

i 


B  secure  as  to 


-Z'r'u'*  >«:opiized  in  his  prisoner  the  Ainn 
w^o  had  once  visited  him  in  New  York  for  .h» 

Kr  ce^tat  trTr  Ss  tVt fh a'd" 

haJ^n.X'rvTdVati;,;rde:;'%f 

had  for  so  long  a  SmeA^ffS^^  ""'  •"""  '*'«' 

of  .he  chief  EVroSnSS   yet"  whTha^"^: 
hist  been  captured  by  himself'  ^"  *''°  '"«•  " 

Forence      Ho  .«!»i,I  if    *"°"W  'rack  him  to 
I      iwsiiion  Obed  felt  himself  drawn      r. """  l"^ 

mot  ve  of  rtl   GZil^r^'""?  ""^  ?'*«'"' 

gjr  them,  and  ^L^hoVr"!      .rpfi^nt 
J^^«  was  another  thing -to  which  it  ll^A 

r   ""-"M'™*?  it»eemeda8thonghthUGual-i 


THE  CBrPTOGRAM. 


237 


tainlynot  inferior  in  iul;?*?  ^"°"  *«»  ^er- 

rh"eSs'«rhSi;-,^^^^^^^ 

had  he  and  OlZlhL  f^Ln  "'  ""''"'Ke  fatality 
of  interest  in  S  Sother-a  1^'''"?"".  «™""^ 
one  was  the  assaihmt  and  ^rraC"",h„''';r  '!"' 
savior  and  defender  ?        '^'™>«'^'  "ho  other  the 

heSSt^dTnlirffr  ^'^>?'  ""^ 
manhTnuSfarhTSe  butferr  ''^  ""e 

the  tmth-  that  i.   if  r?  -  '"'**  '''"covered 

any  investigation^  on  hi   ZnSZ  wkh  «/ 
erence  to  her  private  nffnir.      „  ""'  '^'.'h  ref- 

that  moment,  aituaied  aa  he  was^  nri.L„>  ' 


f; 


238 


THE  CRYPTOGRAM. 


have  necessarily  come  to  his  ears?  He  had. 
How,  then,  was  this  ?  That  yacht  must  have  gone 
down,  and  she  must  have  gone  down  with  it — 
drowned  in  her  cabin,  siitlucated  there  by  the 
woterg,  with^t  power  to  make  one  cry.  *So  it 
tnust  have  been;  but  still  here  she  was,  alive, 
strong,  vengeful.  It  could  not  be  a  case  of  re- 
semblance ;  for  this  «rpman  had  penetrated  his 
disguiso^had  recognized  him,  and  at  the  recog- 
nition had  started  to  her  feet  with  wild  excla- 
mations, (Miunding  on  h^r  companion  to  pursuit. 
But  in  nddition  to  this  there  was  something 
still  more  »trange.  However  she  may  have  es- 
caped— as  she  must  have  done — by  what  wonder- 
ful concuntence  of  circumstances  had  she  met 
with  Obed:  Chute,  and  entered  into  this  close 
friendship  with  hin^  That  man  was  familiar 
with  a  dark  past,  to  which  she  was  related  in 
some  strange  way.  How  was  it,  then,  that  of 
all  men  in ,  the  world,  this  one  had  become  her 
friend  and  brotector  ? 

But,  even  so,  there  was  another  mystery,  so 
strange,  so^  dark,  so  inexplicable,  that  the  others 
seemed  as  ndthing.  For  he  had  discovered  in 
her  the  one  whom  Lord  Chetwynde  wa^  seeking 
with  suqn  zeal,  and  such  passion,  and  such  un- 
failing constancy.  How  was  it  that  Lord  Chet- 
wynde ^ul  found  her,  and  where  had  he  found 
her?  and  if  "he  had  found  her,  how  had  he  known 
her  ?  Was  he  not  living  with  Hilda  oirterms  at 
least  of  rcsfiect,  and  acting  toward  her  as  though 
he  believed  her  to  be  his  wife  ?  What  could  be 
the  cause  that  had  brought  him  into  connection 
with  Obed  Chute?  Obed  Chute  had  been  the 
confidant  of  Lody  Chetwynde,  and  knew  the 
story  of  her  shame.  How  was  it  that  the  son  of 
such  a  mother  could  associate  so  habitually  with 
the  man  who  so  well  knew  the  history  of  that 
mother  ?  If  he  were  not  acquainted  with  his  mo- 
ther's historv  himself,  how  could. he  have  found 
out  Obed  Chute  for  his  friend  ?  and  if  he  were 
acquainted  with  it,  how  could  he  have  tolerated 
him  OS  such?  From, either  point  of  view  the 
question  was  unanswerable,  and  the  problem  in- 
'  soluble.  Yet  the  fact  remained  that  Lord  Chet- 
wynde was  in  the  habit  of  making  constant  visits 
to  the  house  of  the  man,  the  very  man,  to  whom 
the  history  of  Lord  Chetwynde's  mother  was 
known  as  a  story  of  shame,  and  who  himself  had 
been  the  chief  agent  in  helping  her,  as  it  ap- 
peared, from  the  ruin  to  which  she  had  flung 
herself. 

Then,  ngairr,  there  arose  the  question  as  to  what 
might  be  the  position  of  Zillah.  How  did  she 
happen  to  be  Hving  with  Obed  Chute  ?  In  what 
way  was  she  living?  How  did  it  happen  that 
Lord  Chetwynde  was  carrying  on  a  series  of 
clandestine  visits  to  a  woman  who  was  his  own 
wife  ?  Hilda's  story  of  that  passionato* interview 
in  the  kiosk  at  the  Villa  Rinalci  was  now  intel- 
ligible in  one  sense.  It  was  no  phantom  that 
had  terrified  her,  bat  the  actual  form  of  the  liv- 
ing Zillah  herself.  Yet,  making  allowance  for 
this,  it  became  more  nnintelligible  than  ever. 
For  what  could  have  been  the  meaning  of  that 
scene  r  if  Zillah  were  alive  and  his  wife,  why 
should  Lord  Chetwynde  arrange  so  elaborately 
this  interview  in  the  kiosk  ?  why  should  he  ^e  at 
,  once  so  passionate  and  so  despairing?  why  should 
he  vow  his  vows  of  eternal  love,  and  at  the  same 
time  bid  her  an  eternal  farewell  ?  What  was  the 
meaning  of  his  information  about  that  "other 


whom  he  hated  worse  than  death,"  which  Hilda 
had  felt  like  a  stroke  of  death  ?  And  why  should 
Lord  Chetwynde  remain  with  his  false  wife, 
whom  he  hated,  while  his  true  wife,  whom  he 
loved,  was  so  near  ?  Why,  in  the  name  of  Heav- 
en, should  he  treat  the  one  with  even  civility,  and 
t>nly  visit  the  other  by  means  of  clandi-stino 
meoliiigs  and  stolen  interviews?  Could  such 
questions  be  answered  at  all  ?  Were  they  not 
all  mad  together,  or  were  he  and  Hilda  miidder 
than  these  ?  What  could  be  the  solution  of  these 
insoluble  problems  ? 

Such  were  the  questions  which  filled  Guoltier's 
mind  as  he  drove  along — questions  which  bewil- 
dered his  brain,  and  to  which  he  could  not  find 
an  answer.  At  one  time  he  tried  to  think  that  all 
these — Zillah.  Lord  Chetwj'nde,  and  Obed  Chute' 
— were  in  alliance ;  that  they  understoodono  an- 
other perfectly,  ted  Hilda  aI«o ;  and  tnVi  they 
were  weaving  together  some  deep  plot  which  wag 
to  be  her  ruin.  But  this  also  seemed  absurd. 
For,  if  they  understood  lier,^  and  knew  who  she 
was,  why  should  they  take  any  trouble  to  weave 
plots  for  her?  That  trouble  they  could  spare 
themselves,  And  could  arrest  her  at  once  whenev- 
er they  chose.  Why  did  Lord  Chetwynde  spare 
her  if  he  knew  all  ?  Was  it  out  of  gratitude  be- 
cause she  had  saved  him  from  death  ?  Impossi- 
ble ;  for  he  habitually  neglected  her  now,  and 
gave  up  all  his  thoughts  and  his  time  to  Zillah. 
Was  it  possible  that  Zillah  could  have  been  saved, 
found  out  her  husband,  and  was  now  inciting 
him  to  this  strange  course  from  some  desire  to 
get  fresh  proof  against  Hilda  ?  No ;  that  was 
impossible,  for  she  must  already  have  found  dut 
proof  enough.  The  withdrawal  of  her  money 
would  of  itself  be  enough  to  show  Hilda's  com- 
plicity ;  but  her  assumption  of  the  rdle  of  Lady 
Chetwynde  was  too  audacious  for  a  true  wife  to 
bear  unmoved  or  unconvinced. 

But  these  things  were  inexplicable.  He  could 
not  find  even  a  plausible  solution  for  such  diffi- 
cult problems.  His  excited  brain  reeled  beneath 
the  weight  of  puzzks  so  intricate  and  so  compli- 
cated. He  was  ||||^>elled  to  dismiss  ,them  nil 
from  his  thoughts.  But  though  he  dismissed 
such  thoughts  as  these,  there  were  others  which 
gave  occupation  to  his  whole  mind,  and  these  at 
last  excited  his  chief  interest.  First  among  these 
was  the  thought  of  Hilda.  That  Very  afkemoon 
she  might  be  coming  out  to  carry  out'  her  plan 
of  visiting  Obed  Chute,  and  confounding  Lord 
Chetwynde.  She  would  go  out  knowing  nothing 
of  that  one  whom  she  had  doomed  to  death,  hot 
who  was  now  there  to  confront  her.  She  would 
go  out,  and  for  what  ?  .  What  ?  Could  it  be 
aught  else  than  ruin,  utter  and  absolute  ? 

"This  was  his  last  dark  terror — all  fear  for  him- 
self had  passed  away.  He  feared  for  her,  and 
for  her  alone.  His  love  for  her,  and  his  devo- 
tion to  her,  which  had  been  so  often  and  so  con- 
spicuously tested,  which  had  sent  him  on  such 
tedious  and  such  perilous  enterprises,  now,  when 
all  was  over  with  himself,  and  not  a  ray  of  hope 
remained,  made  him  rise  above  self  and  selfiih 
considerations,  and  regard  her  prospects  nndW 
safety  alone.  The  thought  of  her  going  out  to 
the  villa  in  utter  ignorance  of  this  new  and  ter- 
rific tnith  was  intolerable.  Yet  what  could  he 
do  ?  Nothing ;  and  the  fact  of  his  own  utter  help- 
lessness was  maddening  at  such  a  time  as  this. 
He  watched  through  the  .window,  acanniug  all 


/•^.^  V  «ii-^ 


..I'l.  i,.1lM^j),^j.iJk}i&&^ 


the  pnMer»-bv  with  feverish  anxiety,  which  wm 
10  manifest  that  at  length  Obed  noticed  it,  and 
lupposing  that  he  was  meditating  some  new  plnn 
of  escape  nearer  the  city,  sternly  reprimanded 
him,  and  drew  the  blinds  so  that  nothing  could 
be  seen.  And  thus,  with  close-drawn  blinds  and 
!"".«"'=?'  ',''«y  'J'^ve  toward  the  city :  so  that 
If  Hilda  had  gone  along  the  road,  Gualtier  could 
not  nave  seen  her. 

At  the  same  time  Obed,  in  thus  shutting  out 
Gualtier  froni  all  sight  of  the  outside  worid,  shut 
out  himself  also.  And  though  Lord  Chetwynde 
may  have  passed  on  his  way  to  the  villa,  yet  lie 
could  not  have  been  seen  by  the  occupants  of  the 
brougham,  nor  could  he  have  seen  them 

At  kst  they  reached  Florence,  and  Obisd  drove 
op  to  the  prefecture  of  the  police.  There  ho 
made  his  statement,  and  Gualtier  was  handed 
over  to  the  authorities,  and  put  in  prison  on  a 
charge  of  attempted  murder  committed  in  Italian 
waters. 

Gualtier  «a8  pnt  into  a  small  chamber,  with 
whitewash^walls  narrow  iron-gmted  window, 
and  solid  oalcen  aoors,  in  which  thei«  was  a 
smaU  round  openir^g.  There  was  an  iron  bed 
.if^KS  "fu":  .^'"''tJer  flung  himself  upon 
the  bed,  and  buried  his  head  in  his  hands.  He 
felt  as  if  he  had  reached  the  verge  of  despair- 
JlfM'*?!,"'  '!""  ™°raent,  it  was  not  of  himself 
that  he  thonght.     Far  above  his  distress  and  his 

iTi'h^T  "•;?  P*"'*"  °f  ••«  '»ve,  and  thus 
.  tamed  his  thoughts  toward  Hilda.     Was  she  on 

Jh'irfiTL^  Was  she  going  to  ruin?  Or  was 
•he  still  at  her  hotel  ?  She  had  not  said  for  eer- 
ttiD  that  she  was  going  to  the  villa  on  that  dav  • 
she  said  that  she  was  going  on  that  day  or  the 
next.  Perhaps  she  had  postponed  it,  and  re- 
ler^ed  her  visit  for  the  next.  It  seemed  proba- 
We.  If  It  were  indeed  so,  then  there  was  vet 
hme  to  make  an  effort  to  save  her.  How  could 
he  make  such  ah  effort  ?  How  could  he  eain 
communication  with  her? 

He  rose  from  his  bed,  and  watched  through  the 
opening  of  his  door.  There  was  a  guard  outside, 
who  paced  backward  and  fonvard  solemnly! 
Gnaluer  8  knowledge  of  human  nature,  and  of 
italmn  human  nature  in  particular,  suggested  to 
him  a  way  by  which  he  might  send  a  message. 
After  some  delay  he  signaled  to  the  guard,  who, 
»n»r  looking  around  cautioncly,  came  up  to  his 

fhi'LH^u  p  **"'■!  "  ™«««Ke."  said  Gualtier,  in 
the  best  Italian  that  he  could  muster.  «'It  is 
W|- important     It  is  to  a  friend.    I  will  pay 

The  guard  looked  interested. 
Where  is  your  friend  ?"  he  n^ked. 


THE  CRYPTOGRAM. 


389 


h/e  agatn.  It  was  no  phantom,  but  heriel>  that 
appeared  to  you  and  me.  I  art  in  prison.  Do 
not  go  out  to  the  villa.  Fly  and  save  yourself.  " 
J-olding  this  up,  he  took  it  to  the  guard. 
If  you  bring  back  an-nnswer  to  this,"  said  N*-^ 
he,  you  shall  have  two  hundred  piastres.  If 
you  don't  find  the  person,  you  shall  have  fifty  " 

of  Hilda,  and  wrote  it  out  for  his  information 
charg,„g  him  that  it  must  be  delivered™"  her! 
•elf,  and  no  other.      The  guard  said  jhat  he 
could  not  go  himself,  but  would  send  his  joun 
ger  brother.     Tins  satisfied  Gualtier,  and  ?5e 
guard  again  departed.  ' 

After  some  time  he  jeturned,  and  paced  1 
and  down  as  before.  An  hoUr  passed  Gt 
tier  become  impatient.    Then  two  hours  elapi 

lie  tHen  beckoned  to  the  guard. 

.'! »®  u*  *^"°  *  '""8  time,"  said  he. 
1  erhaps  he  is  waiting,"  said  tlfc  guard ;  "  if 
it  IS  possible  he  will  deliver  the  message  " 

Gualtier  waited.  « 

Three  hours  passed. 

The  guard  at  last  came  back  to  his  door.  He 
handed  back  to  Gualtier  the  letter  which  he  had 
wntten.  .  "» unu^ 

''  The  lady,"  said  he,""  was  not  at  home.  She 
had  gone  away.  My  brother  waited  all  this 
time,  but  she  did  not  return.  Shall  he  go  back 
and  wait?  *         * 

"No,"saiaGjialtier. 

He  gave  a  hundred  piostres  to  the  guard.    He 
took  his  note,  and  tore  it  up.     All  hope  faded 
awny  within  hin,,  nnd  despair,  black  and  darit 
settled  down  upon  his  soul.  ' 


inthecHy.    Can  I  have  the  message  sent  ? 
I  will  pay  two  hundred  piastres  if  I  get  an  an- 
il 
Afe  guard  hesitated. 

"I  triu"'  ^'"^ '"''  ■'^®'""'«''  moments' thought  J 

il""  wT"^'  ""dwMgpnefor  about  tttintv 

Md  Mid^  P"'''"'"'*  intelligence  with  Guiltier, 

"^  {'!'"'' ''  *'*"  •'e  done,  signore." 
nn./*  k-   ""''r*  "■*"'  ■'""'«•  »"d,  tearing  li  le«f 
Zil  •""  P«=ket-book,  pcncUed  the  foUowtag 

"A  miracle  has  happened.    She  hat  come  to 


CHAPTER  LXXIII. 

OBEd's   new  ADVKNTnBB. 

Aftkb  leaving  Gualtier  in  custody  Obed  Chute 
drove  away  from  the  police  station  with  an  ex- 
pression of  tranquil  satisfaction  oi).  his  fine  face  •   - 
such  an  expression  as  might  befit  one  who  is  con- 
scious of  having  done  his  duty  to  the  uttermost 
He  drove  down  the  Lungh'  AtBp,  and  through 
the  Piazza,  and  past  the  Duomo.      There  was 
no  further  nee^jio  keep  the  blinds  closed,  and  as ». 
he  drove  on  halooked  out  upon  the  inhabitants 
of  Florence,  with  a  grand  benignity  of  expression 
to  which  no  language  can  do  justice.     Many 
things  conspired  to  fill  his  breast  with  the  seren- 
est  satisfaction  und  self-complacency.     First  he 
had  savedhimself  from  being  humbu|«ed.     Sec- 
ondly, hellM  been  l«e  victor  in  two  very  respect- 
able trials  of  muscle,  in  which  he,  by  the  sheer 
power  of  muscle,  bitd  triumphed,  and  in  the  firet 
of  which,  his  triumph  had  been  gained  over  a  man 
aimed  vitha,yevolver,  and  using  that  revolver, 
while  he  MTjr  generously  scorned  to  use  his  own. 
ihirdly/this  man  was  the  very  one  wlhom  he 
had  soprfcht  for  months,  and  who  had  eluded  eh- 
tirely  ijie^police  of  Italy,  France,  and  Engtaa*^ 
Obed  also  had  been  merciful  and  magnanimous 
in  his  hour  of  triumph.     He  had  been  too  great- 
hearted to  avail  himself  of  any  undue  advantage 
m  the  stnfe,  or  to  do  one  single  act  of  unneces- 
Miy  cruelty  when  thut  strife  was  over,  and  the 
victory  *a8  won.     He  had  not  bound  his  victim 
till  the  new  flight  of  that  ^-Ictim  had  compelled 
hira ;  nor  had  he  spoken  even  one  harsh  word 


3 


240 


it^-  THE  CRYITOGBAM. 


to  liim.  IIo  hnd  cnpturcd  him  fiiiily  nnU  brhve- 
ly.too,  nnd  in  tlio^ost  quiet  and  uno!>tcnfntioug 
tnAnnor  liad  handed  him  over  to  tho  police  of  tho 
(toiintry.  j 

Of  course  there  were  nomo  things  whjHi  might 
hnve  been  more  ngrceahlo  under  the  circum- 
itanccfl.  The  mvRtery  whicli  Biirroiinded  this 
man  wns  not  pleiiMant.  It  wns  not  plensnnt,  aft- 
er having  cnpturcd  Jiim,  to  find  himself  still  baf- 
fled in  his  cndeororH  to  nndcrstiind  him  or  his 
motive;  to  find  thot  this  mnn  hnd  forced  him  to 
intcnvenve  the  case  of  Lady  Chetwynde  with  thnt 
of  Zillah,  when  to  hiH/mind  thone  two  cnses  were 
as  far  nsimdcr  ns  tho  poles.  Yet,  nfler  nil,  the  per- 
plexity which  arose  from  this  could  not  interfere 
with  the  enjoyment  ,inf  his  triumph.  Baffled  he 
might  be,  but  still  thfcre  was  no  i-eason  why  he 
should  not  enjoy  the  calm  pleasure  whicliM-ises 
from  the  consciousness  of  having  well  nndpfully 
performed  n  virtuous  action,  nnd  of  liavin^dqne 
one's  duty  both  to  one's  ^cighbor  and  one's. 

So  Obe<I,  ns  he  drove  about  before  going  home, 
enjoyed  the  full  consciousness  of  his  o)vn  merit. 
lie  felt  at  ponce  with  himself,  with  the  world  at 
la/ge,  and,  for  that  matter,  even  with  Gunltier. 
80  long  OS  Gualtier  had  baffled  him  and  eluded 
his  most  ardent  search,  ho  had  ex|)erienced  the 
bitterest  and  the  most  vindictive  feelings  toward 
the  villain  who  had  per|)etrnted  such  foul  crimes, 
and  persisted  in  evading  nil  pursuit.  But  now 
thnt  this  mysterious  villnin  had  been  captured, 
and  by  himself,  he  felt  that  bitterness  ond  vin- 
dictiveness  no  longer.  Ho  was  satisfied  that  the 
law  would  administer  to  him  the  full  punish- 
ment which  wns  due  to  his  crimes,  nnd  as  far 
as  he  was  concerned  personally  he  had  no  feel- 
ing against  him.  Ho  was  simply  desirous  of 
justice. 

Seated  thns  in  his  brougham  he  't^tvve  pnst 
Giotto's  Cnmpapile,  and  pnst  thosd  immortel 
gates  of  bronze  which  Ghiherti  made  for  the 
Baptistery,  aiMl.JKbich  Michael  Angelo  declared 
to  be  worthy  of  being  the  gates  of  I'nradise.  It 
was  jyst  at  this  last  place,  as  the  brougham  was 
moving  leisurely  on,  that  his  attention  was  ar- 
rested by  a  figure  which  was  seated  on  the  stone 
steps  immediately  ontijido  of  one  of  those  gates. 
It  was  a  woman,  elderly,  decrepit,  and  apparent- 
ly poor.  She  was  dressed  in  deep  mourning. 
She  was  very  pale,  her  hair  was  as  white  as  snow, 
and  her  eyes  looked  forth  with  an  eager,  watch- 
ful, wistful  expression — an  expression  of  patient 
yet  curious  vigilance,  like  that  of  one  who  is  wait- 
ing for  some  friend,  or  some  enemy,  who  delays 
to  appear.  It  was  a  memorable  face — memora- 
ble, too,  from  its  sadness,  and  from  the  eager  yet 
almost  hopeless  scrutiny  which  it  turned  toward 
every  one  that  passed.  This  was  the  figure  that 
attracted  Obed.  He  gave  it  one  look,  and  that 
one  look  was  enough  for  him. 

The  moment  that  he  saw  this  Woman  an 
exclamation  burst  from  him — an  exclamation 
.  whiph  was  so  load  that  the  woman  heard  him. 
aie' gtarted  and  looked  up.  At  that-moment 
toe  Ditragham  stopped,  and  Obed,  tearing  open 
the  door,  sprang  out  and  hurried  up  the  steps  of 
the  Bai^istcry,  where  the  woman  wns  sitting. 
She  had  seen  him.  A  flush  passed  over  her 
pale,  ghastly  fiice ;  a  wild  light  came  to  her  eyes. 
Tremblingly  and  with  deep  excitement  she  rose 
to  her  fee^  steadying  herself  by  grasping  the 


bronze  gateway,  and  looked  at  him  with  an  earn- 
est, wondering^nzo. 

Obed  Chute  cnmo  toward  her  qnickly,  yet  with 
R  certain  reverenlini  wonder  in  liis  fiu-e.  Tho 
triumph  and  the  self-complacency  hnd  nil,  died 
out,  nnd  there  wns  l«ft  nothing  but  a  moumfiil 
Buriirisc,  with  wliieli  there  wns  also  mingled  a 
deep  nnd  iuexprcssihlo  pity  nnd  sympnthy. 

Ho  rnme  nearer  nnd  ncnrcr,  still  with'nit  thin 
on  his  face,  while  she  stood  awaiting  him  nnd 
watching  him,  clinging  all  tho  while  to  the  broiizo 
gates  of  Ghibcrti. 

"Is  this  possible?"  snid  Obed,  as  he  enmo 
near  her  and  regarded  her  ean\.cstly.  "is  it 
possible  ?"  he  rejieated,  in  a  low,  soft  voice,  with 
a  deep  solemnity  in  the  tones  that  was  fnr  differ- 
ent  from  his  usual  manner.  "Is  this  indeed 
you — aud  here  too  ?" 

He  HQd  out  both  his  hands,  flis  fnce  sofu 
encd ;  tift  hard  lines  seemed  to  fade  awny  into 
a  certain  unspenknble  tenderness,  and  in  his 
ej^tlwre  w««~^  look  of  i^ifinite  pity  and  com- 
passion. \^  J 

"Yes,  it  is  I."  SSid^tW  woman,  in  a  voice 
whiel^sounded  like  a  moan.  "I  nm  still  alive 
— 8tiir4iv^g[:(>H'— while  so  many  who  are  better 
are  dead  aW  are  nt  rest." 

She  placed  one  hand  in  his,  while  with  the 
other  she  still  clung  to  the  gateway.  The  hand 
which  she  gave  was  shriveled  and  emneintcd, 
and  cold  also  to  Obed  as  he  felt  it  while  holding 
it  in  both  of.his. 

"  Years  have  passed,"  said  he  at  length,  after 
n  long  and  solemn  silence,  during  which  each  re- 
garded the  other  most  earnestly — "years  hnve 
passed,"  ho  repeated  —  "years — since  you  left 
— since  I  saw  yoti  last  Are  you  living  here?" 
ho  continued,  after  some  hesitation.  "  I  suppose 
you  are  with  one  of  the  religious  houses  ?" 

The  womnn  shook  her  head  wearily. 

"No,"  said  she;  "I  am  by  myself.  I  nm 
alone  in  the  world.  I  am  now  simply  'Mrs. 
Hart. '  I  ha ve  c^me  here  pn  important  busincsn. 
It  is  more  than  important ;  it  is  a  matter  of  life 
and  death. " 

"Mrs.  Hart!  Is  that  the  name  that  yoa 
have?"  asked  Obed. 

..  "That  is  niy  name," said  Mrs.  Hart,  wchrily. 
"  It  has  been/my  name  for  many  years,  and  has 
done  me  good  service. " 

Obed  said  nothing,  hut  regarded  her  for  a  long 
time  in  silen;c|e,  wondering  all  the  while  nt  the 
mysteriops^  fnfe  of  this  unhappy  woman. 
At  lost  he  spoke. 

"  HSve  you  been  here  long?"  he  asked.  "1 
have  been  here  for  some  weeks,  but  I  have  never 
seea  you." 

r  IVor  have  I  seen  yon,"  said  Mrs.  Hart.  "I 
hK^e  been  here  long,  but  I  have  seen  no  one 
wnom  I  know.     I  am  alone." 

"And  are  you  able  to  go  alone  about  this 
business  of  whicli  yon  speaks— this  business  'of 
lifb  and  death?'    Have  you  any  help?    Is  it  a 
thing  which  yon  could  commit  to  the  police  ?" 
No,"  said  Mrs.  Hart. "T  rnme  hero  m 


seach  of— of  aTriend;  but  I  have  not  been  able 
to  find  him."  ^^ 

"  Are  yon  alone,  then  ?"  aske4  Obed,  in  pro- 
found syiiipathy,  while  his  fnce  and  his  voice  still 
showed  the  deep  feeling  of  his  heart.  "Have 
yon  no  one  at  nil  to  help  yon  ?  Is  this  a  thing 
which  yon  mnst  do  by  yourself?    Could  not  an- 


^  m 


':^00^ 


t  him  with  an  earn- 


THE  CRYPTOGRAM. 


e  nnmo  tliat  you 


lave  not  been  aHT" 


'la   THIS  INUEBD   TfOU— AND   HEHK   TOO?"' 


Other  as8i8t  you  f  Would  it  be  possible  for  yon 
to  et  ine  help  you  in  this?  I  con  do  mnch  if 
Toil  will  allow  me— if  vou  will  ngain  put  confi- 
dence in  an  old  friend/' 

Mrs.  Hart  looked  at  him  earnestly,  and  tears 
itarted  to  her  eyes. 

.i^'I^'aV  '■"snd,"  she  murmured,  "I  believe 
ttat  God  has  sent  you  to  me.  I  see  in  your 
faw  and  I  hear  in  vour  voice>that  you  «ill  can 

friind' "v  ^'^  "**"  y^V  '^''°'''''' ^y  only 

fnend !     Yes,  you  can  help  me., ;  There  is  no 


secret  of  mmo  which  I  need  hide  from  you.  1 
wil  tell  you  ail-when  I  get  stronger-and  yon 
idlwlr    ^"'^'-'-'7w^know,"re 

^^^  ^^^  ""'"y*  ""^  '■'"•  *  "n>8  said  not  one 

brfom  hi^  1  "■",'  l^""l'^  *■"""«'  ^''i^h  no'  long 
before  had  dared  the  shots  of  a  desperate  enemyT 

now  trembl^ violently  at  the  tears  bf  an  old  w^ 
his  emJcmr'  ^^-^"'  ^^"^  J«M»lped  dowa 

whiX^  T  y""  «^'"8?"  he  asked,  in  a  voice 
Which  had  changed  to  one  of  strange  sweetness 
«nd  tenderness.  "You  are  weak*  Will  you 
let  me  dnve  yon  now  to  your  home  ?" 

DitaonX  "/""f""  ^"'-  ""^  '"oked  at  him 
piteonsly,  and  made  no  reply. 


"I  think  it  wiU  be  better  for  you  to  ro 
home  in  my  carrwge,"  said  Obed,  gently  urging 

She  stiU  looked  at  him  with  the  same  piteous- 

"  In  what  port  of  tfcacity  do  you  live?"  said 
"bed,  as  he  took  her  hand  and  drew  it  inside 
his  arm.  Come,  let  me  lead  you  to  the  car- 
nage. 

Mrs.  Hart  held  back  for  a  moment,  and  aijain 
looked  at  him.  ' 

1.  1' j/?"*  "°  ^<""«."  «he  said,  in  a  voice  which 
had  died  away  to  a  whisper. 

At  once  the  truth  flashed  upon  Obed's  mind 

I  have  no  home,"  continued  Mrs.  Hart     "  I 

was  tnnied  out  yesterday.    Last  night  I  slept  in 

the  Boboh  Gardens.     For  two  days  I  have  had 

nothing  to  eat." 

Obed  Chute  staggered  back  as  though  he  had 
received  B  violent  blow.  "  O  God !"  fae^groBned. 
"  has  It  come  to  this  ?" 

He  said  not  another  word,  but  gently  led  Mm, 
Hart  to  the  brougham.  He  drove  to  a  ca& 
first,  and, persuaded  her  to  take  some  nourish- 
ment. Then  he  took  her  once  more  into  the 
carnage,  and  they  drove  slowly  out  of  tht 


i 


I 


'!  !i  If 


'«^ 


242 


THE  CEYPTOGRAM.' 


CHAPTER  LXXIV. 

liEWILDEBHENT. 


ScABCELT  any  thing  was  said  on  the  drive  ont 
•rom  Florence  to  the  villa.  Tears  fell  frequent- 
ly from  the  eyes  of  the  poor  wanderer  as  she  sat 
wrapped  in  deep  thought.  Obed  sat  iidiilefice, 
looking  out  of  the  window  upon  vacancy,  seeing 
nothing ;  or,  rather,  seeing  still  that  face,  with  its 
wan  lips  and  ghastly  outline,  which  had  told  so 
thrilling  a  story  of  homelessness  and  starvation. 
His  thoughts  were  going  back  through  the  years 
— the  Long-vanished  years.  And  as  he  thought 
there  came  over  his  rugged  face  an  inflnite  pity 
and  tenderness ;  from  his  eyes  there  beamed  sad- 
ness and  compassion  unutterable.  He  kept  si- 
lence thus,  all  that  drive,  because  he  could  not 
trust  himself  to  speak. 

It  was  only  when  they  reached  the  gateway 
of  the  villa  that  he  opened  M»  lipsw  Tj^ieU,  ba 
they  drove  through,  he  tamed  toward  ber,  and 
putting  his  hand  on  her  arm,  ho  said': 

"  Here  is  your  home  now — while  yon  live." 
"  Oh,  my  friend  1"  murmured  Mrs.  Hart ;  and 
she  could  say  no  more.  ,  * 

On  reaching  the  door  Obed  assisted  Mrs.  Hart 
ont  of  the  brougham,  and  they  entered  the  hall. 
There  were  sounds  of  voices  in  the  drawiqg- 
room,  and  on  crossiqg  thq  threshold  of  the 
villa  a  gentleman's  Toioe  arose  in  a  cheer&l  and 
sprightly  tone :  '\  ' 

"Checkmated  again!  Really,  Miss  pinon, 
after  this  you'll  have  to  give  me  $,he  /<)3d8  of  a 
pawn ;  you're  beaten  me  seven  g^ljiies  6ut  of  our 
last  ten." 

"I  don't  believe  it  wi 
voice.     "I  firmly  belie' 
along','  that  vou  let  me  .1 
taught  me  chess  yoursel;' 
that  I  could  catch  np 
a  time?"  4 

"  I  don't  pretend,  to  account  for  it.  Miss  Lor- 
ton,"  said  the  gentjemon's  voice.     "ITiere,  be- 
fore you,  is  something  better  than  theory.    It  is 
an  indisputable  fact.      There  is  my  king,  with 
yoiHE^ueen  imm^iately  in  front  of  him,  and 
yonr  rook  in  foe  distance  guarding  that  strong- 
■ .  minded  lady.>'  And  where  is  my  queen  ?    Why, 
•  gadding  about  with  knights  and  bishops,  when 
she  ought  to  have  been  standing  by  the  side  of 
her  unfortunate  husband." 
^        As  these  words  came  to  her  ears  Mrs.  Hart 
i  stood  stillj  and  one  hand  grasped  Obed  Chute's 
arm  convulsively,  while  the  other  was  pressed  to 
'  j    her  brow. 

i^^  ■"What  is  tjiis?  Who  are  Me««r  Are  tA«u 
liere?"  she  askdd,  in  a  thrilling  voice.  "Am  I 
dreaming  ?  Is  this  some  mockery,  or  are  they 
both  here?  Is  it  some  surprise  ?  Tell  me,  my 
friend.     Did  you  arrange  all  this  ?" 

She  looked  at  Obed  in  a  bewildered  manner. 
He  thought  that  her  mind  was  wandering. 

"Come,"  said  he,  kindly,  "you  must  go 
yonr  room  now  and  rest,  and  then — " 
But  here  a  loud  remark  from  the  gentleman, 
-.  -fioUoweu^OT  ft- merry  answer  fn>ui  the  lady,  Iih 
termpted  Obed,  and  Mrs.  Hart  prevented  him 
from  finishing  his  sentence ;  for  suddenlv  she 
started  away  from  1>im,  and,  without  a  word, 
hurried  into  the  roont  from  which  the  voices 
came.  Obed  stood  for  a  moment  quite  con- 
founded, and  then,  feeling  assured  that  the  poor 


J,  Dud  a  lady's 
iid  I've  said  it  all 
W  yon.  Why,  you 
iind  how  is  h  possible 
my  master  in  so  short 


to 


creature's  brain  was  tamed,  followed  her  hm- 

riedly. 

,   Mrs.  Hart  burst  into  the  room,  with  a  white 

face  and  eager,  inquiring  eyes;     Konsed  by  the 

noise  of  footsteps,  Lord  Chetwyndo  and  Zjllah 

tnmed.    To  the  amazement  of  both  they  saw 

Mrs.  Hart 

Had  the  form  of  General  Pomeroy,  or  of  Earl 
Chetwynde,  appeared  at  that  instantbefore  them, 
they  could  not  have  Jieen  more  confounded. 
Lord  Chetwynde,  hovMver,  was  cool  and  calm. 
There  was  nothing  in  his  secret  which  was  very 
important,  and  there  was  therefore  no  fear  of  a 
discoverv  to  disturb  the  unfeigned  joy  that  min- 
gled  with  his  wonder  at  this  sudden  appearance 
of  his  old  nurse,  blended  also  with  deep  and 
sharp  grief  at  the  wearjr,  wan,  and  wretched  face 
that  he  saw  before  hun.  As  to  his  assumed 
name  and  the  revelation  of  his  trae  one,  that  did 
not  trouble  htm  at  all,  for  he  could  give  his  ex- 
planation very  readily.  But  with  Zillah  it  was 
ditfereiit  Rightly  or  wr6ngly,  she  considered 
her  secret  a  thing  which  shbnld  be  guarded  like 
her  heart's  blood ;  and  now  sbe^  saw  suddenly 
before  her  the  certainty  of  a  full  and  grand  dig- 
•  Closure — a  disclosure,  too,  not  merely  in  the  pres- 
ence of  Obed  Chute,  but  of  Windham  also.  Yet 
even  this  fear,  terrible  as  it  would  have  been  at 
other  times,  was  successfully  mastered,  and  her 
generous  and  loving  nature  tunied  away  from 
selfish  fears,  with  longing  and  joy  and  pity,  to 
this  dear  old  friend ;  and  these  feelings,  mingling 
together  at  that  sudden  tight,  drove  away  aU 
others. 

But  now  to  these  succeeded  a  new  surprise, 
which  was  overwhelming.  For  just  as  she  start- 
ed, in  obedience  to  her  ifhpulse,  she  saw  Lord 
Chetwynde  hurry  forward.  She  saw  Mrs.  Hart's 
eyes  fixed  on  him  in  a  kind  of  ecstasy.  She 
saw  her  totter  fdrward,  with  all  her  face  over- 
spread with  a  joy  that  is  but  seldom  known— 
known  only  in  rare  moWnts,  when  some  lost 
one,  loved  and  lost — some  one  more  precious 
thon  life  itself— is  suddenly  found.  She  saw  Lord 
Chetwynde  hurry  for\vard.  She  saw  Mrs.  Hart 
run  toward  him,  and  with  a  low  moan,  a  long- 
ing, yearning  cry,  fling  herself  upon  his  breast 
and  clasp  him  in  ^er  arms. 

She  heard  her  words  —  words  wonderful,- 
thrilling,  and  beyond  all  understanding : 

"Oh,  my  boy!  Oh,  my  own  I  Oh,  Guy!  Oh, 
my  little  boy!  Oh,  my  darling!  My  God!  I 
thonk  Thee  for  this  joy!" 

Uttering  such  broken  ejaculations  Mrs.  Hart 
burst  into  a  passion  of  tears,  and  only  Lord 
Chetwynde's  strong  amu  prevented  her  from 
falling. 

He  upheld  her.  He  kissed  her.  Ho  mur- 
mured words  of  affection,  deep  and  tender  and 
true.  With  gentle  urgency  he  drew  her  to  a 
sofa,  made  her  sit  down  by  his  side,  and  placed 
her  head  against  bis  breast,  and  took  her  emacia- 
ted hands  in  his.  He  seemed  to  have  forgotten 
the  presence  of  others  in  that  sudden,  that  ove^ 
whelming  feeling  of  oompaaaion  for  his  aged,  hit   • 


heart«broken  nnrse.     no ' 


*        11^^ — 
ncuusciuns  vtot 


waanne 

of  Zillah.  In  that  moment  his  whole  soul  and 
his  whole  heart  were  tnmed  to  this  wan  face  that 
leaned  against  his  breast. 

He  said  very  little.  Ho«[,could  he  say  mnchf 
A  few  attempts  at  soothing  her — a  faw  loving 
words— these  were  all.    And  these  were  enough ; 


..iti 


)Ilowed  her  hor- 


for  better  than  these  wag  the  lore  that  xru  ex- 
pressed m  his  strong  embrnce-the  lovrth^ 
suj^ned  her  „o,v.  «„a  changed  de*;^  iS 

"My  dearest,"  he  said— "dearfl«i  aM  «„-« 
-nurse!  mammal    Don't  gne^TolcoJ^ 

inv-nM  f*  "*"*  \'°''™  *'"'  emotion.    How  ho 

nn^r      ""'  ""''""  '"'  '=""«'  »»»  "<•«"•  dd 

"Look  up,  old  woman.    Look  up     Lei  „„ 

«e^your  face.    You  don't  know  bZ  d^  it"L' 

And  Mrs.  Hart  raised  her  face   and  in  hon 
face  he  read  a  love  infinite,  L/ronsumlng  im 
penshable-a  love  Which  now,  howeterwriat^ 

•"she  ^irlJ'^'^'"  "■«  ^^^  thatYhe  S^*^ 
bhe  said  nothing  more,  but,  clingine  to  him 

Ltf wa^'  '"^"^  "•"'  "•"""'"•-K  ibTl": 

2r '•  I  j^e  hTmTro':?g^'  LiV^'^B  "^ 

^.ti^-'-^.tosedcyoT-  SZher^rd  tZ 
watehed  and  watched  for  a  long  time^  Oh,  how 
tong !    But  you  never  came. "  '      - 

"  You !  watching  for  me !  here  in  FlorwiPo  i" 
exclaimed  Lord  Chetwynde,  in  wonder  ^'M„ 
poor  old  dear!  why?"  ^  ^  "''*'^-        *^^ 

,«1'J  *ir  m"  »»?  «K«in-not  now-I  am  too 
weak.     Hold  my  hands  fast,  my  own.     Let  m^ 
«ee  your  dear  face-oh,  how  dear  I" 
.  And  with  her  hands  in  his,  and  her  eyfis  feed 
jngjjer  soul  upon  his  face,'  she  ky'^Ts 

.,^r"^r"*'  0"^  Clft'«  had  stood  thunder- 
itmck.     To  account  for  thi?  amazing  scene  vZ. 

Ipt?  Sr'''^ '•''''  ^  "'"  "otTenT 
tempt  It.    1  hat  was  beyond  the  renrh  nf  h.,»o- 

opacity     But  he  not^d  all  thrhol?  .eS 

n«s,  and  that  unfathomable  love  whic^  & 

ftom  that  wan,  worn  face,  and  he  felt  th\u  This 

o™r  t^ VillT"  ^i?'^*'  "y""-     "«  '^e'"  softly 
r«n^  ?["  •  r''">V.'*»®^  motionless  hither- 

o^lSe  ,^m."« ''"  ''""'^  ^^  '^  '"'^  '^'''"""r  out 

They  went  into  another  apartment,  and  sat 

ment  that  it  ovenvhSlmed  her. 

bhe  had  seen  Mrs.  Hart's  joy.    She  had  hear.) 
tT''  *°  W'-'lhaih  thename  of ''GuJ."   s£ 
i^mes"fhe'"fl?"  »'«' '^ose  tender,  wei^lknown'  ' 
of  rntTr  1      ""^  """?**  "''*  «'»'•«»'  the  letters 

Se^?    ro^M*'.v'"'lS  *"'''^'>'  ^  '^"'h  in  this 

rd       *?  Windham  Guy  Molyneux  f 
rue  question  wasjoo  bewildering.    A  thou-' 
«Md  circumstances  at  once  suggested  themselves 

wSfhTSh':^'^  AlltffnastSretck 
ZtL-f  '  ^^  "'*'  **"«•  ««<»  ">«  words  of 
^nBth..h-"  '™«"n«*««»  now  Windham^ 

tt»;in»!f,'"'l"  r.'^^  •'  'he  thonghU  that 
'orthU  Windham  waiAer*    WindKani,  with 


'aiJ  CRYRTOGRAM, 


213 

her  to  fly  with  h  m  to  IndTaf  And  Z\T'^ 
man  be  Guy  Molvneux  ?  Thi  ^  conldrlhis 
coincidence  Srsle  USTo^l^^rSf 

a  mixture  of  deep  joy  and  deadirfea?  mS 
might  the  end  be?  4at  could  «  bl?" 

one?  If  ,J,«„^  'u""*  5*°  "nen  be  indeed 
«n11  /V'"®^  "*'*'  'hen  how  could  this  lo™ 
and  hate  be  reconciled  ?    Would  Windhani  cS 

Windham's  love  that  the  thought  of  h"s  osi.^ 
hhu'  '•??"«'"?•  "PP^"-*^  *e  wildest  i^p3 
bihty.  ho;  that,  at  least,  could  not  be.  iftiu£ 
was  her  own.    Not  yet  cinld  she  ble^d  Ws  m 

oTngttt'l'i"^-  ^''•>!:^-aS,S"t  he' 
ciung  to  this  as  her  only  o«Jmfort,  and  honed 

xweannhiie  Obed  had  been  s  ttine  in  a  hpu.i 
^°™«"'/q"«l  t?  hen.,  and  keeping!  SenceXi 

strain  his  feelings  no  longer.  "  «-oi"a  «- 

.  Can  you  tell, "  he  asked  at  length—"  can  von 
raagine,  Miss  Lorton-have  yoHhe  r^mof«.t 
idc^^of  what  in  thunder  is  Ve°m^„7or.3l 

.fl f ''?' ''I'*''^'" '*^'^ ZiUah ;  "I don't  under 
stand  i  I  can't  even  imagine. "  " 

bla„k^liLk''of"Zji;:'';.'Z'EL?sri'  "'"'  * 
does  not  affonl  a"w^';  nof one'^s  S^woTTha? 
can  express  the  idea;  so  I  will  T^ort^  thf 
American,  and  merely"  rem.rkl«,T^ip,2! 
en  moment  I'm  catawampou.ly  chawed  ip.'^?^ 
Do  you  know  Mn.  Hart?"  said  Zillah 
'Of  course  you  do."  ■»««  ^uian. 

pri'si.**"-  "*"  ^"  '**^  ^^'  *°  '"omenta^  sun 

"Yes-her." 

"Mrs.  Hart?    Oh,  I  see.     Yes  I  kn*.  i... 
miajr^earaaao.    TW.  .ft^*«f  ^J^'J^^^ 
Florenca    I  brought  her  <it  heixTThelSd 


me  th.Whfcr  hrna^n^^^Jl^JTof  atr^^^ 
th.;  i^*^  m"u'"«  *^"'"''"-'  'he  very  h«t3on 
nave  Deen  Windham.  And  vet  ha  «« th.  ».T- 
-theidentlcalindividud.  iu  did y"„  e™riS 
such  jov,"  he  continued,  after  a  p«ij  "« th!S2 

wa.lnl.er&oawhertotdght'^hSn?    wST 


\ 


244 


THE  CRYPTOGRAM. 


when  I  met  her  she  was  in  as  deep  a  despair.  She 
was  crouching  on  the  steps  of  the  Baptistery,  look- 
ing with  eager  eyes — hungry  eyes — to  find  some 
one.  And  all  this  time  it  was  Windham.  She 
CJime  here  to  find  him,  and  him  only.  She 
has  been  here  for  weeks,  perhaps  for  months, 
wandering  about,  in  suffering  and  weakness, 
looking  every  where  for  Windham.  She  had 
spent  all  her  money ;  she  had  been  turned  out 
of  her  lodgings ;  she  had  neither  food  nor  shel- 
ter. For  two  or  three  days  she  had  not  eaten 
any  thing.  When  I  Jinppened,  by  the  merest  ac- 
cident, to  find  her,  do;  you  know  what  she  was 
doing  ?  She  was  dying  of  starvation,  but  still 
she  was  looking  for  Windham !  And  I  solemn- 
ly believe  that  if  I  had  not  found  her  she  would 
be  there  at  this  moment.  Yes,  she  would  be 
sitting  there  in  nflscry,  in  want,  and  in  starva- 
tion, still  looking  after  Windham.  And  if  she 
had  died  there,  on  that  spot,  I  feel  convinced  that 
the  last  movement  of  her  lips  would  have  been 
-a  murmur  of  his  name,  and  the  last  look  of  her 
dying  eyes  would  have  been  for  Windham.  I 
saw  all  this  in  every  look  of  hers,  and  in  every 
word  of  hers  that  she  has  thus  far  uttered  to  me 
about  her  fearful  experiences.  I  saw  this ;  and 
now  I  beg  leave  to  ask,  in  the  quietest  Wny  in  the 
world.  Who  is  this  Windham,  and  what  is  ho  to 
her?" 

Here  Obed  ceased.  He  had  spoken  in  a  wny 
that  showed  the  deep  emotion  wliich  he  felt,  and 
the  sorrow  and  sympathy  that  filled  his  soul. 
As  he  spoke  of  Mrs.  Hart's  miseries  his  voice 
trembled.  Never  in  his  life  had  he  met  with  sor- 
row like  her  sorrow.  It  was  not  this  last  scene 
in  her  life  which  gave  him  this  feeling,  but  it  was 
his  knowledge  of  that  awful  past  in  which  she  had 
lived,  and  sinned,  and  suffered — that  past  whose 
sufferings  were  perpetuated  still,  whose  lurid 
shadows  were  now  projected  into  these  later  days 
uf  her  life.  All  this  he  felt,  and  he~~B)i«ijved  [t, 
and  he  sought  earnestly  to  solve  the  problem 
which  th6se  things  held  out  to  his  mind ;  but  he 
could  not  find  a  solution,  nor  could  Zillnh  give 
one.  For  her  part,  it  was  with  unfeigned  horror 
that  she  listened  to  Obed's  recital  of  Mrs.  Hart's 
sufferings  and  despair ;  yet  as  she  listened  there 
came  to  her  mind  the  same  question  which  had 
been  asked  by  Obed,  Who  is  this  Windham? 
and  what  is  he  to  her  ?  Cdlild  her  old  devotion 
as  the  nurse  of  Guy  account  for  this  ?  Or  was 
there  some  deeper  cause  ?  Had  she  come  to  save 
him  from  something  ?  Yet  from  what  ?  From 
danger  ?    Yet  from  what  danger  ? 

And  thus  to  each  of  these  alike  there  came  the 
same  problem,  yet  to  each  tliero  came  no  hope 
of  solution. 


CHAPTER  LXXV. 

DKSPAin. 

The  time  seemed  long  indeed  to  Obed  and  to 
Zilhih,  as  they  sat  there  in  silence,  wondering, 
be\rildered,  yet  utterly  unable  to  fathom  the 
^4tef  mystery  that  iay  befen  them^  Half 
hour  elapsed;  and  at -last  some  one  crossed  the 
hall  and  came  to  thd  door.  It  was  I^rd  Chet- 
wynde.     He  looked  troubled  and  excited. 

"Miss  Lorton,"  said  he,  "she  wants  you.  I 
don't  understand  what  she  says.  It  is  very 
strange.    She  must  bo  out  of  her  senses.    Comis 


in,  Mr.  Chute.    See  if  yon  can  help  me  out  of 
my  bewilderment." 

He  offered  his  arm  to  Zillah,  but  she  did  not 
take  it.  It  seemed  as  if  she  did  not  see  it. 
Filled  with  vague  fears  and  apprehensions,  she 
walked  into  the  room  where  Mrs.  Hart  was,  and 
Lord  Chetwynde  and  Obed  Chute  came  after  her. 

Mrs.  Hart  was  lying  upon  the  sofa.  As  Zil- 
lah entered  she  fixed  her  eyes  upon  her. 

"  I  have  been  too  selfish,"  said  she.  "  In  my 
joy  at  finding  my  boy  so  unexpectedly  and  so 
wonderfully,  I  have  not  been  able  to  spetik  one 
word  to  my  sweet  girl.  Oh,  Zillah,  my  child, 
you,  I  know,  will  forgive  me.  But  are  you  not 
amazed  to  see  me  ?  Yet  I  am  still  more  amazed 
to  see  you.  How  did  you  come  hero  ?  How  is 
it  that  I  find  yoti  here — along  with  my  noble 
friend — in  his  house  ?  I  am  all  overcome  with 
wonder.  I  can  not  understand  this.  I  do  not 
know  what  to  say,  or  where  to  begin  to  ask  the 
questions  that  I  wish  to  ask.  Mr.  Chute  seems 
a  kind  of  Providence,"  she  added,  with  peculiar 
emphasis  in  the  faint  tones  of  her  weak  voice— 
"a  kind  of  Providence,  who  comes  to  people  in 
their  last  extremities,  and  saves  them  from  de- 
spair! Mr.  Chute,"  she  continued,  "is  my 
savior!"  She  paused  for  a  time,  and  looked  n't 
Obed  with  a  certain  deep  meaning  in  her  eyci". 
Then  she  turned  to  Zillnh  again.  "  My  cliild," 
she  said,  "  dear,  sweet  Zillah !  you  will  have  to 
tell  me  all  about ,this.  Why  was  it  that  you  tied 
away  from  Chetwynde  ?  And  oh !  how  could  you 
have  the  heart  to  give  me  up  to  strangers  ?"  ' 

Amazed,  speechless,  overcome  by  wonder, 
Zillah  conld  not  say  a  word.  She  went  to  Mrs. 
Hart,  folded  her  in  herarms,  and  kissed  over 
and  over  again  the  white  lips  of  the  woman  who 
had  once  been  dear  to  her  in  Chetwynde  Cnstle. 

"  I  do  not  understand  it,"  said  Mrs.  Hart, 
feebly,  and  with  an  expression  of  deep  amaze- 
ment; "I  do  not  «Omprehend  all  this  at  all. 
Here  yo(i  all  apfi,  all  of  you  whom  I  love— the 
only  ones  Ofi  earth  whom  I  love.  Here  k  my 
boy,  my  darling,  whom  I  came  to  seek !  Ilere 
is  Tny  sweet  Zillah,  who  brightened  my  moiimfnl 
life  at  ChetAvynde  Castle  with  her  love  and  ten- 
derness. And  here  I  see  my  best  friend,  who 
came  to  save  me  from  death  and  despair,  and 
brought  me  here  to  life  and  joy  and  ho|)e! 
What  is  the  meaning  of  it  all  ?  My  boy  can  not 
tell  me.  Soy,  my  sweet  Zillah,  can  not  you  tell 
me  ?  Do  you  not  know  ?  Do  you  understand  ? 
Say,  whose  plan  is  it  ?  Is  it  your  plan  ?  Who 
has  brought  ns  all  together  ?"  > 

"It  is  God,"  said  Zillah,  solemnly.  "I  do 
not  understand  how  you  came  here.  I^et  u> 
thank  God  that  you  have  found  your  friends." 

She  spoke  at  random ;  she  knew  not  what  to 
say.  In  her  own  dark  perplexity  she  was  un- 
able to  say  any  thing  else ;  and  when  slie  saw 
that  Mrs.  1  Inrt  was  equally  perplexed,  and  turned 
to  her  for  information,  she  conld  only  find  an  an- 
swer in  those  words  which  werd  prompted  by 
her  heart.  So  she  spoke,  and  she  could  say  no 
more. 

Kor could  th>othw».    AHwwewhiBt.    Thtt 


white  face  looked  wistfully  from  one  to  the  oth- 
er, with  eager  eyes,  as  though  seeking  from  each 
some  explanation  ;  but  none  could  give  her  that 
which  she  sought.  In  the  faces  that  surrounded 
her  she  saw  nothing  else  but  a  wonder  which  wm 
f\illy  equal  to  her  own. 


*• 


1  help  me  ont  of 


Obed  Chnte  had  now  a  fresh  canse  fop  bewil- 
derment.   For  here  was  Zillah  claimed  fondlv  as 
■  a  dear  and  loved  friend  by  Mrs.  Hart.     Who 
was  she?    Was  her  mysterious  story  bound  up 
in  any  way  with  the  tragical  life  of  the  other  who 
thus  claimed  her?    He  had  been  sufBcientlv 
astonished  at  the  mating  between  the  woman 
whom  he  had  rescued  and  his  friend  Windham  • 
but  now  he  saw  his  prot<?ge,  MissLorton,  recoil 
nized  by  her  as  her  dearest  friend,  and  called  bv 
the  most  loving  nnmes^with  an  affection,  too, 
which  was  fuUv  returned  by  the  one  whom  she 
thus  addressed.     What  to  think  or  to  say  he 
knew  not.    Of  all  the  mysteries  of  which  he  had 
ever  heard  none  equaled  this,  and  it  seemed  to 
become  more  complicated  every  instant      He 
w^  at  once  perplexed  by  this  insoluble  problem 
and  vexed  because  it  was  insoluble.   To  his  calm 
and  straightforward  mind  nothing  was  so  nggra- 
vating  as  a  puzzle  whiph  could  not  be  explained 
He  abhoired  all  mystertes.     Yet  here  he  found 
one  fullb^e  fclm  which  baffled  his  utmost 
powere|m|fcrehen8ion— one,  too,  in  which  he 
himsein^Hermixed,  and  in  which  he  saw 
""•  ■^■■Windhnm  and  Miss  Lorton  all 
S  d    t  ""*^  ^*'"*'  *"  vone,  equally  in 

But  if  Obed's  bewilderment  was  great,  what" 
can  be  said  of  that  which  filled  the  mind  of  Lord 
Chetwynde  ?  He  saw  his  old  nurse,  whom  he  so 
deeply  and  even  so  passionately  loved,  turning 
away  from  himself  to  clasp  in  her  arms,  and  to 
greet  with  the  fondest  affection,  that  beautiful 
gir  who  was  dearer  to  him  than  any  thing  else 
in  life.  Mrs.  Hart  knew  Miss  Lorton!  Above 
all,  he  was  struck  by  the  name  which  she  gave 
her.  She  called  her  "Zillah!"  More  than  this 
she  nientioned  Chetwynde !  She  reproached  this 
girl  for  running  away  from  Chetwvnde  Castle' 
And  to  all  this  Miss  Lorton  said  nothing,  but 
accepted  these  fond  reproaches  in  such  a  way 
that  she  made  it  seem  as  though  she  herself  must 
once  in  very  deed  have  med  in  Chetwynde  Cas- 

1 1' ".  ,5  ""  ''•  *'"'■  H"*^  ''""«'l  her  "  Zil- 
tah!  To  whom  did  that  strange  name  belong? 
To  one,  and  to  one  alone.  That  one  was  the 
(laughter  of  General  Pomerov,  whom  he  had 
married,  and  who  was  now  his  wife.  That  one 
lie  hated  with  a  hate  which  no  feeling  of  duty 
and  no  bond  of  gratitude  could  either  lessen  or 
overcome.  Was  he  not  married  ?  Had  he  not 
wen  that  wife  of  his  a  thousand  times  ?  Had  he 
not  associated  with  her  at  Chetwynde  Castle,  at 
Lausanne,  on  the  road,  and  in  Florence  ?  What 
madness,  what  mockery  was  this  ?  It  would 
Beem  as  though  Mrs.  Hart  had  mistaken  Miss 
ixirton  for  that  detested  wife  who  stood  between 
him  and  his  love.  But  how  could  such  a  mis- 
take  he  made  ?  True,  the  complexion  of  each 
was  dark,  and  the  hair  of  each  was  black,  and  the 
torms  and  flgores  were  not  unlike ;  but  the  feat- 
ares  were  widely  different;  the  large,  soft,  lov- 
ing eyes  of  Miss  Lorton  were  not  like  those 
gleaming,  fiery  orbs  that  he  had  teen  in  the  wo- 
man whom  he  thought  his  wife ;  and  the  expres- 


THE  CRYPTOGRAM. 


2iS 


Cottld  Mrs.  Hart  be  in  B delirium?  SheCstbe 
mil    Bn<  then  the  worst  of  it  was,  that  if  she 

.T.."?.^  MissLorton  must  be  mad  also. 
„lr  ^^i.  '"I""  •"'•*  Mrs.  Hart,  ronsing  her- 
S„„r.      .T?"""'  '"  "1^"  ^^"^  Chetwynde's 
laounhts.      It  seem*  to  me  that  I  have  sudden- 


ly  escaped  from  a  hell,  where  I  have  been  livinir 

and  have  come  into  heaven.      Where  am  I? 

low  „  ,t  that  I  find  myself  among  those  whom 

I  hold  most  dear?     Oh,  my  old  friend!    my 

aTStt"-'"*"'*^""'^'^^''"""^^ 

"to^h°ih»?  "f^^^l"  'fP]'**^  ^^^  solemnly, 

to  the  best  of  my  knowledge  and  belief,  though 

at  the  present  moment  I  feel  inclined  to  doubt 

hnl?f/->  ^I'  *?'■"  "!?  y""'  •'""''•     »»  I  really 
hold  It  ?    Am  I  not  dreaming  ?" 

"  No,  my  dear  old  nurse.  lam  really  alive, 
and  you  are  ahve,  and  I  am  really  your  boy- 
ih^V^"^~    ^"^''  '""^  "*  "  '  understand  aU 

.J'^'^^'i-™^  r^*  *'•''''''  8>''«  ™e  your  hand 
too.     You  have  become  reconciled  to  him.  then 
I  see  how  it  is.    Ah !  how  dear  yon  are  to  one 
another!     My  God!  what  bleswrfness  is  this! 

"ii^^'J.  *''2"'«'"  **'  y°"  ••«*  fled  from  him, 
and  lefl  him  forever.  But  he  found  yon.  You 
are  reunited  once  more. " 

She  placed  ZiUah's  hand  in  Lord  Chetwynde's, 
and  Lord  Chetwynde  held  it  closely,  firmly,  in 
a  passionate  grasp,  not  knowing  what  all  tbjs 
meant,  yet  in  his  vehement  love  willing  to  take 
blindly  all  that  might  be  given  to  him,  even 
though  It  came  to  him  through  the  deliriiiin  of 
his  old  nurse.  He  held  it  tightly,  though  Zil- 
lah in  a  kind  of  terror  tried  to  withdraw  it.  He 
held  It,  for  something  told  him  in  the  midst  of 
his  bewilderment  that  it  was  his. 

Tears  flowed  from  Mrs.  Hart's  eyes.  There 
was  a  deep  silence  around.  At  last  Obed  Chute 
spoke. 

"  My  Christian  fiiend8,"8aid  he,  "it's  been  my 
lot  and  my  privilege  to  attend  the  theatre  in  my 
youthful  days,  and  I've  often  seen  what  they  call 
tituattoni;  but  of  all  the  onparalleled  situations 
that  were  ever  put  upon  the  boards,  from  '7a 
down  to  'AO,  I'll  be  hanged  if  this  isn't  the  great- 
est, the  grandest,  and  the  most  bewildering. 
I  m  floored.    I  give  up.    Henceforth  Obed  Chute 
exists  no  longer.     He  is  dead.     Hie  jacet.     In 
memoriam.     E  pluribus  nnum.     You  may  be 
Mr.  Windham,  and  you,  my  child,  may  be  Miss 
Ixirton,  or  you  may  not.    You  may  be  somebody 
else.    We  may  all  be  somebody  else.    I'm  some- 
body else.     Ill  be  hanged  if  I'm  myself.    To 
my  dying  day  I  don't  expect  to  understand  this 
Don  t  try  to  explain  it,  I  beg.    If  you  do  I  shall 
go  mad.     The  only  thing  I  do  understand  just 
now  is  this,  that  our  friend  Mrs.  Hart  is  very 
weak,  and  needs  rest,  and  rest  she  shall  accord- 
ingly have.      Come,"  he  continued,  turning  to 
her;    "yon  will  have  time  to-morrow  to  see 
them  again.     Take  alittle  rest  now.     You  have 
called  me  your  friend  several  times  to-day.     I 
claim  a  friend's  privilege.     You  must  lie  down 
by  yonrself,  if  it's  only  for  half  an  hour.     Don't 
refuse  me.     I'd  do  as  much  for  yon." 

Obed's  manner  showed  that  same  tender  com- 
passion which  he  had  already  evinced,  l^rg. 
Hart  complied  with  his  request.  She  mim  und 
took  nts  arm.  -  .     _ 


""Tell  me  one  thing  plainly,"  said  Qhed,  ai 
Mn.  Hart  stood  up.  "  Who  are  these?/  Is  not 
this  Mr.  Windham,  and  is  not  this  Miss  liOrton? 
If  not,  who  are  they  ?  That's  fair,  I  think.  I 
don't  want  to  be  in  the  dark  amidst  inch  nni- 
venal  light." 

• 


, 


/ . 


8I«' 


THE  CRYPTOGRAM. 


lUb  'it  po'tejble  that  yon  don't  know?"  said 
&K  Harti  wonderingly.  "  Why  should  they 
Gcmceal  it  from  you?  These  are  my  dearest' 
children — my  friends — the  ones  dear  to  my  heart. 
Ob,  my  friend,  you  will  understand  me.  This  is 
Lord  Chetwynde,  son  of  the  Earl  of  Chetwynde, 
and  this  girl  is  Zillah,  daughter  of  Neville  PomeT 
roy — Lady  Chetwynde — his  wife. " 

"God  in  heaven!"  exclaimed  Obed  Chute. 
"Is  'this  80,  or  are  you  mad,  and  are  they 
mad?" 

"I  do  not  know  what  you  mean,"  said  Mrs. 
Hart.     " I  have  spoken  the  truth.     It  is  so." 

Obed  said  not  another  word,  "but  led  her  out 
of  the  room,  with^is  strong  brain  in  a  state  of 
bewilderment  greater  than  ever,  and  surpassing 
ally  thing  that  he  had  known  before. 

L»rd  Chetwynde  wac  left  alone  with  Zillah, 

hc/lding  her  hand,  to  which  he  still  clung — though 

Zillah  in  her  deep  embarrassment  tried  to  with- 

^  draw  it — and  looking  at  her  with  eagerness  yet 

perplexity. 

"Great  HeaVen!"he  cried.  *'Do  you  un- 
derstand this?  Oh,  my  love!  my  own!  my  dar- 
ling !     What  is  the  meaning  of  it  all  ?" 

"I  don't  know,"  stammered  Zilluh,  in  con- 
fusion.    "  Don't  yon  know  ?"  ' 

"It's  a  mockery.      It's  her  delirium," cried 

Lord  Chetwynde,  passionately.     "  tjome  Vnta- 

lixing  demon,  has  put  this  into  her  wandering 

'  Kind.     But  ofe!  my  dearest,  something  must  be 

true;  at  least  you  knew  her  before." 

"Yes,"  said  Zillah. 
,  "  Where  ?"  cried  Lord  Chetwynde. 
"At  Chetwynde  Castle,"  said  Zillah,  faintly. 
"At  Chetvfynde  Castle?" 
"Yes."  '' 

"Oh,  Heavens!  Chetwynde  Castle!  What 
fe  this?  Can  il  be  a  mockery?  What  does  it 
all  mean?  Yon!  you!  You'of  all  others!  my 
own !  my  darling  1  You  can  never  deceive  me, " 
he  cried,  in  piercing  tones.  "  Tell  me,  and  tell 
me  trulv,  what  were  yon  doing  in  Chetwynde 
Castle?*' 

"Living  there,"  said  Zillah.  "  I  lived  there 
for  years,  till  the  Eart  died,  and  then  J  left,  for 
certain  reasons.'! 

"Great  God!  What  is  it  that  you  are  sav- 
ing?" He  gasped  for  bi«ath. 
"Only  the  truth,"  said  Zillah. 
Lord  Chetwynde  held  her  hand  still ;  his  eyes 
seemed  to  devour  her  in  the  intensity  of  their 
gaze.  A  thousand  bewildering  questions  were 
in  his  mind.  What!  Was  not  his  wife  even 
now  in  Florence?  Was  he  not  familiar  with 
her  face?  What  did  this  mean?  What  ut- 
ter mockery  v«w  this !  Yet  every  word  of  Zil-i 
lah's  went  to  corroborate  the  words  ofi  Mi-s.l 


Hart. 

As  for  Zillah,  she  anw  his  embarrassmenti' 
but  interpreted  it  falsely.  "  He  is  beginning  w 
think,"  she  thought,  "  that  I  am  the  one  to  who£ 
be  was  married.  His  ojd  hate  and  abhorrenle 
are  returning.  He  ii  afraid  to  make  hims^f 
sure  of  it.  He  loves  Miss  Lorton,  but  hates  ^e 
ghter^  General  PomeFoy^  When  he  £^s 
out  who  I  am  he  will  loathe  me."  Then  w|ilo 
Lord  Chetwynde  stood  silent  in  astonishn^ent 
and  bewilderment,  not  understanding  how  iti^as 
possible  for  these  things  to  be,  the  thought  flaihed 
npon  her  mind  about  that  last  Ifetter.  Ha^had 
loved  another.    Inez  Cameron  was  his  truelove. 


Sh|  heridf  was  nothing.  Bitterly  came  this  re- 
membrance to  her  mind.  She  saw  herself  now 
cast  out  from  his  heart,  and  the  lofe  that  had 
awakened  would  die  out  forever.  And  in  thnt 
moment,  as  these  thoughts  rushed  through  her 
mind,  as  she  recalled  the  words  of  that  last  letter 
the  scorn  and  insults  that  were  heaped  upon  her- 
self, and,  above  all,  the  fervent  love  that  was  ex^. 
pressed  for  another — as  she  brought  these  thiqgs 
back  which  had  once  been  so  bitter,  one  by  one 
—hope  departed,  and  despair  settled  over  her 
heart. 

Bui;  Lord  Chetwynde  clung  to  her  hand;  The 
thoughts  of  his  heart  were  widely  different  from 
those  of  hers,  and  her  despair  was  exceeded  by 
his  own.  Who  she  was  and  what  she  was  he 
could  not  understand ;  but  the  thought  that  he 
had  a  wife,  and  that  his  wife  was  General  Pome- 
roy's  daughter,  was  immovable  in  his  mind. 

"  My  darling !"  he  cried,  in  imploring  tones, 
in  which  there  was  at  the  same  time  a  world  of 
love  and  tenderness;  " my  own  darling !  You 
know  well  thnt  for  you  I, would  give  up  nil  my 
life  and  all  my  hope,  and  cvcrj-  thing  that  I  hnve. 
J<"or  you,  oh !  my  sweet  love,  I  have  trampled 
npon  honor  and  duty,  and  have. turned  my  back 
upon  the  holy  memories  of  my  father !  For  you 
I  have  stifled  my  conscience  and  denied  my 
God !  Oh !  my  own,  my  only  love,  listen  ftnd 
answer.  In  the  name  of  God,  and  by  all  your 
hopes  of  heaven,  I  implore  yon  to  answer'  me 
truly  Ihis  one  question.  >Vho  are  jt)u?  WImt 
is  your  name?  How  is  it  that  Mrs.  Hart  has 
made  this  mistake  ?" -^    * 

And  as  Lord  Chetwynde  gfye  utterance  to 
this  appeal  there  was  in  his  voice  an  anguish  of 
entreaty,  as  though  his  very  life  hung  upon  her 
answer.  It  thrilled  to  the  inmost  soul  of  Zillah, 
who  herself  was  wrought  up  to  an  excitement 
which  was  equal  to  his,  if  not  superior. 

"  Mrs.  Hart  has  made  no  nlistake,"  replied 
Zillah,  in  low,  solemn  tones ;  "  she  has  spokea 
the  truth.  As  yon  have  askod^  so  must  I  an- 
swer. In  the  name  of  God,  then,  I  tell  you. 
Lord  Chetwynde,  that  I  am  Zillah,  daughter  of 
General  Pomeroy,  and— your  wife .'" 

"  Oh,  my  God !"  cried  Lord  Chetwynde,  with 
a  deep  groan. 

He  dropped  her  hand.  He  staggered  back, 
ufid  looked  at  her  with  a  face  in  which  there  was 
nothing  else  than  horror. 
I  What  was  then  in  his  mind  Zillah  could  not 
possibly  know,  She  therefore  interpreted  that 
jook  of  his  from  her  own  knowledge  and  sus- 
fpicions  only.  She  read  in  it  only  his  own  un- 
conquerable hate,  his  invincible  aversion  to  her, 
which  now,  at  the  mentipin  of  her  true  name,  had 
revived  in  all  its  original  force,  and  destroyed 
utterly  the  love  which  he  had  professed.  All 
was  lost  I  lost!  lost!  lost!  and  doubly  lost! 
Better  far  never  to  have  seen  him  than,  having 
seen  him  and  known  him  and  loved  him,  to  lose 
him  thus.  Snch  were  her  thoughts.  Ali-eady 
her  emotion  had  been  overwhelnling ;  this  was 
the  last,  and  it  was  too  much.  With  a  low 
moan^of  mttreaty  ftnd~  of  despair  she  waite 
the  name  which  she  loved  so  much.  It  was  that 
word  "Windham,"  which  he  had  made  so  sweet 
to  her. 

Saying  thii,  and  with  that  moan  of  despair, 
she  threw  up  her  arms  wildly,  and  sank  down 
senseleu  at  his  feet. 


liv-"' 


CHAPTER  LXXVX 
Hilda's  ia^t  tbhturb. 

miveJ  S     4^"^  "''^  restomtives  tiU  she 

sight  of  i^^ChetwATfte'L7,;«^"„'^^^^^ 
half-frantic  words,  conld  not  lesserTher  despair 
She  implored  to  Be  carri^l  to  her  nwm,  and  rtere 
she  was  at  once  .taken.    Lord  Chetwlnde's  m 
P  .8h  was  now  not  less  than  hers.  N^"th  bitter 
SndeK'in"^"^..'"  **"'"«  bewilderlTent  he 

rif.ZJjl^^Ufe  °f  despair.    In  thejniZ  of 


^HE  CBYFrtwaUM. 


247 

tt'him'tran,  *&  this  t^  servant 

read  the  folloiSame:   ^  '""'"^  "'  ''•  '^^ 

"  ^dy  Chetwynde. " 


CHAPTER  LXXVII, 

THE  CRTPTOOBAl,  DECIPHBBED. 

spo^P!This":t?e  i^ff^hid"*^^^^^^^^^ 

a  fclrnf*^"*^"  ■'"*''■ ''^"  P"""<?  the  iallerH^ 
a  lever  of  aintation   OhoH  i.«,i  k^..     P'""'v  "•  • 

thoughts  less  intend' and  feiliS?  L^'/\*^ 
but  yet  equally  perplex"  ng'^'lKd'been'^S 
ming  up  ,„  h.8  mind  the  ^neral  outlinetof  ?hL 
gmnd  mystery,  and  the  ,.«ults  wp„,  "re  i^^J  ■ 


™  losi  in  an  abyss  of  despiir.    In  the  midst"of    Mi^r^/^^"^  "^^  ">«  ''"'=»  that  these  three  were 


ton  make  such  a  mistak«y    n,  ^^   mmL^t- 


„*f«""%.  that  on   tha  appearance  of  Mr. 

?rof^£oXr!^'''"« '» acriu"f:?t2liS: 

7»|rrf/y,.that  Miss  Lorton  and  Wihdham  had 

ham  at  aU,  but  Guy  Molyneu  "sTof  he  Zt 
Earl  of  Chetwynde;  and, that  Miss. lirf on  wS  ' 
not  Miss  Lorton,  but  Zillah,  danghterof  Nev^ 
Pomer^v,  and  wife  of  Lord'ch.^y'Se  i  ^'""^ 
The  Earl  of  Chetwynde  I  NevfttePomerov! 
t^i  r^  "u""^  «^«'Pt  Mm.  Hart"  knT^d 
they  have  the  remotest  suspicion  of  Vhe  nnrfAnn^ 

Wh„l;^L'l'!:?T.°f,TPe«t?    Know  or  suspect?    , 


ffliat  was  his  final  thought  ^  " 

iSiiL'narnXr  ""aSt^eSt""^^  ^ 

be  bltS  ^\*''VK'"  that  a  walk  ont.lde  would 
rain^r.  m"!''^*"^  '^«  "^ 


™«ig  ms  pipe,  when  he  was  aroused  by  the  en- 

2d  ust  ."rrlfoT'-r''?  H-noxnced  thJ^t  a  lady 
.««» just  arrived,  wd  wuhed  to  Me  him  on  rt^ 


nothing.'  Had  ti.v;o7C":fCffirrs 

something  more,  a,  Obed  now  began  To  «W„l!! 
for  months  while  neither  one  knew  the  SfterZ 

it  was  a  piuzle.  ™ 

exSlt^Tw^TE"*!'''!"''!"''^  •»  '"'•common 
also  «W^.,n„      ^     ®^''  an  exercise  demanded 

SrrXi:"S™h°a"dtB?fcis'''^i^  ""i? 

£rf  tsett'^-red^  Sri'S 

I  Wf  !Lv  that  you  will  excuse  the  liberty  which 
is  m,«„f  1'  >'  the  object  that  brings  mrhe« 
wnSd  .^"It 'T^E^  *^»  I  have  Ln^or 
tCt  T  ^™fi*  !''•'#"•  It  Vas  only  if  Jat« 
Ttl^T^^  thatWwer*  re.idlng  here,  ud 

^  ??J  •'1?'^  *t  I  came  to  lee  you."  '  . 

Ob«i  Chute  bowed  ««in,  butTrid  not .  wo«L 


I 


i.JU^^, 


r 

I  (1 


848 


THE  0»f  PTOGRAM. 


His  bewilderment  was  vet  strong,  and  he  did  not 
wish  to  commit  him^jf'  This  lady  was  beauti- 
ful, and  graceful  itt^er  manner.  Hhe  called 
herself  Lady  Chetwynde.  'J^e  name  puzzled 
hitfi,  and,  in  addition  to  the  other  puzzle  that  had 
visited  him  on  this  eventful  day,  was  hard  to  be 
borne.  But  he  bore  it  bravely,  and  was  silent. 
In  hig^ilence  he  regarded  his  visitor  witn  the 
closest  scrutiny.  At  the  first  glance  he  had 
marked  her  beauty.  A  further  observation 
showed  that  she  was  agitated,  that  she  was  pale, 
and  bore-  marks  of  suffering.  She  was  a  womaa 
in  distress.  In  the  midst  of  Obed's  perplexity  the 
discovery  of  this  aroused  his  ctiivnlrous  sympathy. 

This  was  Hilda's  last  venture,  and  she  felt  it 
to  be  such'.  She  had  come  out  with  the  exp^ta-, 
tion  of  finding  Gualtier  on  the  road,  and  of  re- 
ceiving some  message  from  him.  She  had  seen 
nothing  of  him.  She  had  waited  about  half  an 
hour  on  the  road,  till  she  coufd  wait  no  longer, 
and  then  she  had  gone  onward.  She  thought 
that  Gualtier  might  have  failed  her,  but  such  a 
thing  seemed  so  improbable  that  she  began  to 
fear  some  disaster.  Perhaps  he  had  fallen  n 
victim  to  his  devotion.  The  thought  of  thii) 
troubled  Iter,  and  increased  her  agitatidn ;  and 
now,  when  she  found  herself  in  the  presence  of 
'  Obed  Chute,  her  agitation  was  so  marked  as  to 
be  visible  to  him.  Yet,  as  far  as  he  was  con- 
cerned, this  agitation  only  served  to  favor  her 
canse  in  his  eyes. 

"Mr.  Chute,"  said  Hilda,  in  low,  steady 
tones,  "I  am  Lady  Chetwynde.  I  am  the 
daughter  of  General  Pomeroy,  once  Captain 
Pomoroy,  whom  vou  knew.  He  died  a  few 
years  ago,  and  on  his  death-bed  arranged  n  mar- 
riage between  me  and  the  only  son  of  the  Earl 
of  Chetwynde.  It  was  a  sudden  marriage.  He 
insisted  on  it.  He  was  dying,  and  his  wishes 
could  not  be  denied.  I  yielded,  and  was  mar- 
ried. My  husband  left  me  immediately  after  the 
marriage  ceremony,  and  went  to  India,  where  he 
remained  for  years.  He  only  returned  a  short 
time  ago.  My  father.  General  Pomeroy,  died, 
and  the  Earl  of  Chetwynde  took  me  to  live  with 
him.  I  lived  with  him  for  years.  I  was  a 
daughter  to  him,  and  he  loved  me  as  one.  He 
died  in  my  arms.  I  was  alone  in  the  world  till 
his  son,  the  young  Earl,  came  home.  Pardon 
me  for  mentioning  these  family  details,  but  they 
are  necessary  in  order  to  explain  my  position 
and  to  prepare  the  way  for  those  things  which  I 
have  to  say. " 

Hilda  paused  for  a  while.  Obed  said  nothing, 
hot  listened  with  an  unchanged  face. 

"Not  long  after  my  father's  death,"  said 
Hilda,  "  I  went  to  pay  a  visit  to  my  old  home, 
Pomeroy  Court.  I  happened  to  look  into  my 
father's  desk  one  day,  and  there  I  found  some 
papers.  One  of  them  was  a  writing  in  cipher, 
and  the  rest  consisted  of  letters  written  by  one 
who  signed  himself  Obed  Chute,  and  who  wrote 
from  New  York.  All  related  to  the  wife  of  the 
Earl." 

Hilda  stopped  again,  and  waited  to  see  the  ef- 
fectof  ttiis;  But  Obed  said  nothing, -nor  conld 
she  see  in  his  face  any  indication  of  any  emotion 
whatever. 

"That  writing  in  cipher,"she continued,  "  dis- 
torbed  me.  The  letters  vrere  of  such  a  charac- 
ter that  they  filled  me  with  uneasiness,  and  I 
thought  that  the  writing  in  cipher  would  explain 


all.  I  therefore  triid  to  decipher  it.  I  oMaineJI 
books  on  the*  subject,  and  studied  up  the  way  by 
which  such  things  may  be  unraveled.  I  applied 
myself  to  this  task  for  months,  and  at  last  siic-'' 
ceeded  in  my  object.  I  never  felt  ceitain,  how- 
ever, that  I  had  deciphered  it  rightly,  nor  do  I 
yet  feel  certain ;  but  what  L  did  find  out  had  a  i 
remarkable  connection  with  the  letters  which  ac- 
companied it,  and  increased  the  alarm  which  I 
felt  Then  I  tried  to  find  out  about  you,  but 
cou^jHiot.  You  alone,  I  thought,  could  explain 
this  mystery.  It  jyas  a  thing  which  filled  roc 
with  horror.  I  cart  not  tell  you  how  awful  were 
the  (ban  that  arose,  and  how  intolerable  were 
the  suspicions.  But  I  could  never  get  any  ex- 
planation. Now  these  things  have  never  ceased 
to  trouble  me,  and  they  always  will  until  they 
are  explained. 

"Yesterday  I  happened  to  hear  your  name 
mentioned.  It  startled  me.  I  made  inquiries, 
and  found  that  a  person  who  bore  that  name 
which  was  so  familiar  to  me,  and  about  which  I 
had  made  such  iilquiries — Obed  Chute — was  liv- 
ing here.  I  at  once  resolved  to  come  out  and 
see  you  in  person,  so  as  to  ask  you  what  it  all 
means,  and  put  an  end,  in  someway  or  other, 
to  my  suspense."  ' 

This  recital  produced  a  strong  effect  on  Obed, 
yet  no  expression  of  his  face  told  whether  that 
effect  was  favorable  or  unfavorable.  Earnestly 
Hilda  watched  his  face  as  she  spoke,  so  as  to  read 
if  possible  her  fate,  yet  she  found  it  impossible. 
His  face  remained  stolid  and  impassive,  though 
she  saw  this  much,  that  he  was  listening  tO''her 
with  the  deepest  attention.  What  was  most  per> 
plcxing  was  the  fact  that  Obed  did  not  say  one 
single  word. 

In  fiict,  in  this  position,  he  did  not  know  what 
to  say.  So  he  did  the  very  best  thing  that  he 
could,  and  said  nothing.  But  the  mystery  that 
had  begun  that  day  with  the  advent  of  Mrs.  Hart 
was  certainly  deepening.  It  was  already  un- 
fathomable when  Mrs.  Hart  had  said  that  Zilkh 
was  Lady  Chetwynde,  and  that  Windham  was 
Lord  Chetwynde.  Here,  however,  came  one  who 
made  it  still  more  hopelessly  and  inextricably 
entangled  by  calmly  announcmg  herself  as  Lady 
Chetwyn4e ;  and  not  only  so,  but  adding  to  it 
an  account  of  her  life.  Which  wafi  the  true  one  ? 
Mrs.  Hart  could  not  lie.  She  did  not  seem  to 
be  insane.  About  Zillah  there  bad  certainly  been 
a  mystery,  but  she  conld  not  deceive.  He  be- 
gan to  have  vague  ideas  that  Lord  Chetwynde's 
morals  had  become  affected  by  his  Indian  life, 
and  that  he  had  a  great  number  of  wives ;  but 
then  he  rememberoi  that  this  woman  cla'thied 
to  be  General  Pomerov's  daughter,  which  Mrs. 
Hart  had  also  said  of  Zillah.  So  the  problem 
was  OS  dark  as  ever.  He  began  to  see  that  he 
was  incapable  of  dealing  with  this  subject,  and 
that  Mrs.  Hart  alone  conld  explain. 

Hilda,  after  some  delay,  went  on : 

"I  have  mentioned  my  attempt  to  discover  the 
cipher  writing, "  said  she.    ' '  My  deciphering  wu 
I  such  that  it  seemed  to  involve  my  father  in  avenr 
heavy  chwnP-  ^f  inB^e  me  think  that  he  hair 
been  guilty  of  some  awful  crime. " 

"  Your  father,  Qeneral  Pomeroy?" 

Obed  Chute  uttered  this  suddenly,  and  mth 
deep  surprise. 

Hilda  lUrted,  and  then  said,  very  placidly, 
"Yes." 


fe.. 


nk 


"■-"  i^& 


"I  feared  go." 

'•  ifcyTiff'^  any  time  with  your  father?" 

Obed  Chute  8aid  nothing  more,  though  Hilda 

.  "eemed  to  expect  it;  so,  finding  him  silent,  she 

went  on  without  regarding  himl  though!  if  she 

by  those  words  she  at  once  lost  all  that  svm- 
feTt  for"her*'°°*'^^™''"''  which  thus  far  he  had 
•      "On  deciphering  that  paper  of  which  I  have 
spoken  I  found  that  itchar^  p,y  father?  Gen! ' 
e«l  Pomeroy,  with  several  crimes,  all  equally 
abhorrent.     I  will  show  von  the  pap^r  itself,  3  i 
my  mterpretation  of  it  fine  by  lineVso  tha   vou  ' 
may  see  for  yourself  the  agony  that  such  a  i^s-  ' 
covery  would  naturally  produce  in  the  mind  of 
a  daughteh     I  will  also  show  you  thosp  lett^ 

yt.?«r»  '""""  ""''  '"  ™^  "''^^^  ™"^ 
&{ving  this,  Hilda  produced 'some   papers 

~  she  laid  on  the  table  before  Obed  Chme? 
The  first  was  the  writing  in  cipher. 
1  he  second  was  her  own  interpretation   such 

M  she  had  already  shown  to  GuaUier  an*  to  ZU- 

The  third  was  the  same  thing,  written  out  line  ' 
by  Lne  for  the  sake  of  legi^Uity,  as  follows : 

OftSSr^ilS!/^!!' •?"*»«»<*'*««  »o«Z    Amen 
Si    ^^^"¥  ""P^  •«'»*  poor  Ladu  CheUomdt 
BKt  lUUtua  tome  and  ran  offwUK^^ 
**«»?*•  P'9««'o< her  huebind'e act 
^<n  w«jl  Lad,  Mary  Chetwynd 


THE  CBYPTOGRAM. 


249 


ITfi:  ""  "■rmfjor  gaming 
N  Pomeroy  qf  Pomeroy  Berti 
01  am  a  miaeriibU  villain 

«.«  °"*'j'r"'u''*'!  *''^  P"'  ^""'n  »  paper  which 
contamed  her  key  for  deciphering  this. 

niSTri^^  *  laid  down  those  letters  written  by 
Obed  Chute,  which  have  already  been  given 

AU  these  Obed  Chute  examined  Sullv. 
3?,h  Z  t^  ^''""?«  he  looked  at,  compared  i 
!2^.  1''1?!m"'*  •'^"  *•"•  ""»  interpretation 
written  by  H.Ida.  As  she  looked  anxiously  a" 
his  face  It  struck  her  that  when  he  took  dp  tha 
2?  wkH  Si!'  '^'^^  '"though  he  was  famU- 
prepared.  Obed  Chute's  connection  with  this 
business  wiw  mysterious  to  her,  hut  it  had  been 
of  such  a  nature  that  he  might  be  able  to  re^d 
fn  paper  and  know  the  fullness  of  its  meaning  1 
After  reading  those  lette™  which  had  been  w'rit 
ten  by  himself-among  which,  however  that 
btest  letter  which  Hilda  had  shown  ZiHah  was  ' 

M  K  ^  '1?"r'"'  *""''  "P  ""''  ^<^i  paper  ?n 
which  she  had  carefully  written  out  inVa^uUs 
Ae  meaning  of  each  line,  such  as  has,  .Sy' 
bw.  given  where  the  line  U  extended  hy^l 
actere  which  are  not  interpreted.    Over  this  he 

dphlr  Sf       P'P""'  '^'''*'''  contained  only  the 

HMl'ffi'^i'^'-^»'«  paper,  and  looked  ] 
"Did  it  ever  strike  von,"  he  asked    "that 

Krr r""  "^"^"^  •^"•"'^'  -«> »  «" 

^I^haye  hoped  that  it  was,"  said  Hilda,  pa- 


i.o^J"?  ?°^  ^  assured  of  it,"  srild  Obed 
wh^h'^  "  fo"- yourself,  and  think  for  a  momm 
whether  any  human  being  would  think  of  writ 
ing  such  stuff  as  that."  And  he  motbned  con 
temptuously  to  the  paper  wher*  her  intemremt°on 
was  written  out.    "There's  no  meanimH^  ?ex 

'  TA^  :^t^  ^.^"'^  ""'^  noticed  ?oVthefiri 

I   h^r"'^'  the  miserable  scoundrel  who  wmTe 

this  has  done  it  so  as  to  throw  suspicion  Zn 

the  man  whom  he  was  bound  to  love  wi  h  „ iT^i" 

contemptible  hedrt,  if  he  had  one,  which  he 

Ind   n^^T-   Th«  infernal  sneak  r    "" 
And   Obed,   glaring  at  the  paper    actimllv 

ranllSrs^r*?^-    ^'^'i^e^kS 

In  your  deep  love  for  yo^ufather-'-and  h^re 
H.  da.magined  a  sneer-'^ou  will  be  rejoiced 

i  ^n  ;  J  unraveled  it  all  mtfny  years  ago-a  . 

most  before  you  were  bom,  certainly  befJreTon 

ever  thpnght  of  ciphen,.     k  have  a[  tl  e Tappers 

t^  me     You  couldn't  have  qome  to  Xttii^" 

son  than  me-in  fact,  I'm  the  on^  peZ^l 

,  suppose,  that  you  could  come  to.     l^^oX^ 

fore  explain  the  whole  matter,  so  that  for  th^ 

rest  of  your  life  your  affectionate  and  gWleless 

nature  anarno  longer  be  disturbed  by  thosefam 

enta\,le  suspicions  which  you  lave  cuTtivat^' 

about  the  noblest  gentlema^  ,nd  most  s tainS 

soldier  that  ever  breathed."  "'uimess 

With  these  words  he  left  the  room,  and  short- 

teSa':"'  ""•'  '"''"■  -''^  ''-p-^ 

own"%T  "^^'''P''*''  'felf-a  facsimile  of  her 
,°n  o  ■  •?  r  "*"'  Vas  a  mass  of  letters,  written  out 
in  capitals  on  a  square  block.  Ever^  cipher  wL 
written  out  here  in  its  Roman  equivalent 

tni-ch'aVcKf  If  "'"  """^  '"'°^^''  ^-  »'•'' 

•  ''^°"  V^e  mistaken  it,"  he  said.     "  In  the 

cipher  there  is  a  double  alphabet.     The  uppej 

second.  <?  The  second  nlphabet  has  most  of  thA 
^«ers  of  the  first;  thoie  of  most  f?^^ent  oc! 
currence  are  changed,  and  mstead  of  astr^ 
nomical  signs,  punctuation  marks  are  used.  Yo^ 
have  succeeded  I  see,  in  finding  the  key  to  the 

thTtW'  •""  y°"  •>"  ?"'  '^«'» '»  havefhongte 
that  the  lower  part  required  a  sepamte  examiS- 

^  of  !;,t«L  •  "^"^  *°  ?"PP°*''  '•""  »»  this  mass 
lw„v!!f  »  ""'"«»»""S.  and  was  inserted  by 
way  of  recredtion  to  the  mind  that  was  waTricJ 
with  wnting  the  first,  or  perhaps  to  Si 
Now  if  you  had  read  it  all  you  would  hZ2i 
tte  entire  truth.  The  mSn  that  wrote  thfs  Tag 
a  villain :  he  has  written  it  so  that  the  nppL"  p„r? 
throws  suspicion  upon  his  benefactor.  Whefhe" 
he  did  this  by  accident  or  on  purpose  the  Lord 

^LT..^"'  ""^  ""^"*«''  «""»"«".  sneakin'iTt 
rascal  that  it  was  ever  my  luck  to  light  on.  A^d 

v^heknew  what  honoc  was,  and  duty,  ^^ 

Swhoie  tSi.""""  "  *«'  ''^'  '««""'"•-  of 

«,m1^  ""*  '"'"^  ^o"""  ^^'^^  OiW*  another  paper 

which  was  written  out  in  the  usual  manner       ' 

If  you  look  at  the  first  paper,"  said  Obed 

int;„g  to  the  one  which  gavrtTe  inins^tion^f 


£  II 


S  111 


pointin 


S60 

each  letter,  above  dc- 
Bcril^d,  "you  will  nee 
that  the  first  part  reads 
like  your  translation, 
while  the  lower  part  has 
no  meaning.  This  arose 
from  the  peculiar  nature 
of  the  man  who  wrotb 
it.  He  couldn't  do  any 
thing  straight  When 
he  made  a  confession  he 
wrote  itln  cipher.  When 
bk  wrqw  in  cipher  he 
wrote  it  so  as  to  puzzle 
and  mislead  any  one  who 
might  try  to  find  it  out. 
He  couldn't  write  even 
a  cipher  straight,  but 
be«an  in  the  middle  and 
wound  all  his  letters 
about  it.  Do  you  see 
that  letter  'M'  in  the 
eleventh  line,  the  twelfth 
one  from  the  right  side, 
with  a  cross  by  the  side 
of  it?  That  is  the  first 
letter.  You  must  read 
flrom  that,  but  toward  the 
left,f  or  seventeen  letters, 
and  then  follow  on  the 
line  immediately  above 
it.  The  writing  then 
runs  on,  and  winds  about 
'  this  central  line  till  this 
rectangular  block  of  let- 
ters is  formed.  You  sup- 
posed that  it  read  on  like 
ordii^ary  writing.  You 
Me  what  yon  have  found 
oat  is  only  those  lines 
that  hqipened  to  be  the 
'top  ones,  reading  in  the 
nsual  way  from  left  to 
right.  Now  take  this 
first  paper.  Begin  at 
that  cross,  read  from 
right  to  left  for  seven- 
teen letters,  and  what 
do  you  find?" 

Hilda  did  so,  and 
slowly  spelled  out  this : 

"MY  NAME  IS 
NOT  KBIEFF." 

A  shock  of  astonish- 
ment passed  through  her. 

"Krieff?"  she  repeat- 
ed—"Krieff?" 

"Yes,  Krieff,"  said 
Obed;  "that  was  his 
last  alias." 

"Alias?        Krieff?" 
faltered  Hilda. 
^^^      "Yes.     He  had  one 
or  two  others,  but  this 
was  his  l«.st.'- 


THE  CBTFTOORAM. 

''-  r  r  >  *  "L  >  «  o  >■  o  o  {  >  }B^  ^  ^  o  Q 


JO  O  .n  -  -I 


"•  C>  ..^   |,j   {/\    ^    l« 


^  ^  tK  o    S     -^O    «*«     -    X?'»'    ^    t/»I    '^'^    *   ft 

«•  b  r  -#0  <•<  -{"♦  o»ci-.^«»»>>3<3  <i 

^  f  Z  '^  >  --3  mSJrZt»«^6^*^n) 
<i:bOkV^  ^fw  <->n»»*^'«*ic''o»*>2 

H»-r»*   c*n-b   ^^oj,^  «B«»y   ^x> 


^"tt  ^ 


m  i  »^ 


x<«»z-.oO'<c>^r  jp) 


-i*^*  to  -<  r  2  ^  ? 


»  A  2. 


1: 


(A  2  r  >  0-1 


to  o  *^ 

3-  •« 


D  <;  o 


0  is  it,  then,  tfiat  wroie 


"His?    Whose? 
this?" 

"  Read  on.    But  it  is  not  worth  while  to  bother 
with  this  block  of  letters.     See;  I  have  this  pa- 

eer  where  it  is  all  written  out.    Read  this ;"  and 
e  handed  the  other  paper  to  Hilda. 
She  took  it  mechanically,  and  read  a*  follows : 


~"Tffy  8iMSeTrn6l'Kfte(C~  iTOirTi  uitseiablF 
villain,  but  I  was  once  named  Pemberton  Pome- 
roy,  of  Pomeroy,  Berks.  I  fell  into  vice  early  in 
life,  and  was  expelled  the  army  for  gaming.  I 
changed  my  name  then  to  Redfield  Lyttouu.  1 
fell  in  with  Lady  Mary  Chetwynde.  She  was 
thonghUess,  and  liked  my  attentions.  ,1  knew 


■J 


,..    »*i.Yt 


\. 


Ae  was  piqned  at  her  hnsband's  act  in  leavinn 
lus  party  and  losing  his  prospects     Out  of  «pit5 
she  hstened  to  me  and  ran  off  with  me.    Neville 
followed  us  and  rescued  her  from  me  before  it 
was  too  late.     She  acted  out  of  a  mad  Impulse 
m  flying,  and  repented  bitterly.     My  brother 
saved  her.     Let  all  know  that  I,  Pemberton 
Pomeroy,  eloped  with  poor  Lady  Chetwynde, 
and  that  she  wjis  saved  by  Neville  Pomeroy 
Let  the  world  know,  too,  that  I,  Pembertin 
Pomeroy,  forged  a  hundred  thouwnd  dollariL 
and  my  brother  paid  it,  and  saved  me.     I  writ^ 
this  m  cipher,  and  am  a  villain  and  a  coward  too. 
•cull .  A^n  "°^  "*"'^  ""'""^  wretche^ 

On  reading  this  Hilda  then  compared  it  with 

1?-  °K  f  Pu  P?""-    ^''"  *»''  »« "»«=«  «hat  the  lines 
which  she  had  translated  were  dnly  fragmentary 
portions  that  happened  to  read  from  left  to  right 
Doubt  was  impossible,  and  this  which*  Obed 
cam  e  gave  her  was  the  truth.     She  laid  the  pa- 
per down,  and  looked  thoughtfully  awav     Tliere 
were  several  thing,  here  which 'disturbed  hen 
*„  „",^.'!  "^V""?  '""  "•«  "»«"«  mentioned  a 
written  this  had  once  gone  by  the  name  of  Krieff 
I  think  It  my  duty,"  said  Obed"chute.  "  t^ 
^ve  you  a  full  exphmation,  since  you  have  isked 
It.     ihe  parties  concerned  are  now  all  dead 

!S^«rr  r*  ^  ^  ""'  '•'"«•"«'  of  «"«  «f  them: 
^?Zl^  nll?*^';  ."°  "*«'"  "'hy  I  should  not 
teU  von  aU  that  I  know.  I  have  joado  up  mv 
nund  to  do  so,  and  I  wiU.  ^     ' 

"Neville  Pomeroy,  then,  was  an  English  gen- 

?*""•  ^  ,'?*'!'  *««"  n»«ch  of  Britishers,  and 
have  gjBnerally  found  that  in  a  time  of  triaJ  the 

Knglish  gentleman  comesontuncommonlystrone 
I  got  acquainted  with  him  in  an  odd  kind  of  wav 
He  was  a  young  fellow,  and  had  come  ont  to 
Amenca  to  hunt  buffaloes.  I  happened  to  be 
on  the  Plains  at  the  same  time.  I  was  out  for  a 
Hnall  excurMon,  for  the  office  at  New  York  was 
not  the  kmd  of  place  where  a  fellow  of  my  size 
coBld  be  content  all  the  time.    We  heard  a  great 

II"^T?'?!i.*""*^'  ^"^'™*  y^W'^ST'  «nd  conject- 
nred  that  the  savages  were  attacking  sdme  party 
or  other.     We  dashed  on  for  a  mile  or  hv^an^ 
came  to  a  hollow.     About  fifty  rascally  Sioux 
were  there     They  had  surroundedl^lS 
whites,  and  captured  them,  and  were  preparing 
to  strip  each  for  the  purpose  of  indul^n|  in  f 
httle  amusemont  they  have-that  is,  buil^m,  a 
&n  on  one  s  breast.    They  didn't  do  it  that  time. 
«any  rate;  and  the  fight  that  foUowed  when  wl 
eme  up  was  the  prettiest,  without  exception, 
aut  I  ever  saw     We  drove  them  off,  a?  an^ 
We;  and  as  we  had  revolvers,  and  they  had  only 
common  nfles,  we  had  it  «U  o„r  own  w^y 
Tbrty  of  those  Sioux  devils  weh»  left  behind, 
dead  and  wounded,  and  the  rest  vamosed.     ^ 
PrJr       ^^  "y.  *"'  introduction  to  NeviUe 

•Mmed  to  bke  me,  and  we  kept  together  on  the 


THE  CBYFroORAM. 


231 
like  one,  I  know;  but  I  was,  and  am     The 

h^if'^'"?^^'"'"""  *•  *  d'fferent'animalfrim  The 
broker  of  Europe.    So  is  the  American  bimker 
one  of  whom  you  see  before  vou  ' 

sonl?  Tf?"!'*  "^y  "»y Jhing  more  about  onr  pei-- 

wr„Vhoo!i?-  ^*  *l*^""'  ''*^»™  friends-  "e 
went  back  home  and  I  took  to  the  desk.  Some- 
howwe  kept  writing  to  one  another.     He  h^ 

h„ff  w"*  "*"'.'  '"  America,  and  got  me  to 
buy  Stock  for  him  "  He  was  rich,  and^n  had 
a  large  amount  of  money  in  my  hands.  I  got 
the  best  investments  for  him  thei  were,  and  was 
glad  to  do  any  thing  for  a  man  like  that. 

I U  now  go  on  straight  and  tell  you  all  that 
you  care  to  hear.     Some  of  this-in  fact,  mo" 

"^  m!*^  ^°'  *"'•  °"'  »'"  '""K  afterward.  * , 
n«n,S  ^?'"7.  '••^  *•»*•  *  .^"""g^'  brother, 
rnS^fr^.^^"??  1  """"'y-  .  He  was  an  officeJ 
Lot  WhT*  V  1,"?  *."''  ^y  <'i«'ipated,  andiioon 
fn  tW  h„  ^rJ*  'J.'^l^'-  N"^"'"  '"«1  done 
nft-K^  ^  K.*'°u''  f"":  *•"  ''™"'e^  «"<!  had  paid 
oft  his  debts  three  times,  each  time  saving  W 
from  ruin  But  it  was  no  use.  There  Z>Z 
very  devil  himself  in  Pembirton.  He  «^s  by 
o^lLTi"?^  "^  the  meanest  n«^s.thni  was  ever 
Sfi^'i  ''""*^''  the  fellow  was  not  bad-looking. 

W*^*  IP*'  ""'*  "^'^P*'"  ''"t"  the  ">«'*.  and  at 
last  got  into  a  scrape  so  bad,  so  dirty,  that  he 

had  to  quit  the  Guards.  It  was  a  gamb^rt g  af! 
fijr  of  so  infamous  a  character  that  it  was  impos- 
sible for  his  brother  to  save  him.    So  he  quTt'^^ 

N^??^  '."•"'}  ""T  '"'"  *°"^  oo""**  than  ever. 
Neville  tnod  stiU  to  save  him ;  he  wanted  to  get 
him  an  office,  but  Pemberton  refused.  K- 
while,  out  of  a  sense  of  decency,  he  had  changed 

this  name  he  became  pretty  wellknown  to  a 

the  acquaintance  of  the  wife  of  the  Enri  of  Chet- 
wynde. It  seems  that  the  Eari  was  wraoDed  ud 
in  politks,  and  had  offended  her  by  ^  Ep^ 

^fi^a  ^r  v.f ''*'  T  ""fy-  ""'^ «'""  desperate. 
Bedfield  Lyttoun  turned  up,  and  amus«rf  her. 
bhe  compromised  herself  very  seriously  by  Al- 
towing  such  marked  attentions  from  himrand^ 
people  began  to  talk  about  them.  The  Earl 
knew  nothing  at  all  about  thisj  as  he  was  busy 
all  the  day.     There  was  a  sort  of  quarrel  b^^ 

finnl  »  ^"i*  Neville  heard  of  it,  and  made  a 
finiJ  attempt  to  save  his  brother.  I  think  this 
time  he  was  actuated  rather  by  regard  for  the 
. ,  Earl  who  was  his  most  intimate  friend,  than  by 
^n  v  hope  of  saving  this  wretched  fool  of  a  brother 
«ni!,";  A' .^y  "•?'!?*  ^'™ed  him,  and  threat- 
ened totell  theEarihimself  ofallthitwasgoing 
h«'„„  iT^"""  ^kaUrm,  and  pretended  tha! 
he  would  do  as  Neville  said.    He  promised  to 

T.tV'I^r^^":^y^^''-  ButhisbSK 
vice  had  only  made  him  savage,  and  he  determ- 
ined to  carry  out  this  game  to  the  end.  Ha 
r^^P^'r"*''  Ji*'"*"''  ""''  ""•"•'y  unprincipled. 
m^^''^'^^^^  T"  **"/  "^d  thoughUess.-'^Sh.^.-^:. 
liked  the  scoundrel,  too,  I  suppose.  At  any  rate^ 
he  induced  her  to  run  away  with  him.    K; 


was  a  broker  and  banker. 


- -.__-™  „».  „  .„,,  awaj  witn  mm.    For  the 

dSfts    •S'i'f*  ^T"'  •"i'^«  "»  "«  '"'Ked  somS 
in  ™;  h2!S  *^°"?  ?"*  ""'*  Neville  had  money 
in  my  hands,  and  drew  for  this.    1  susneci 
nothing;,  and  the  drafts  were  paid.     He ZT 

rd"L;r.h?Ai°.!?y;.5ji'!?  •"•  ^«""  «» 


Twv  i   7    ""'"y.'n  "me  to  run  ott  with  his  victin 
Don  t  lookJ  and  foolish  a.  Lady  Chetwynde  waMho 


J'-^fc^'^^ArV 


mo 

I 


my 


loment 


232 


THE  CRYPTOGRAM. 


that  she  had  taken  the  inevitable  step  she  repent- 
ed. 8he  thought  that  it  would  be  imposiible  to 
it^race  it,  and  gave  herself  up  to  despair.  Tliey 
fl^d  tp  America  under  assumed  names. 

''  '£l)eir  flight  was  immediately  known  to  Ne- 
ville. He  lost  not  a  moment,  but  hurried'oujt  to 
America ;  and  as  the  ship  in  which  he  sailed  was> 
fiUi^er  than  the  o(her,  he  reached  New  York  first. 
}i|l-  came  , at  once  to  me.  Then  he  learned,  for 
t|ie  first  time,  of  the  forgery.  About  one  hun- 
dred thousand  dollars  had  been  drawn  and  paid. 
We  took  counsel  together,  and  watched  for  the 
arrival  of  the  steamer.  Immediately  on  its  being 
reported  in  the  bay  we  boarded  her,  and  Pem- 
berton  Pomefioy  was  arrested.  He  was  taken 
to  prison^and  Neville  induced  Lady  Chetwynde 
to  come  with  us.  I  ofTered  my  house.  The 
privacy  was  a  most  important  thing.  She  had 
been  freed  from  Pemberton's  clutches,  and  Ne- 
ville shewed  her  that  it  was  possible  for  her  to 
escape  yet  from  complete  infamy.  The  sudden- 
ness of  this  termination  to  their  plan  startled  her 
and  horrified  her.  Remorse  came,  and  then  de- 
spair. All  this  preyed  upon  her  mind,  and  with 
it  all  there  came  a  great  longing  for  jher  son, 
whom  sl^e  had  left  behind.  The  end  of  it  all 
was  that  she  fell  under  an^attack  of  brain-fever, 
and  lingered  for  many  months  a  victim  to  it. 
She  fyially  recovered,  and  weqt  into  a  convent. 
After  staying  there  some  time  she  suddenly  left 
That  is  the  meaning  of  those  letters  which  you 
found.  Of  course  I  kept  Neville  Pomeroy  ac- 
quainted with  these  circumstances  on  his  return.' 

"  Meanwhile  Pemberton  Pomeroy  had  lain  un- 
der jfrrest.  Neville  went  to  see  him,  and  took  ad- 
vttmage  of  his  misery  to  exact  fi-ora  him  a  solemn 
promise  never  to  search  after  Lady  Chetwynde 
ngain^  or  interfere  with  her  in  any  way.  Soon 
after  that  Pemberton  Pomeroy  was  freed,  for  Ne- 
ville declined  to  appear  against  him,  and  the  case 
.droppedT   Neville  then  weirt  back  to  England. 

"  Pemberton  PomerqjfTemained.  There  was 
no  more  hope  for  bim«ni  England.  The  money 
which  he  had  gaine«n>y  his  forgery  he,  of  course, 
had  to  refund  {  JMt  his  brother  generously  gave 
him  a  few  thousands  to  begin  life  on.  Pember- 
ton then  disappeared  for  a  year  or  two.  At  the 
end  of  that  time  he  came  back.  He  had  gone 
to  England,  and  theh  returned  to  America,  where 
he  had  lived  out  West.  All  his  money  was  gone. 
He  had  fallen  into  low  courses.  He  had  taken 
a  wife  from  the  dregs  of  the  foreign  population, 
and,  as  though  he  had  some  spark  of  shame  left, 
h^lmd  changed  his  name  to  KriefF.  He  had  spent 
„  his  last  cent,  and  came  to  me  for  help.  I  helped 
him,  and  put  him  in  the  way  of  getting  a  living. 

"  But  he  had  lived  a  wild  life,  and  was  com- 
pletely used  up.  When  he  came  to  me  he  was 
prettv  well  gone  in  consumption.  I  saw  he 
co\ilidn't  last  long.  I  went  to  see  him  a  good 
many  times.  He  used  to  profess  the  deepest  re- 
))entance.  He  told  me  once  that  he  was  writing 
a  confession  of  his  crimes,  which  he  was  going  to 
send  to  his  brother.  The  miserable  creature 
had  scarcely  any  spirit  or  courage  left,  and  gen- 
crally  when  I  visited  him  he  used  to  begin  cry- 
ing. I  put  up  with  him  as  well  as  I  could,  though. 
One  day  when  I  was  with  him  he  haqded  me  a 
paper,  with  considerable  fuss,  and  said^I  was  not 
to  open  it  till  after  his  death.  Not  long  after- 
ward he  died.  I  opened  the  paper,  and  found 
that  it  contained  only  thi8  cipher,  together  with 


a  solemn  reqaest  that  it  should  be  forwarded 
to  his  brother.  I  wrote  to  Neville  Pomeroy, 
telling  himi  of  his  brother's  death,  and  he  at 
once  came  out  to  New  York.  He  had  him 
decently  buried,  and  I  gave  him  the  papers.  I 
had  taken  a  copy  myself,  and  had  found  a  man 
who  helped  me  to  decipher  it.  There  Was  no- 
thing irf  it.  The  poor  fool  bad  wanted  to  make 
a  confession  some  way,  but  was  too  mean  to  do 
it  like  a  man,  and  so  he  made  up  this  stuff,  which 
was  of  no  use  to  any  one,  and  could  only  be  de- 
ciphered by  extraordinary  skill.  But  the  fellow 
is  dead,  and  now  you  know  all  the  business." 

Obed  Chute  ended,  and  bent  down  his  head  in 
thought.  Hilda  had  listened  with  the  deepest 
attention,  and  at  the  conclusion  of  this  actiount 
she,  too,  fell  into  deep  thought.  There  were 
many  things  in  it  which  impressed  hor,  and  soma 
which  startled  her  with  a  peculiar  shock. 

But  the  one  idea  in  her  mind  was  different 
from  any  thing  in  this  narrative,  and  had  no  con- 
nection with  the  mystery  of  tl^p  secret  cipher, 
which  had  baffled  her  so  long.  It  was  not  for 
this,  not  in  search  of  this  interpretation,  that  she 
had  come.  She  had  listened  to  it  rather  wearily, 
as  though  all  that  Obed  could  tell  was  a  matter 
of  indifference,  whichever  way  it  tended. ,  To 
find  that  her  interpretation  was  false  had  excited  ' 
no  very  deep  emotion.  Once  the  search  into  tlifs  ■' 
had  been  the  chief  purpose  of  her  life ;  but  all  the 
results  that  could  be  accomplished  bv  that  search 
luid  long  since  been  gained.  The  cipbt^r  writing 
was  a  dead  thing,  belonging  to  the  deful  past. 
She  had  only  used  it  as  a  plausible  excuse  to 
gain  admittance  to  the  villa.for  a  higher  purpose. 

The  time  had  now  come  for  the  revelation  of 
that  purpose. 

"Sir,  said  she,  in  a  low  voice,  looking  earn- 
estly ot  Obed  Chute,  "  I  feel  very  grateful  to 
you  for  your  great  kindness  in  favoring  me  with 
this  explanation.  It  has  been  hard  for  me  to 
have  this  interpretation  of  mine  in  any  way  affect 
my  Cither's  memory.  I  never  could  bring  my- 
self to  believe  it,  knowing  him  as  I .  knew  him. 
But,  at  the  same  time,  the  very  idea  that  there 
was  such  a  charge  in  writing  disturbed  me. 
Your  explanation.  Sir,  has  made  all  clear,  and 
has  set  my  mind  at  rest  in  that  particular. 

"  And  now.  Sir,  will  you  excuse  me  if  I  men- 
tion one  more  thing  which  I  would  like  to  ask 
of  you.  It  concerns  me,  you  will  see,  even  more 
closely  than  this  writing  could  have  concerned 
me.  It  touches  me  in  a  more  tender  place.  It 
is  very  strange,  and,  indeed,  quite  inexplicable, 
why  you,  Sir,  a  stranger,  should  be  interwoven 
with  these  things  which  are  so  sacred  to  me; 
but  so  it  is."  ■" 

Obed  was  affected  by  the  solemnity  of  her 
tone,  and  by  a  certain  pathos  in  her  last  words, 
and  by  something  in  her  manner  which  showed  |t  7^ 'I 
deeper  feeling  by  far  than  she  had  evincetli^I'dK. 

What  Hilda  now  proceeded  to  say  she  had 
long  thought  over,  and  prepared,  with  great  de- 
liberation. No  doubt  the  woman  whom  Lord 
Chetwynde  loved  lived  here.  Most  probftbly  she 
was  Obed  Chute's  young  wife,  possibly  his  dsiog 
ter ;  but  in  any  case  it  would  be  to  him  a  terri- 
ble disclosure,  if  she,  Lord  Chetwynde's  wife, 
came  and  solemnly  informed  him  of  the  intrigne 
that  was  going  on.  She  bad  made  up  her  mind, 
then,  to  disclose  this,  at  all  hazards,  trusting  to 
circumstances  for  full  and  complete  satisfaction.' 


,>  ( 


■<» 


•k  -• 


i4t»"' 


THE  CRYPTOGRAM. 


^-a 


"Si 


'TU8,'  HK  CniED,   'ILI,  HAVE  THIS  CLEARED  UP  NOW,  ONCE  AND  FOKKVEK." 


^ir,'  she  continued,  in  a  voice  which  ex- 
preyed  Btill  deeper  emotion,  "what  I  have  to 
My  IS  something  which  it  pains  me  to  say,  vet  it 
must  be  said.  I  am  Lady  Chetwynde,  and'trav- 
eled  here  with  Lord  Chetwynde,  who  is  the  only 
acqimintance  I  have  in  Florence.  I  hurried  From 
tnglnnd  to  his  sick-bed,  in  Switzerland,  and 
•"^If^  "8  life.     Then  I  came  here  witK^m. 

Otlate  I  have  been  suspicious  of  him.  Some 
things  occurred  which  led  me  to  suppose  that  he 
was  paying  attentions  to  a  lady  here.  My  jeal- 
ousy was  aroused.  I  learned,  I  need  not  say 
fiow,  th^t  he  was  a  constant  visitor  here.  I  fof- 
lowed  him  to  a  masquerade  to  which  he  refused 
to  take  me.  I  saw  him  with  this  lady,  whose 
face  I  could  not  see.  They  loft  yon.  They  walk- 
ed to  an  arbor.  I  Ustened-fbr,  Sir,  what  wife 
Vonld  not  listen  ?-and  1  heard  him  make  a 
frantic  declaration  of  love,  and  urge  her  to  fly 
*""  '""'•.  Had  I  not  interrupted  them  at  that 
-inoB.««i  U»y  might  have  «ef  DH.  HrTtWiTk 
of  my  lonely  condition— think  what  it  costs  mv 
jsnde  to  speak  thus  to  a  stranger.  Tell  me,  what 
is  this  ?  Is  It  possible,  or  do  I  dream  ?  Tell  me. 
do  yon  know  that  my  husband  loves  this  wo^ 
nan  r 

The  emotion  with  which  Hilda  spoke  grew 
rtronger.    She  rose  to  her  feet,  and  took  a  step 


nenrw  to  Obed.  She  stood  there  with  clasped 
hands,  her  beautiful  face  turned  toward  him  with 
deep  entreaty. 

Obed  looked  nt  her  in  a  fresh  bewilderment.' 
He  was  silent  for  a  long  time.  At  last  he  start- 
ed to  his  feet. 

"Well,  marm,"  said  he,  as  he  clenched  his 
fist,  I  don  t  understand.  I  can't  explain.  Ev- 
ery thing  is  a  muddle.  All  I  can  say  is  this— 
there's  either  treachery  or  insanity  somewhere, 
and  may  I  be  cut  up  into  sausages  and  chawed 
up  bv  Comanches  if  I'll  stand  this  any  longer 
Yes,'  he  cried,  "by  the  Lord!  Ill  have  this 
cleared  up  now,  once  and  forever.  I  will,  bv 
the  Eternal!"  '    ^ 

He  brought  his  huge  fist  down  with  a  crash  ou 
the  table,  and  left  the  room. 

Hilda  sat  waiting. 


CHAPTER  LXXVin. 
"the  wife  of  lokd  chetwtkde." 
Hilda  sat  waiting. 

Obed  had  gone  in  search  of  those  who  could 
face  this  woman  and  answer  her  story  He 
went  first  to  send  word  to  Zillab,  summoning  her 


'  .1, 


I 


I 


tS4 


THE  CRYITOGEAM. 


down.  Zillah  had  been  feebly  reclining  on  her 
couch,  dintracied  by  ihoughM  nt  once  perplexing 
and  agonizing,  filled  with  despair  at  the  dark 
calamity  winch  bad  suddenly  descended,  with  a 
blacic  future  ariaing  before  her,  when  she  and 
"  Windham"  were  to  be  sundered  forever.  He 
hated  her.  That  was  her  chief  thought ;  and 
Windham's  love  had  gone  down  in  an  instant 
before  GuV's  deadly  abhorrence.  A  lighter  dis- 
tress might  have  been  borne  by  the  assistance 
of  pride ;  but  this  was  too  overmastering,  and 
pride  stood  powerless  in  the  presence  of  a 
breaking  heart.  In  such  a  mood  as  this  was  she 
wlien  the  message  waa  brought  to  her  which 
Obed  had  sent. 

The  wife  of  Lord  CtMtwynde  waa  down  stairs, 
and  wished  to  see  her  I 

The  wif«  of  Lord  Chttwifttdel 

Those  words  stung  her  like  serpents'  fangs ; 
a  tumult  of  fleroe  rage  and  jealousy  at  once  arose 
within  her ;  and  at  this  new  emotion  her  sorrow 
left  her,  and  the  weakness  arising  from  her 
crushed  love.  With  k  start  she  rose  to  her  feet, 
and  hastily  prepared  to  descend. 

After  summoning  Zillah,  Obed  went  ii^  search 
of  Lord  Chetwynde.  8omo  time  elapsed  before 
hfe  could  find  him.  Jii^  had  been  wandering 
about  the  groundrin  a  state  bordering  on  dis- 
traction. 

Meanwhile  Hilda  sat  waiting. 

Alone  in  the  great  room,  where  now  the  shad- 
ows were  gathering,  she  was  left  to  her  own  dark 
reflections.  The  sufTerings  through  which  she 
had  passed  had  weakened  her,  and  the  last  scene 
with  Obed  had  not  been  adapted  to  reassure  her 
or  console  her.  The  stale  of  suspense  in  which 
she  now  was  did,  not  give  her  any  fresh  strength. 
Her  nervous  system  was  disorganized,  and  her 
present  position  stimulated  her  morbid  fancy, 
turning  it  toward  dark  and  sombre  forebodings. 
And  now  in  this  solitude  and  gloom  which  was 
about  her,  and  in  the  deep  suspense  in  which  she 
was  waiting,  there  came  to  her  mind  a  thought 
— a  thought  which  mode  her  flesh  creep,  and 
her  blood  run  chill,  while  a  strange,  grisly  hor- 
ror descended  awfully  upon  her.  She  could  not 
help  remembering  how  it  had  been  before.  Twice 
she  had  matle  an  effort  to  anticipate  fate  and 
grasp  at  vengeance — once  by  herself  alone,  and 
once  in  the  person  of  Gualiier.  Kach  attempt 
had  been  baffled.  It  had  been  frustrated  in  the 
same  way  precisely.  To  each  of  them  there  had 
come  that  fearful  phantom  figure,  rising  before 
them  awfully,  menacingly,  with  an  aspect  of  ter- 
rible import.  Well  she  remembered  that  shape 
as  i(  had  risen  before  her  at  the  pavilion — a 
shape  with  white  face,  and  white  clothing,  and 
burning  eyes — that  figure  which  seemeit  tp 
emerge  from  the  depths  of  the  sea,  with  the  drip 
of  the  Water  in  her  dark,  dank  hair,  and  in  her 
white,  clinging  draperies.  It  was  no  fiction  of 
the  imagination,  for  Gnaltier  had  seen  the  same. 
It  was  no  fiction,  for  she  recalled  her  horror,  and 
the  flight  through  the  forest,  while  the  shape 
pursued  till  it  struck  her  down  into  senseless- 


A  shoddei  passed  through  her  once  more  at 
the  recollection  of  these  things.  And  there  arose 
a'  question  of  awfnl  import.  Would  it  come 
a£^in  ?  Now  was  the  third  attempt — the  fateful 
third  I  Would  she  again  be  baffled,  and  by 
thatt    She  feared  no  human  foe ;  bat  thii  hor- 


ror waa  something  which  she  could  never  again 
encounter  and  live.  And  there  came  the  terror 
over  her  that  she  might  once  again  see  this. 
)  She  was  alone  amidst  her  terror*.  It  was 
growing  late.  In  the  great  room  the  dimness 
was  deepening,  and  the  furniture  looked  ghostly 
at  the  further  end  of  the  apartment.  It  was  not 
long  since  Obed  had  gone,  but  the  time  seemed 
to  her  interminable.  It  seemed  to  her  as  though 
she  were  all  alone  in  the  great  house.  8he  strug- 
gled with  her  fancies,  and  sat  looking  at  the 
door  fixedly,  and  with  a  certain  awful  expecta- 
tion in  ber  eyes. 

Then,  as  she  looked,  a  thrill  flashed  through 
all  her  being.  For  there,  slowly  and  noiselessly, 
a  figure  entered— a  figure  which  she  knew  too 
well.  Uobed  in  white  it  was ;  the  face  was  pale 
and  white  as  the  dress ;  the  hair  wa»  thick  and 
ebon  bhick,  and  hung  down  loosely ;  the  dress 
clung  closely.  Was  it  the  drip  of,tbe  seorwave— 
was  it  .the  wet  clothing  that  thus  clung  to  the 
flgtite  which  had  once  more  oonte  from  the  dark 
ocean  depths  to  avenge  her  own  cauae  ?  There, 
in  very  deed,  stood  the  shape  of  horroi — 

"her  garmenta       "< 
ClinglDg  like  cerements, ,  •n 
While  toe  wave  conatantty  -.;  - 
Dripped  from  ber  clotbiiig.''i 

It  wa8''sAe.  It  was  the  one  w^o  had  been 
sent  down  to  def^  beneath  the  waters,  but  who 
now  retunied  |(^  tna  hurt  liiaia,  no  longer  to  warn 
or  to  baffle,^)bictt»  change  finpi  victim  to  aveng- 
er!    •  >,.»'  V*      /.. 

The  aniBi^  of  dUM  m<WMnt  won  greater  fur 
than  all  th^fi^ei  t^ch  Hilda  had  ever  known. 
Her  he^ct  |(iMi|itodNi^i>g  t  all  life  teemed  to  ebb 
away  (toK^  W^jlB^'  ^  ''"^  presence.  Wilaly 
there  aro^^c^^dBftt  of  flight;  but  she  was  spell- 
bound, her^lntrm^D^ii^yzed,  and  the  dark, 
luminous  em  of  tn^|flMaifenchained  her  own 
gaze.  Suddenly  she^vit3t( «  convulsive  eflTort, 
mechanically,  and  sprui^<^<^%er  feet,  her  hands 
clutching  one  dnother  in  a'  kind  of  spasm,  and 
her  brain  reeling  beneath  such  thoughts  as  make 
men  mad.  In  that  deep  agony  a  groan  burst 
from  her,  bat  she  spoke  not  a  word  as  she  stood 
there  rooted  to  the  spot. 

As  for  Zillah  herself,  she,  on  entering,  had  seen 
Hilda,  hod  recognized  her,  and  was  stricken  dumb 
with  amazement.  That  amazement  made  her 
stop  and  regard  her,  with  wild,  staring  eyes,  in 
utter  silence.  There  had  been  only  one  thought 
in  her  mind,  and  that  was  to  see  who  it  could 
possibly  be  that  dared  to  come  here  with  the  pre- 
tense of  being  "Lord  Chetwynde's  wife."  In 
her  eagerness  she  had  come  down  in  a  rather 
neglig^  costume,  and  entering  the  room  she 
found  herself  thus  face  to  face  with  Hilda.  At 
that  sight  a  thousand  thoughts  flashed  at  once 
into  her  mind.  In  a  moment  she  had  divined 
the  whole  ^tent  of  flilda's  perfidy.  Now  she 
could  understand  fully  the  reason  why  Hilda  had 
betrayed  her ;  ^why  she  had  formed  so  carefully 
contrived  and  so  elaborate  a  plot,  which  had  been 
carried-  ont  so  patiently  and  so  remorselessly. 
TKat  sight  of  Hilda  showed  lier,^  too,  what  must^ 
have  bMn  the  height  and  the  depth  end  the  fall 
extent  of  the  plot  against  heryonng,  undefended 
life — its  cruelty,  and  the  baseness  of  its  motive. 
It  was  to  take  her  place  that  Hilda  had  betrayed 
her.  Ont  of  such  a  motive  had  arisen  such  foal 
ingratitade  and  sach  deadly  crime.    Yet  in  htr 


\.J&^'i< 


iJri 


■-P. 


THE  CRYProaHAlL 


''W 


!e  aadi- 


(eneroDi  heart,  while  her  mind  nndoretood  this 
much,  and  her  judgment  condemned  this  vile 
traitor,  the  old  habit  of  tendemen  awalcened  at 
the  Bight  of  the  familiar  face,  once  m  dear, 
pearly  had  iihe  loved  her,  fondly  had  she  trusted 
her;  both  lovo  and  faith  had  been  outraged,  and 
the  friend  had  doomed  to  death  the  unsuspecting 
friend ;  yet  now  even  this  last  wrong  could  not 
destroy  the  old  love,  and  her  thoughto  were  less 
of  vengeance  than  of  sad  reproach,  Iuvolun> 
tarily  a  cry  escaped  her. 

"Oh,  Hilda  I  Hilda  1"  she  ex 
voice  of  anguish,  "how  could  vi 
Zillah!"  ' 

To  Hilda's  excited  and  almost , 
these  words  seemed  like  reproaci 
the  dead— the  preliminaries  to  tUa« 
whic|j  the  dead  was  about  to  piv>iiod., 
flict.     She  trembled  in  dread  aniScii 
in  a  hoarse,  unnatural  voice,  and  in 
tie  words,  gasped  out, 

"  What  do  you  want  ?" 

For  a  few  momenu  Zillah  said  not  a  word, 
Uiongh  those  few  moments  seemed  like  hours  to 
Hilda.  Then,  with  a  sudden  impulse,  she  ad- 
vanced toward  her.  Her  impulse  was  one  of 
pity  and  kindliness.  She  could  not  help  seeing 
the  anguish  of  Hilda.  ¥or  a  moment  she  forgot 
all  but  this,  and  a  vague  desire  to  assure  her  of 
forgiveness  arose  wjthin  her.  But  that  move- 
ment of  hers  wa«J0rribte  to  Hilda.  It  was  tfie 
^vance  of  the  «)i%ath«l  aveijger  of  blood,  the 
irresistible  puhishe^f  ,^rSiitfi  |he»advent  of 
a  frightful  thkg^  ^rlKwe  pf^fcfe^as  horror, 
whose  approach  was  death.  With  a  wild  shriek 
of  mortal  fear  she  flung  up  her  arms,  as  if  to 
»hnt  out  that  awful  sight,  or  to  avert  that  terrible 
ate,  and  then,  as  though  the  last  vestige  of 
Mrength  hod  left  her  utterly,  she  staggered  back, 
Md  sank  down,  shuddering  and  gasping  for 
breath,  into  her  chair,  and  sat  there  with  her 
eves  fixed  on  Zillah,  and  expressing  an  intensity 
of  fear  and  apprehension  which  could  not  be 
mistaken.  Zillah  saw  it.  She  stopped  in  won- 
der, and  thus  wondering,  she  stood  regarding  her 
m  silence. 

But  at  this  moment  foototeps  were  heard,  lind 
Obed  Chute  entered,  fqilowed  b*Lord  Chet- 
wynde. 

Obed  had  but  one  thbught  Ht  his  mind,  and 
•kV  "?  *°  ""•■*''«•  '••■»  mystery  as  soon  as  pos- 
nble;  for  the  presence  of  such  an  inexplicable 
mystery  as  this  made  him  feel  uncomfortable  and 
hnmihated.  Until  this  was  e%>Liined  in  some 
wy  he  knew  that  he  would  be  able  to  find  rest 
neither  by  night  nor  by  day.  He  was,  thei^fore, 
reiolved  to  press  things  forward,  in  hope*  of  get- 


her  whole  fVaitae  trembling,  and  aU  her  soul  on 
lire,  aa  it  kindled  with  the  fury  of  her  passiunato 
iqdignation. 

"Z/er  husband!"  she  exclaimed,  with  infinite 
passion  and  unutterable  contempt— "  Aer  hus- 
band !     Say,  Mr.  Chute,  do  you  know  who  it  is 
that  you  see  before  you?    I  will  tell  you.    He- 
hold,  Sir,  the  woman  who  betrayed  me ;  the 
false  friend  who  sought  my  life,  and,  in  return 
for  the  love  and  corifidenco  of  years,  tried  to  cast 
me,  her  friend,  to  death.     This,  Sir,  is  the  woj 
man  whom  you  have  been  so  long  seeking,  her- 
self—the  paramour  of  that  wretch,  Gualtier— my 
betrayer  and  my  assassin— //i/rfa  Kritk. " 
These  words  were  flung  forth  like  lava-fire, 
lorching  and  blighting  in  their  hot  and  intenso^^' 
ite.     Her  whole  face  and  manner  and  tone  hod 
changed.     From  that  gentle  girl  who,  as  A|fes 
Lorton,  had  been  never  else  than  sweet  andtwft 
and  tender  and  mournful,  she  was  now  trans- 
formed to  a  wrathful  and  pitiless  avenger,  a  bale- 
ful fury,  beautiful,  yet  terrific  j  one  inspired  by 
love  stronger  than  death,  and  jealousy  as  cruel 
as  ^he  grave ;  one  who  was  now  pitiless  and  re- 
morseless ;  one  whose  soul  was  animated  by  the/ 
one  feeling  only  of  insUnt  and  implacable  veng^ 
ance.     The  fierceness  of  that  inexorable  wrath 
glowed  in  her  burning. .eyes,  and  in  the  rigid 
.outstretched  arm  with  which  she  pointed  toward 
Hilda.     In  this  moment  of  her  fervid  passion  her 
Indian  nature  was  all  revealed  in  its  hot,  tem- 
pestuons,  unreasoning  fury ;  and  the  Zillah  of 
this  sceBj^  was  that  June  Zillah  who,  years  be- 
fore,  had  turned  away  from  the  bedside  of  her 
dying  father  to  utter  those  maledictions,  those 
taunts,  and  those  bitter  insulte,  which  Lord  Chet- 
wynde  so  well  remembered. 

Yet  to  Hilda  at  that  instant  these  words,  with 
all  their  fury  and  inexorable  hate,  came  like  balm 
and  sweetne8S||^|^e  gentle  utterances  of  peace 
and  calm.  wKHPsed  her  up  at  last  from  that 
great  and  unetlffiHiae  horror  into  which  she  had 
fallen ;  they  brovght  back  her  vanished  strength ; 
they  restored  her  to  herself.  For  they  showed 
her  this  one  thing  plainly,  and  this  above  all 
things,  that  it  was  not  the  dead  who  stood  thus  be- 
fore her,  but  the  living !  Had  her  former  suspense 
been  delayed  a  few  moments-  more  she  would 
have  died  in  her  agony ;  but  now  the  horror  had 
vanished ;  the  one  before  her  bore  no  longer  the 
terrors  of  the  unseen,  but  becdtie  an  ordinary  liv- 
ing being.  It  was  Zillah  VerMt,  not  in  death  as 
an  apparition,  but  in  life  aaj,^man.  She  cared 
nothing  for  the  hate  and  tMe  Vengeance,  nothing 
for  the  insult  and  the  scorn.  She  cored  nothing 
for  the  mystery  that  enshrouded  Zillah,  nor  was 
it  of  any  coilsequence  to  her  then  how  she  had 


til..  .„™     1  —  -,  — o — ."".«, ...  iiupcB  ui  (50I.-  II  or  any  consequence 

tag  some  clew  at  least  to  the  labyrinth  in  whi^i   been  sav^sd.    Enough  was  it  that  ZiUah  was^nif 


toward  HUda,  lo  that  he  stood  between  her  and 

<<i"i.^°^i"*'*.**'^  abmptly,  turning  to  Hilda, 
t  nave  brought  the  man  you  wish  to  see.    Here 
te  is  before  you,  face  to  face. ,  Xookjithim and 
•*U«*''™;    I«l»i*man  your  husband  y" 

These  words  stung  Zilhih  to  the  soul.  In  an 
™««nt  all  pity  ond  alt  tenderness  toward  Hilda 
jMwhed  utterly.  AU  her  baseness  arose  before 
«»,  unredeemed  by  any  further  thought  of  for- 
^ove  or  of  her  nreeent  misery.  She  sprang 
"wwwd,  her  eye^  flashing,  her  hands  clenched; 


vigor  of  her  strong  soul  returned. 

But  on  the  others  the  effect  of  Zillah's  words 
was  overwhelming.  Obed  Chute  started  back  in 
amazement  at  this  revelation,  and  looked  won- 
derint^y  upon  tWa  woman,  who  had  but  Inte^ 
been  winning  his  sympathy  as  an  injured  wife; 
and  he  maneled  greatly  how  this  delicate,  this 
beautiful  and  high-bred  lady,  could,  by  any  pos- 
sibility, be  identified  with  that  atrocious  mon- 
ster whose  imMge  had  always  existed  in  his  mind 
as  the  naturWibrniH  Zillah's  traitorous  friend. 

On  Lord  Chetv^de  the  eflfect  of  all  tbia, 


it- 


;  f 


..«,  .-*m-  i'-M:',,' 


256 


THE  CRYPTOGRAM. 


though  equally  great,  was  different.  One  look 
at  Hilda  in  her  first  consternation  and  horror, 
and  linother  at  Zillah  in  her  burning  passion, 
'had  been  enough.  As  Zillah  finished,  he  caught 
her  outstretched  hand  as  it  was  pointing  toward 
Hilda,  and  there  rushed  through  all  his  being  a 
rapture  beyond  words,  as  a  dim  perception  of  the 
trutli  came  to  his  mind. 

"Oh,  my  darling!"  he  cried,  "soy  it  again. 
Can  this  be  possible  ?  Is  she,  then,  an  impostor  ? 
llav^,  I,  indeed,-  been  blinded  and  deceived  all 
this  time  by  her?" 

Zillah  tore  her  hand  away  from  his  grasp.  In 
that  moment  of  fury  there  ,fiime  to  her  a  thou- 
sand jealous  fears  to  distract  her.  The  thought 
that  he  nad  been  so°far  deceived  as  to  actually 
believe  this  woman  his  wife  was  intolerable. 
There  was  a  wrothful  cloud  upon  her  brow  as 
she  turned  her  eyes  to  look  at  him,  and  in  those 
eyes  there  was  a  glance,  hard,  stern,  and  cold, 
such  as  might  befit  an  outraged  and  injured  wife. 
Hut  as  she  thus  turned  to  look  at  him  the  glance 
thiit  met  hers  was  one  before  which  her  fury  sub- 
sided. It  was  ti  glance  upon  which  she  could 
not  look  and  cherish  hate,  or  even  coldness; 
for  she  saw  in  his  face  a  wild  rapture,  and  in  his 
eyes  a  gleam  of  exultant  joy,  whilq  the  flushed 
checks  and  the  ecstatic  smile  show«d  how  deep- 
ly and  how  truly  he  loved  her.  On  that  face 
there  was  no  cloud  of  shame,  no  trace  of  embar- 
rassment, no  sign  of  any  consciousnessof  acts 
that  might  awaken  her  displeasure.  There  was 
nothing  there  but  that  old  tenderness  which  she 
had  once  or  twice  seen  on  the  face  of  Windham 
— a  tenderness  which  was  all  for  her.  And  she 
knew  by  that  sign  that  Guy  was  Windham;  and 
being  Windham,  he  was  hers,  and  hers  alone. 
At  this  all  her  hardness,  and  all  her  anger,  and  all 
the  fury  of  her  passion  were  dispelled  as  quickly 
as  they  had  arisen,  and  a  greatcalm,  full  and  deep, 
came  over  all  her  being.  He  loved  her  1  That 
was  enough.  The  fears  which  had  tormented  her 
since  Mrs.  Hart's  revelation,  the  fury  which  had 
arisen  but  a  few  moments  a^Mt  the  dai-k  prompt- 
ings of  jealousy,  weranow  iRl  dispelled,  and  she 
saw  in  Lord  Chetwynde  her  own  Windham. 

Quickly  and  8wif(hi||g|iad  these  thoughts  and 
feelings  come  and  gone;  but  in  that  moment, 
when  Zillah's  attention  was  diverted  to  Lord 
Chetwynde,  Hilda  gained  more  of  her  self-com- 
mand. All  was  lost ;  but  still,  even  in  her  de- 
spair, she  found  a  fresh  strength.  Here  all  were 
herWemies ;  she  was  in  their  power  and  at  their 
mercy ;  her  very  life  was  now  at  theiv  disposal ; 
they  could  wreak  on  her,  if  they  chose,  a  full  and 
vengeance ;  yet  the  thought  of  all  this  only 
jthened  her  the  more,  for  that  which  dee^ 
ened  her  despair  only  intensified  her  hate.  And 
BO  it  was  that  at  this  last  moment,  when  all  was 
lost,  with  he^^Bemies  thns  before  her,  the  occa- 
sion only  serVwI  to  stimulate  her.  Her  strength 
tgf  had  returned ;  H\e  summoned  up  all  her  energies, 
and  stood  grandly  aMMv.  She  rose  to  her  feet 
and  confronted  the^ all— defiant,  haughty,  and 
vindictive — and  brought  against  them  all  the  un- 
QOiM(U8rabl0  pi'ido  ~of-4u)r  ftt^oiig  and' ttnbbuiir 
nature.        '■*!/ 

"Tell  ml  again,"  4||  Obed  Chute,  "what 
name  was  it  that  yon  gave  this  woman  ?" 

"I  am  Zillah,  dahghter  of  General  Pomeroy, 
and  this  woman  is  llilda  iMnefi',"  was  the  re- 

ply.  .     ^ 


enea  h 


"HHda— Hilda— Hilda  Krieff!  Hilda  Krieff!" 
said  Obed  Chute.     "  My  good  Lord !" 

But  Hilda  did  not  notice' this,  nor  any  thing 
else.  ■► 

"Well,"  she  said,  in  a  cold  and  bitter  tone, 
"it  seems  that  I've  lost  the  game.  Amen.  Per- 
haps it's  just  as  well.  And  so  you're  alive,  nficr 
all,  are  you,  Zillah,  and  not  in  the  sea?  Giinl- 
tier,  then,  deceived  me.  That  also  is,  after  nil, 
just  as  well." 

"  Wretched  woman,"  said  Lord  Chetwynde, 
solemnly,  "Gualtier  did  not  deceive  you."  Ho 
did  his  work.  It  was  I  who  saved  her  from 
death.  In  any  case,  you  have  the  stain  of  mur- 
der on  your  soul." 

"  Perhaps  I  have,  my  lord,"  said  Hilda,  cool- 
ly, "and  .other  stains  also,  nil  of  which  make  it 
highly  inilppropriate  for  me  to  be  your  wife.  Yoa 
will,  however,  have  no  objection  to  my  congratu- 
lating you  on  the  charming  being  you  have  gain- 
ed, and  to  whom  you  have  addressed  such  very 
(Mssionatc  vows." 

"  This  woman,"  said  Lord  CItetwynde,  "  hard- 
ly deserves  to  be  treated  with  ordinary  civility. 
At  any  rate,  she  is  not  fit  for  you,"  he  added,  in 
a  low  voice,  to  Zillah ;  "  and  you  are  too  agitated 
for  further  excitement.    Shall  I  lead  you  awiiv?' 

"  Not  yet,"  said  Zillah,  "  till  I  have  asked  one 
question.  Hilda  Krieff,"  she  continued,  "an- 
swer me  one  thing,  and  answer  me  truly.  What 
was  it  that  made  you  seek  my  death  ?  Will  yon 
answer  ?" 

"  With  pleasure, "  said  Hilda,  mockingly.  ' '  Be- 
cause I  hated  vou." 

"  Hated  me !" 

"Yes,  hated  you  always,  intensely,  bitterly, 
passionately." 

"And  why  ?    What  had  I  ever  done? " 

"Nothing.  The  reason  of  my  hate  was  in 
other  things.  I  will  tell  you.  Uecause  I  was 
your  father's  daughter,  and  you  supplanted  me." 

"You!     Impossible!" 

"I  will  telF^jrou.  In  my  childhood  he  was 
fund  of  me.  I  was  taken  to  India  at  an  early 
age.  After  you  were  bom  he  forgot  all  about 
me.  Once  I  was  playing,  and  he  talked  to  me 
with  his  old  affection.  I  had  a  locket  around 
my  neck  withMliis  name  on  it — '■Hilda  Pome- 
roy.' Ue  happened  to  look  at  it,  and  rpad  the 
name.  'Ah,'  said  he,  'that  3  a  better  name 
than  Hilda  Krieff.  My  child,  I  wish  you  could 
wear  that  namb,^  I  wanted  him  to  tell  me  what 
he  meant,  but  he  wouldn't.  At  another  time  he 
spoke  of  you  as  being  my  'little  sister.'  He 
frequently  called  me  daughter.  At  last  I  found 
some  old  papers  of  my  mother's,  when  I  salt 
that  her  name  was  HilRa  Pomeroy,  and  then  I 
understood  it  all.  She  was  his  first  wife,  though 
I  believe  now  that  they  were  not  married.  He, 
of  coursa  deceived  her,  inA  (ivugh  she  thought 
she  was  Mb  wife,  yet  her  child  could  not  take  hU 
name.  I  osked  him  this,  but  he  refused  to  ex- 
plain, and. warned  mo  never  to  mention  the  sub- 
ject. This  only  showed  me  stiltfmore  plainly 
the  miserable  tmth. 

^'  YwiTB  pmwd.  J  ftHind  myself  driyeir  wrt^ 
from  my  father's  affections.  You  were  the  world 
to  him.  I,  his  eldest  daughter,  'km  nothing. 
Y'ou  were  his  hgiress.  Good  God !  woman,  do 
you  think  I  coBid  help  hating  one  who  calmly 
appropriated  every  thing  that  ought  to  bo  mine? 

"  ^ow  you  know  about  as  moch  as  you  need 


THE  CRYPTOGRAM. 


lockingly.  "Bc- 


know.  I  began  years  ago  to  plan  against  von, 
and  kept  it  up  with  never-failing  patience.'  It 
was  tlie  only  pleasure  I  liad  in  life.  I  won't  go 
into  particulars,  I'll  only  say  that  nearly  all 
your  troubles  came  through  my  management. 
From  time  to  time  hereafter  you  will  gradually 
remember  various  things,  and  think  with  tender 
regret  upon  your  loving  Hilda. 

"  At  last  things  were  all  ripe,  and  I  slipped 
away.   I  got  you  out  of  the  way  also,  and  I  ftank- 
ly  avgw  that  I  never  expected  to  have  the  pleas- 
ure of  seeing  you  again.    I  also  hoped  that  Lord 
Chetwynde  would  not  come  back  from  India. 
But  he  came,  and  there  is  where  I  broke  down. 
That  is  all  I  have  to  say." 
Hilda  stopped,  and  looked  defiantly  at  them. 
'Young  woman,"  said  Obed  Chute,  in  calm, 
measured  tones,  "  yon  are  very  aggravating.    It 
is  well  that  vou  have  generous  people  to  deal 
with.     I  don  t  know  but  that  I  ought  to  take 
vou  now  and  hand  you  over  to  the  police,  to  be 
lodged  in  the  same  cell  with  your  friend  Gual- 
tier;  but—" 
''  Gnaltier !"  groaned  Hilda.     "  What ?" 
"  Yes,  Gualtier.    I  caught  him  yesterday,  and 
handed  him  over  to  tha  police." 

Hilda  looked  around  wildly,  and  with  a  deep- 
er despair  in  her  heart. 

"You,"  Continued  Obed,  "are  much  worse 
than  he.  In  this  business  he  was  only  your  tool. 
But  you're  a  woman,  and  are,  therefor«,  sacred! 
You  are  safe.  It  would  be  better,  however,  and 
much  more  becoming  in  you,  to  refrain  from 
that  aggravating  way  of  speakin^which  yon  have 
just  used.  But  there  is  one  question  which  I  wish 
to  ask;  and  then  our  interview  will  terminate : 

"  You  say  you  believe  yourself  to  be  the  elder 
daughter  of  General  Poraeroy?" 
"Yes."  ^ 


237 


"  Do  yon  know  your  mother's  maiden  name  ?" 
"Yes.    Hilda  Krieff> 
"  Did  she  ever  tell  you  about  her  marriage?" 
"  I  was  too  young  when  she  died." 
"  Did  you  ever  see  any  record  of  her  mar- 
nnge?" 
"No." 

"  You  know  nothing  definite  about  it,  then  ?" 
No."  • 

"Well,  then,  allow  me  to  inform  you  that  you 
are  as  much  astray  here  as  you  were  in  rt«t  oth- 
er thing.  This  Hilda  Kneff  was  the  wife  of 
Pemberton  Pomeroy— married  after  his  »lope- 
ment  business.  He  took  her  name.  You  were 
thdr  daughter.  I  saw  yon  once  or  twice  when 
Tisiting  him.  You  were  then  a  baby.  Neville 
Pomeroy  took  charge  of  yonr  mother  and  you 
after  yonr  father's  death.  These  are  the  facts  of 
the  case." 

"What  is  all  tt(is?"  cried  Zillah,  eagerly,  as 
•he  heard  these  liames.     "  Do  you  know  a'bout 


Hilda  had  no  more  to  say.     The  news  about* 
Gualtier,  and  the  truth  as  to  her  parentage,  jwe^ 
fresh  shocks,  and  already  her  strength  began  to" 
giro  way.     Her  spirit  could  not  long  be  kept  up 
to  that  height  of  audacity  to  which  she  had  raised 
it.     Beneath  all  was  the  blackness  of  her,  de- 
spair, in  which  WMjiot  one  ray  of  hope. 

She  rose  in  sih^e.  Obed  accompanied  her 
to  her  carriage,  miicYi  was  yet  Waiting  tliere. 
Soon  the  wheels  rattled  over  the  gravel,  and 
Hilda  drove  toward  Florence. 

Obed  walked  out  and  sauntered  through  the 
grounds.    There  was  a  twinkle  in  his  eve.    He 
walked  on,  and  on,  till  he  reached  a  place  \p  the 
depths  of  the  woods  fiir  away  from  the  villa. 
Then  he  gave  utterance  to  his  fceUnes 
How?  ^ 

Did  he  clench  his  fists,  curse  Heaven,  weep, 
and  rave? 
Not  he ;  not  Obed. 

He  burst  forth  into  peals  of  stefitorian  laueh^ 
ter. 

' •  Oh,  dear ! "  Ije  screamed.  "Oh,  creation ! 
Ha,  ha,  ha,  ha,  ha !  Oh,  Lord !  making  love  on ' 
the  sly  I  getting  spooney!  taking  romantic  walks! 
reading  poetry !  and  all  to  bis  own  wife !  Oh, 
ho,  ho !  Ha,  ha,  ha,  ha  I  And  be  stole  off  with 
her  at  the  masquerade,  and  made  a  'passionate 
declaration'— to  his— good  thunder!— his  wife! 
his  own  wife  1  Oh,  Lord  I  oh.  Lord !  I'll  never 
get  over  this!" 

He  certainly  did  not  get  over  it  for  at  least 
two  hours. 

He  had  at  last  fully  comprehended  the  whole 
thmg.  Now  the  true  state  of  mind  between  the 
qnondam  Windham  and  Miss  Lorton  became  evi- 
dent. Now  he  began  to  suspect  how  desperately 
they  had  been  in  love.'  A  thousand  little  incidents 
occurred  to  his  memoir,  and  each  one  brought 
on  a  fresh  explosion.  Even  his  own  proposal,  to 
Zillah  was  remembered.  He  wondered  whether 
Windham  had  proposed  also,  and  been  rejected. 
This  only  was  needed  to  his  mind  to  complete  the 
joke. 

For  two  hours  the  servants  at  the  villa  heard 
singnkr  noises  in  the  ,wood8,  and  passers-by 
heard  with  nwe  the  same  mysterious  sounds.  It 
was  Obed  enjoying  the  "joke."  It  was  not  until 
quite  late  that  he  had  fully  exhausted  it 


This  lady  came  here  with  some  questions 

about  a  cipher  writing  which  she  had  nusunder- 

Jtood^n  J I  explained  it  all.    She  thought  the 

-(jienMaliraa  gntlty,  feai  I  expbined  that  Be  was 

the  best  fellow  that  ever  lived.     It's  too  long  to 

.1?^*     ^"^  «*P'*'n  It  *!•  to  yon  to-morrow. " 

Oh,  thank  God  I"  murmured  Zillah. 

ni.  Jvil"* '  *""  couldn't  have  believed  it  ?"  cried 
Obed  Chute. 

^"N«W'  "«^«"'"  wW  Zillah;   "though  the 
tried  hard  to  make  me." 


CHAPTER  LXXIX. 

MDTUAL  CNDERSTANDIKO. 

Meakwhile  Lord  Chetwynde  and  Zillah  were 
left  together.  A  few  hours  before  they  had  been 
sitting  in  this  same  room,  alone,  when  Mrs.  Hart 
entered.  Since  then  what  wonders  had  taken 
place!  What  an  overturn  to  life!  What  an 
opening  into  unlooked-for  happiness!  For  a 
few  moments  they  stood  looking  at  one  another, 
not  yet  able  to  realize  the  full  weight  of  the  hap. 
piness  that  had  come  so  suddnnly.  And  ««  tliev 
looked,  each  could  read  In  the  mce  of  the  otheT" 
all  the  soul  of  each,  which  was  made  manifest, 
and  the  full,  unrestrained  expression  of  the  long- 
ing which  each  had  felt. 

I»rd  Chetwynde  folded  her  in  his  arms. 

"What  is  all  this?"  he  said,  in  a  low  voice 
"  What  can  it  mean  ?  I  can  not  yet  believe  it ; 
can  you  ?    What,  my  darling,  are  w^  not  to  have 


■    f 


258 


THE  CRYPTOGRAM. 


onr  stolen  inten-iewg  any  more?  Have  we  no 
longer  oar  great  secret  to  keep  ?  Are  yon  really 
mine  ?  I  don't  nnderstand,  but  I'm  content  to 
hold  you  in  pay  arms.     Oh,  my  wife ! " 

Zillah  murmured  some  inaudible  protest,  bat 
her  own  bewilderment  had  not  yet  passed  away. 
In  that  moment  the  first  thought  was  that  her 
own  Windham  was  at  last  all  her  own  in  very 
truth. 

"And  are  you  sure,"  she  said  at  last,  "that 
you  have  got  over  your  abhorrence  of  me  ?" 

Lord  Chetwynde  did  not  understand  this  ques- 
tion, but  considering  it  a  joke,  lie  responded  in 
the  customary  manner. 

"  But  what  possible  means  could  have  induced 
yon  to  leave  Chetwynde  Gastle  at  all  ?"  he  asked ; 
for,  as  he  had  not  yet  heard  her  story,  he  was  all 
in  the  dark. 

"  Because  you  wrote  that  hideous,  that  horri- 
ble letter,"  said  Zillah;  and  as  the  memory  of 
that  letter  came  to  her  she  made  an  effort  to 
draw  away  from  his  embrace.  But  the  effort 
was  fruitless. 

"  Hideous  letter !     What  letter  ?" 
"The  last  one."  < 

"  My  darling,  I  don't  know  what  yon  mean." 
"Don't    you    remember   how    you    reviled 
me?" 
"  I  didn't;  I  don't  understand." 
"You  called  me  a  Hindu,  and  an  imp." 
,  "  Good  Heavens  I  what  do  you  mean  ?" 

"  But  you  do  not  hate  me  now,  do  you  ?  Tell 
me,  and  tell  me  truly,  are  you  sure  that  your  ab- 
horrence has  all  passed  away  ?" 
"Abhorrence!" 

"Ah I  you  need  not  fear  to  confess  it  now. 
You  did  abhor  me,  you  know." 

"  On  my  honor,  I  do  not  know  what  yon  are 
talking  about,  my  own  darling.  I  never  wrote 
about  ypn  except  with  respect ;  and  that,  too,  in 
spite  of  those  awful,  catting,  sneering  letters 
which  you  wrote  for  years,  and  that  last  one, 
written  after  ny  father  s  death. " 

"  Heavens  1  what  do  you  mean  ?"  cried  Zillah, 
aghast.  "I  lent  letters  to  yon  regularly,  but  I 
never  wrote  any  thing  bnt  affectionate  words." 

"  Affectionate  words !  I  never  received  a  let- 
ter that  was  not  a  sneer  or  an  insult.  I  came 
home  under  an  assumed  name,  thinking  that  I 
would  visit  Chetwynde  unknown,  to  see  what 
sort  of  a  person  this  was  who  had  treated  me  so. 
I  changed  my  intention,  however,  and  went  there 
in  my  own  name.  I  found  tliat  woman  there — 
an  impostor.  How  was  I  to  know  that  ?  But  I 
hated  linger  from  the  outset." 

"Ah,"  said  Zillah,  "ypu  were  then  full  of 
memories  of  Inez  Cameron.* 

This  thought  had  suddenly  stung  her,  and, 
forgetting  the  Windham  of  Marseilles,  she  flung 
it  out. 

"Of  what?    Inez?    What  is  that?"  asked 
Lord  Chetwj'nde,  in  a  puzzle. 
"  Inez  Cameron." 

"  Inez  Cameron  I     Who  is  Inez  Cameron  ?f 
Inez  Cameron,"  said  Zillah,  wondering— 


"^that  fair  companion  of  so  many  evenings,  about 
whom  yuu  wrote  in  such  impassioned  language 
—whose  image  you  said  was  ever  in  your  heart." 

"  In  the  name  of  Heaven,"  cried  Lord  Chet- 
innde,  "what  is  it  that  yon  mean?  Who  is 
she?" 

"Captain  Cameron's  sister,"  soid  Zillah. 


"Captain  Cameron's  sister?" 

"Yes." 

"Captain  Cameron  has  no  sister.  I  never 
saw  any  one  named  Inez  Cameron.  I  never 
mentioned  such  a  name  in  any  letter,  and  I  nev- 
er had  any  image  in  my  heart  except  yours,  my 
darling." 

"  Why,  what  does  it  all  mean  ?" 

"  It  means  this,"  said  Lord  Chetwynde, '.'  that 
we  have  for  years  been  the  victims  of  some  dark 
plot,  whose  depths  we  have  not  yet  even  imag- 
ined, and  whose  subtle  workings' we  have  not  yet, 
begun  to  trace.  Here  we  are,  my  darling,  ask- 
ing questions  of  one  another  whose  meaning  we 
can  not  imagine,  and  making  charges  which  nei- 
ther of  us  nnderstand.  Yon  speak  of  some  letter 
which  I  wrote  containing  statements  that  I  nev- 
er thought  of.  You  mention  some  Inez  Cam- 
'eron,  a  lady  whom  I  never  heatd  of  before. 
You  say  also  that  you  never  wrote  those  lettera 
which  imbittered  my  life  so  much." 

"  Never,  never.  I  never  wrote  any  thing  but 
kindness." 

"  Then  who  wrote  them  ?" 

"Oh!"  cried  Zillah,  s&ddenly,  as  a  light  burst 
on  her;  "I  see  it  all!  But  is  it  possible  ?  Yes, 
that  must  be  it.  And  if  you  did  not  write  that 
lost  letter,  then  she  wrote  it." 

"Shef    Who?" 

"  HUda." 

Hereupon  ensued  a  long  explanation,  the  end 
of  which  was  that  each  began  to  understand 
better  the  state  of  the  case.  And  Lord  Chet- 
wynde exulted  at  finding  that  all  the  baseness 
which  he  had  imagined  against  his  wife  was  the 
work  of  another ;  and  Zillah  felt  ecstasy  in  the 
thought  that  Lord  Chetwynde  had  never  loathed 
her,  and  had  never  can-ied  in  his  despairing  heart 
the  image  of  that  dreaded  and  hated  phantom, 
Inez  Cameron. 

"  The  fact  is,  I  couldn't  have  written  that  let- 
ter for  another  reason,  little  girl.  I  always  made 
allowances  even  for  those  letters  which  you  did 
not  write,  and  until  that  last  one  came  I  always 
laid  great  stress  on  my  father's  love  for  you,  and 
hoped  some  day  to  gain  your  love. " 

"  And  that  you  would  have  done  in  the  ordi- 
nary way  if  we  had  met  in  Chetwynde  Castle." 

"Would  I,  indeed?" 

"  Yes,"  sighed  Zillah ;  "  for  I  think  I  learned 
to  love  yon  from  your  letters  to  your  father." 

"Oh  no!  no,  no,"  laughed  Lord  Chetwynde; 
"  for  did  yon  not  at  once  fall  in  love  with  that 
Windhom?" 

80  the  time  passed. 

But  amidst  these  mnrmnrs  of  affection,  niid 
these  explaqations  of  vanished  mysteries.  Lord 
Chetwynde  caught  himself  looking  to  the  post 
few  months  at  Florence.  , 

' '  Ob,  those  intefrviews !"  he  murmured,  "  those 
sweet,  stolen  interviews  I " 

"Why,  Sir,"  said  Zillah,  "yon  speak  as  though 
you  feel  sorry  for  all  this  1" 

"No,  my  darling.     My  fond  recollection  of 
thpun  can  not  interfnrn  wfth  T"y  j"y  M  th"  J*^,, 
ent ;  for  the  groat  meaning  of  this  present  is  tKat 
while  we  live  we  shall  never  part  again." 

Lord  Chetwynde  did  not  go  back  to  Florence 
that  night.  There  were  a  thousand  things  to 
talk  over.  On  the  following  day  Obed  explained 
all  about  the  cipher,  and  told  iftany  stories  aboni 


his  early  all 

things  too 

wynde  wai 

pointment  \ 

mediate  dc 

insisted  thi 

be  his  gnes 

To  this 

and  enforce 

would  be  tl 

Sometimi 

They  had  i 

she  was  an 

n  thing  whi 

justice.     Tl 

the  woman ' 

seejned  to  ] 

knew  well,  \ 

ately  Hilda 

she  was  a  W' 

in  distress. 

thing  go;  I 

going  to  the 

On  the  se< 

to  his  roomi 

and  grave. 

to  greet  him, 

"Wetalk( 

"My  darling 

Zillah  look 

"She  has  I 

"Dead!"( 

"Yes,  and 

LordCbet^ 

ing  bis  rooms 

who  informed 

lady  whom  th 

was  found  dea 

knew  the  can 

was  much  wo 

so  much  shod 

befitted  one  w 

On  qnestionin 

her  suspicions 

We  by  the  bed, 

She  knew  her 

her  tongue.     I 

wynde,  who  n 

nine.     The  nn 

ted  suicide. 

him,  which  he 

script,  and  cor 

she  had  done,  1 

declarations  of 

the  whole,  not 

He  knew  thn 

he  did  not  kno 

anguish  that  m 

as  she  nerved 

he  could  conje( 

him  how  often 

it  had  come. 

"he  had  gone  to 

writing  this  moi 

loiil  inti 


™  "iiii  Ills  nam 
pfamation  of  thi 
enidible.  All  m 
vu  buried  in  th 


IF 


lusearljraBsociation  with  Neville Pomeroy.  These 
thmgs  to«.k  up  all  the  next  day.  Sd  ffi 
wynde  was  in  no  huny  now.     His  In^nn  ai^ 

mediate  desire  to  go  to  his  lodgings,  and  Obed 
insisted  that  Lord  and  Lady  Chet^^nde  should 

lo  this  Lord  and  Lady^lket*ynde  agreed 
and  enforced  a  promise  from  Obed  Chute  Xt  he 
would  be  their  guest  in  Chetwyude  Casde 

ThPvT-T""  'J'"''"  *'"'"«''»«  *^e<l  on  Hilda 
They  had  no  desire  to  pnrune  her.  To  Zi  lab 
she  was  an  old  friend;  and  her  treason  wm "of 
a  thing  which  could  be  punished  in  a  com  of 
justice.  To  Lord  Chetwynde  she  was,  aCaU 
the  woman  who  had  saved  his  life  with  Xt  still 
seejned  to  him  like  matchless  devotion      hJ 

ately  HUda  loved  him.     To  Obed  Chuterfinallv 

fn  diZs*  ""X;  t"*^  "O^^niably  'a'  woSil 
m  aistress.  That  was  enough.  «'  Let  thn  nnnr 
thing  go ;  I  half  wish  that  I^could  save  herXm 

On  the  second  day  Lord  Ch«»ynde  drove  in 
to  his  rooms  He  ^turned  lool^ng  vZ  1 " 
and  grave.  ZiUah  who  had  gone  oftiy  li^^iy 
to  greet  him,  wondered  at  this  "niiingiy 

u^^/  *f  "'^'^  ?J'^"' »P«"nK her."  said  he  softlv 
K'  '"?"/"'  ?"  "beyond'our reach  now^^ 
ZiUah  looked  at  him  with  fearful  inqniiy 
She  has  gone— she  is  dead  1" 

T    fut^  ^y  ber  own  hand. " 


THE  CRyPTOGBAM. 


259 


lady  whom  the  .^^cj;;.  .  p'^^^^d  tTb":  hM 
was  found  dead  in  her  bed  b^WmaJd  No  ot 
knew  the  cause  The  absence  of  her  husband 
was  much  wondered  at.    I^rd  Chetwynde  wm 

^fiTed  o?e1^  ''"*  Ws  deportmenffld  hZ 
n„  „f.»  ^     •  '"'  ^"'  '^"^  »  bereaved  husband 
On  quesrionmg  the  maid  he  found  that  she  had 

W„  ."'^E"!!"^"'  u^''"  '"'d  '"""d  "  vial  on  rte  U^ 
ble  bv  the  bed,  about  which  she  had  said  noThinT 
She  knew  her  duty  to  a  noble  family  and  heki 
her  tongue.  She  gave  the  vial  to  £o?d  Chet^ 
wynde,  who  recognized  the  presence  of  stmh- 

£,  wh  ctheS,rawr  "iSL'/f  "'^'^  *" 
jcnpt.  and  comSeSTVu.l  IZ^t  'XZl 

rte  whole,  not  to  *rthii  to 'it "  "^"^  °" 

He  knew  that  «ht>  had  committed  luicide  but 

he  did  not  know,  nor  did  anylivinK  beinc  thl 

M  She  nened  her  heart  for  the  act.  All  thi« 
tL  k"'**  T^^""'  f^"*  ber  letter,  wh^h  told 
him  how  often  she  had  meditated  this  At  last 
t  had  come.    Leaving  the  vill.  i„  her  d^pli 


nt^^he^preMiice  of  her  Atucer; — 

.„Hn         ■  ^°e*'^nde  had  not  gone  into  Flor- 

SLSor'Th'i"'"*'*  •>'*^  ^'^^«''  ^« 
nl.W..i  "'•  "■"8;  there  was  no  bewiiaerin*  ex- 
S  b™  Ifwf  ''■,'"  '?'«'''  »■-<»  "-"'"*'"- 


Til.  tali  of  HiU.  j.v«  .  .Iiocklo  tlm,  „h» 

wynae  anu  ^illah,  she  was  taken  tn  hoi.  >,„j 
Prom  that  bed  sh'e  was  d^t  ned  neve?  to  ^« 

she'fl!T  '*«""■,'?  '*"'«'•  »'>^'"  tbe  hourtha„ 
she  fled  on  a  wild  and  desperate  errand    ^hn 

er  loTch'et^  '^>  *°  ^'°^"-'  '---b  a  " 

rsS£?5S5e:i?S;iS£^ 

Ss?^Jy;nreT«n?h?mta 
Chetwynde.  For  weeks  she  had  kept  up  her 
»earch,  growing  feebler  every  day  and  m»^ 
day  spending  more  and  mow  of  h  Jr' Uttle  stor7 
struggling  vehemently  against  that  mor^l  S 
r„?„n  '''  .'•'"/""  •"  »"  ber  fmme,  and  b^. 
n^jPou""'*?"*'^*^*"  ^"'idst  despair.    At  l^t 

S'    shf  h  Yf  'Tl-''^^-    «»•«  £«1  seen  "S 
boy  -she  had  found  him  with  Ziilah.    The  dan 

^Ini^^'  V^f^-^  «^«1  to  her  to  Ce" 
w^fu").  '  '^^  ''""''  "°'  *"»^'-  «"'!  ber  cup 
A  mighty  revulsion  of  feeling  took  place  from 
the  depths  of  despair  to  the  heights  of  haVnf 
ness.  Her  jjurpose  was  realized.  'ZrewSoI 
thing  more  to  live  for.  -mere  was  no- 

falfa"!*!!"!',!^"?-  ^u^ii  ?'"To»8  *»"  eained,  the  / 
false^ngth  which  had  sustained  her  so  lone 
ga  e-^ay  utterly.  Her  weary  frame"l^8^t  ImI  ' 
extended  upon  a  bed  from  which  she  would  no 
Z^l  '^rr'*"«'*  '°  'i'*  *■<»•  the  watch  and  the 
TZf  ^u^it  ^8*'-  "«'  '"bor  was  over  Now 
came  the  Jtoction.  Rapidly  she  yielded  It 
seemed  ns  though  joy  had  kiU^  her.  ^Notli.  i 
great  purpose  had  given  her  a  fictitious  stren«h 

Sstr^n';;2H!"  *J'LP"'Tf'«  ^-^  accomplished; 
tne  strengih^eparted,  and  a  weakness  set  in  com 
mensum,;??ritl,  the  strongth^theT^i^s  of' 
approaching  dissolution.  weakness  of 

She  herself  knew  that  all  was  over.  She  would 
not  have  it  otherwise.  She  was  ghid  tha?  U  wS 
so.  It  waa  with  her  now  a  time  "o  chant  nnunl 
mTto^C'"*'"^'""''  I-'f"  b«l  nXg 
Once  again  Ziilah  stood  at  her  bedside  con- 
stant and  loved  and  loving.  But  there  was  o„e 
whose  presence  inspired  a  deeper  joy"  fo^whom 
their -ZfohT  ^.'"hed-dying  ey^' wUtful  i" 
their  watch  for  him.     How  she  had  watched 

stZl/^h  •""',  """"J*"-'     ""'^  *bose  eyes  had 

««  h„    /'IT'"'''**  """"K''  tbe  throngs  of  pasih 
ers-hv  at  Flnmnnn   i»l.;i^   j ■ x.JL^^^Vrr 


of  hope  grew  dimmer!      Now  they''wai'ted"foJ 
''1^7'"K.  «nd  his  app«^h  ne>W  f^^Z 

affSn  !hW\'i"'f' ^  *•"• »™«  ">  'bat  fond 

a^Wlirw:l"-2iirj-^  ^^ 


/  i 


xs^ 


THE  CRYPTOGRAM., 


Wf-SaTrrSWIW  T9B  BVBR  HKARD  ABOOT  TOPR  MOTMtB?!!L 


On  this  Obed  Chnte  niied  to  look  vi\th  oyes 
that  iometimes  glistened  with  manly  tears. 

Days  pnRfied  on,  nnd  Mrs.  Hart  grew  weaker. 
It  WAS  poRsible  to  count  the  hours  that  remained 
for  mortal  life.    A  strange  desolation  arose  in 


Lord  Chetwynde's  heart  os  the  prospect  of  her 
end  lowere<l  tnifore  him. 

One  dny  Mrs.  Hart  was  alone  tvith  him.  Obed 
Chntd'  had  called  away  2illah  for  some  pnrpoae 
or  other.    Before  doing  so  he  had  whispered 


Mi 


-.^■^ 


m 


,   THE  C^PTOGRAM. 

tomethfng  to  the  dying  woman.    As  they  iS^ 
the  held  out  her  hand  to  Lord  Chet^ynde. 

"Conjp  here  and  sit   nearer,"  she  wailed 

ftHrth—"  nearer;  take  my  hand,  and  listen." 

f     Lord  Chetwynde  did  so.     He  sat  in  a  chair 

by  the  bedside,  and  Iield  her  hand.     Mrs.  Hart 

.    lay  for  a  moment  looking  at  him  with  an  earnest 

and  mexplicable  gaze. 

"  Oh!"  she  moaned,  "my  boy— my  little  Guv! 
cnn  you'liear  what  I  am  going  to  say?  Bear 
It!  Be  merciful!  I  am  dviijg  now.  I  must 
fell  it  before  I  go.  You  will  .be  merciful,  will 
von  not,  my  boy  ?"         , 

"Do  ijot  talk  so,"  faltered  Lord  Cfietwynde, 
in  deep  etnofion. 

"Oh,  my  boy!"  said  Mrs.   Hart,   "do  you 
know— have  you  ever  heard  any  thing  about— 
your — your  mother  ?" 
"."JlymotherT    - 
"Yes." 
■      "No;  nothing  except  that  she  died  when  I 
wa.1  an  infant." 

"Oh,  my  boy!  she  did  not  die,  though  death 
would  have, been  ^  blessing." 
A' thrill  passed  through  Lord  Chetwynde. 
"Norse!  nurse!"  he  cried— "my  dear  old 
nurse,  what  is  it  that  you  mean  ?  My  mother  ? 
She  did  not  die?  Is  she  alive?  Intlienameof 
God,  tell  me  all!" 

"My  boy !"  said  Mrs.  Hart,  grasping  the  hand 
that  held  hers  convulsively — "mv  boy !  can  you 
bear  it?"  •      j  j 

"Where  is  my  mother?"  asked  Lord  Chet- 
wynde. 

Mrs.  Hart  struggled  up.  For  a  moment 
she  leaned  on  her  elbow.  In  her  eves  there 
lleamed  the  light  of  undying  love— love  deep, 
Teaming,  unfathomable  —  love  stronger  than 
life.  It  was  but  a  faijit  whisper  that  escaped 
her  wan,  white  lips,  but  that  whisper  pierced 
to  the  80i|il  of  the  listener,  and  rang  through  all 
nu  being  with  echoes  that  floated  down  through 
the  years.  ^,"„„ 

And  thw  whisper  nttw^d  th«5|»wjrds : 

"  Oh,  tin/  ton  !  I—I-Aim  youVmother  !" 

A  low  moan  burst  from  Lord  Chelwj-nde. 
He  caught  her  dying  form  in  his  nnrts,  ««id  a 
thousand  words  of  love  burst  from  him',  as  though 
by  that  embrace  and  by  those  words  of  love/ 
would  drag  her  back  from  her  jmmortalim 
And-  then,  at  last,  in  that  fembra«r  and  in  the 


'    .  261 

hearing  of  those  words  of  love,  there  were  some 
tew  moments  of  happiness  for  one  who  had  sinned 
and  suffered  so  much ;  and  as  she  lay  back  her 
face  was  overspread  ^fith  an  expre^dn  of  unut- 
terable peace. 

When  Zillah  returned  she  saw  Lord  Chet- 
wynde bowed  down,  with  his  arms  cjosping  the 
form  of  Mrs.  Hart.  The  smile  was  still  on  her 
face,  but  It  ivas  onljf  the  form  of  that  one  who, 
had  suffered  ami  loved  so  much  which  now  lav 
there;  for  she  herself  hud  departed  from  earth 
forever,  and  found  a  pkce  ''where  the  wearv 
are  at  rest."        ►  •' 

Long  afterward  Zillah  leam^ore  about  the 
past  history  of  that  woman  whom  she  had  known 
and  loved  as  Mrs.  Hart.  It  was  Obed  Chute 
who  told  her  this,  on  one  of  his  frequent  visits  to 
Chetwynde  Castle,  He  himself  had  heard  it 
from  the  foilner  Lady  Chetwynde,  at  the  time 
when  she  was  in  New  York,  aqd  before  she 
joined  the  Sisters  of  Charitv. 

Neville  Pomeroy  had  known  her  well  as  a  boy 
aiid  they  had  carried  on  an  unmeaning  flirtation, 
which  might  hove  developed  into  something  more 
senous  had  it  not  been  prevented  by  her  mother 
who  >vas  on  the  look-out  for  something  higher. 
Lord  Chetwynde  met  her  ambitious  views,  and 
though  he  was  poor,  yet  his  title  and  brilliant 
prospects  dazzled  the  ambitions  mother.  ^  The 
daughter  married  him  without  loving  him,  in  the 
expectation  of  a  lofty  position.     When  this  was 
lost  by  Lord  Chetwyndes  resignation  of  his  posi- 
tion she  could  not  forgive  him.     S^e  Indulged 
in  foll^  which  ended  in  sin,  until  she  was  weak 
and  wicked  enough  to  desert  the  man  whom  she 
had  sworn  to  love.     When  it  was  too  late  she 
had  repented.      NeviUe  Pomeroy  and   Obed 
Chute  had  saved  her  from  ruin.     The  remainder 
of  her  life  was  evident.    She  had  left  the  Sisters 
of  Chanty,  from  some  yeakOk  after  her  child, 
and  had^succeeded  in  gdMH. employment  in 
r  Chetwynde  Castle.     Such'V^nges   had   been     *- 
wrought  in  her  by  her  sufferings  that  the  Earl     ! 
never  recognized  her;    and  so  she  had  lived       i 
solacing  herself  with  her  child.  \ 

The  knowledge  of  her  history,  which  was  after-      1 
ward  coinmunicated  to  heWB,  did  not  interferi' 
^itlv  his  filial  affection.     HeFremains  now  lie  in 
the  vaults  of  Chetwsmde  Castle  beside  those  of 
the  Lnrl. 


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CORD  AND  CREESE. 


■♦: 


BY 


THE  AUTHOR  OF 

"THE  DODGE  CLUB." 


''#x 


IV/m  ILLUSTRATIONS. 


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NEW    YORK:  I 

HARPER   &    BROTHERS,    PUBLISHERS, 

FRANKEIN    SQUARE.  t     , 


i 


-S 


'  Entered,  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  i860,  by 

HARPER  &  BROTHERS, 

In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  United  States  for  the  Southern 

District  of  New  York. 


On  the  moi 
Newt  announ* 
at  Sydney,  Ne 
bavigatiun  htu 
Tent  uf  this  sh 
the  usual  exc 
the  post- office 
moil;  and  littl 
busilv  discusHi 
hitd  been  gath 
by  the  offlcerg 

At  the  lowe; 
warehouse,  wit 
ty,  over  wliich 
with  newly-gjl( 


f 


-f«TB  hrartlie  to 
contour  of  feat 
brow,  broad  an 
those  grand  sha 
love  to  glorify  tl 
this  he  had  tliot 
twance  whicb 


^jjuii. 


fVij 


^\ 


CORD  AND  GREESE. 


CHAPTER  I. 

THE  LETTER  FROM  BEYOND  THE  8KA.   ' 

0»  the  morning  of  July  21,  184«,  the  Daily 
Newi  announced  the  arrival  of  the  ship  Rival 
at  Sydney,  New  South  Wales.  As  ocean  steam 
havigation  had  not  yet  extended  so  far,  tlie  ad- 
vent of  this  ship  with  the  Kn^h  mail' created 
the  usual  excitement.  An  ^f^  crowd  lieset 
the  post  -  office,  waiting  for  tire  delivei-y  of  the 
mail ;  and  little  knots  at  the  syeet  corners  wei-e 
busily  discussing  the  latest  hints  at  news  which 
hiid  been  gathered  from  papers  brought  ashore 
by  the  officers  or  ]>a88engers. 

At  the  lower  end  of  King  Street  was  a  large 
warehouse,  with  an  office  at  the  upi)er  extremi- 
ty, over  which  was  a  new  sign,  which  showed 
with  newly-gilded  letters  the  words : 

COMPTON  &>  BRANDON. 

The  general  appearance  of  the  warehouse 
showed  that  Messrs.  Cbmpton  and  Brandon 
were  probably  commission  merchants,  general 
agents,  or  something  of  that  sort. 

On  the  morning  mentioned  two  men  were  in 
the  inner  office  of  this  warehouse.  One  was  an 
elderly  gentleman,  with  a  kind,  benevolent  as- 
pect, the  senior  paf tner  of  the  firm.  'Jhe  other 
was  the  junior  partner,  and  in  every  respect  pre- 
sented a  marked  contrast  to  his  companion. 

He  had  a  face  of  rather  unusual  appearance, 
•Bd  an  air  which  ip  England  is  usually  consid- 
ered foreign.  His  features  were  regular — a 
straight  nose,  wide  brow,  thin  lips,  and  square, 
massive  chin.  His  coraplexioaj»rM  olive,  and 
bis  eyes  were  of  a  dark  hazej^o^vith  a  pe- 
cuharity  about  them  whiclj)/*  ndt  uitiully  seen 
in  the  eye  of  the  Teutonicl/bt  Celtui^ace,  but  is 
sMnJtimes  found  among  the  \m^  of  the  south 
of  Europe,  or  in  the  East.  It  is  diffi);ait  to  find 
«  name  for  this  peculiarity.  It  may-be  seen 
•ometimes  in  the  gipsy;  sometimes  in  the  more 
incwssful  among  those  who  call  themselves 
^intual  mediums,"  or  among  the  more  pow- 
Wul  Aesmerizers.  Such  an  eye  belong^  to 
*^'  ",  ^n«P»rte,  whose  glance  at  times 
conid  iiaake  the  boldest  and  greatest  among  his 
marshris  quaij.  What  is  it?  Magnetism?  Or 
the  Kvelation  of  the  soul  ?    Or  what  ? 

^°  *!''"  man  there  were  other  things  which 
ive  himlBBTonlr  nrtfio  ™i5«7^wiS;5I^     JFJn 


gave  himlBe  Took  ofthe  great  Napoleon.  The 
contour  of  feature  was  the  same ;  and  on  his 
Brow,  broad  and  massive,  there  might  be  seen 
tnose  grand  shadows  with  which  French  artists 
nye  to  glorify  the  Emperor.'  Yet  in  addition  to 
tins  Be  had  that  same  serene  imn^taityA  coun- 
,  tenance  which  characterieed  ^Pthe!^  which 


could  serve  as  an  impenetrable  mask  t6  hide 
even  the  intensest  passion. 

'J'hero  was  also  about  this  man  a  certain  aris- 
tocratic air  and  grace  of  attitude,  or  of  manner, 
which  seemed  to  sh<iw  lofty  birth  and  gentle 
breeding,  the  mysterio&s  index  to  good  blood  or 
high  training.  How  such  a  roan  could  have 
happened  to  fill  the  position  of  junior  partner  in 
a  commission  buHiness  was  certainly  a  problem 
not  easily  solved.  There  lie  was,  however,  a 
man  in  appearance  out  of  place,  yet  in  reality 
able  tc  fill  that  place  with  success ;  a  man,  in 
fact,  whoM  resolute  will  enabled  him  to  enforce 
success  in  any  calling  of  life  to  which  either  out- 
side circumstances  or  his  own  personal  desires 
might  inWte  him.  '' 

"  The  mail  ought  to  be  open  by  this  time, "said 
Brandon,  indi^'ercntly,  looking  at  his  watch.  ' '  I 
am  somewhat  curious  to  see  how  thing.s  are  look- 
ing., I  noticed  quotations  of  wool  rather  higher 
than  by  last  mail  If  the  papers  are  correct  which 
I  saw  then  w6  ought  to  do  very  well  by  that  \aisX 
cargo." 
'  Mr.  Compton  smiled. 

"  Well*  Brandon, "  said  he,  "  if  it  is  so  it  will 
«howthat  you  are  right.  You  anticijiated  a  rise 
about;  this  tirtie,  you  know.  You  certainly  have 
a  remarkable  forecast  about  the  chances  of  busi- 
ness." 

"I  doh't  think  there  is  much  forecast,"  said 
Brandon,  with  a  smile,  "it  was  only  the  most 
prdinaiy  calculation  made  from  the  well-known 
fact  thot  the  exportation  this  year  had  been 
slight.  But  there  come*  Iledley  now. "  he  con- 
tinued, moving  his  head  a  little  to  one  side  so  as  . 
to  look  uplthe  street  "TJie  letters  will  soon 
show  us  all." 

Mr,  Compton  looked  out  in  the  direction  which 
Brandon  indicated  and  saw  the  clerk  approach- 
ing. He  then  settled  himself  back  in  his  chair, 
put  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  threw  one  leg  over 
the  other,  and  began  whistling  a  tune  with  the 
air  of  a  man  who  was  so  entirely  prosperous  ^d 
contented  that  no  news  whether  good  or  evil 
could  greatly  affect  his  fortnties.  ^ 

In  a  short  time  the  clerk  entered  the  inner 
office,  and,  lajing  the  letters  down  upon  the  table 
nearest  Mr.-Compton,  he  withdrew. 

3fr.  Compton  took  np  the  letters  one  by  one 
And  re«d-Ae  ^iddreaaes;  wJater  Brandon  lookwh^ 


carelesslv  on.  There  were  ten  or  twelve  of  them, 
all  of  which,  except  one,  were  addressed  to  the 
firm.  This  one  Mr.  Compton  selected  from 
among  the  others,  and  reaching  it  out  in  hia 
hand  said : 

• '  This  is  for  you,  Mr.  Brandon. " 

"For  me?"  repeated  Brandon,  with  marked 


10 


CORD  AND  CREESE. 


:sc;iS.:S":^^'"  '^  """^^ "'  "-^ '  ^^j^r^^y  --  •^"0-.  i  *.- to 


address  with  eager  curiosity. 

The  address  was  simply 'as  follows: 

■        <d^}</ney.    G^^    ^tiU/t  ^/fu/e^. 
The  letters  were  irregular  and  loosely  formed, 


-  ■       J  ■'     ~ J  — •"   »""",  »  luillTO 

you  after  a  sdepce  of  years,  and  my  first  word  is 
to  implore  your  forgiveness.  I  know  my  noble 
boy  that  you  grant  it,  and  it  is  enough  for  me  to 
fwk  It.  After  asking  this  I  can  die  content  on 
tliat  score.  ,.,. 

"  Lying  as  I  do  now  at  the  point  of  death   I 
find  myself  at.  last  freed  from  the  follies  a'ml 


----  ... . ..,v-t,„>„.  ,„,„  ■^^ocij'  luimcu,  uuu  myseii   at.  last  ireeU  from  the  fiillip<i  o„  i 

as  though  written  by  a  tremulous  hand -such  prejudices  which  have  been  my  ruin     tKJ 

be  ome"  ehxcd'"  *"™  "''"  "''  """'"  have  ,  roll  away  f,.m  njy  nynd,  ahd'l  percei '"^t ' 

oecome  leiuxea.  ,„,id  ^^1  i  i,ave  been  roe  years.     Most  of  nil  r 

Mr.  (  ompton  went  on  opening  the  letters  of  see  the  madness  that  instigated  me  to  turn  .L"  L 

the  hrm  without  takmg  any  further  notice  of  his  you,  and  to  put  against  the  Wrio^^eTtl  e    » 

partner.     1  he  latter  sat  for  some  time  looking  at  of  sons  my  own  miserableVrWe  and  the  acct 

f?!.''^^'5.^V"'"."'  ventunng  to  open  it,     He  held  tion  of  a  lying  scoundrel.    May  God  IrnveLX" 


it  in  both  hands,  and  looked  fixedly  at  that  ad- 
dress as  though  from  the  address  itself  he  was 
'  drying  to  extort  some  meaning. 

He  held  it  thus  in  both  hands  looking  fixeclly 
at  it,  with  his  head  bent  forward.  Had  ]VIr. 
Comi)ton  thought  of  taking  a  look  at  his  usually 
impassive  conipanion,  he  wouJd  liave  bean  sur- 
prised at  the  diifljge  which  had  taken  place  in 
him  at  the  mere  sight  of  that  tremulous  hand- 
writing. For  in  that  ho  had  read  grief,  misfor- 
tune, perhaps  death ;  and  as  he  sat  there,  paus- 
ing before  he  dared  to  break  the  seal,  the  con- 
tents of  the  letter  had  already  Ibeen  conjec- 
tured. •" 
Gloom  therefore  unutterable  gathered   upon 


upon  me  for  this ! 

"  I  have  not  much  strength,. dear  boy ;  I  have 
to  wn«e,|t  intervals,  and  Lt  stealth,  so  as  not  fe 
be  ^iscofered,  for  I  am  closeJy  watched.  "  lU 
must  never  know  that  1  have  sent  this  to  you' 
Frank  and  your  <nother  are  bo«h  w»k,  and  my 
only  help  is  your  sister,  my  sweet  Edith,  sU'" 
watches  me,  and,  enables  me  to-  write  this  ia 
safety. 

"I  n*ttst  tell  you  aU*without  reserve  before 
strength  leaves  me  forever. 

"That  man  I'otts,  whom  you  so  justly  hated 
was  and  is  the  caij^  of  all  my  sufl^ritig  a«dof 
yours.  You  used  fBK.jvonder  how  such  a  man  as 
that,  a  low,  vulgar  knave,  could  gain  such  an  iii- 


J,i«f„<.o    1,/f    . .....™-w.„  6„...c,cu   upuu   iiiai,  a  low,  vulgar  knave,  coud  gain  sui 

lus  face ;  his  futures  fixed  themselves  into  such  ;  fluence  over  me  and  swa^  me  a/he  did    -l  will 
rigidity  of  grief  that  they  became  more  express-   try  to  explain  ^-  . 

ive  than  if  they  had  been  distorted  by  jmssionate        "  I'erhaps  vou  remember  snmPtlnnT  „l,«., .»,      -k  ' 
^motions;  and overhis  brow collecteic?loud  u,K,n  \  lamentablJS  T^Tx  S^SK^ 
cloud,  which  deepened  and  darkened  every  in-   pard.     The  first  that  1  ever  h™  r/l  nf  ,^  ■ 

stant  till  they  overshadowed  all;    and  his' face    Ltts  wa    in  hscoLeron  with  tt^ 
L^:!r:!lr.'>!:i«.f.H"-l--"''''^<'  nothing  so  Nvhom  he  acted  parkas  varefaSlT"^' 


much  as  that  which  the  artist  gives  to  NajHjleon 
at  the  crisis  hour  of  .Waterloo,  when  the  Guard 


has  recoiled  from  its  last  charge,  and  from  that 
Imperial  face  in  its  fixed  agony  tRTsoul  itself 


'  ,^    .seems  to  cry,  "  Lost ! "  "  Lo"it . 

Yet  it  was  only  for  a  few  minutes.     Hastily 

subduing  his  feeling  Brandon  rose,  and  clutch- 

\.    ing  the  letter  in  \is  hand  as  though  it  were  t(X) 

,  »   precious  to  l)e  trusted  to  his  jiocket,  he  quietly 

,,Jt  left  the  office  and  the  warehouse  and  walked  up 

the  street. 

He  walked  on  rapidly  until  he  reached  a  large 
building whicHforo the  sign  "Australian  Hotel." 
Here  he  enterrtl,  and  walked  up  stairs  to  a  room, 
and  locked  himself  in.  Then  when  alone  in  his 
own  apartments  he  ventured  to  open  the  letter. 

The  paper  was  poor  and  mean  ;  the  handwrit- 
ing, like  that  of  the  address,  was  tremmlous,  and 
W  many  places  quite  illegible ;  tlie  ink  wift  pale ; 
.  .J.  ^^  whole  appeiiraiice  of  the  lettgi'  seemed  to 
indicat*)  poverty  and  weakness  on  the  part  of  the  ' 
writer.  J,  IJy  a  very  n^iral  imi)ulsc  Brandon 
hesitated  before  beginning  to  read,  and  took  in 
»U  these  things  with  a  quick  glance.  •  ' 

At  jast  li»  nerved  himself  to  the  task  and  be- 
gan to  rc/ad.   . 
This  Vvas  the  letter.  •  • 

"  Bbawoow,  Mairth  10. 1846.' 


business  agent.     Just  before  Despard  ieftto 
on  his  fatal  voyage  he  wrote  to  me  about'' 
lift'airs,  and  stated,. in  conclusion,  that  this  «Lit 
Potts  was  going  to  England,  that  he  »'as,  sorry 

Jp-I  to  lose  him,  hut  recommended  him  very  caniest- 

'■■"  )y  to  me. 

"You  recollect  that  Colonel  Despard  wiis 
murdered  on  this  voyage  under  very  mysterious 
circumstances  on  shipboard.  His  MolayWrant 
Uracao  was  convicted  and  exe(?uted.  I'utts  dis- 
tinguished himself  by  his  'zeal  in  avengiug  his 
master's  death.  .•    , 

"About  a  year  after  thin'otts  himself  came 
to  England  and  visited  me.  Ho  ^as,  as  you 
know,  a  rough,  vulgar  n*an ;  but  his  connection 
with  my  n>urdored  friend,  and  the  warm  recom- 
mendations of  Ihat  friend,  made  me  receive  him^ 
with  the  greatest  •  knidness.      Besides,  he  hiid 


V 


many  things  to  tell  me  about  my  Jioor  friend,  and 
brought  the  newn)apers  both  from  Manilla  and 
Calcutta  which  contained  accounts  of  the  trial 
"  It  was  this  man's  desire  to  settle  liini«|lf 
somewhere,  and  I  gave  him  letters  to  diH'ertnr 
people.  ,  He  ^en  went  off,  and  I  diAnot  ste 
hiiiLforiwo yejihi.*  At  the  end  of'thattipie  Ii« . 
retilThed  with  iAiwing  accounts  of  a  tin  nilno 
which  lie*jw'Jrorking  in  Cornwall.  He  had 
bought  itVli^  Ipw  price,  and  the  retunis  from 


and  was  /s^Rhgthe  stock.     Ho  came  first  10  me 

to  let  me  lak-e  what  I  Wished,     I  carel&sly  took 

worth. 


,  .  ■»       * i.v^.^v.  «*!<;  iiiu  jnai.  worus 

Which  ymi  will  eter  hear  from  your  father.  I  iim 
dying,  my  dear  feoy,  and  dying'of  a  broken  heart ; 
but  whtre  I  am  dy|ng  I  am  afraid  to  tell  you. 
That  bitterness  I  leave  for  ;^)ii  to  find  oiu  some 
day  foryou^If.    In  ,)overty  unsp,.aka.blc,  in  an^  I  moiis^  being"niirl^°^«/p;;:conr"rXM. 


five  Jhousatid  iMjiindaf  w 

On  th^  ftiUowing  yenrlhe  dividend  wasj^or- 


Ut  resen-«  before 


"Bmra  shk  w^„h«  h./..^  ..^,  ,„  ,„„,  ,„.^  ,^  ^^^^^^ ,. 


,a,glow4ng  account  of  the  mine  .'nteS  rae 
'«««Jy.  Another  year  the'  dividend  ^sTShT 
jnd^^aasured  me  that  he  expee,«l  to  paJ'Sn^' 

fi.ll'^'""*"'^.'^"'  **«  demowof  avari6«  took 

nill  ptBspgsion  llf  mo.      Vision.  «»-™!ll- 

to  me,  and  I  dete,^l„elr  l^o^e  'hrri'?*^ 
»anin.hekiMom.  AfW  STHt^aX?^ 
"njg  I  had  mto  money  to  invest  in  the  mine  T^ 
raised  enormous  suin,  on  rtv  lan<l«H  «.„,.  , 
put  allAat  I  was  worfh   »„X  '*"^«l^'nte,  and 

?.??^ '?»""?»  rae.     I  WVfced  frommhftn,  ;SS 


^fiTJI'^i'^*"''^'?"'  """' ''"« '■«*  'oo^tflf  yonre. 
with  all  ,te  reproach,  is  haunting  my  dySfe  C™ 

the'SiHty^'r^fV^hT.rth^'^ 

thing,     rhe  stock  wiffWonijJdesg.    ThelfclUnd 
"I  had    nn   frianA   «„  i..i_ 


t 


^^  to  Ilstenl;  the  en^eatn^S 
•>  SS'.r  .."r*^  ev«n  against  you.     I^'^[ 

Kve  rd  ^    ^*'"  y^-*  the  latter  W- 
^  wn^ve  ud  became^  5l«<!««^     My  noble 


tb£-r=:i^sr«t^^ 


Mi'A^.i'?'^  '«?'^'*  ^  '•"^  "''"""ted  «nik- 

JIU'  AU.tlus  came  upon  me  during  ^^Ij 

wJ.'"'^",'  ta'«^k  this,  my  spn.     This  man  Potft 
w«  „„,  nmie*    ife  .eemed  to;have  gmU^^ 


Miste^  that  h^niMbi  to  Ag^T^ilS'u^jS:; 
BcoUnarel  lauded  f^n^  ft™  ."^^** 

fi,-.        ■""'!  "'"'  ""^  ««ate8  weresoljiiWnn- 
fo^nutely,  though  tl.eyhave  been  fHOI  ° 
ily  toJS  ages,  they  wero  not  entailed.     A  ^ling 
of  honor  ,vas  the  cause  of  this  neglect,  ^f 
were  sold,  and  *•  purchaser  waalhi!  yian  Pottt 

KdToS^.qfen'aLf'''  "">  --'  »^ 


fi.'/ 


«) 


.^ 


r0'\^ 


dORD  AND  CREESE. 


'1    , 
■ 


I' 


/friend,  therefore  he 
lev  life,  and  punished 
man  the  ruin  of  U8 


"Now,  since  my  eyes  have  been  opened,  I 
have  had  many  thoughts:  and  among  all  that 
occurs  to  me  none  is  more  prominent  than  the 
mysterious  murder  of  my  friend.  This  man 
Potts  was  with  him  at  the  time.  He  was  chief 
'  witness  against  the  Malay.  The  counsel  for  the 
defense  bore  down  hard  on  him,  but  he  man- 
ned to  escape,  and  Uracao  was  executed.  Yet 
this  much  is  evident,  that  Potts  was  largely  ben- 
clited  by  the  deaths  of  Despard.  He  could  not 
have  ma4e  all  his  nfoney  by  his  own  savings.  I 
believe  that  the  man  who  wronged  me  so  foully 
was  fully  cap4>le  of  murder.  So  strong  is  this 
conviction  now  that  I  sometimes  have  a  super- 
stitious feeling  that  becaus^  I  neglected  all  in 
quiry  into  the  death  of  m 
has  visited  me  from  that  ot 
me,  by  making  the  same 
both. 

"The  mine,  I  now  brieve,  was  n  colossal 
sham ;  and  all  the  nione*  that  I  invested  in 
stocks  went  directly  to  Pofts-  Good  God !  what 
madness  was  mine ! 

"O  my  boy!  .  Your  njOther  and  yopr  brother 
are  lying  here  sick ;  youdsister  attends  on  us  all. 
though  little  more  thanfa  child.  iSpon  I  must 
leave  them ;  and  for  those  who  are  destined  to 
live  there  is  a  future  whiph  1  shudder  to  contem- 
plate. Come  home  at  once.  ( lome  home,  what- 
ever yon  are  doing.  Leave  ail  liusiness,  and  all 
prospects,  and  come  and  save  them.  That  much 
you  can  do.  Come,  if  it  is  only  to  take  them 
back  with  you  to  that  new.Jand  where  you  live, 
when»  they  may  forget  their  anguiifh. 

"Come  home,  my  son,  and  take  vengeance. 
This,  perhaps,  yoU  can  not  do,  but  you  at  least 
can  try.  IJy  theOime  that  you  read  tbe.se  words 
they  will  be  my  wica  from  the  grave ;  and  thus 
I  invoke  you,  and  call  you  to  take  venge- 
ance. 

"But  at  least  come  and  save  your  mother, 
your  brother,  and  your  sister.  'I'he  danger  is 
imminent.  Not  a  friend  is  left.  They  all  hold 
aloof,  indignant  nt  me.  Thi^  miscreant  has  his 
own  pliMis  with  regard  to  them,  I  doubt  not ;  and 
he  will  disperse  them  or  send  them  off  to  starve 
in  some  foreign  Inrtd.     Come  and  save  them. 

"  But  1  warn  you  to  l)e  carefal  about  yourself 
for  their  sakes.  For  this  villain  is  powerful  now, 
and  hates  yoa  worse  than  any  bmly.  His  arm 
hlay  reach  even  to  the  )inti(K)des  to  strike  you 
there.  Be  on  your  guard.  Watch  every  one. 
For  once,  from  wordS'Wbich  fell  from  hini  liasti- 


t 


ly,  I  gathered  that  he  had  some  dy rk  plan  against 
you.  TVust  no  one.  Rely  on  yourself,  and  may 
God  help  you ! 

"Poor  boy!  I  have  no  estate  to  leave  you 
now,  and  what  I  do  send  to  you  may  seem  to  you 
like  a  mockery.  Yet  do  not  despise  it  Who 
knows  what  may  be  -possible  in  these  days  of 
science  ?  Why  may  it  not  be  possible  to  forte 
the  sea  to  give  up-its  prey? 

"1  send  it,  at  any  rate  for  I  have  nothing 
else  to  send.  You  know  that  it  has  been  in  our 
fiimily  for  centuries,  and  have  heard  how  stout 
old  Peter  Leggit,  with'  nine  sailors,  escaped  by 
night  through  the  Spanish  iieet,  and  what  Offer- 
ing they  endured  before  they  feachcd  England. 
He  brought  this,  and  it  has  been  preserved  ever 
since.  A  legend  has  grown  up,  as  a  matter  of 
course,  that  the  treasure  will  be  recovered  one 
day  when  the  family  is  at  its  last  extremity.  It 
may  not  be  impossible.  The  writer  intended 
that  something  should  come  of  it. 

"  If  in  that  other  world  to  which  I  am  going 
the  disembodifld  spirit  can  assist  man,  then  he 
sure,  ()  my  son,  1  will  assist  you,  and  in  the 
crisis  of  your  fate  I  Will  be  near,  if  it  is  only  to 
communicate  to  your  spirit  what  you  ought;,to  do. 

"God  bless  you,  dear  l)oy,'and  farewell. 
"  Yotir  aii'eetiomite  father, 

"Rali'h  Brandon." 

This  letter  was  e^^dently  written  by  fragment- 
ary |)ortions,  as  though  'it  had  been  doTie  at  in- 
ter^als.  I^lome  parts  were  written  leisuieJA- — 
others  apparently  iri  haste.  The  first  half  nud 
been  written  evidently  with  the  greatesf  case. 
liie  writing  of  the  last  half*  showed  weakness  ami 
tremuh)Msne8S  of  hand ;  many  words  wouW  ha\e 
been  quite  illegible  to  one  not  familiar  with  the 
handwriting  of  ^lie  old  man.  Sometimes  the 
word  was  written  two  or  three  times,  and  there 
were  numerous  blots  and  unmeaning  lines.  It 
grew  more  and  more  illegible  toward  the  close. 
Kvidently  it  was  the  wOlfk  of  on»  who  was  but  ill 
able  to  exert  even  sufficient  strength  to  hold  a 
pen  in  his  trembling  hand. 

Ill  this  letter  there  was  folded  a  large  piece  of 
coarse  paper,  evidently  a  blank  leaf  torn  from  n 
book,  brown  with  age,  which  was  worn  at  the 
folds,  and  prote<'tetl  there  by  ])ieces  of  cotton 
which  had  been  pa.>:ted  upon  it.  The  paper  was 
covered  with  writing,  in  ink  that  was  much  faded, 
th<aigh  stitl  quite  legible. 

Opening  this  Brandon  read  the  following : 


...    ir-^: 


CoSd  and  CREfiSE. 


18 


4^^* 


%Ad^   {     ** 


.//J 


large  piece  of 
if  torn  from  tt 
s  worn  at  the 
ices  of  cotton 
rhe  paper  was 
18  much  tiided, 


i  1  vid. 

f  Ol^ 

:.  pfl^ 

•^^^^^rfHj 

*      1 '  . 

-W"' 


U 


CORD  AND  CREESE. 


CH4PTER  II. 

,^  ALIFETRAOBDT.  *. 

Not  a  word  or  a  gesture  escaped'  Brandon 
diuring  the  pemsal,  but  after  he  had' finished 
he  read  the  whole  .through  twice,  then  laying  it 
down,  he  paced  up  and  down  the  room.  His 
olive  skin  had  become  of  a  sickly  tawny  hue, 
his  eyes  glowed  with  intense  TVis'tre,  and  his 
brow  was  covered  with  those  gloomy  Napoleonic 
clouds,  but  not  a  nerve  was  shaken  by  the  shock 
of  this  dread  intelligence. 

Evening  came  and  night ;  an^'the  night  passed, ' 
and  morning-came,  but  it  found  him  still  there 
pacing  the  room. 

Eiarlier  than  usual  next  morning  he  was  at  the 

office,  and  waited  for  some  time  before  the  senior 

partner  made  his  appearance.  '   When  he  came 

, in  it  was  with|r«raile  on  his  face,  and  a  general 

air  of  congraflfflition  to  all  the  workl. 

"Well,  Brandon,"  said  he,  cordially,  "that 
last  shipment  has  turned  out  finely.  More  than 
a  thousand  pounds.  And  it's  all  your  doing.  I 
objected,  but  you  were  right.  Let  me  congratu- 
lateyou." 

Something  in  Brandon's  face  seemed  to  sur- 
.prise  the  old  gentleman,  and  he  paused  fqr  a  mo- 
ment. "  Why  what's  the  ihatter,  my  boy  ?"  he 
said,  in  a  paternal  voice.  "  You  have  not  heard 
any  bad  news,  I  ho[)e,  in  that  letter — I;  hope  it's 
■othing  serious  ?"  > 

Brandon  gave  a  faint  smile.  '  : 

"Serious  enough," said  Be,  looking  away]»ith 
an  abstracted  gaze,  "to  pvt  a, sudden  end  to  my 
Aostralian  career." 

"Oh  no — oh  no4J''*a3d  the  other,  earnestly; 
"  not  so  bad  as  that "         '  *.  ■»" 

"  I  must  go  home  ai  once. " 

♦'Oh  well,  that  may  be,  but  yon  will  be  back 
again.  Take  a  leavaof  absence  for  five  years  if 
yon  wish,  mM«d«in!|>!jDWt  for  good.  I'll  do  the 
business  and  won't  complain^  my  boy.  >  I'll  keep 
joor  place  comfortable  for  you  till  your  return. ' 

Brandon's  stem  face  softened  as  he  looked  at 
the  ^d  man,  whose  features  were  filled  with  the 
kindest  expression,  and  whose  tone  showed  the 
afiectionate  interest  which  he  felt. 

"Your  kindness  to  me,  Mr.  Compton,"  said 
he,  vary  slowly,  and  with  deep  feeling,  "has 
been  beyond  all  words.  Ever  since  I  first  came 
to  this  country  ypu  have  been  the  truest  and  the 
best  of  friends.  I  hope  you  know  me  well  enough 
to  believe  that  I  can  never  forget  it.  But  now 
all  this  i^t  an  end,  and  all  the  bright  prospects 
that  I  had  here  must  give  way  to  the  coil  of  th« 
sternest  duty.  In  that  letter  which  I  received 
last  night  (l)ere  came  a  sunuA'ons  home  which  i 
can  not  neglect,  and  my  whole  Ufe  hereafter 
jnnst  be  directed  toward  the  fulfillment  of  that 
. .  gammons.  From  -mid-day  yesterday  until  dawn 
,  this  morning  I  pocbd  my  roo^  incessantly,  Uy- 
ing  out  liiy  plans  for  the  Aiture  thus  suddenly, 
{hntst  ii(k)n  me,  "and  thotigh  I,  have  not  been 
atHe  to''decide  lippn  any  thkig  deflnite,  yet  I  see 


i  i^itly  that  ntWhitig  hw*  -WMtB-ft-liffr  wtft:  wwMfr 
mo  tb  accomiillsh  mv  dnty.  The  first  thing- for 
me  to  do  U  U>  acquaint  y»u  with  itfts  mjatajii!^ 
'ap  a\f  pnVt  hi  the<J)U8ine»B.'',  •    "    ' 

'J-VMr.  ComptoO,  placed  his  eltiow  oij  dta  taijile 
•lMar  ^hich  he  had  «enl«d  hunself,  feai\|l|  At  head 
^>on  his^ian*);  on<)  lookw  at  the  Aoor.    .From 
/  Brandon's  tone^e  perceived  that. (IHb  resolutic^ 


was  irrevocable.  The  deep  dejection  which  he 
felt  could  not  be  concealed.  He  was  silept  for  a 
long  time. 

" God  knows,"  said  he,  at  last,  "that  I  would 
rather  have  failed  in  business  than  that  this  should 
have  happened. " 
-  Brandon  looked  away  and  said*  nothing.        ' 

"It  comes  upon  me  so' suddenly,"  he  contin- 
ued. "I  do  not  know  what  to  think.  And 
how,  can  I  manage  these  vast  affairs  without  yo\if 
assistance  ?  For  you  were  the  one  who  did  our 
business.     I  know  that  welL     I  had  no  head  fur 

it."  "        ;  ;.  :. 

"¥on  can  reduce  it  to  smaller  proportions," 
said  Branaon;   "  that  can  easily  be  done." 

The  old  man  sighed. 

"  After  all,"  he  continued,  <*  it  is  not  the  busi- 
ness, U's  losing  you  that  I  tVink  of,  dear  boy. 
I'm  not  thinking  of  the  business  at'  all.  My 
grief  is  altogether  about  your  departure.  I 
grieve,  too,  at  the  blow  which  must  have  fallen 
on  yon  to  make  this  necessary. " 

"The  blow  is  a  heavy  one,"  said  Brandon; 
"-gfr  heawy  that  every  thing  else  in  life  must !)« 
forgotten  except''the  one  thought — how  to  re- 
coVar  from  it ;  and  perhaps,  also,"  he  added,  in 
a  l6wer"voice,  "how  to  return  it." 

Sir.  Comjjton  wa*-  silent  for  a  long  time,  and 
with  every  minute  the  deep  dejection  of  his  f^e 
and  manner  increased.-  He  folded  his  anns  and 
shut  his  eyes  in  deep  thought.        ^ 

i"  My  boy,"  said  he  at  last,  in  tnat  some  pa- 
ternal tone  which  he  had  used  before,  and  in  a 
mild,  calm  voice,  "  I  supjMse  this  thing  can  not 
be  helped,  and  all  that  is  left  for  me  to  do  is  to 
bear  it  as  best  I  may.  I  willjiot  indulge  in  any 
■"^-(^■setflsh  sorrow  in  the  presence  of -your  greater 
trouble.  I  will ''rather  do  aU^in  my  power  to 
coincide  with  your  wishes.^'!  see-now  that  yoi'i 
must  have  a  good  reason  for  yoiir  decision,  al 
though  I  do  iM>t  seek  to  look  .into  tUfM^i  ' 
son."' 

"Believe  me, ''said  Brandon,  "I  would  show 
you  t^e  letter  at  once,  but  it  is  so  terrible  that  I 
would  rather  that  yon  should  not  know.  It  is 
worse  than  death,  and  I  do  not  even  yet  begin 
to -Imow  the  worst.'  " 

The  old  man  sighed,  and  looked  at  him  witH 
deep  commiseration. 

"  If  our  separation  must  indeed  be  final,"  said 
he,  atjast,  "I  will  take  careiliat  you  shall  suf- 
fer no  loss.  You  shall  hove  your  full  share  of 
the  capital." 

"I  leave' that  entirely  to  you,"  iaid  Brandon. 

"Eoitunately  our  business  is  not  much  8ca|- 
tered.  A  settlement  can  easily  be  made,  and  1 
will  ahunge  it  so  that  yon  shall  not  have  any 
loss.  Our  babtnce-sheet was  made  ontonlj'  te 
mdnth,  and  it  showed  our^flrm  t»  be  worth  thirty 
thousand  pounds.    Half  of  thip  is  yours,  and-.- ' 

"  Half  r'  interrupted  the  other.  '.'  My  dear 
fHendi  yon  mean  a  quarter." 

The'  0I4  man  waved  his  hand.     •  •' 
"  "  I  said  haM?.«iu}  I  mean  half. "'    .  v  .       ' 

l<T-..-.!ll f..»V  ■-....»    "     "     ■*■  <>       -'.,   « 


<f\ 


"Voumust,"    ^         '  ■'      .   /  - :  • 

"Neter."      ':    '",.-,. 

"Yon.  ihall.  •  Why,  think  sf  the  petty  biBK 
n««B  (hot  I'was  dodng  when  you  Came  herek    I  .< 
was  worth  abont  fou«;  thoufain'd.    You  hay^Ttallt,; 
up  the  business, to  its  present  dJmenrfliB*..^ Do 
^ou  suffwse  that  I  don  t  know*?"  "    '^ 


,■•  *^. 


*•  ».i. 


^.•rt5"^ 


,'■■> 


oked  at  bim  witU 


Q: 


fie;' •  sTd  zsz.  ^°" ''  "^^  «"'*  "^  -"- 

"Stop,"  said  Mr.  Compton.  "I  have  not 
said  all.  I  attach  a  condition  to  this TLich  I 
implore  yoa  not  to  refuse.  Listen  w  me,  and 
you  will  thea  bp  able  to  see. "  ' 

Mr  Compton  rose  and  looked  carefully  out 
into  the  office.  There  was  no  one  neaT  He 
then  retumpd,  locked  the  door,  and  drawing  his 
chair  close  to  Brandon,  began.'in  a  lowToice  : 

You  have  your  secrets  and  I  have  mine  I 
don  wish  to  know  yours,  but  my  own  I  LmJ 
mg  to  tell  to  you,  not  merely  for  the  sake^ 
Hympathy,  but  rather  for  the  4e  of  yonralsist. 
anoe  I  am  going  to  tell  yon  who  I  amTa^d 
why  I  came  out  here.  ' 

"My  name  is  not  Compton.      It  is  Henrv 

IvTt-  ^"";3^r;'y«fe-'«PaaBedatYork' 
iTierp  I  marnbd,  had  a  son,  andlived  happilv 
for^years-in  fact,  during  the  childhood  of  my 

.wl^i ;«'««,«'"»'  boy  of  mine,  Edgar,  that  led  to 
aB  my  troubles.  I  suppose  we  indul^  him  to^ 
much.  It  was  natural.  He  was  our^SW^hiW 
and  so  we  rumed  him.  He  got  beyond  ow  con- 
trpl  at  last,  atid  us«l  to  run  wild  abL  the  stilts 
l''°it;.'"'"""'^^°':''^^--^Wm,butit 

"  He  went  on  from  bad  to  worse,  until  at  last 
he  got  in  With  a  set  of  mi^cnSate  who  were 
among  the  worst  in  the  countiy.  Mv  GodTto 
h„,^  fi.ir  ^-r  '^y- »"<=«  a  «l^eet  cfiil^  could 
led,^  and  so  he  went  on  from  bad  to  worse 

liHithfl't'"""-  ^?^i^^wiiT; 

gat  m  wi  h  fliese  miscreants,  as  I  was  tellinir  voiu 

lth«r"'  T  r  "'"  f""»  ""«  month-   iL^°^ 
another.     At  last  a  great  binxlary  took  ph^r 

BHgs,^he,pthe.Cr^ker,  ^T^IZ^.^^. 

The  oldwan  was  sil«ht;^;  some  tlfce. 
I  do  not  thmk,  after  aU,  that  Jie  was  fruiltv  ■ 
bn  Bnggs  turtied  Kihg's  Evidence,  and^cS; 
'm7.Z:Z;r'^^'''^  ">  t'j^sporta^J^: 

nlil^f "' ■  u'^u*"  ^  ""^ '"  *e  woria,  and  in  com- 
pLance  with  the  entreaties  of  my  p^^  wife  X 
nearly  werit  mad  with  ^«f  i„IJ^LV*^>  ^''2 


CORD  AND  CHEESE. 


cltenged  my  name  to  Compton.     My  boA  terJ 
»«  for  three  years.    I  be^  «  businLsZt  he^ 

^S  ^{  '^'"'^"^  "^1  '•«  was"  bS5 
.  permission  to  hire  out  a»  a  servant.     I'took  hL 

r'as'^L^sT  ^T'"'^."  one  kn^w'tt 
««j^was  my  son,  and  so  we  ^^ad  him  with  us 

lea'nidTfi  f""*  *«  fitter  lesson  which  h'e  Bai 

»1  V^"*^    P*^^  *''''  'ncllnations.    As  long  as  iiis 

■'  -Sv^  wrirKT*"*'  ^'^  ^^  r^  contfnMnd 
7,t  r' :  ^  «  >«'.  wlien'the  th.^ years 
•   '^■'""^*"^«**^«**ivB..   CrOckerlrM 


^  at  abJJT  the  same  time,  and  my  boV  fell 
,»gfn  un^^r  his  evil  mflacnce  '^nn  Kl  for 
»briu  a  year,  when,  «t>la-t,  one  mominrrietter 

R/'f^J"  P^fT.'wife  wfig  agafh  nearlr  distracted 
§»>«  *o««ht^of  nothing,  bTto  wj?^  XSa 


16 
me  take  her  and  go  in  searoh  of  him  again.  So 
uLT  ""  ^"*"''-     Af'«'  »  'ong  seaXi  found 

Wsoll  tv-  "*  ^  """^  '■«"'^'  «  connections 
hisold,  vicwus  associate*.  True,  they  had  cham«S 
theu-  names,  and.  were  trying  to  niss^r  C*^ 
men.  Crocker  cklled  himsetf  CkriflH  n  ?*** 
called  himself  Potts."  ^'''  '^'*  ^"S^" 

^';Pott8!"<;ried  Brandon. 

'''S2rf"^~nV^Ji'''r  •"kedBmndon.    - 
18^5,    replied  M^.  Compton.*  "Crockor  " 

first  effor^"^  UiSSL  d'^e  S  ™^ 
son  from  these  scoundrels.  Wid  aU  that  I  coiddT 
J  offered  to  give  him  half  of  my  property  ami 
finally  all,  if  he  would  only  leave  CforeTer 
and  come  back.  The  wretcLd  boy  refused  hI 
did  not  appear  to  be  altogether  bL  buThe  had 
a  weak  natui-e,  and  could  not  gerrid  of  tiie  to 
fluence  of  these  iiieti.  ,  ® " 

found  A  lL'^h'„1''it  "  y«"  ""•I  a  half,  until  I 
fi^A  .1.  *«'' there  was  no  hope.  I  could 
,.?  u*'"«  '"  <>°  there,  and  if  I^^remaiiJ^  i 
would  hav,  to  starve  or  gi  out  td  serWcT^^iJ 
I  could  not. think  of  dotog. ^ n;e!are?to 

ner  son      She  was  resolved,  she  Said.  t<k^»4.v 
him  tdi  the  last.     I  tried  to  dlSe^^T      ■ 
could  not  move  her.     I  told  her  that  I  coSd  Z 

TonZ  «T^  » °'  '*?'  "^J^-  A*"!  "he  went  off 
2^me  ^.Innfi  ff  »  «'"«i°n  «  "urse  with  the 
wme  CJolonel  Despard  with  whom  Briggg.  or  Z 
he  c^ed  himself,  Potts,  was  staying.  "^     '  " 

"John->John  Potts."  , 

resumS""  "^^  ""'"'"«'  '""•'«'•'  *"<•  Compton 

"  Thus  my  wife  actually  left  me.  I  could  nof 
Bta;^  and  be  a  sUve.  So  I  made  her  pSe  to 
wiite  me,  and  told  her  that  1  would  Sh^  « 
much  money  ^  I  could.  She  clung  to  me  hjf 
broken-hearted  as  I  left  her.  Our  pmSg  >Si 
a  bitter  one-bitter  emwgh ;  but  I  woufK" 
iw^  "y  heart  with  grief  than  be  a  se^an^      "* 

my  heart  was  open  to  receive  her 
lived  i^^l^'^t.  ^  ""y  Jonely  life  out  here  and      , 
h^riMA^'^.r*"^*""-    At  la,t,  in  Septem- 
Wtei  f*^'J^  "**"  -^rived  fix,m  iX  bringing  a 
letter  fi^m  my  wife,  and  IndiaflTpaperg     Ae 
,n^.„whlch  tiey^Wght  weuZgh^Zve  ^ 

Compton  buried  his  face  in  his  hands  and  re- 
ipainoj  silent  for  some  timft 

«»  fhTfl"*""'?* '  ''"T®  '^"  ™o«  than  a,  cWld 


panP^: 

tJ!l  ^""^^  .inquiringly  at  Brandon,  but  the  la«ir 
t«t«avo  no  sign; ,  ,        i 

"i^rhapg  nqt,"  he  continued— "no:    tob 
»re  Wo,TounBr:.8f*™„r^      WeJl,  it  wittnOm 


'  "•""I'"  inji,     ne  continaed— "no: 
♦ere  Wo,young,.Srcours^;     Well,  it  wu.  h 

iSr*/"''^'^  ir.  *'"''*  *•*  ^"'"nol  had  em- 
barked for  ManilliL.    Tli«  KJW i.j  _ 


If'  ■.•'5x, 


barked  f^r 
hogilMwi  t| 


*.  "■ 


•  f- 


iiJla._   The  brfg  was  laden  with" 
•nC  box  ihooki,  and  the  Ck>I- 


,A.,C"^ 


^,\' 


v-\ 


I 
1 


-vM 


CORD  AND  CREESK. 


IHEUk's  80MK   MT8TBBY  ABOOT   IT   WHICH   I   CAN'T  FATHOM 


onel  went  th«re  partly  for  his  health,'  partly  on 
business,  taking  with  him  his  vnlet  Potts." 

"What  became  of  liis  family?"  interrupted 
Brandon. 

"  He  had  a  son  in  England  at  school.  His 
wife  had  died  not  lung  "'before  this  at  one  of 
the  hill  stotions,  where  she  had  gone  for  her 
health.  Grief  may  have 'had  something  to  do 
with  the  Cobnel's  voyage,  fbr  he  was  very  much 
IIIMrilid  to  his  wife. 

I  *'ifliil8  ij8^  only  to  come  at  long  intervals  in 
Ukose  day^,  ,and  this  one  l>touKht  the  account 
not  only  of  Che  Coloiiel's  fate,  liut  of  the  trial  at 
MMiUa  and  the  execution  of  the  man  that  wa* 
Condmnned. 

"  It  was  a  very  mysterious  case.  In  the 
month  of  .Iiilj  »  l>oat  an-ived  nt  Manilla  which. 
carrtBil  the  lyw  and  one  paHnemrer  from  the  brig 


riV^nu.  Uiie  of  the  men,  *  lialay  nameif  Ura- 
oao,  Was  in  irons,  and  he  was  immediately  given 
up  to  the  amhoritieit." 

"  Who  were  the  other*?" 

"Potte,  as  he  called  himself,  the  rokmel's 
Talet,  Clark,  three  I^aocnrs,  and  the  Captain,  an 
iuUan  named  Cigole.     Information  was  at  once 


laid  against  the  Malay.  Potts  wasfthe  chief  wit- 
ness. He  said  that  he  slept  in  the  cabin  while 
the  Colonel  slept  in  an  inner  state-room;  that 
one  morning  early  he  was  roused  by  n  frightful 
shriek  and  saw  Uracao  rushing  froi.i  the  Col- 
onel's state-room.  He  sprang  up,  cliased  him, 
and  caught  him  ju«t  as  he  was  about  to  leap 
overl)oard.  His  creese  covered  with  blood  wis 
in  his  hand.  The  Colonel,  when  they  went  to 
look  at  him,  had  his  throat  cut  from  ear  to  ear. 
Clark  swore  that  he  was  steering  the  vessel  and 
saw  Potts  catch  Uracao,  and  heljjed  to  hold  him. 
The  Captain,  Cigole,  «wore  tliat  he  was  waked 
by  the  noise,  ^d  rushe^^ont'in  time  to  see  thii 
("lark  had  g6a^  aa  maCV  nf  the  ves^.  OS  the 
I^oscats,  two  had  been  down  below,  but  one  wns 
on-  de^k  and  swore  to  have  seen  the  same.  On 
this  t^timony  Uracao  was  condemned  and  ese- 


5sr 

'^llfl 


low  did  they  hapjlen  to  leave  the  brig?^ 

*'  They  said  that  a  great  storm  came  up  about 

three  days'  sail  from  Manilla,  the  vessel  sprang 

a  leak,  an^  they  had  to  take  to  the  boat.    Their 

j  testimony  wos  very  clear  iijdeed,  and  there  were 

:  no  contradictions ;  but  in  spite  of  all  this  it  wii 


t 

.•^- 


felt  to  bo  a  y^ry  jnyiterious  case,  and  even  the 
exhibition  of  the  Miiky  creese,  carefully  cov- 
ered with  tbe  stains  ofNLlood,  did  not  altogether 
disjjel  this  feeling. "        > 

"  Havjp  you  got  the  pa^rs  vet,  or  are  there  any 
in  Sydney  that  contain  aii  account  of  this  (fffair  i"" 

"  I  have  kspt  them  all.     You  may  r&d  the 
whole  case  if  you  care  about  it." 
,    . "J  shouW  like  to,  very  much,"  said  Brandon, 
with  greatriTOlmness. 

"When  I  heard  of  this  before  the  mail  was 
opened  I  felt  an  agWny  of  fear  lest  my  misenible 
boy  migfit  be  implicated  in  some  Way.  To  my 
[-.-     tmmetlse  relief  Bis  name  did  not  occur  at  nil." 

"  You  got  a  lutter  from  your  wife  ?"  said  liraii- 


CORD  AND  CRfESE. 


17 


/  ,don,  interrogatively. 

"  Yes,'  said  the  old  man,  with  a  sigh.  "  Tlie 
last  tliat  I  ever  received  from  her.  Here  it  is  " 
And,  saying  this,  he  opentid  his  pocket-book  find 
took  out  a  letter,  worn  and  faded,  and  blackened 
by  frequent  readings. 

Uraiidon  fook  it  respectfully^  and  read  the  fol- 
lowing : 

f  "Cau^tta,  August  IS,  ISiS. 

"My  dearest  IIknrv,— By  the  par^rs  that 
I  send  you,  you  will  see  what  has  occurred.  Our 
dear  Edgar  is  well,  indeed  better  than  usual,  and 
I  woiUd  feel  much  cheered  if  iKwere  not  for  the 
sad  fate  of  the  poor  Colonel.  Thl>«is  the  last  let- 
ter that  you  will  ever  receive  from  me.  1  am 
going  to  leave  this  country  never  to  return,  and 
do  not  yet  know  where  I  will  go.  Wherever  I 
go.I  will  be  with  my  <iarling  Kdgar.  Do  not 
worry  about  me  or  about  him.  It  will  be  better 
for  you  to  try  afiid  forget  all  about  us,  since  we 
are  from  this  time  the  same  as  dead  to  you 
Good-by  forever,  my  dearest  husband ;  it  shall 
be  my  daily  prayer  that  God  may  bless  you. 
"  YoHr  affectionate  wife,  Mary." 

Brandon  read  this  in  silence,  and  handed  it 

back. 

"A  strange  letter,"  said  Compton,  moumful- 
•y-  '^t  Awt  it  gave  a  bitter  pang  to  think  of 
mv  Mary  thus  giving  me  up  fprever,  so  coldly 
and  for  no  reason :  but  afterward  I  began  to  un- 
derstand why  she  wrote  this. 

"My  beUef  is,  that  these  vUlains  kept  my  son 
in  their  clutches  for  some  good  reason,  and  that 
Uiey  had  some  equally  good  reason  for  keeping 
ner.  There's  some  mysteiy  alwut  it  which  I 
on  t  fathom.  Perhaps  slie  knew  too  much  about 
the  Colonel's  affairs  to  be  allowed  to  go  free 
fhey  might  have  detained  her  by  working  nixjii 
fijr  love  for  her  Son,  or  simply  by  terrifving  her 
«he  was  always  a  timid  soul,  poor  Maiy.  Tbat 
letter  is  not  her  composition ;  there  is  not  a  word 
there  that  sounds  like  her,  and  they  no  doubt  told 
her  what  to  write,  or  wrote  out  something,  and 
made  her  copy  h. 

"And  now, "  said  Compton,  after  another  long 
P«nie,  I  haye  got  to  the  end  of  my  story.  1 
know  nothing  more  about  them.  1  have  Uvod 
here  ever  since,  at  first  despairing,  but  of  late 
more  resiipied  fn  my  lot      \         ■••■'■■ 


father  to  do  as  I  say  an(^  help  me.  Half!  whv, 
I  would  give  all  that  1  have  if  1  could  get  them 
uack  again. " 

Brandon  shuddered  perceptibly  at  the  words 

heart-broken  father;"  but  he  quickly  recov- 
ered  himself.  He  took  Compton's  hand  and 
pressed  it  warmly. 

"  "Dear  friend,  J  will  make  no  objection  to  any 
thing  and  I  promise  you  that  all  mv  best  ettorts 
»"»",  »e  directed  toward  finding -them  out." 

"  Tell  them  to,  come  to  me,  that  I  am  rich, 
and  can  make  them  happy."  '         i 

"  I'll  make  them  go  to  you  if  tliey  are  sOte ." 
said  Brandon.  ^  ' 

"God  bless  you!"  ejaculated  the  old  man. 
terveiitly.  ,  ' 

J3randon  spent  the  greater  part  of  that  day  in 
making  business  arrangements,  and  in  reading 
the  paperj  which  Comp|on  had  preserved  con- 
taining an  account  of  the  Despard  murder. 

It  was  late  at  night  before  he  returned  to  his 
hotel.  As  he  went  into  the  hall  he  saw  a  struii- 
ger  sitting-there  in  a  lounging  attitude  reading 
tlie  (Sydney  News.  •  r 

He  was  a  thin,\mall-sized  man,  with  a  foreign 
air,  and  quick,  r^tless  manner.  His  features 
wererf;mall,  a  heavj\beaid  and  mustache  covered  . 
his  face,  his  brow  was  low,  and>lis  eyes  black 
and  twmkling.  A  sharp,  fur^  glance  which 
he  gave  at  Brandon  attracted  tUe  attention  of  the 
latter,  for  there  was  something  in  the  glanci 
that  meant  more  than  idle  curiosity. 

Kven  in  the  midst  of  his  cares  B^tmdon's  curi- 
osity was  excited.  He  walked  w«h  nssmiied  in- 
difference up  to  the  desk  as  though  looking  for  the 
key  of  his  room.  Glancing  at  the  hotel  book  hia 
eye  ranged  down  the  column  of  names  till  it  rest- 
ed on  the  last  one,  '  » 

''Pietro  Cii/ole."  .  ■- 

— Cigole :  the  name  brought  singular  associa- 
11°"*',  rS^  ""*  ™°"  *'•"  "ny  coniiectioil  with 
1  otts  ?  The  words  of  his  father's  letter  rushed 
into  his  mind—"  Jlis  arm  may  reach  even  to 
the  antipodes  to  strike  you.  Be  on  your  guard. 
Watch  every  one.  He  has  some  dark  plan 
against  you .' 

With  these  thoughto  in  his  mind  Brandon 
went  up  to  his  room. 


i;t  «ti||  if  F  hnvo  nnfr 


CHAITER  III. 
"      "a  man  overiioabd!" 

Ik  so  small  a  town  as  Sydney  then  was  Bran- 
don could  hoiie  to  learn  all  that  could  be  learned 
rtwut  Cigole.  By  casual  inquiries  he  learned 
that  the  Italian  had  come  out  in  the  Rival,  and 
had  given  out  that  4ie  was  agent  for  a  London 
house  in  the  wool  business.  H«  had  bought  up 
a  ci^nsiderable  quantity  which  he  was  preparinit 
to  ship.  a' 

Urandon  could  not  help  feeling  that  there  was 
some  ruse  about  this.     Yet  he  thought,  6n  the 


«tlwB-liHiid,  why  ithonkWre  iWnt-hiB  namff-W" 
boldly  before  the  wortd  ?  If  lie  is  in  realjty  fol- 
lowing me  why  should  he  not  drop  his  nsme'i> 
Ilut  then,  again,  why  should  hof  Perhapa  he 
thinks  that  I  can  not  possibly  kn6w  any  tWng 
about  his  name.  Why  should  I  ?  I  was  a  child 
Whtn  Des;>ard  was  murdoired.  It  may  be  meraly 
a  siipibrit/ of  names.      . 


m^  1 


«ire  m  life  it  is  to  got  some  trace  of  these  dear 
ones  whom  I  still  love  as  tenderly  as  ever.  You, 
my  dear  boy,  with  your  ability  may  conjecture 
fome  way.  Besides,  you  will  perhaps  be  travel- 
uig  more  or  less,  aiid  may  be  able  to  fiear  of 
t.ieir  e»te.  This  is  the  condition  that  I  malie. 
I  unplore  you  by  your  pity  for  a  heart-lj<«ken 


^: 


; 


^ 


18 


CORD  AND  CREESE. 


Brandon  from'  time  to  time  had  opportanltieA 
of  hearing  more  about  Cigole,  yet  always  tlie  nan 
seemed  absorbed  in  buSiqess.  ' ' 

Ue  wondered  toi,him8elf  whether  he  had  better 
confide  his  suspicions  to  Mr.  Compton  or  not. 
Yet  why  shouW  he7  The  old  man  would  bedome 
excited;  and  feel  all  sorts  of  wild  hopes  about 
discovering  his  wife  and  son.  Could  it  be  possi- 
ble that  the  Italian  after  so  many  years  could 
now  aftbrd  any  clew  whatever  ?  Certainly  it  was 
not  vety  probable. 

On  the  whole  Brandon  thought  that  this  man, 
whoever  he  was  or  whatever  his  purpose  might 
Be,  would  be  encountered  best  by  himself  singly. 
If  Mr.  Cjompton  took  part  he  would  at  once 
awaken  Clgi)le's  fears  by  his  clumsiness. 

-Brandon  felt  quite  certain  that  Mr.  Compton 
would  not  know  any  thing  about  Cigole's  presence 
in  Sydney  unless  he  himself  told  him.  For  the 
old  man  was  so  filled  with  trouble  At  the  loss  of 
his  partner  that  he  could  think  of  nothing  else, 
and  all  his  thoughts  were  taken  up  with  closing 
up  the  concern  so  as  to  send  forward  remittances 
of  money  to  London  as  soon  as  possible.  Mr. 
Compton  had  arranged  for  him  to  draw  £2000 
on  his  arrival  at  London,  and  three  months  after- 
ward ASOOO— £10,000  would  be  remitted  during 
the  rollowing  year. 

Brandon  had  come  to  the  conclusion  to  tell 
Mr.  Compton  about  Cigole  be%)re  he  left,  soObK* 
if  the  man  remained  in  the  country  he  might  be 
bribed  or  otherwise  induced  to  tell  what  he  knew ; 
yet  thinking>it  possible  tWtit  Cigole  had  designed 
to  return  in  the  same  ship  with  him,  he  waited 
to  see  how  things  would  turn  out.  As  he  could 
not  help  associating  Cigole  in  his  mind  with 
Potts,  so  he  bought  that  whichever  way  he 
turned  this  man  woidd  try  to  follow  hiHy  His 
anticipations  proved  correct.  Ue  had  taUen  pas- 
sage in  the  ship  Java,  and  two  days  .before  the 
vessel  left  he  learned  that  Cigole  had  taken  his 
passage  in  her  alap,  having  pat  on  board  a  con- 
siderable quantitjrof  wogl.  On  the  whole  Bran- 
don felt  grafifled  lo  hear  this,  for  the  close  asso- 
ciation of  a  lon^  ^ea  voyage  would  give  him  op- 
portunities to  t«^t  this  man,  and  probe  him  to 
the  bottom.  Tlife  thought  of  danger  arising  to 
himself  did  not  ent«r  his  mind.  He  believed  that 
Cigole  meant  mischief,  but  had  too  much  confi- 
dence in  his  own  |>ower8  to  fear  it. 

On  the  .'ith  of  ^August  the  ship  Jam  was 
ready,  and  Mr.  Compton  stood  on  the  (luartei*- 
deck  to  bid  good-by  to  Brandon. 

"  God  bless  you,  dear  boy !  You  will  find  the 
money  coming  promptly,  and  Smithers  &  Co.'s 
honse  is  one  of  the  strongest  in  London.  I  have 
brooght  you  a  parting'gift,"  said  he,  iA-«  low 
voice.  He  drew  from  his  pocket  a  pistol,  which 
in  those  days  was  less  known  than  now— indeed, 
this  was  the  fifst  pf  its  kind  which  had  reached 
Australia,  and'Mr.  Compton  had  paid  a  fabiilous 
price  for  it.  "  Here, "said  he,  "  toke  this  to  re- 
member me  by.  They  call  it  a  revolver.  Here 
is  a  box  of  patent  cartridges  that  go  with  it.  It 
i»  from  me  to  yon.     And  mind."  he  continued, 


"  G^  bless  yon !"  cried  Compton,  "  I  see  by 
^vjur  face^hatyon  will  do  it.     Good-by." 
I      He  wrung  Brandon's  bund  hard  and  left  the^ 


Mte  IherS  caa«r  iSVgr  his  face  a  vengeSnooE 
which  Brandon  had  never  seen  there  l)efore — 
"  mind,  if  ever  you  see  John  Potts,  give  him  one 
of  those  patent  partridges,  and  tell  hiqi  it  is  (he 
Inst  gift  of  aVbken-hearted  father." 

Brandon's  face  turned  ghastly,  and  his  lips 
seemed  to  freeze  into  a  smile  of  deadly  meaning. 


[■ship. 

About  six  feet  away  stood  Cigole,  looking  over 
the  stem  and  smoking  a  cigar.  He  was  near 
enough  to  hear  what  had  been  said,  but  he  did 
not  appear  to  havetieard  it.  Throwing  his  cigar 
into  the  water,  he  plunged  his  hands  into  his 
pockets,  and  began  whistling  a  lively  air; 

"Aha,  Oepitano,"  said  he,  in  a  foreign  accent, 
"  I  have  brought  my  wool  off  at  hist." 

Brandon  paced  Uie  deck  silently  yet  wateh- 
f«lly. 

The  good  ship  Java  went  out  with  a  fine 
breeze,  which  continued  for  some  days,  until  nt 
last  nothing  could  be  seen  but  the  wide  ocean. 
In  those  few  4»ys  Brandon  had  settled  himself 
comfortably  on  board,  an4,had  learned  pretty  well 
the  kind  of  life  which  he  would  have  to  lead  for  the 
next  six  months  or  so.  The  captain  was  a  quiet, 
amiable  sort  of  a  person,  without  much  force  of 
character;  the  mate  was  more  energetic  and 
somewhat  passionate ;  the  crew  cdpsisted  of  the 
average  order  -of  men.  There  wtd  no  chance, 
certainly,  for  one  of  those  eonspiruci^  such  as 
Mr.  Compton  li^dJiinted  at  as  having  taken  place 
on  the  Vishnu ;  for  in  his  account  of  that  affair 
he  evidently  believed  that  Uracao  had  been  made 
a  scape-goat  for  the  sins  of  the  others. 

Brandon  was  soon  on  the  best  of  terms  with 
the  officers  of  the  ship.  As  to  Cigole  it  was  dif- 
ferent. The  fact  of  their  beingj|he  only  passen- 
gers on  board  might  of  itself  hay^e  been  a  suffl- . 
cient  cause  to  draw  them  together ;  but  BrandoiT 
found  it  diflScult  to  pass  beyond  the  extremest 
limits  of  formal  intercourse.  Brandon  himself 
considered  that  his  pnrpo.ses  would  be  best  sene(l 
by  close  association  with  this  man ;  he  hoped  that 
in  the  course  of  such  associe^tipn  he  might  draw 
something  from  Cigole.  gfit  Cigole  bafBed  him 
constantly.  He  wa»  as  polite  aniAcoiirteous  as 
Wl  Italians  «e  I  heliadan  abundance  of  remarks 
all  iteady  about  the  state  of  the  weather,  the  pros- 
pects of  the  voyage,  o#  the  tiealth  of  the  seamen ; 
but  beyond  these  topics  it  was  difiicult  to  induce 
him  to  go.  Brandon  stifled  the  rewntment  which 
he  felt  toward  thisi  man,  in  bis  eiohttsto  break 
dewn  the  barriers  of  formplity  which  heTJSjit  up, 
and  sought  to  draw  him  out  on  the  subject  of  the 
wool  trade..  Yet  here  he  was  baified.  Cigole 
always  tookW  the  air  of  a  maa  who  was  speal^ 
ing  to  a  rival  in  business,  and  pretended  to  be 
very  cautions  and  guarded  in  his  remarks  about 
wool,  as  though  he  (eared  that  Brandon  wonkl 
interifere  with  his  prospects.  This  sort  of  thing 
*as  kept  up  with  such  great  delicacy  of  man- 
a^meut  on  Cigole's  part  thai  Brandon  himself 
wbuld  havn  been  completely  deceived,  and  would 
have  come  tti  atmuder  liim  |u<  nothing  more  than 
a  B|)ecu]ator  in  W(h>1,  had  it  uot^been  for  a  certain 
deep  instinct  within  him,  wWh  tuiuU  him  re- 
gard this  man  afronp  «Aowa»^||^!ettitedjl«  w>uh> 
thing/ar  deeper  th«nii)uii«l|j|i«tb  foi^«  sncop- 
fiil  siieculation.        'S'>  ^ 


11  Sll 

"cS 


igfjTo  managed  to  baflfe  ifie  inMt  iclextroai 
efforts  and  the  most  delicate  contrivance*  uf 
Brandon.  He  would  ackno^i^ge  that  he  »m 
an  Italian,  and  had  been  in  all  parts  of  Qal7i 
h>it  carefully  refhtined  from  telling  where  hf  ««• 
boni.  He  asserted  that  this  was  the  6nt  ti^ 
thitt  he  had  been  in  the  Ea«t«m  seas,    ^e  i<^ 


'^ 


CORD  AND  CREESE. 


mark^  once,  casually,  that  Cigole  was  a  very 
common  nam«|  amoHg  Italians.  He  said  tliat 
he  M  no  acquaintajices  at  all  in  England,  and 
was  only  going  there  now  because  he  heard  that 
there  was  a  good  malket  fqr  wool.  At  another 
time  he  spoke  as  though  much  of  his  life  had 
bjsen  passed  in  Marseilles,  and  hinted  that  he 
was  a  partner  of  a  commercial  house  there. 

Cigole  never  made  ilny  advances,  «nd  never 
even  met  half-nmi  tho»e  which  Brandon  made. 
He  was  never  da  hi«  guard  for  one  instant 
I'olite,  sraUing,  fdkive),,  never  Idoking  Brandon 
fiurly  i»  the  face,  f  fc  usually  spoke  with  a  profu- 
sion of  bows,  gestures, /and  commonplaces,  adopt- 
ing, in  faci,  that  part  which  is  always  at  once 
both  the  easiest  and  tjie  safest  to  play— the  non- 
committal, pure  and  berfect.    ■ 

It  was  cunning,  but  low  cunning  after  all,  and 
Brandon  perceived  fhat,  for  one  who  had  some 
purpose,  to  accomplish  with  but  a  common  soul 
to  sustain  him,  this  was  the  most  ordinary  way 
,  to  do  it.  A  villain  of  profounder  cunning  or  of 
larger  spirit  would  have  pursued  a  different  path. 
He  would  have  conversed  freely  and  with  ap- 
parent unreserve ;  he  wobld  have  yielded  to  all 
friendly  advances,  and  made  them  himself;  he 
would  have  shown  the  highest  art  by  concealing 
art,  in  accdVdance  with  the  hackneyed  proverb 
"  Ars  est  cehire  artem. "  ' 

Brandon  despised  him  as  an  ordinary  viUain 
and  hardly  thought  it  worth  his  while  to  take 
any  particular  notice  of  him^  except  to  watch 
I  Hum  m  a  general  way.     But  Cigole,  on  the  con- 
trary, was  very  different.    His  eyes,  which  never 
met  ^those  of  Brandon  fairly,  were  constantly 
watching  him.    When  moving  ^bont  the  quar- 
teMeck  or  when  sitting  in  the  cat)in'he  usually 
lud  the  air  of  a  map  who  was  pretending  to  be 
mtent  on  somethingelse,  but  in  reality  watching 
finudon's  acts  or  Sstening  to  his  words.     To 
any  other  man  the  knowledge  of  this  would  have 
been  in  the  highest  degree  irksome.     But  to 
Brandon  it  was  gratifying,  since  it  confirmed 
his  suspicions.     He  saw  this  man,  whose  con- 
stant efforts  were  directed  toward  pot  commit- 
ting himself  by  word,  doing  that  veJy  thing  by 
m  attitude,  his  gesture,  and  the  furtive  glimce 
of  his  eye.     Brandon,  too,  hafl  his  part,  but  it 
was  infinitely  greater  than  that  of  Cigole,  and 
th^urpose  that  now  animated  his  life  was  un- 
lijpigible  to  this  man  who  ^fatched  him.     But 
Cigole's  whole  soul  was  a;j)parent  to  Brandon  • 
and  by  his  smaU  arts,  his  low  cunnrag,  his  sly 
observation,  and  many  other  petnliarities,  he  ex- 
bibjted  that  which  is'seen  in  its  perfection  in  the 
ordinary  spy  of  despdtic  countries,  such  as  used 
to  ahound  most  in  Rome  (md  Naples  in  the  good 
oWdays.  .         '    " 

For  thecoftiroon  spy  of  Europe  may  deceNe 
IM  English   or  American   traveler;    but  t 
Weflchman,  th6  Genpan,  the  Spaniard,  or 
Italian,  always  recognizes  him. 

8o«randon'?  superior  penetration  discovei 
the  true  character  of  Cigole* 

~it!,"iu*^'^i^"*"""'  *"**''*  same  Cigole 
who  had  figured  m  the  affair  of  the  Vishlu; 


19 


ihatho  had  been  sent  out  by  PottA  to  do  some 
W  to  hmiself,  and  that  he  was  caf^ble  of  any 
<mne.  Yet  he  could  no»  see  how  lie  could  do' 
S  iL"F' J  ^*'  certiainlv  Could  not  incite  the  sim- 
PMtoded  c^)tain  and  the  honest  mate  to  con- 
nm^.    Hawaatoogw^tacowaidtoattempt 


any  violence.  So  Brandon  concluded  that  he 
had  simply  come  to  watch  him  so  as  to  learn  his 
character,  and  carry  back  to  Potts  all  the  knowl- 
edge that  he  might  gain. 

This  was  his  conclusion  after  a  close  associa- 
tion of  one  month  with  Cigole.  Yet  he  made  up 
his  mmd  not  to  lose  sight  of  this  man.  To  him 
he  appeared  only  an  agent  in  villainy,  and  there- . 
fore  unworthy  o/  vengeance;  yet  he  might  be 
made  use  of  as  an  aid  in  fcWt  vengeance.  He 
therefore  wished  to  have  a  clew  by  which  he 
might  afterward  find  him. 

"You  and  I,"  said  he  one  dav,  in  conversa- 
tion, "are  both  in  the  same  trade.  If  I  eyer 
get  to  England  I  may  wish  some  time  to  see  you. 
Where  can  I  find  you  ?" 

Cigole  looked  in  twenty  difterent  directions, 
and  hesitated  for  some  time. 

"  Well,"  said  he  at  Ijist,  "I  do  not  think  that 
you  will  wish  to  see  me—"  and  he  hesitated- 
but,  he  resumed,  with  an  evil  smile,  "  if  yon 
should  by  any  possibility  wish  to  do  so,  you  can 
find  out  where  I  am  by  inquiring  of  Giovanni 
Cavallo,  16  Red  Lion  Street,  London." 

"Perhaps  I  may  not  wish  to,"  said  Brandon, 
coolly,  "and  p^l-haps  I  may.  At  any  rate,  if  I 
do,  1  will  remember  to  inquire  of  Giovanni  Ca- 
vallo, 10  Red  Lion  Street,  London." 

He  spokecwith  deep  emphasis  on  the  address 
Cigole  looked  uncomfortable,  as  though  he  had 
at  Inst  made  the  mistake  which  he  dreaded,  and 
had  committed  himself 
Sothe,time  passed.  ^, 

''^''l^®  *""'  ^^^  ^y*  ^^^  weather  had-be- 
•^f*^  stormy.    Strong  head-winds,  accom- 
panidd'offcn  by  very  heavy  rains,  had  to  be  en- 
«oun^red.    In  spite  of  this  the  ship  had  a  very 
good  passage'  northward,  and  met  with  no  pai^ 
ticular  obstacle  until  her  course  was  turned  to- 
ward the  Indian  Ocean.     Then  aU  the  winds 
were  dead  against,  her,  and  for  weeks  a  wifltes- 
sion  of  l(jng  tDcks  fjr  to  the  north  and  to  the 
south  brought  her  btft  a  short  distance  onward, 
Kvery  day  made  the  w^d  more  violent  and  the 
Storm  vi/'orse.     And  no*  the  season  of  the  equi- 
nox was  approkching,  when  the  monsoons  change, 
and  all  the  winds  that  sweep-oyer  these  seas  alter 
their  bourses.     For  wfeeks  before  apd  'hfter  this 
season  the  winds  ore  all  unsettled,  and  it  seems 
as  If  theelements  wefe  let  iW     Friim  the 
first  ympa  tJSeptembeJk  this  bpcame  'manifest;  " 
and  ev^ft-day  brought  tliem  face  to  face  with 
sterner  diffleulties.     Twice  before  ihe  naptain 
had  been  to  Australia;    and  for  yeajrs  he  had 
been  in  the  China  trade;  so  that  he  knew  these 
^  well ;  but  he  said  that,  he  had  nevdr  known 
the  equinoctial  stoons  begin  mt  early;  and  jaae 
with  such  violence. 
Opposed  by  such  difficulties  as,these  the  ship 
H^hut  a  sljjjv  paSsage— the  best  routes' had 
"It  been  disedyered— and  it  was  the  middle 
itember  beftre  they  enteiM^thft  Indian     * 
,•      The  ^eatlier  thert  beifcihe  *Addenly 
i^td  they  drifted  aJoiig  beyoitid  the  '    " 


-iWeBteni  extremity  of  Java,  about  a  Eun- 

J^  ."WM  «outh  of  the  Straits  of  Sunda.     Here 

to. encounter  the  China  fleet  which 

jtHirf  strait,  for  every  day  one  or 

risible.  ,  .  • 

»  bonie  on  helplessly  by  the 

lich  at  this  place  are  numnons 

Thelitreams  that  flow  thrott|^ 


v'-^j- 


20 


CORD  AND  CREESE. 


\'i 


!  ■, 


the  many  isles  of  the  Indian  Archipelago,  uniting 
with  tlie  gr6«ter  southern  streams,  here  meet  and 
blend,  causing  great  difflculties  to  navigation, 
and  often  bntHnig  even  the  most  ext)ericneed  seu- 
tnun.  Yet  it  was  not  all  left  to  the  currents,  for 
frequently  and  suddenly  the  storms  came  up ; 
und  the  weather,  ever  changeful,  kept  the  sailors 
constiintly  ontlie  idert. 

Yet  between  the  storms  the  culms  were  fre- 
quent, and  sometimes  long  contiinied,  though  of 
such  a  sort  as  rccpiired,  watehfiilMess.  For  out 
of  the  midst  of  dead  calms  the  storm  would  sud- 
denly rise  in  its  might,  und  all  the  care  which 
experience  could  suggest  was  not  always  able  to 
avert  disaster. 

"  I  don't  like  this  weather,  Mr.  Brandon.    It'i 
the  worst   that  we  could  have,  especially  just^ 
here." 

"Why  just  here?" 

"Why,  we're  opposite  the  Straits  of  Sunda, 
the  worst  place  about  these  parts." 
"What  for?" 

"Pirates.     The  Malays,  you  know.     We're 
not  over  well  prepared  to  meet  them,  I'm  afraid. 
If  they  come  we'll  have  to  fight  them  the  best 
,we  can ;  and  these  calms  are  the  worst  thing 
because  the  Malay  jiroas  can  get  along 
glitest  wind,  or  with  oars,  when  we  can't 
at  all." 

re  the  Malays  any  worse  than  usual  now  ?" 
Brandon. 
'  Well,  no  worse  than  they've  been  for  the  last 
years.     Zangori  i  is  the  worst  of  them  all. " 
' '  Zangorri !     I've  lieard  of  him. " 
"I  shoidd  think  you  had.     \*Wiy,  there  never 
was  a  pirate  in  these  seas  that  did  so  much  dam- 
age.    No  mortal  knows  the  ships  that  devil  has 
captured  and  buiHed. "   . 

"I  hope  you  have  arms  for  the  seamen,  at  any 
rate."  , 

"Oh,  fl(c  have  one  howitzer,  and  small-arms 
for  the  men,  and  we  will  have  to  get  along  th6 
bc^^t  way  we  can  with  these;  but  the  owners 
oui^ht  never  to  send  fj^  here  witliout  a  better 
ecjuipment.'' 

"  I  su|(]jose  they  think/it  would  cost  too  much. " 

"Yfo;   that's  it.     They  think  only  about  the 

profits,  and  trust  tolu/'k  for  our  safety.     Well, 

I  only  hope  we'll  get4ufely  out  of  this  place — 

that's  nil." 

And  the  cajjtain  walked  off  much  more  ex- 
cited than  usual.  _ 

They  tlriftfed  on  through  days  of  cahn,  which, 
were  succeeded  liy  fierce  but  short-lived  storflis, 
and  then  followed  by  calms."  Their  course  lay 
sopnetjmes  north,  sometimes  south,  sometimes 
nowhere.  Thus  the  time  pasi^ed,  until  at  kingth, 
about  the  middle  of  Se])tember,  they  came  In 
sight  of  n  l(*ng,  low  island  of  sand. 

"I've  heard  of  that  sand-bank  before,"  said 
the  captain,  who  showed  Ibme'  surprise  at  see- 
ing it;  "but  I  didn't  believe  it  was  here.  It's 
not  down  in  tjie  charts,  Here  we  are  three  him- 
dred  andftfty  miles  southwest  of  the  Straits  of 
Sijndaf-ntla  the  cliart  makes  this  nkce  all  open 
*iiterr  "Well,  seein's  believin' ;  and  after  this  111 
swear  that  there  is  such  a  thing  as  Coffin  Island." 


^. 


Is  that'the  name?" 


That's  the  name  an  old  sea-captain  gave  it, 
and  tried  to  get  the  iSdmiralty  to  put  it  on  the 
c!".rt8,  but  they  wouldn't.  But  this  is  it,  .-uid 
no  mistake." 


"  Why  did  he  call  it  Coffln  Islanjl  ?" 
"Well,  he  thought  that  rock  looked  like  a 
cofHn,  and  it's  dangerous  enough  when  a  fug 
comes  to  deserve  that  name." 

Brandon  looked  eArnestly  at  the  island  which 
the  captain  mentioned,  and  which  they  were 
slowly  approaching. 

It  lay  toward  the  north,  while  the  ship's  course, 
if  it  had  any  in  that  calm,  was  southwest.  It 
was  not  more  than  six  miles  away,  and  apiwjared 
to  bo  about  five  miles  long.  At  the  nearest  ex- 
tremity a  black  rock  arose  to  a  height  of  aboul 
fifty  feet,  which  a|i|)eared  to  be  about  five  hun- 
dred feet  long,  and  was  of  such  a  sl'inpe  that  the 
imagination  might  easilji  see  a  resCmlilance  to  a 
Coffin.,  At  the  farthest  extremity  of  the  island 
was  a  low  mound.  The  rest  of  the  island  was 
fiat,  low,  and'sundy,  with  no  trace  of  vegetation 
IKirceptible  from  the  ship,  exce|)t  a  line  of  diiigj- 
Kreen  under  the  roc'k,  which  looked  like  grass. 
Y  The  ship  drifted  slowly  on. 
\  Meanwhile  the  captain,  in  anticipation  of  a 
8t\)rm,  had  caused  all  the  sails  to  be  taken  in, 
and,  stood  anxiously  watching  the  sky  toward 
the  southwest.  ' 

•  There  a  dense  mass  of  clouds  lay  piled  along 
the  horizon,  gloomy,  fcwering,  menacing;  frown- 
ing over  the  calm  seas  as  though  tbcy  woidd  soon 
destroy  that  calm,  and  fiing  forth  all  the  fury  of 
the  winds.  These  clouds  seemed  to  have  started 
up  from  the  sea,  so  sudden  had  been  their  ap- 
pearance; and  now,  as  they  gathered  themselves 
together,  tl)eir  forms  distended,  and  heightened, 
and  reached  foi-ward  vast  arms  »into  (be  ukv, 
striving  to  climb  there,  rolling  upward  volumin- 
ous cloud  m&sses  which  swiftly  ascended  toward 
the  zenith.  ISo  quick  was  the  progress  of  these 
clouds  that  they  did  not  seem  to  come  from  the 
banks  below  ;  but  it  was  rather  as  though  all  the 
air  suddenly  condensed  its  moisture  airtl  made  it 
visible  in  these  dark  masses.  "' 

As  yet  there  was  no  wind,  and  thie  water  was  ' 
as  smooth  as  glass ;  but  over  the  wide  surface, 
as  far  as  the  eye  could  reach,  the  long  swell  of 
the  ocean  had  changed  into  vast  rolling  undula- 
tions, to  the  motion- of  which  the  ship  yielded, 
slowly  nsc^ding  and  descending  ns  the  wateis 
rose  and  fell,  while  the  yarJs  creakid,  and  the 
rigging  twanged  to  the  strain  ujwn  them. 

Every  moment  the  sky  grew  darker,  nnd  as 
gloom  gathered  aMove  so  it  increased  below,  till 
all  the  sea  spread  ouf  a  smooth  ebon  mass. 
Darkness  settled  down,  and  the  sun's  face  wm 
thus  olycured,  and  a  |>retematural  gloom  gather- 
ed upon  the  face  of  nature.  Overhead  vast  black 
clouds  went  sweeping  past,  covering  all  things, 
faster  and  faster,  till  at  last  far  down  in  the 
northern  sky  the  heavens  were  all  ob.scured. 
-"But  amidst  all  this  there  was  as  yet  not  a 
breath  of  wind.  Far  above  the  wind  careered 
in  ft  iiarrow  current,  which  did  not  touch  the  sur- 
face of  the  sea  but  only  bore  onward  the  clouds. 
The  agitation  of  the  sky  above  contrasted  with 
the  stillness  below  made  the  fatter  not  consoling 
but  latheL fearful,  Jor  this  could_be  none  flther 
than  that  treacherous  stillness  which  precgden ' 
the  sudden  outburst  of  the  hurricane, 

For  that  sudden  outburst  all  were  now  look- 
ing, expecting  it  every  moment.  On  the  side 
of  the  ship  where  the  wind  was  exjjected  the 
captain  was  standing,  looking  anxiously  at  the 
black  clouds  jon  the  horizon,  and  all  the  crew 


HK   PU8H1 


■«f'v' 


't?:v- 


CORD  AND  CREESE. 


'HE   PUSHED   HIM   HEADLONG   OVER  THE   UAIL   AND   HKLrLESSLV   INTO   THK   8EA.  " 


were  gazing  there  in  sympathy  with  him.  From 
that  quuMer  tie  wind  would  burst,  and  it  was 
for  this  assault  that  all  the  uk-eparations  had  been 

made.  "^ 


•  lecting  clouds,  hut  at  length  lie  turned  awny'^ 
and  seemed  to  find  a  supreme  fascination  in  the 
sand-bank.  He  stood  at  the  stem  of  the  shil., 
looking  fi.\edly  toward  the  rock,  his  arms  fold- 
ed, and  his  thoughts  all  absorbed  in  that  one 
tiling.  A  low  railing  ran  round  the  (|uarter- 
•leck.  The  helmsman  stood  in  a  sheltered  place 
which  rose  only  two  feet  above  the  deck.  The 
captam  stood  by  the  companion-way,  looking 
south  at  the  gtorm ;  the  mate  was  near  the  cap- 
stan, and  all  were  intent  and  absorbed  in  tlieir 
cxiiectation  of  a  sudden  squall. 

Close  by  the  rudder-post  stood  CiRole,  look- 
ing with  all  the  rest  at  the  gathering  storm.  Hi-s 
fM^Avasoaly^aif  turned,  and  as  usanfhew^cB- 
W  this  with  only  a  furtive  glance,  for  at  times 
ms  stealthy  eyes  turned  toward  Brandon ;  and 

k  J  u  "*'""  °"  '"""'''  '^''1  "<"  ^e"!  to  be  ab- 
sorbed by  some  overma.stering  thought. 

fsnddenly  a  faint,  fluttering  ripple  appeared  to 
the  southward  ;  it  came  quickly ;  it  seemed  to 
Msh  over  the  waters ;  with  the  speed  of  the  wind 


It  moved  on.  till  a  quick,  fresh  blast  struck  the 
ship  and  .sighed  through  the  rii;giiig.  ,^ien  a 
famt  breathing  of  wind  succeeded  ;  but  far  away 
thftre  rose  a  low  moan  like  thatHvhicb  arises  from 


!■„,.„ ..        T,       1      ■     ,     ^  ""='e  ruse  a  low  moan  like  tiatWicbari-ies  from 


roar,  subdued  by  distance,  sounds  faintly,  yet 
wamingly,  to  the  ear. 

At  this  first  touch  of  the  tempest,  and  the 
menacing  voice  of  its  approach,  not  a  word  was 
spoken,  but  all  stood  mute.  Brandon  alone  np- 
IMjaretl  not  to  have  noticed  it.  He  still  stood 
wall  folded  arms  and  absorbed  air,  cazine  at 
the  island 

The  roar  of  the  waters  in  the  distflnce  grew 
louder,  and  in  the  direction  from  which  it  came 
the  dark  water  was  all  white  with  foaln.  and  the 
boiling  flood  Wvanced  nearer  in  myriad-num- 
bered waves,  WKjct-flceined  now  like  an  army  ■ 
rushing  to  the  charge,  tossiijg  on  high  its  crested 
Tieads  and  its  countless  foan  '      "  " 

ening  to  bear  down  all  Im 

At  last  the  tornado  s«i 

At  the  fierce  blast  oft 
far  over,  the  masts  ere 
waves  rushed  up  and 


Jaiid  threat- 


the  ship  rolled 
and  groaned,  the 

Jgainst  the  side. 

At  thfU  instant  Cigole  darted  quickly  toward 
Brandon,  and  the  moment  that  the  veseel  yield- 


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4 


^Sciences 
Corporation 


33  WCST  MAIN  STREET 

WEBSTER,  N.Y.  USSO 

(71«)S72-4S03 


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22 


CORD  AND  CREESE. 


ed  to  ^e  Mow  of  the  storm  he  fell  violently 
against  him.  Before  Brandon  had  noticed  the 
storm  or  had  time  to  st^dy  himself  be  had 
pushed  him  headlong  over  the  rail  and  helpless- 
ly into  the  sea — 

" Uqnldag  projedt  In  ondaa 

Prwcipitem." 

Cigole  clang  to  the  rail,  and  instantly  shrieked 
oat: 

"Man  overboard!" 

The  startling  cry  rang  through  the  ship.  The 
captain  tamed  round  with  a  face  of  agony. 

"Man  overboard!"  shouted  Cigole  again. 
"Help!     It's  Brandon!" 

"  Brandon  1"  cried  the  captain.  "  He's  lost ! 
O  Gpd!" 

He  took  up  a  hen-coop  from  its  fastenings  and 
flang  it  into  the  sea,  and  a  couple  of  pails  after 
it. 

He  then  looked  aloft  and  to  the  south  with 
eyes  of  despair.  He  could  do  nothing.  For 
now  the  storm  was  upon  them,  and  the  ship 
was  plunging  furiously  through  the  waters  with 
the  speed  of  a  race -horse  at  the  touch  of  the 
gale.  On  the  lee -side  lay  the  sand -bank, 
now  only  three  miles  away,  whose  unknown 
shallows  made  their  present  position  perilous  in 
the  extreme.  The  ship  could  not  turn  to  try 
and  save  the  lost  passenger;  it  was  only  by 
keeping  straight  on  that  there  was  any  hope  of 
avoidin^.that  lee-shore. 

All  on  board  shared  the  captain's  despair,  for 
all  taw  that  nothing  could  be  done.  The  ship 
was  at  the  mercy  of  the  harricane.  To  turn  was 
impossible  If  they  could  save  their  own  lives 
now  It  would  be  as  much  as  th^y  could  do. 

Away  went  the  ship — away,  farther  and  far- 


turned  toward  the  direction  where  that  sand  isl- 
and lay  which  had  been  the  cause  of  his  disaster. 
At  first  it  was  hidden  from  .view  by  the  swell  of 
waves  that  rose  in  front,  but  soon  rising  upon 
the  .^rest  of  one  of  these  he  perceived  for  aw.ny 
the  dark  form  of  the  coffin-shaped  rock.  Here 
tlien  before  him  lay  the  island,  and  toward  this 
both  wind  and  wave  impelled  him.- 

fiut  the  rock  wa«  far  to  the  right,  and  it  miglit 
be  that  the  island  did  not  extend  far  enough  to 
meet  him  as  he  neared  it.  It  was  alxiut  five 
miles  in  length,  but  in  his  efforts  he  might  not  lie 
able  to  reach  even  the  western  extremity.  Still 
there  was  nothing  else  to  do  but  to  trv.  Beso- 
lately,  therefore,  though  half  despairingly,  he  put 
forth  his  best  strength,  and  struggled  manfully  to 
win  the  shore. 

That  lone  And  barren  sand-bank,  after  all,  of- 
fered but  a  feeble  chance  for  life.  Even  if  he 
did  reach  it,  which  was  doubtful,  what  could  lie 
do  ?  Starvation  instead  of  drowning  would  lie 
his  fate.  More  than  once  it  occurred  to  him  that 
it  would  be  better  then  and  there  to  give  up  all 
efforts  atid  let  himself  go.  But  then  there  cone 
the  thought  of  thos^dear  ones  who  waited  for 
him  in  England,  the  thought  of  the  villain  Who 
had  thrown  him  from  the  ship,  and  the  gfeater 
villain  who  had  sent  him  out  on  his  murderous 
errand. '  He  'could  riot  bear  the  idea  t^at  they 
shotUd  triumph  ov^r  him  so  easily  aiid  so  q\iick- 
ly.  His  vengeance  should  not  be  taken  from 
him ;  it  had  been  baffled,  bat  it  still  nerved  hia 
arm. 

A  half  hour's  struggle,  which  seemed  like 
many  hours,  had  brought  him  much  nearer  to 
the  island,  but  his  strength  was  almost  exhau^.  . 
His  clothes^  caught  in  the  rush  of  the  iitaves,'an'd 


ther,  every  moment  leaving  at  a  greater  distance  |  clinging  to  him,  confined  the  free  action  of  his 
the  lost  man  who  struggled  in  the  waters.  limbs,  and  lent  an  additional  weight.     Another 

At  last  they  had  passed  the  danger,  the  island   half  hour's  exertion  might  possibly  bring  him  to 


was  left  behind,  and  the  wide  sea  lay  all  around. 
But  by  this  time  the  storm  was  at  its  height ; 
the  ship  could  not  maintain  its  proper  course, 
but,  yielding  to  the  gale,  fled  to  the  northwest 
fiu*  out  of  its  right  direction. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

SINKING   IN   DEEP  WATBBS. 


the  shore,  but  that  exertion  hardly  seemed  possi- 
ble. It  was  but  with  difficulty  now  that  he  conld 
strike  out  Often  the  rush  of  the  waves  from  be- 
hind would  overwhelm  him,  and  it  was  only  by 
com-ulsive  efforts  that  he  was  able  to  surmoant 
the  raging  billows  and  regain  bis  breath. 

Efforts  like  these,  however,  were  too  exhaust- 
ive to  be  long  continued.  Nature  failed,  ai;d 
already  a  wild  despair  came  over  him.  For  a 
quarter  of  an  hour  longer  he  had  continued  his 
exertions ;  and  now  the  island  was  so  near  that 
a  quarter  of  an  hour  more  might  bring  him  to  it. 
But  even  that  exertion  of  strength  ^^  now  no 
longer  possible.     Faintly  and  feebly,  and  with 


Brandon,  overwhelmed  by  the  rush  of  waters, 
half  suffocated,  and  struggling  in  the  rush  of  the 

waves,  shrieked  out  a  few  despairing  cries  for  „     _ 

help,  and  sought  to  keep  his  head  above  water  failing  limbs  and  fleivefy- throbbing'  heart,  he 
as  best  he  could.  But  his  cries  were  borne  off  !  toiled  on,  until  at  last  any  farther  effort  seemed 
by  the  fierc?  winds,  and  the  ship  as  it  careered  impossible.  Before  him  was  the  mound  which 
madly  before  the  blast  was  soon  out  of  hearing,     he  had  noticed  from  the  ship.     He  was  at  the 

He  was  a  first-rate  swimmer,  but  in  a  sea  like  j  western  extremity  of  the  island.  He  saw  that 
this  it  needed  all  his  strength  and  all  his  skill  to  i  he  was  being  carried  in  such  a  direction  tint 
save  himself  from  impending  death.     Encum-  |  even  if  he  did  struggle  on  he  might  be  home 


liered  by  his  clothes  itwamMl^more  difficult, 
yet  so  fierce  was  thij^gMMfwind  and  wave  that 
he  dared  not.sto^f(iHpnioment  in  his  struggles 
in  order  to  divesir  himself  of  his  clothing. 
-  At.  Aril,  by  a  mere  blind  instinct,  he  tried  to 
swim  after  the  ship,  as  though  by  any  possibility 
he  could  ever  reach  her  again,  but  the  hurricane 
was  against  him,  and  he  was  forced  sideways  for 
out  of  the  course  which  he  was  trying  to  take. 
At  last  the  fbll  posaeiaion  of  his  senses  was  re- 
stored, and  fbllowing  the  ship  no  longer,  he 


helplessly  past  the  isknd  and  out  into  the  open 
sea.  Alrendy  he  could  look  past  the  ishind,  and 
see  the  wide  expanse  of  white  foaming  waves 
which  threatened  to  engulf  him.  The  siglit 
'weskmrad  irha  VtOe  ni«nj|fh  wu  left,  imdmBde 
hi^cfforts  even  fbebler.  <• 

Oaspairingly  he  looked  around,  not  knowing 
what  he  songht,  but  seeking  still  for  sometliing, 
he  knew  not  what  In  that  last  look  of  despair 
his  eyes  caught  sight  of  something  which  at  com 
gave  him  renewedf  hope.    It  wh  not  for  aw^r> 


**j*W 


CORD  AND  CREESE. 


Borne  along  by  the  waves  tt  was  but  a  few  yards 
distant,  and  a  littleTwhind  him.  It  was  the  hen- 
coop which  the  Captain  of  the  Java  had  thrown 
orerboard  so  ^  to  give  Brandon  a  chance  for 
Bfe.  That  last  chance  was  now  thrown  in  his 
way,  for  the  hen-coop  had  followed  the  same 
course  with  himself,  and  had  been  swept  along 
not  very  far  from  him. 

Brandon  was  nerved  to  new  efforts  by  the  sight 
of  this.  He  turned  and  exerted  the  last  rem- 
nants of  his  strength  in  order  to  reach  this  means 
of  safety.  It  was  near  enough  to  be  accessible. 
A  few  vigorous  strokes,  a  few  struggles  with  the 
waves,  and  his  hands  clutched  the  bars  with  the 
grasp  ofta  drowning  man. 

It  waJ  a  large  hen-coop,  capable  of  keeping 
several  men  afloat  Brandon  clung  to  this  and 
tt  last  had  rest.  Every  piirjute  of  respite  from 
snch  struggles  as  he  had  carried  on  restored  his 
strength  to  a  greater  degree.  He  could  now 
keep  his  head  high  out  of  the  water  and  avoid 
the  engulfing  fury  of  the  waves  behind.  Now  at 
last  he  could  take  a  better  survey  of  the  prospect 
before  him,  and  see  more  pUinly  whither  he  was 
going. 

The  sand-bank- lay  before  him ;  the  mound  at 
the  western  extremity  was  in  front  of  him,  not 
very  far  away.  The  rock  which  lay  at  the  east- 
em  end  was  now  at  a  great  distance,  for  he  had 
beai  swept  by  the  current  abreast  of  the  island, 
and  was  even  now  in  danger  of  being  carried  past 
it.  Still  there  was  hope,  for  wind  and  wave 
were  blowing  directly  toward  the  isknd,  and 
there  was  a  chance  of  his  being  carried  full  upon 
its  shore.  Yet  the  chance  was  a  slender  one,  for 
the  set  of  the  tide  rather  carried  him  beyond  the 
line  of  the  western  extremity. 

Every  minute  brought  him  nearer,  and  soon 
his  fate  would  be  decided.  Nearer  and  nearer 
he  came,  still  clinging  to  the  hen-coop,  and  mak- 
ing no  efforts  whatever,  but  reserving  and  collect- 
ug  together  all  his  strength,  so  as  to  put  it  forth 
tt  the  final  hour  of  need. 

But  as  he  came  nearer  the  island  appeared  to 
mme  more  and  more  out  of  the  line  of  his  ap- 
proach. Under  these  circumstances  his  only 
chMce  was  to  fioat  as  near  as  possible,  and  then 
make  a  last  eflTort  to  reach  the  land. 

Nearer  and  nearer  he  came  At  last  he  was 
close  by  it,  but  the  extreme  point  of  the  island 
Ity  to  the  riglit  more  than  twenty  yards.  This 
MS  the  crisis  of  his  fate,  for  now  if  he  floated  on 
•"JMonger  he  would  be  carried  farther  away. 

The  shore  was  here  low  but  steep,  the  waters 
•ppeared  to  be  deep,  and  a  heavy  sgrf  dashed 
upon  the  island,  and  threw  up  its  spray  far  over 
toe  mound.  He  was  so  near  that  he  could  dis- 
Mguish  the  pebbles  on  the  beach,  and  could  see 
heyond  the  mound  a  long,  flat  surface  with  thin 
grass  growing. 

Beyond  this  point  was  another  a  hundred  yards 
»way,  but  fcrther  out  of  his  reach,  and  affording 
no  hope  whatever.  Between  the  two  points  there 
j»M  an  mlet  mto  the  island  showing  a  little  cove : 
^^gJ'^JMtJiere  became  wyder,  and  long 
nwfw  careered  one  past  another  over  the  infer- 
l^ng  space.  It  was  a  hopeless  prospect.  Yet 
l«*»s  his  last  chance.  r     r-- 

Brandon  made  up  his  mind.  He  let  go  the 
™-«>op,  and  summoning  up  all  his  strength  he 
•mck  out  for  the  shore.  But  this  toe  the  wind 
«"  •••  WWB  acainst  him,  bearing  him  past  the  I 


28 

point,  and  the  waves  dashed  over  him  more  quick- 
ly and  furiously  than  before.  He  was  swept  past 
the  pomt  before  he  had  made  half  a  dozen  strokes  ■ 
he  WM  borne  on  still  struggling;  and  now  on 
nis  left  lay  the  rollers  which  he  had  seen.  In 
spite  of  all  his  efforts  he  was  farther  away  from 
^e  island  than  when  he  had  left  the  hen-coop 
Yet  aU  hope  and  all  life  depended  upon  the  issue 
of  this  last  effort.  The  fifteen  or  twenty  min- 
utes of  rest  and  of  breathing-space  which  he  had 
gamed  had  been  of  immense  advantage,  and  he 
struggled  with  all  the  force  which  could  be  in- 
spired by  the  neames*  of  safety.  Yet,  after  alL 
human  efforts  cnnnerwithstand  the  fury  of  the 
elenjents,  and  here  against  this  strong  sea  the 
strongest  swimpier  could  not  hope  to  contend 
successfully. 

■  ■    "W*ver  I  ween  was  swimmer 
In  snch  an  evil  case." 

He  swam  toward  the  shore,  but  the  wind  strik- 
ing him  from  one  side,  and  urging  on  the  sea, 
drove  him  sideways.  Some  progress  was  made, 
but  the  force  Of  the  waters  was  fearful,  and  for 
every  foot  that  he  moved  for«ard  he  was  carried 
SIX  feet  to  leeward.  He  himself  saw  this,  and 
calculating  his  chances  he  perceived  with  despair 
that  he  was  ah%ady  beyond  the  firpt  point,  and 
that  at  the  present  rate  there  was  nojMjjibility 
of  gaining  the  farther  point. 

Already  the  waves  leaped  exnltingly  about 
him,  dashing  over  him  now  more  wildly,  since 
he  was  exposed  more  than  before  to  their  full 
sweep.  Already  the  rollers  lay  close  beside  him 
on  his  left.  Then  it  seemed  as  though  he  would 
be  engulfed.  Turning  his  head  backward  with 
a  last  faint  thought  of  trying  to  regain  the  hen- 
coop, so  as  to  prolong  hfe  somewhat,  he  saw  it 
for  away  out  of  his  reach.  Then  all  hoMi  fcft 
him.  jj  ^\ 

He  was  now  at  the  outermost  line  W  rollers. 
At  the  moment  that  he  turned  his  head  a  huge 
wave  raised  him  up  and  bore  him  forward.  He 
struggled  still,  even  in  that  time  of  despair,  and 
fought  with  his  enemies.  They  bore  him  on- 
ward, however,  none  tlie  less  helplessly,  and  de- 
scending carried  him  with  them. 

But  now  at  last,  as  he  descended  with  that 
wave,  hope  came  back,  and  all  his  despair  van- 
ished. 

For  as  the  wave  flung  him  downward  his  feet 
touched  bottom,  and  he  stood  for  a  moment  erect, 
on  solid,  hard  sand,  in  water  that  scarcely  i«acbed 
above  his  knees.  It  was  for  a  moment  only  that 
he  stood,  however,  for  the  sweep  of  the  water 
bore  him  down,  and  he  fell  forward.  Before  he 
could  regain  himself  another  wave  came  and 
hurled  him  ferther  forward. 

By  a  violent  effort  he  staggered  to  his  feet 
In  an  instant  he  comprehended  his  position.  At 
this  western  end  the  island  descended  gently 
into  the  water,  and  the  shoal  which  it  formed  ex- 
tended for  miles  away.  It  was  this  shoal  that 
caused  the  long  rollers  that  came  over  them  so 
vehemently,  and  in  such  marked  contrast  with 
th»mor8  abrupt  waves  of  the  sea  behind.: 


In  an  instant  he  had  comprehended  tlds,  and 
had  taken  his  course  of  action. 

Now  he  had  foothold.  Now  the  ground  be- 
neath lent  its  aid  to  his  endeavor ;  h$  was  no  lon- 
ger altogether  at  the  ihercy  of  the  water.  He 
bounded  forward  toward  the  shore  in  such  a  di- 
rection that  he  could  approach  it  without  oppiw 


,„j(^<.».*afftSi-i 


24 


CORD  AND  CREESE„. 


; 


HE  STAOOEREO   UP  A  FEW    PACES  UPON  THE  8ANDT   DECLIVITT. 


ing  hinuelf' entirely  to  the  wares.  The  point 
that  stretched  out  was  now  within  his  reach. 
The  waves  rolled  past  it,  but  by  moving  in  an 
oblique  direction  he  could  gain  it 

Again  and  again  the  high  rollers  came  for- 
ward, hurling  him  up  as  they  caught  him  in  their 
embrace,  and  then  casting  him  down  again.  As 
he  was  caught  up  from  the  bottom  he  sustained 
himself  on  the  moving  mosa,  and  supported  him- 
self on  the  crest  of  the  ware,  but  as  soon  as  his 
feet  touched  bottom  again  he  sprang  forward  to- 
ward the  point  which  now  became  every  minute 
more  accessible.  Wave  after  wave  came,  each 
more  furious,  each  more  ravenous  than  the  pre- 
ceding, as  though  bounding  one  another  on  to 


make  sure  of  their  prey.  But  now  that  the  hope 
of  life  was  strong,  and  safety  had  grown  almost 
assured,  the  deathlike  weakness  ifhich  hut  ohurt- 
ly  before  had  assailed  him  ga^'%  way  to  new-bom 
strength  and  unconquerable  resolve. 

At  length  he  reached  a  place  where  the  roUen 
were  of  less  dimensions.  His  progress  became 
more  rapid,  until  at  length  the  water  became  ex- 
ceedingly shallow^  being  not  mat^  than  a  fuoli 
depth.  Here  the  first  point,  where  the  mound 
was,  protected  it  frony  the  wind  and  sea.  Thii 
was  the  cove  which  m  had  noticed.  The  water 
was  all  white  with  foam,  but  offered  scarcely  sny 
resistance  to  him.  He  bad  but  to  wade  onwaca 
to  the  shore. 


That  shore  w 
gered  up  a  few  j 
«nd  then  fell  dov 

He  could  not  i 
on.  but  he  lay  w 
be  fell  into  a  sou 


THE  MYSTl 

When   Brandi 

morning  the  sun 

lie  rose  at  once  a 

oned  limbs,  to  a  hi 

were  partly  dry, 

and  impeded  his 

every  thing,  and 

Then  he  examine 

tuning  cartridges. 

with  the  help  of 

good  order.     As 

in  copper  they  wei 

intd  a  silver  case  \ 

neck.    It  was  cyl 

unscrewed.     On  i 

fiuher's  letter  and 

were  uninjured. 

small  compass  and 

He  now  began  t( 

had  ceased,  the  \< 

l>ree«e  was  blowing 

fled  the  water  and 

and  on  which  he  ha 

covered  with  a  coa 

the  sand.    But  the  i 

thrown  up  into  rij 

it  was  constantly  s 

■nonnd  was  not  far 

«f  the  island  he  coui 

rock  which  ho  had 

length  he  had  before 

ihe  width  appeared 

whole  aspect  it  seei 

nbominauon  ofdesc 

At  th6  end  where 

t«(l  in  two  points,  h 

eOTB  where  he  had  f 

points  was  distingui 

mentioned,  which  fn 

of  an  irregular  obloi 

ws  low,  and  descer 

The  island  Itself  app« 

Mce  of  some  sand- 

lieen  formed  by  cur 

•he  curreiits  of  the 

ikow  fr<»^  the  South 

«lii«  bank  hiy  ppjb 

union.    "■ 

A  short  survey  sh 
••nn  also  that  thei«  v 
futoining  life,  and  t 
"•(only perhaps  top 
*»^  of  atarvation. 


^ 


be  fell  into  a  sound  sleep. 


CHAPTER  V. 

THB  MYSTEBT  OF  COFFIN  ISLAND. 

When   Brandon   awaked   on    the   foUowinjr 
morning  the  sun  was  already  high  in  the  sky 

He  rose  at  once  and  walked  slowly  up,  with  stiff- 
ened limbs,  to  a  higher  spot.  His  clofljes  already 
wwe  partly  dry,  but  they  were  uncomfortable 
and  unpeded  hig  motion.  He  took  off  nearly 
erwy  thing,  and  laid  them  out  on  the  sand. 
Then  he  examined  his  pistol  and  the  box  con- 
twiung  cartndges.  This  box  held  some  oil  also, 
with  the  help  of  which  the  pistol  was  soon  in 
good  order.  As  the  cartridges  were  encased 
IB  copper  they  were  uninjured.  He  then  exam- 
nwd  B  siTver  case  which  was  suspended  round  his 
neck.  It  was  cylindrical  in  shape,  and  the  top 
unscrewed.  On  mining  this  he  took  ait  his 
fiuhers  letter  and  the  inclosnre,  both  orwhicfi 
were  uninjured.  He  then  rolled  them,  up  in  a 
sin^l  compass  and  restored  them  to  their  place. 

He  now  began  to  look  about  him.  The>storm 
had  ceased,  the  waves  had  subsidy,  a  slight 
bresM  was  blo>ving  from  the  sea  which  just  rof- 
llDd  the  water  and  temiiered  the  heat     The  isl- 


.CORD  AND  ofiEESE.  28 

geSV'X^I^e"'  JS  r  "saty  Je^U^^-  ^^^^^^^^  ^^T.""^^.  'i  ""'-'  ""«  " 
and  then  fell  down  exhawted  upon  the  Kromd^'  "  M»n  k  ^"J""^}"  *""*  '"^^•*  '•'^  ^^out 
He  could  not  move.  It  wasTte  •  niKL  for^t  ,r?h- """^  ■  "^^  *'",'?'"^  "^^  *^  «='=°"« 
on,  but  he  lay  where  he  had  fallen  i^d  at Zt  'h,fV  l"  "^"^J  u^r"  ^"^  ^"^  remained 
!,»  fell  !„.„  »-L„..„..  .,_-."""  ""'^°'  "n"'  at  «8t   that  the  captain  of  the  Java  would  not  give  him 

Up.  • 

Still  subsistence  of  some  kind  was  necessary 
and  there  was  nothing  to  be  done  but  to  explore 
the  sandy  tract  before  him.     Setting  forth  he 
walked  toward  the  rock  along  the  sea-shore     On 
one  side  toward  the  north  the  shore  was  shallow 
and  sloped  gently  into  the  water;  but  on  the 
southern  side  it  dascended  more  abruptly      The 
tide  was  offt.    A  steep  beach  appeared  here  cov- 
ered *ith  stones  to  which  myriads  of  shell-fish 
were  attached.    The  sight  of  these  suggested  the 
Idea  to  him  that  on  the  opposite  side  there  might 
be  clams  in  the  sand.    He  walked  over  there  in 
search  of  them.     Here  the  slope  was  so  gradual 
that  extensive  flats  were  left  uncovered  by  the 
receding  tide.  ^ 

When  a  boy  he  had  been  sometimes  accus- 
tomed to  wander  on  sand  flats  near  hia^ome 
and  dig  up  these  clams  in  sport.  Now  HB  boy- 
ish experience  became  useful  Myriads  of  little 
holes  dotted  the  sand,  which  he  knew  to  be  the 
iiKications  of  these  moUusc^and  he  at  once  be- 
gan to  scoop  in  the  sand  wflKhis  hands.  In  a 
short  time  he  had  found  enough  to  satisfy  his 
.hunger,  and  what  was  better,  he  saw  all  around 
an  unlimited  supply  of  such  food. 

Yet  food  ivas  not  enougli.  Drink  was  eniially 
necessary.  The  salt  of  these  shell -fish  aggniva- 
ted  Mie  thirst  that  he  had  already  begun  to  feel 


and  on  which  he  had  b^n  cast  wasTow  flat  and'   3  hL    "?'  *'""  '"'  ""^  '^"^'^^  ^^"^  ' 
covered  mth  a  coarse  giWwhich  s^w  out  nf    ^  *  *^'  ^'  "'*'  ''™  ""'^  ">«««  might 

-hesand.  Bntthe,andSf;^Tn^ryplL2  te^VrhT.  .^'  ^^  "T""^  *  ^''t^^ 
thrown  up  into  riJge.,,  and  appeared  wthSJ  i„«  '  ^\u  <^«^™'"«i  ^  ^^  f"r  it  neverthe- 
it  «vas  constantly  Jifting  and  d?ZiSt  T§«1l  '  "^  *^*  T'^  ^  *'''  "^  "^"""^  *«  P«>«'i«> 
.noand  was  not  f^  away  and  at  the^tm  «nH  '•"="?»?  .^?«  *e  rock  at  the  eastern  end,  To- 
„f  .h-  :„i...j  K„  .'r.,T*y'.?"".  ?'  V"^  eastern  end  ward  this  he  now  once  more  directed  his  stens. 


uf  the  island  he  could  see  the  black  onUine  of  t& 
rock  which  ho  had  noticed  from  the  ship.  The 
.ength  he  had  before  heard  to  be  about  five  miles. 
the  width  appeared  alxmt  one  mUe,  and  in  ite 
whole  aspect  it  seemed  nothing  better  than  the 
nbomination  of  desolation. 

At  th6  end  whe^e  he  was  the  island  termina- 
te)! m  two  points,  between  which  there  was  the 
Wre  whore  he  had  found  refuge.  One  of  these 
pointe  was  distinguished  by  the  mound  already 
menuoned,  which  from  where  he  stood  appeared 
<rf  an  irregular  oblong  shape.  The  other^^nt 
was  low,  and  descended  gently  into  the  water, 
rhe  island  itself  appeared  to  be  merely  the  emerge 
Mce  of  some  sand-bank  which,  perhaps,  had 
been  fonnsd  by  currents  and  eddies;  for  here 
the  currejits  of  the  Strait  of  Sunda  encounter 
nose  fn^  the  Southern  and  Indian  oceans,  and 
mL     '  Pr<»b«b»y  near  their  point  of 

),-^  '.'"'".  *"T*J'  ''*°'^«^  ••«"»  this.  It  showed 
<m  also  that  there  was  but  little  if  any  hope  of 
Mrtaining  life,  and  that  he  had  escape!  drown- 
Hovly  ^rhaps  to  perish  by  the  m6n  lingering 
etonies  of  starvarion.  " 


_Al«ti^  hunger  and  diirst  had  begun  to  be 
m,  and  how  to  satisfy  thve  wants  he  knew  not. 
^he  would  not  despaJf^  Perhaps  the  Java 
n«ht  return  in  searoh  of  him,  and  his  conflne- 
"»«t  would  only  last  for  a  day  or  so. 

He  understood  the  act  of  Cigole  in  a  way 
tMtWMsatiafactoiy  to  himself.     He  had  thrown 


-  S^u    •  1     J  ..      •"""'  vurecieu  ms  Steps. 

.  The  island  was  all  of  sand  except  the  rockson 
the  south  beach  and  the  cUff  at  the  eastern  end. 
Coarse  grass  grew  very  extensively  over  the  sur- 
face, but  the  sand  Whs  fine  and  loose,  and  in 
many  places  thrown  up  into  heaps  of  many  dif- 
ferent shapes.  Tfie  grass  grew  in  tufts  or  in 
spires  and  blades,  thinly  scattered,  and  nowhere 
forming  a  sod.  The  soil  was  difficult  to  walk 
over,  and  Brandon  songht  the  beach,  where  the 
damp  sand  afforded  a  firmer  foothold.  In  about 
an  hour  aqd  a  half  he  reached  the  rock. 

It  was  between  five  hundred  and  irix' hundred 
feet  in  length,  and  about  fifty  in  height.  There 
was  no  resemblance  to  a  coffin  now  as  Brandon 
approached  it,  for  that  likeness  was  only  discern- 
ible at  a  distance.  Its  sides  were  steep  and  pre- 
cipitons.  It  was  one  bUck  solid  mass,  without 
any  outlying  crags,  or  any  fragments  near  it 
Its  upper  surface  appeared  to  be  level,  and  in 
varioiw  places  it  was  very  easy  to  ascend.  Uff 
one  of  these  places  Brandon  climbed,  and  won 
stood  on  the  top. 

Near  him  the  summit  was  somewhat  rounded  • 
at  the  farther  end  it -was  flat  and  irregukr:  but 
i>«wwiF Ariwo  (mds  it  saiik  Intd  a  deep  hoDoiT^ 
where  he  saw  that  which  at  once  excited  a  tnl  ' 
mult  qf  hope  and  fear.  It  was  a  pool  of  water 
at  le<^  fifty  feet  in  diameter,  and'deep  too,  since 
the  sides  of  the  rock  went  down  steody.  But 
was  It  fresh  or  salt  ?  Was  it  the  acciiinlation 
trom  the  showers  of  the  rainy  season  of  the  trop- 
ics, or  was  it  but  the  result  of  the  past  night's 


«; 


2G 


CORD  AND  CHEESE. 


Btorni,  which  had  hurled  wave  after  wave  here 
till  the  hollow  was  filled  ? 

With  hasty  footsteps  he  rushed  toward  the 
margin  of  the  pool,  and  bent  down  to  taste.  For 
a  moment  or  so,  by  a  very  natural  feeling,  he 
hesitated,  tlien,  throwing  off  the  fever  of  sus- 
pensie,  he  bent  down,  kneeling  on  the  margin, 
till  his  lips  touched  the  water. 

It  was  fresh !  Yes,  it  was  from  the  heavens 
above,  and  not  from  the  sea  below.  It  was  the 
fresh  rains  from  the  sky  that  had  filled  this  deep 
pool,  and  not  the  spray  from  the  sea.  Again  and 
agitin  he  quaffed  the  refreshing  liquid.  Not  a 
trace  of  the  salt-water  could  be  detected.  It 
was  a  natural  cistern  which  thus  lay  before  him, 
fonned  as  though  for  the  reception  of  the  rain. 
For  the  present,  at  least,  he  was  safe. 

He  had  food  and  drink.  As  long  as  the  rainy 
,  season  lasted,  and  for  some  time  after,  life  was 
'  secure.  Life  becomes  doubly  sweet  after  being 
purchased  by  such  efforts  as  those  which  Bran- 
don had  put  forth,  and  the  thought  that  for  the 
|>resent,  at  least,  he  was  safe  did  tot  fail  to  fill 
him  with  the  most  buoyant  hope.  To  him,  in- 
deed, it  seemed  just  then  as  if  nothing  more  Could 
be  desired.  lie  had  food  and  drink  in  abund- 
ance. In  that  climate  shelter  was  scarcely  need- 
ed.    What  more  could  he  wish  ? 

The  first  day  was  passed  in  exploring  the  rock 
to  see  if  there  was  any  place  which  he  might  .select 
for  his  abode.  There  were  several  fissures  in  the 
rock  at  the  eastern  end,  and  one  of  these  he  se- 
lected. He  then  went  back  for  his  clothes,  and 
brought  them  to  this  place.    So  the  first  day  went. 

AU  tlie  time  his  eyes  wandered  round  the  ho- 
rizon to  see  if  a  sail  mi^t  be  iil  sight.  After 
two  or  three  days,  in  which  nothing  appeared,  he 
ceased  his  constant  watch,  though  still  from  time 
to  time,  by  a  natural  im])idse,  he  continued  to 
look.  After  all  he  thought  that  rescue  might 
come.  He  was  somewhat  out  of  the  track  of 
the  China  ships,  but  still  not  very  much  so.  An 
adverse  wind  might  bring  a  ship  close  by.  The 
hope  of  this  sustained  him. 

Rut  day  succeeded  to  day  and  week  to  week 
with  no  appearance  of  any  thing  whatever  on  the 
wide  ocean.  V     , 

During  these  long  days  he  passed  the  greater 
part  of  his  time  either  under  the  shelter  of  the 
rock,  where  he  could  best  avoid  the  hot  sun,  or 
when  the  sea-breeze  blew  on  its  summit.  The 
frightful  solitude  offei-ed  to  him  absolutely  no- 
thing which  could  distract  his  thoughts,  or  pre- 
vent him  from  brooding  upon  the  hopelessness 
of  his  situation. 

Brooding  thus,  it  became  his  chief  occupation 
to  read  ove^  and  over  his  father's  letter  and  the 
inclosnre,  and  conjecture  what  might  be  his 
course  of  action  if  he  ever  escaped  from  this 
place.  His  father's  voice  seemed  now  to  sound 
to  him  more  imploringly  than  ever;  and  the 
winds  at  night,  as  they  moaned  round  the  rock, 
seemed  to  modtdate  themselves,  to  form  their 
sounds  to  something  like  a  wild  cry,  and  wail 
forth.  "Come  home  1'^  Yet  that  home  was  now 
surely  farther  removed  than  ever,  and  the  winds 
seemed  only  to  mock  him.  More  sad  and  more 
despairing  than  Ulysses  on  the  Ogygian  shore, 
he  too  wasted  away  with  home-sickness. 

Kartipiro  ik  yXviciic  aiuni  voarov  bivpofutuf. 

Fate  thus  &r  had  been,  against  him,  and  the 


melancholy  recollections  of  his  past  life  could 
yield  nothing  but  despondency.  Driven  from 
home  when  but  a  boy,  he  had  Itecome  an  exile, 
hod  wandered  to  the  other  side  of  the  world,  and 
was  just  beginning  to  attain  some  prospect  of  a 
fortune  when  this  letter  came.  Rising  up  from 
the  prostration  of  that  blow,  he  had  struggled 
against  fate,  but  onlv  to  encounter  a  more  over- 
mastering force,  and  this  last  stroke  hod  lieen 
the  worst  of  alL  Coidd  he  rally  after  this? 
Could  he  now  hope  to  escape  ? 

Fate  had  been  against  him ;  but  yet,  perhaps, 
here,  on  this  lonely  island,  he  might  find  a  turn- 
ing-point. Here  he  might  find  that  turning  in 
the  long  lane  which  the  proverb  speaks  of.  *'  The 
day  is  darkest  before  the  mom,"  and  perhaps  lie 
would  yet  have  Fate  on  his  side.       r 

But  the  sternest  and  most  courageous  spirit 
can  hardly  maintain  its  fortitude  in  an  utter  and 
unmitigated  solitude.  St.  Simeon  Stylites  could 
do  so,  but  he  felt  that  on  the  top  of  that  pillar 
there  rested  the  eyes  of  the  heavenly  hosts  and 
of  admiring  mankind..  It  is  when  the  conscious- 
ness of  utter  solitude  comes  that  the  soul  sinks. 
When  the  prisoner  thinks  that  he  is  forgotten  by 
the  outside  world,  then  he  loses  that  strength 
which  sustained  him  while  hp  believed  himself 
remembered. 

It  was  the  lot  of  Brandon  to  have  this  sense 
of  utter  desolation ;  to  feel  that  in  all  the  world 
there  was  not  one  human  being  that  knew  of  his 
,fate ;  and  to  fear  thot  the  eye  of  Providence  only 
saw  him  with  indifference.  With  bitteme«s  he 
thought  of, the  last  words  of  his  father's  letter: 
"  If  in  that  other  world  to  which  I  am  going  the 
disembodied  spirit  can  assist  man,  then  he  sure, 
()  my  son.  I  will  assist  you,  and  in  the  crisis 
of  your  fate  I  will  be  near,  if  it  is  only  to  com- 
municate to  your  spirit  what  you  oiight  to  do." 

A  melancholy  smile  passed  over  his  fine  ns  lie 
thought  of  what  seemed  to  him  the  utter  futility 
of  that  promise. 

Now,  as  the  weeks  passed,  his  whole  mode  of 
life  affected  both  mind  and  body.  Yet,  if  it  be 
the  highest  state  of  man  for  the  soul  to  live  by 
itself,  as  Socrates  used  to  teach,  and  sever  itself 
from  bodily  association,  Brandon  surely  hnd  at- 
tained, without  knowing  it,  a  most  exalted  stage 
of  existence.  Perhaps  it  was  the  period  of  pn- 
rificfttion  and  preparation  for  future  work. 

The  weather  varied  incessantly,  onlms  and 
storms  alternating ;  sometimes  all  the  sea  lying 
dull,  listless,  and  gUssy  under  the  buniing  sky ; 
at  other  times  both  sea  and  sky  convulsed  with 
the  war  of  elements.    - 

At  last  there  came  one  storm  so  tremendous 
that  it  exceeded  all  that  Brandon  had  ever  seen 
any  where. 

The  wind  gathered  itself  up  froy  the  south- 
east, and  for  a  whole  day  the  forces  of  the  tem- 
pest collected  themselves,  till  ot  lost  they  burst 
in  fury  upon  the  island.  In  sustained  violence 
and  injhe  frenzy  of  its  assault  it  far  surpassed 
that  flftt  storm.  Before  sundown  the  storm  was 
at  its  height,  and,  though  yet  day,  the  clouds 
were  BO  dense  imd  so  hlack  Ihiilll  becaBrliU 
night.  Night  came  on,  aiid  tKe  storm,  and  roar, 
and  darkness  increased  steadily  every  hour,  i^o 
intense  woa  the  darkness  that  the  bond,  when 
held  close  by  the  face,  could  not  be  distinguished. 
So  resistjess  was  the  force  of  the  wind  that  Bmn- 
don,  on  looking  a^i  to  sea,  hi^^  «ling  to  the 


CQIID  AND  CREESE. 


ir1)ecanifrlil>« 


rock  to  prerent  himself  from  being  blown  away 
A  dense  ram  of  spray  streamed  through  the 
«r,  and  the  surf,  rolling  up,  flung  its  crest  all 
across  the  island.     Brandon  could  hear  beneath 
him,  amidst  some  of  the  pauses  of  the  stonn,  the 
lussmg  and  bubbhng  of  foaming  waters,  as  though 
the  whole  island,  submerged  by  the  waves,  wm 
slowly  settling  dowiiinto  the  depths  of  the  oJ;ean 
Brandon  s  place  of  shelter  was  sufflcientlv  ell 
erated  to  be  out  of  the  reach  of  the  waves  that 
inight  r^sh  upon  the  land,  and  on  the  lee-side  of 
the  rock,  so  that/he  was  sufficiently  protected. 
Sand,  which  he  had  carried  up,  formed  his  bed. 
In  this  place,  wluch  iiaa  more  like  the  lair  of  a 
wild  beast  than  the  abode  of  a  human  being,  he 
had  to  h  ve.     Many  wakeful  nights  he  had  pSsed 
tee,  but  never  had  he  known  such  a  ni^Tt  as' 

"^A^  ^^ u'  ^"I'y  *''^»*  *''"  hurricane  that 
vould  have  been  mconceivable  if  he  had  not 

;!Tl-"-     ?i?  «Sft«»f  refined  and  rendered 
acateby^g  vigds^d  slender  diet,  seemed  to 
detect  todible  woMs  in  the  voice  of  the  storm 
Looking  ont  through  the  gloom  his  sight  seemed 
to  discern  shap^  flitting  by  like  lightning,  as 

fZfJt      ^^^^  °*^  "'^  *'°'™  '"^  ^**'- 

It  needed  all  the  robqst  courage  of  Ms  strong 
nature  to  sustain  himself  i^  the  presence  "Bf  the 
wild  fancies  that  now  came  iW,ing  and  throng- 
mg  before  his  mind.  The  wo?da  of  his  father 
louiided  m  his  ears  ;  he  thought  he  heard  them 
spoken  from  the  air;  he  thought  he  saw  an 
aged  specU^  face,  wan  with  sufTering  and  grief 
in  front  of  his  cave.  He  covered  his  eyes  with 
his  hands,  and  sought  to  reason  down  his  super- 
stitious f^hng.  In  vain.  Words  rang  in  his 
ears,  muflled  words,  as  though  muttered  in  the 
storm,  and  his  mind,  which  had  brooded  so 
ong  over  his  futher's  letter,  now  gav^  shape  to 
the  Mise  of  winds  and  wavei.  "»pe  ro 

!!ri"»''®  """*  of  your  fate  I  will  be  near." 

h,  /  ".^  .^."".'^  •"  *="^'*  B«ndon,  aloud,  and 
hg  started  to  his  feet 

But  the  storm  went  on  with  its  fury,  and  still 

his  eyes  saw  shapes,  and  his  ears  heard  fantastic 

8oun4s     So  the  night  passed  until  at  last  the 

storm  had  exhausted  itself.     Then  Brandon  sank 

down  and  slept  far  on  into  the  day. 

ci^^^^'J^u  *'^**'*"'  "8"'"  "•«  «ora»  had  snb- 
Bded.  The  sea  was  still  boisterous,  and  a  fresh 
breeze  blew  which  he  inhaled  with  pl^I^ 
After  obtaining  some  shell-fish,  and  satisfyinir 
tas  appetite,  he  went  to  the  summit  of  the  rock 
for  water,  and'then  stood  looking  out  at  sea. 

His  eye  swept  the  whole  circuit  of  the  horizon 
»n  hont  seeing  any  thing,  until  at  length  he  turned 
to  look  ma  westwardly  direction  where  the  isl- 
Md  spread  out  before  him.  Here  an  amazing 
aght  met  his  eyes.  -•'— .lug 

The  mound  at  the  other  end  had  become  com- 
aaTltTa^t^ietKuaKht  Zt   v^eLT'  '>^^- «<=»''-.  •»  the  dir^t]rark"of 

^WfC7^,'^ktut"^'rddTe*S  '"  •  K'fT'r'^'''  ^-^r^^ic^ZS 

southern  end  was  flat  o^the  surface  Tnd  JarklJ  mLTn^Ti  '?""•*•     ^'''«  ^'"•«'»  ^  *^^^ 

&  .From  the  distance  at  whkh  he  sS  h  ™  h!fn  „/*  ''^'''PPt  L"  *'dtl,-the  crest  of 

looked  Uke  a  rock,  around  which  the  Lnd^H  tT  ^fP  "f '*"f^7'"'^''  rises  out  of  the<^|ni 

•Mtmnlated,  but  wS  iL  hiln  !.„„  **°d  .Md  bed.     Here  the  wildest  storms  in  the  wq^KCm 

AtthatdirtanceitiSifkea^u  v„.  S!lI!i"ff^*L^*"SL  Not  long  ago  wi'SonnZ 
M  ^-^^  ^  "''*  *  "**•  '»"*  fl««-««ff  w^p^jon^from  oat  ito  place  and  hnrM 


27 
there  WM  something  in  its  shajie  and  in  its  po- 
sition which  made  it  l«oi  like  a  shij  K 
had  been  cast  ashore.     The  idea  was  a  Itar^ug 

grew  until  at  last,  unable  to  endure  this  sus- 
pense, he  hurried  off  in  that  direction 

islindTf  hL'^''  '™t"""  ^°  '"«'  •>««"  on  the 
ishind  he  haf  never  been  close  to  the  mound 

^\'!!i'^?1^"*^  for  the  most  part  in  the  nZhl 
borhood  of  the  rock,  and  had  never  thoughtXt 
a  barren  sand  hillock  was  worthy  of  f  vi'sit 
But  now  It  appeared  a  very  different  object  in  hi; 

He  walked  on  over  half  the  intervening  dis- 
tance, and  now  the  resemblance  instead  of  tiding 
out^  as  he  anticipated,  grew  more  close.  It  wa! 
8^  too  far  to  be  seen  very  distinctly ;  but  th^ 
even  from  that  distance,  he  saw  thi'miSS^I 
ble  outhne  of  a  ship's  hull  ^^ 

There  was  now  scarcely  any  doubt  about  this 

wUh  Jn*i  "1  "'"'■''  .''•''='''>■  ""^a^d,  filled 
with  wopder,  and  marvel mg  by  what  strani^ 
chajjcMhis  »ssel  could  haveUh^d  iu  S 

There  it  lay.     It  could  not  by  any  possibility 
have  been  cast  ashore  on  the  prec^i^  St 
The  mightiest  billows  that  ever  rose  from  oc««n 
shore  °%^^'?*^«  «ft«d  a  ship  so  far  uponZ 

yZ\^^  If  '""fi*'"*.  »nd  that  the  sand 

A^J"    Zd^  """""l "  ^y  ™<=«=essiye  storms 

As  he  walked  nearer  he  regarded  more  closely 

he  formation  of  this  westera  end.     He  sawYhe  ' 

low  northern  point,  and  then  the  cove  where  he      " 

had  escaped  from  the  sea.     He  noticed  that  the 

southern  point  where  the  mound  was  app«J^ 

L^^*."**!^  of  peninsula,  and  the  the^iVZ: 

M  '^'V"  ^^r^y  T"^*"  »>«  «^ouId  Jco^t 
for  this  wonder.,  This  ship,  he  saw,  must  have 
been  wrecked  at  some  time  long  before  upon  this 
island.  As  the  shore  was  shallow  it  had  run 
aground  and  stuck  fast  in  the  sand.  But  suc- 
cessive storms  had  continued  to  beat  upon  it  nn- 

^»n»?  T^"*^  T*^'  I*''?''  *«  '""«"  were  con.    ' 
stently  driving  about  had  gathered  all  around  it 
higher  and  higher.     At  h«t,  in  the  course  of 

L?a'if7"?  accumulation  had  gathered  about 
this  obstacle  till  a  new  bank  had  been  formec 
and  joined  to  the  island ;  and  the  winds  had  lent 

n  .u""!.'.  ^^'"8  "P  *•'«  loose  sand  on  hirfi  till 
all  the  ship  was  covered.  But  last  night'sltorm 
had  to  some  extent  undone  the  work,  and  now 
tne  wreck  was  once  more  exposed. 

Brandon  was  happy  in  his  conjecture  and  riitht 
m  his  theory.  All  who  know  aw-  thing  abSut 
the  construcuon  and  nature  of  sand  ishuids  such 
as  this  are  aware  that  the  winds  and  waters  work 
perpetual  changes.  The  best  known  example  of 
this  IS  the  far-fcmed  .^able  Island,  which  Um  oft" 
the  coast  of  Nova  Scotia,  in  the  direct  track  of 


\' 


■J 


1.1 .» 


■*?■ 


-I?' 


28 


'  CORD  AND  CREESK 


'i 


'*OBBAT  HBATEM8!"   CRIED  BRANDON,  STARTING  BACK — "  IHt   'viSHNU!'" 


away  into  the  Bea.  In  ftsrce  storms  the  spray 
drives  all  acrosH,  and  it  is  imp<?sHil)le  to  venture 
ont  But  most  of  all,  Sable  Island  is  famotts 
for  the  melancholy  wrecks  that  have  taken  place 
there.  Often  vestsels  that  have  the  bad  fortnne 
to  run  aground  are  broken  upi  but  sometimes  the 
sand'^gathers  about  them  uid  covers  them  up. 
There  are  numerous  mouifds  here  which  are 
known  to  conceal  wrecked  ships.  Some  of  these 
Tiite  been  opened,  and  thfe  wreck  beneath  has 
been  brought  to  view.  Sometimes  also  after  a 
severe  gale  these  sandy /mounds  are  torn  away 
and  the  buried  vessels  «K  exposed- 
Far  away  in  Aostralia  Brandon  bad  heard  of 
8abla  Island  ih>m  different  sea  captains  who  had 


\: 


■'k 


been  in  the  Athmtic  trade.  The  stories  which 
these  men  had  to  tell  were  all  largelv  tinged  with 
the  snpematural.  One  in  particular  who  had 
been  wrecked  there,  and  had  taken  refuge  for  the 
night  in  a^ut  bnilt  by  the  British  Govemment 
for  wrecked  sailors,  told  some  wild  story  aboat 
the  apparition  of  a  negro  who  waked  him  up  at 
dead  of  night  and  nearly  IpUed  him  with  horror. 

With  all  these  thoughts  in  hiM|&iid,  Brandon 
wproached  the  wreclt  and  at  IwlSwd^dwe  be- 
side it. 

It  had  been  long  baried.  The  hull  was  abont 
two-thirds  nncovered.  A  vast  heap  of  sand  still 
clung  to  the  bow,  but  the  stem  stood  out  fall  in 
view.    Although  it  most  have  been  there  for  * 


oi--*5 


long  Ume  the 

Dtemed  to  hav 

(he  sand.     Al 

come  loo8e,.an( 

were  no  masts, 

still  remained, 

brig.    So  deep] 

Brandon,  from 

the  whole  deck 

level  with  the  de 

been  chopped  ai 

The  hold  appen 

there  may  have 

cealing  somethii 

ing  of  the  deck  i 

the  other  side  hi 

there  was  a  qua: 

light,  but  only  di 

door  of  the  cabi 

li^t 

All  these  thing 
A  pensive  melanc 
ing  of  pity  for  th( 
were  capable  of  fi 
he  walked  around 
Mad  her  name. 

The  stem  was  1 
had  to  kneel  to  i 
him  the  letters  we: 
remaining  on  the 
there  and  knelt  dc 
still  legible  and  pa 
letters: 


"Great  Heaven 
l>Mk-"the  Vishn 


CH 

THB  DWELLER 

A»WR  a  momeni 

my  for  a  short  dii 

looked  fixedly  at  the 

Could  Ihis  be  indec 

»n«t  marvelous  coii 

JPonit?    It  was  in 

mm  Calcutta  for  M 

this  vessel  to  be  pra 

liow  did  it  get  here? 

let  why  not?    As 

no  matter  in  itself  for 

»««  are  sometimes  bi 

"oods  which  last  fo 

»<»d  might  endure  ft 

npbvsand.     Besidei 

Md  been  laden  with  s 

other  wooden  mated 

•flott.    It  might  hav 

ou  the  cnrrenu  bore 

not  so  wonderful  that 

of  Ulonel  Despard. 

The  true  marvel  w; 

_^^b«in  cast  ashor* 

J*»re  this  ship  was. 

He  stood  for  a  long 
^•trength  had  been 
*«f  of  his  island  Ufe 
"jw.  were  becoming  i 
■""into  a  morbid  at 


V 


the  Band.  All  the  caK  k  ^  ""  '^^^  ^y 
come  loo«,,,a„d  the  ^t  "i;pi°:7J'  ""d  be- 
mm  no  masts,  but  the  lowlr  Wrt  of  f  J^'  i,     T 

s  "r^r*^-,  '""''^"«  th^theieitr': 

been  chopped  «w^     Thet^lh"'''^""' '"  ''»'•«' 

S~«esS-£S 

him  the  letter  we^oblkemSS  b.u  h«  '  "'^'^' 
remaining  on  the  oppose  jS  *""  ^«  «'"' ««">« 
there  and  knelt  dowT  Thjrn  »  "^/''«"'  o^er 

still  legible  and  p«  of  a  fifth  'V^  '^"  ''"'"^ 
letters:  ""•     ^^ese  were  the 

VISH^ 


CORD  AND  CREESE. 


l^i-^the'^RS/"  ''"^  ^■^'^"'^  «*«"-« 


CHAPTER  VT.    '"- 

ran   DWELLER   ,N   THE  SUNKEN  SHIP 

fiom  Calcutta  for  Manni»     w     • '^'^""  «»"«1 
liow  did  It  get  here?  ^'onK'    And  if  so, 

»o'^tS^in?it:^i'r'^a^'h^^ 
«el»  are  sometimes  buHt  of  ^.^        ^"'*'*"  ""^ 
-roods  which  taLTfor    n?m^    "'^.y'."'  """er 
irood  mijtht  endnL  f     "mniense  periods.     Any 

l.»d  SeeTlTdon  ^  Jll^'  ^1^''«  ^collected 

»f  Colonel  I^aiS"*  "'''  **  "«»  ^"*»" 

J«»e  this  sW?^  '*"'  *"  *^  ««*e  place 


thousand  strange  fancies.    The  clowd  do«r.  „f 

cealed  within  "B""™'  spectacle  was  con- 

trit^^wibTe'liXT^  ^r'^r  1!- 
Jl^  come  he.«,  and  hf  hXn  ^  ^ast^t^ 

Sil'*"  "■"  ""'''•"«  -•>-"  he  might^'nol 
feehjig  now  remaining  was  one  of  intense  cS 

eii^w  r  JrJre^Ss'er  5^"":;^  •"'» 
tr.Torrh^b^£r%r-^^^^^^ 

had  blown  th,  sand  awaJ'^aJswept  trdtt'"'' 
cle^  as  though  the^  had'b^n  ffittef^N" 
eouTrbe'seeV^  '''  '^'  '»°^"»'^«  »'  -^  ktd 

patient  labor  was  accomplished  Mf 

ile  entered.     The  cabin  was  ahn.,»  -Wl4- 

which  it  could  en^~.L»?!  T"'"K  t^'^ngh 
tmted  through  tC^^ks  Of  te'""''^  P?"*" 
fine,  impalpable  dusTTndh  !?*  **"°™;''y  '"  « 
available^urface  within         ^'"^  "'"""■^  ''"«'^- 

to  ItooTrsS'tawS"  7"  '  '^''"^  --^""^ 


P4,^, 


.J 


crumbled  at  the  touch  "'  "^  "*'*"''*  ""^ 

Brandon  went  into  each  of  the«>  nwnu  to  «„. 


v^- 


30 


CORD  AND  CREESE. 


cession,  and  brushed  out  the  henvy,  wet  sand  from 
tjff  berths.  The  rotten  quilts  uiid  blankets  fell 
with  the  sand  in  matted  masses  to  the  floor.  In 
each  room  was  a  seaman's  chest.     Two  of  these 


were  covered  deejdy  ;  the  other  two  butiiglitly  : 
the  latter  were  unloi-ked,  and  he  ojiened  the  lids. 


"  In  the  crisig  of  your  fate  I  will  be  near." 

The  horrors  of  the  jmst  jiight  recurred.  The 
air  of  the  cabin  was  cloi^e  and  sutt'ocating.  Thej  i- 
seemed  in  that  dark  room  before  him  some  dread 
I'resence,  he  knew  not  whirt-;Tiome  Being,  who 
had  uncovered  tliis  his  abode  and  enticed  him 
here. 

He  found  himself  rapidly  falling  into  tliat  state 
in  which  he  would  not  have  been  alile  either  lo 
advance  or  retreat.  One  overmastering  horror 
seized  him.  Twice  his  spirit  sought  to  over- 
come  the  faintness  and  weakness  of  the  flesh. 
Twice  ho  step|ied  resolutely  forward ;  but  each 
time  he  faltered  and  recoiled. 

Here  was  no  place  for  him  to  summon  up  liin 
strength.  He  could  bear  it  no  longer.  He  turned 
abruptly  and  rushed  out  from  the  damp,  gloomy 
place  into  the  wanii,  bright  suushine  and  the  free 
air  of  heaven. 

The  air  was  bright,  the  wind  blew  fresh.  He 
drank  in  great  draughts  of  that  delicious  brecie, 
»nd  the  salt  sea  seemed  to  be  inhaled  at  each 
breath. 

^  The  Sim  shone  brilliantly.    Tlje  sea  rolled  afar 
and  nil  around,  and-  sparkled  biefore  him  under 

.  the  sun's  rays  with  that  infinite  laughter,  timt 
y.  He  took  it  down,  but  it  fell  ai)art  uviipiOixov  yiXaana  of  which  ^gchylus  spoke  in 
ng  conri)letely  corroded.     In  the  mid-    his  deep  love  of  the  salt  sea.     .Speaking  paren 


tJjily  some  old  clothes  ap|)eared,  however,  and 
tliMe  in  the  same  stage  of  decay  as  every  thing 
dsA  ■  In  one  of  them  was  a  "book,  or  rather 
whiA  had  once  been  a  book,  but  now  the  leaves 
werAull  stuck  together,  ond  formed  one  lump 
of  slike  and  mould.  In  spite  of  his  most  care- 
ful seiiWi  he  had  thus  far  found  nothing  what- 
eyer  wh^'h  could  be  of  the  slightest  benefit  to 
him  in  hik^olitude  ajad  necessity.  ,» 

There  wai^njill  two  rooms  which  he  had  not 
yet  examiiied.  These  were  at  the  end  of  the 
ca^bin.  Hi  tlie  stern  ofifha.  ship,  each  taking  up 
,  -<Jhe  half  ofyiie  width.  The  sand  had  drifted  in 
here  to  about  the  same  depth  as  in  the  side- 
rooms.  He  entered  first  the  one  nearest  him, 
which  was  on  the  right  side  oY  the  ship.  This 
room  was  al)out  ten  feet-  long;  extending  from 
the  middle  of  the  ship  to  the  side,  )itid  alwut  six 
feet  wide.  A  telescope  was  the  first  thing  which 
attracted  his  attention.  It  lay  in  n  rack  near 
the  doorway, 
at  once,  bei 

die  of  the  room  there  was  a  compass,  which  hung 
from  the  ceiling.  But  the  iron  pivot  had  rusted, 
and  the  plate  had  fallen  down,  ^ome  more  gims 
iind  swords  were  here,  Init  all  rusted  like  the 
others.  There  was  a  table  at  the  wall  bv  the 
stern,  covered  with  sand..  An  arm-chair  stood 
close  by  it,  and  opposite 'tnis  was  a  couch.  At 
the  end  of  this  room  was  a  bertii  which  had  the 
.same  apj)earance  as  the  other  berths  in  the  other 
looms.  The  (piilts  and  mattresses  as  he  felt 
them  beneath  the  damp  sand  were  ecjually  de- 
cayed. Too  long  had  the  shij)  been  exposed  to 
the  ravages  of  time,  and  Brandon  saw  that  to 
seek  for  any  thing  here  which  could  be  of  the 
slightest  ser\'ice  to  himself  was  in  the  highest 
degree  useless. 

This  last  room  seemed  to  him  as  though  it 
might  have  been  tlio  captain's.  That  cajjtain 
was  Cigole,  th*  very  man  who  had  flung  him 
Dverlward.  He  had  unconsciously  by  so  doing 
^-ent  him  to  the  scene  of  his  early  crime.  Was 
this  visit  to  be  all  in  voin  ?  Thus  far  it  seemed  so. 
But  might  there  not  yet  be  something  beneath 
this  sand  which  might  satisfy  him  in  his  search  ? 

There  still  remained  another  room.  Might 
there  not  be  something  tliere  ? 

Brandon  went  back  into  the  cabin  and  stood 
- '  looking  at  the  open  <loonvay  of  that  other  room. 

He  hesitated.  Why?  "I'eriuips  it  was  the 
thought  tluit  here  was  his  last  chance,  that  here 
his  exploration  must  end,  and  if  nothing  came 
of  it  then  all  this  adventure  would  he  in  vain. 
Then  the  fantastic  hopes  and  fetirs  which  by  turns 
had  agitated  him  would  prove  to  have  been  ab- 
surd, and  he,  instead  of  being  sent  by  Fate  as 
the  minister  of  vengeance,  wonid  be"  only  the 
coiAmonplace  victim  of  ah  everyday  accident 

perhaps  it  was  some  instinct" within  him  that 
tnaaeTtnowTi  to  his  mind  what  awaited  him  there. 
For  now  as  he  stood  that  old  horror  came  upon 
him  full  and  strong.  Weakness  and  excitement 
made  his  heart  beat  and  his  ears  ring.  Now  his 
fancy  became  wild,  and  he  recalled  with  painful 
vividness  his  father's  words : 


theticjilly,  it  may  be  said  that  the  only  ones  fiDm 
among  articulate  speaking  men  who  have  found 
fittitig  4>ilhAii  for  the  sea  are  the  old  Greek,  the 
Scandinavian,  oiuT  tfaejb^nglishman. 

Brandon  drew  in  new  Strength  and  life  with 
every  bieiith,  till  at  .last  he  begail  to  think  onic 
more  of  returning. 

But  even  yet  he  feared  that  when  he  entered 
that  cabin  the  siicU  would  be  on  liiui.  The 
thought  of  attemjiling  it  was  intolerable.  Yet 
what  was  to  l)e  done?  To  remain  unsatisfied 
was  e(iuiilly  intolerable.  To  go  back  to  his  rock 
was  not  to  be  thought  of. 

But  an  eft'ort  must  be  made  to  get  rid  of  this 
womanly  fear;  why^should  he  yield  to  this?  Sure- 
ly there  wer6  other  thoughts  which  he  miglrt  c^fr,..  I 
to  his  mind.  There  came  over  him  the  memory 
of  that  villain  who  h(id  cast  him  here,  who  now 
wan  exulting  iri  his  fancied  success  and  bearini; 
back  to  his  master  tlie  news.  There  came  to 
him  the  thought  of  his  father,  and  his  wrongs, 
and  his  woe.  There  came  to  his  memory  his 
father's  dying  words  summoning  him  to  venge- 
ance. There  came  to  him  the  thought  of  those 
who  yet  lived, and  suffered  in  England,  at  the 
mercy  of  a  pitiless  enemy.  Should  he  falter  at 
a  superstitious  fancy,  he — who,  if  he  lived,  had 
so  great  a  purpose  ? 

All  superstitious  fancy  faded  away.  ■  The  thirst 
for  revenge,  the  sense  of  intolerable  wrong  arose. 
Fear  and  horror  died  out  utterly,  destroyed  I))' 
Vengeance. 

"The  rresencTe,  then,  is  my  ally,"  he  mur- 
mured.    "  1  will  go  and  face  It." 

And  he  walked  resolutely,  with  a  firm  step, 
back  into  the  cabin. 

Yet  even  then  it  needed  all  the  new-bom  res- 
olution which  he  had  sumrnoned  up,  and  sll  the 
thought  of  his  wrong,  to  sustaiii  him  as  he  en- 
tered that  inner  room.  Even  then  a  sharp  thrill 
passed  through  him,  and  bodily  weakness  conid 
only  l>e  sustained  by  the  strong,  i-esolute,  stub- 
bom  soul. 

The  room  was  about  the  size  of  the  ca|)tain's. 


lummon  u|)  liin 


'4 


1 


^ORD  Ayp  CREKSE. 


31 


m  ( 


■'■'"'""  •"'"" '  ''^^^^^^^^«^^'^^::^j^^.. 


I..7  Whose  ^r::;!,  e  e  h;Tfe,^„tT/''"L?"'"^« 
«hi<h  he  knew  bv  an  in*,™„  ""'•  .'^''ed,  and 
be  here  •         inlbrnal  conviction  must 


w£"f  "!'"1.  ""^  "^''^""1  "'Im  to  the  shore  and 
'"hplmd  Arown  off  the  covering  of  s,nd„hh 

hnf  f  -u-  L  °  **"■"  "'«'  '""■ned  toward  him— 
M„.  ff 'r  '!''"'■''.  "  "'  °"<'''  human. and  vet  mosk 
oftS  ieZ"  'U«  ";«  f"?  "fOeath-thlrct 

fivce^re  seemed  like  an  effort  at  a  smile  of  S 
the  appearance  of  Death  in  Ufa,  and  lemi^„  » 


. ....  wiiiic  uiRr. 

If  that  Form   had  suddenlv  thrown   off  it, 

wifctrd':^?''  r"  ''^  "'^  '^'^  -^z^^r^z 

r.;„  P'^"'*«J  hnnd  to  meet  him,  he  would  not 

have  been  surpriwd,  nor  would  he  have  Cn  one 

whit  more  horror-strickeft  "" 

Brandon  stood  fixed.    He  could  not  move. 


^' 


32 


COBD  ^D  CipiESE. 


-i»";. 


H«  was  like  one  in  a  nigtitmare.  Hii  limbs 
geemed  riKid.  A  spell  was  upon  him.  His 
eyes  seemed  to  fasten  themselves  on  the  hollow 
cavities  of  the  Form  before  'him.  But  uni^er 
that  ^remendoos  pressure  he  did  not  altogetlicr 
sink.  Slowly  his  spirit  rose ;  A  thought  of  Hight 
came,  but  it  was  instantly  rejected.  'Itie  next 
moment  he' drew  a  long  breath.  ^'  I'm  %i  in- 
fernal fool  and  coward,"  he  muttered,  lie  topk 
three  steps  forward,  and  stood, beside  the  Eigure. 
,  lie  laid  his  hand  firmly  npon  the  head  utlie  hair 
fell  oft"  at  his  touch.  ;^j'^l'oor  devil,  said  he, 
"I'll  bury  your  bones, at  any  ra^."  The  spell 
was  broken,  and  Brandon  was  himself  again. 
Orice  more  Brandon  walked  out  into  we  open 


air,  but  this  time  there  was  not  a  vestige  of  hor-   mouth  being  exactly  like  what  one^  may  see  iii 


ror  1^  He  had  encountered  whatjie  dreaded, 
and  it  was  now  in  his  eyes  only  a  mass  ot  bones. 
Yet  there  w^  much  to  fliink  of,  and  the  struggle 
which  had  raged  within  him  had  exhausted  him. 

The  sea-breexe  played  about  him  and  "^soon 
reRtored  his  sti^angth.  What  npxt  to  do  was  the 
question,  and  after  some  deliberation  hq  decided 
at  once  to  remove  the  skeleton  and  bury  it 

A  flat  board  ^hich  had  served  as  a  shelf  sup- 
plied him  with  an  easy  way  of  turning  up  the 
sand.  Occupation  was  pleasant,  and  in  an  hour 
or  two  he  had  scooped  oat  a  place,  large  enough 
for  the  purpose  which  he  had  in  view.  He  then 
went  back  mto  the  inner  cabin. 
,  Taking  his  board  he  removed  carefully  the 
sand  which  had  covered  the  skeleton.  The 
clothes  came  away  with  it  As  he  moved  his 
board  along  it  struck  something  hard.  He 
could  not  see  in  ihat  dim  light  what  it  was,  so 
lie  reached  down  his  hiuid  and  grasped  it 

It  was  something  which  the  fingers  of  the 
skeleton  also  encircle^,  for  his  own  hand  as  he 
grasped  it  touched  those  fingers.  Drawing  it 
forth  beoperceived  that  it  was  a  common  junk 
bottle  tightly  corked. 

Thei%  seemed  a  ghastly  comicality  in  such  a 
thjing  as  this,  that  this  lately  di^ded  Being 
should  be  nptliing  more  than  a  common  skele- 
ton, aiid  that  he  should  be  discovered  in  this 
bed  of  horror  doing  nothing  more  dignified  than 
clutching  a  junk  bottle  like  a  sleeping  drunkard. 
Brandon  smiled  faintly  at  the  idea;  and  then 
thinking  that,  if  the  liquor  were  good,  it  at 
least  would  bia  welcome  to  hlhi  in  His  present 
situation.  He  walked  out  upon  the  deck,  in- 
tending to  open  it  and  test  its  content^.     So  he 


«at  down,  and,  taking  his  knife,  he  pushed  the  >to  hare  its  due. 


cork  in.  Then  he  smelled  the  supposed  liquor  to 
'  lee  what  it  might  be.  There  was  only  a  musty 
odof.  He  looked  in.  The  bottle  appeared  to 
be  filled  with  paper.  „  Then  the  whole  truth 
flashed  uiMn  his  mind.  He  stnjek  the  bottle 
npon  th^'deck.  It  broke  to  atoms,  and  there 
'  lay  a  scroll  of  paper  covered  With  writing. 

He  seized  it  eagerly,  and  was  about-opening 
it  to  read  what  was  'Written  when  he  noticed 
something  else  that  also  had  fallen  from  the 
bottle. 

-  it  was  a  cord  aboattwo  TOrds  in  length,  made 
of  the  entrail  of  some  animat^and  still  as  strong 
fttid  as  flexible  as  when  it  was  first  made. '  He 
, .  took  it  up  carefully,  wondering  why  such  a  thing 
as  this  should  have  been  so  carefully  sealed  np 
and  preserved  when  so  many  other  things  had 
been  neglected. 


nothiitg  very  remarkable  except  the  fact  that, 
though  very  thin,  rt  appeared  to'  have  l>een  lun 
(wisted  but  plaTted  in  a  veir  iieculiar  manner  ' 
out  of  many  fine  strands.  The  intention  hiuP 
evidently  been  to  give  to  -it  ^e  .iMmost  |>oMsilile 
strength  together  with  ttiAsmalles^'size.  Hrun-'' 
don  had  heard  of  cords  ulted  by  Imdays  uiul 
Hindus  for  ossasstination,  and  this  Ruined  like 
the  description  which  he  had  read  of  t|iem.^ 

At  one  end  of  the  cord  was  a  piece  of  bronze 
about  the  size  of  a  common  marble,  to  which 
the  6brd  w<ts<attached  by  a  most  peculiar  knot. 
The  bronze  itself  was  .intended  to  represent  the- 
head  of  sOme  Hindu^dol,  the  grotesque  ferocity 
of  its  features,  an^he  hi(te<)us  grimace  of  the 


the  images  of  Mother  Kal(or  Bowhani. 

At  once  the  cord  associated  itself  in  his  mind 
with  the  horrors  which  he.  had  heard  of  as  hav- 
ing been  perpetrated  in  the  names  of  tbesie  fright- 
ful deities,  and  it  seemed  now  to  be  more  than  n 
common  one.  He  carefully  wound  it  up,  placed 
it  in  his'^Mcket,  and  prepared  to  examine  the 
manuscript 

The  aun  was  high  in.  the  heavens,  the  nea- 
breeze  still  blew  freshly,  While  Brandon,  o|>ening 
the  manuscript,  began  to  read. 


CHAPTER  Vil. 

MANnSCRIPT   FOUND    IN    A   BOTTLE. 

"  Bbio  '  VisuND,'  Ansirr  in  the  Cuimksx  8ei. 
JtUij  10,  1828. 
"Whobwer  finds  this  let  him  know  that  I. 
Lionel  Despard,  Colonel  Qf  H'.  M.  "87th  iJegi- 
ment,  have  been  the  victinarof  a  foul  conspimcv 
perfonned  against  me  by^he  captain  and  crew 
of  the  brig  Vishmi,  and  especially  by  my  servant, 

"John  Potts. 

"  Expecting  at  any  timeV>  perish,  adrift  help- 
lessly, at  the  mercy  of  winds  and  waves,  I  sit 
down  now  before  I  die,  to  write  *11  the  circum- 
stances of  this  attair.  L  will  inclose  the  manu- 
script in  a  bottle  and  fling  it  into  the  sea,  trust- 
ing in  God^that  he  may  cause  it  to  be  bortie  to 

Those  who  may  be  enabled  to  read  my  WT>rdi<  so 
that  they  may  know  my  fate  and  bring  tlio  guilty 
to  justice.  Whoever  finds  this  let  him,  if  iiossi-. 
ble,*have  it  sent  to  my  friend,  Kdl])h  BriUidon, 
of  Brandon  Hall,  Devonshire,  England,  who 
will  do  more  than  any  other  man  to  cause  justice 


"To  further  the  ends  of  justice  and  to  satisfy 
the  desires  of  my  friends,  I  will  write  an  account 
of  the  whole  case. 

"  In  the  name  of  God,  I  declare  that  John 
Potts  is  guilty  of  my  death.     Ha  was  my  servsnt. 
I  first  found  nim  in  India  under  very  remarkable  / 
circumstances.  / 

"It  was  in  the  year  1826.     The  Govertmenf 
was  engaged  in  an  effort  to  put  down  bsf da  of 
assassins  by  whom  the  most  terrific  atrocities  had 
been  committed,  and  I  was  appoi|ited  to  conduct  . 
tlie  work  in  the  district  of  Agra. 

"The  Thuggee  society  is  still  a  niysteiy, 
thodgh  its  nature  may  yet  be  revealed  if  thiey  can 
only  capture  the  chief*  and  make  him  confess. 
As  yet  it  is  not  fiilly  ^nown,  and  though  I  have 

The  chief  was  captured  In  1880,  and  by  his  coo- 


ennegiecteo.  .      ,  ',  .(bsrton  aU  Uie  atrodona, system  of  Thuggee  was  re- 

The  cord,  on  a  close  examination,  presented   veiled.  ' 


'%. 


{ 


ptod  to  coaduct 


bMTd  much  which  I  have  reported  to  the  Go\»- 
iAiiicut,  yet  I  anulow  to  bcliovo  that  anv  human 
^  b«flg»  can  actuKlly  practice'what  I  have  heard 
rhe  assassinu'whom  I  was  pursuigg  iluded 
o<it  pursuit  with  mar^eljjns  agility  and  cunning 
but  one  by  one  we  captured  them,  and  puniHhed 
them  summarily.  At  hut  we  Hummnded  a  band 
of  Thugs,  and  to  our  amazement  found^^ong 
them  a  European  and  a  small  boy.,   i^ijljsnr  at- 

\  '!f^'',^'fL"'"''^l!/*>"''«  »  desperate  resiSltaate, 

\  Bird  lulleO  thejftSelves  rather  than  fall  into  6uf 

hands;  but  the  European,  leadingjbrward  <he 

httle  boy,  feU  on  his  knees  and  iffiplored  us  to. 

gave  him.- 

"I  had  heard^hat  an  EOglishmon  had  joined 
these  wretches,  and  at  first  tJibuglit  that  this  was 
the  man  (  so,  desiroug  of  capturing  him,  1  or- 
dered iny  men  whenever  they  foiind  him  to  spare 
his  life  if  possible.  This  man  was  at  once  seized 
and  brought  before  me.     "  ' 

"Hehadapi'teousstorytotell.  lie  wiid  that 
his  name  was  John  Potts,  tliat  he  belonged  to 
Southamptoii,.  and  had  been  in  India  a  year 
He  had  come  to  Agra  to  look  out  for^emiJoy 
as  a  servant,  and  had  been  caught  by  the  ThdgH 
TOey  ottered  t»  spane  his  life  if^he  would  join 
them.  Iiiccording^o  him  they  always  make  this 
offer.  If  It  tewl  only  beea  himself  that  was  con- 
cerned he  said  that  he  would  have  died  a  hun- 
dred timeft.  rather  than  have  accepted';  but  his 
4«ttte  boy  was  with  him,  and  to  save  his  life  he 
consented,  hoping  that  somehow  or  oilier  he 
might  escape.  The;g^  then  received  him  with 
some  hojrrible  ceremonies,  and  marked  on  his 
arm  and  «n  the  arm  of  his  s^i,  on  the  inner  part 
of  the  right  elbow,  the  name  of  Bowhani  in 
Hindu  characters.  /Potts  showed  me  his  arm 
and  that  of  his  son  in  proof  of  this. 

"He  had  been  with  them,  according  to  his 
"W  account,  about  three  mouths,  and  his  life 
had  been  one  continuous  horror.     Ho  had  picked 
up  enough  of  their  hingnage  to  conjecture  to  some 
Mtentthe  nature  of  their  belief,  which,  he  assert- 
ed, weuld  be  most  important  information  for  the 
Government.     The  Thugs  had  treated  him  very 
kindly,  for  they  looked  upon  him  as  one  of  them- 
selves, atid  they  are  aU  very  hnmanp  8n*»affec- 
tionate  to  one  another.    His  worst  fear  had  been 
that  they  would  compel  him  to  do  murder;  and 
he  would  have  died,  he  declared,  rather  than  con- 
sent ;  but,  fortunately,  he  was  spared.     The  rea- 
son of  this,  he  said,  was  because  they  always  do 
their  murder  by  strangling,  since  the  shedding 
of  blood  u  not  acceptable  to  tlieir  diviiity.    He 
could  not  do  this,  for  it  requires  great  dexterity. 
Almost  all  their  strangling  is  done  by  a  thiiri 
strong  cord,  curiously  twisted,  aixmt  «8ix  feet  in 
length,  with  a  weight  at  one  end,  generally  carved 
so  as  to  *epresent  the  face  of  Bowham.     This 
they  thr^  with  a  peculiar  jerk  around  the  neck 
Of  their  yictim;     The  weight  swings  the  cord 
round  and  ^tad,  while  the  strangler  pulls  at 
tfte  other  eiH  and  death  is  inevitable.     His 
Jiands,  he  said,  were  coarse  an<Wlumsy,  nnh'ke 
Uie  delicate  Hmdu  hands ;  and  so,  although  they 
to»d  him  to  toctiee  incessantly,  he  conld  not 
•Mm.    He  aaid  nothing  about  the  boy,  bat,  from 
what  I  law  of  that  boy  afterwardr^  believe  that 
Mture  crtited  him  espcciaUy  to  be  a  Thug,  and 
I?  "."oonbt  that  he  learned  then  to  wield  the 
eord  with  as  mndh  dexterity  as  the  beat  strangler 
of  them  all.  ° 


CORD  A'ND  CREESR 


n^n'l"' f  "«?<''»t|?n  With  ihem  had  shown  him 
^nch  of  their  ordinary  habits  and  some  of  their 
beliefs.  I  gathered  from  what  he  said  that  the 
^Z'hl./l!'^JSf«,«. ■*"««>-  w  the  worship  of 
Bowhani  a  frightful  demon,  whose  highest  ft.v 
>»  the  sight  of  death  or  dead,  bodies.  tC  wl  o 
are  lier  disciplos  must  offer  „p  human  ^l^:tims 
killed  without  the  .hoddfng  ftj  blood,' and  the 

1   e  motive  for  this  ,«  neviSr  gain,  for  they  rarely 
rplunder,  hut  purely  religious  zeal.     The  reward 
IS  an  .mm.rtal.tyoT  bliss  herealler,  which  Bow- 
ham  wil  secure  them  ;  a  life  like  that  of  the  Mo- 
hammedan Paradise,  where  there  are  material  . 
joys  to   be  possessed   fo^evW  without  satietv, 
Destruction,  which  begins  as  a  kin<l  of  duty  b" 
comes  also  at  last,  and  naturally  perhaps,  an  a^ 
sorbmg  paeaion.     As  the  hunter  in  pursuing  his 
prey  is  earned  away  by  excitement  and  the  en- 
tluisinsm  of  the  chase,  or,  in  hunting  the  tiger, 
feels  the  delight  of  brhving  danger  and  displafini 
courage  so  here  that  same  passion  is  felt  to  an 
extraordmanr  degree,  for  it  is  man  that  must,  be 
pursued  ancf  destroyed.     Here,  in  a^ditton"  to 
courage,  the  hunter  of  man  toiust  call  into  exer-  ^ 
cise  cunning,  foresight,  eloquence,  intrigue.    All 
this  I  afterward  brought  to  the  attention  of  the 
Oosprnment  with  venr  good  results. 

"Totts  declared  that  night  and  day  he  had 
been  on  the  wjitch  for  a  chance  to  escape,  but  so 
internal  was  the  cunning  of  these  wretches;  and-' 
so  anictt  their  senses  «liarpened  as  they  had  h^n 
by  long  practice,  thjft  success  became  hopeless. 
He  had  fallen  into  deep  dejection,  and  concluded 
that  his  only  hope  lay  in  the  efforts  of  the'^Gov- 
omment  to  put  down  these  assassins.     Our  ap- 
pearance had  at  last  savdd  him.       ,  , 
"Neither  I,  nor  any  of  my  men,  nor  any  En- 
glishman who  heard  this  story,  doubted  for  an 
instant  the  truth  of  every  word.    All"  the  news- 
papers mentioned  with  delight  the  fact  that  an  En- 
glishman and  his  son  had  been  rescued.    Pity  was 
felt  for  that  father  who,  for  his  son's  sake,  had  con- 
sented to  dwell  amidst  scenes  of  terror,  and  gym- 
Ijathy  for  the  anguish  that  he  mu»li*ave  endured 
dunng  tUft  terri&v  captivity.     A  thrill  qf4orit)r 
passed  through  all  our  Anglo-Indian  society  at 
the  revelation  which  J^e  made  about  Thugww- 
and  so  great  was  the  feeling  in  his  favor  that  a 
handsome  subscription  was  made  up  for  him  bv 
the  oflScers  at  Agra.                                             ■' 
"For  my  part  I  believed  in  him  most  im- 
plicitly, and,  as  I  Mv¥  *im  to  be  unusuallv 
clever,  I  engaged  hhn  at  #^  to  be  my  8er>-- 
ant.     He  staid  with  me,  aM  %.«Ey  month  won 
more  and  jBwre  of^my  cohfidAce.    Jle  had  a 
good  head  for  business.    Matters  of  considerable 
dehcacy  which  I  intrusted  to  him  werev  well  per- 
fonn«^and  at  last  I  thought  it  the  mosk^rtu- 
nate  lilfbumstance  in  my  Indian  life  that  I  bid^- 
found  such  a  man. 

"After  about  three  years  be  expressed  a  wish 
to  go  to  England  for  the  sake  of  his  son.  He 
thought  India  a  bad  place  for  a  boy,  and  wished 
to  try  and  start  in  some  bjisiieaa  ia  his  natifi^ 
land  for  his  son's  sake,  „  "       'r\'  ^^ 

"That  boy  had  (dways  been  myldetestation— 
a  crafty,  stealthy,  wily,  malicious  Uttlo  demon, 
who  was  a  perfect  Th^^g  in  his  nature,  without 
My  religiona  basis  to  his  Thnggeeism.  I  pitied 
Potts  for  being  the  father  of  such  a  son.  I  could 
not  let  the  litUe  devil  live  in  my  house ;  his  cnf 


84 


CORD  AND  CI«:ESE. 


elty  to  animals  which  he  delighted  to  torture,  i 
his  thieving  propensities,  and  his  infenial  deceit, 
were  all  so  intolerable.     He  was  not  more  than  ' 
twelvej  but  he  was  older  in  iniquity  than  many  I 
a  gray-headed  viUain.     To  oblige  Potts,  whom 
I  still  trusted  implicitly,  I  wrote  to  my  old  friend 
Kalph  Brandon,  of  Brandon  Hall,  Devonshire, 
requesting  him  to  do  what  he  could  for  so  de- 
'  _,  serving  a  man. 

"  Just  about  this  time  an  event  occurred  which 
has  brought  me  to  tliis. 

"My  sweet  wife  had  been  ill  for  two  years. 
I  had  obtained  a  faithful  nurse  in  the  person  of 
a  Mrs.  Compton,  a  poor  creatme,  but  gentle  and 
affectionate,  for  whom  my  dern-  love's  sympathy 
had  been  excited.  No  one  could  have  been 
more  faithful  than  Mrs.  Compton,  and  I  sent 
my  darling  to  the  hill  station  at  Assurabad  in 
hopes  that  the  cooler  air  might  reinvjgorate  her. 
"  She  died.  It  is  only  a  month  or  two  sint  e 
that  frightful  blow  fell  and  crushed  me.  To  think 
of  it  overwhelms  me— to  write  of  it  is  impossible. 
"  I  could  think  of  nothing  but  to  fly  from  my 
unendurable  grief.  I  wished  to  get  away  from 
India  any  where.  Before  the  blow  Crushed  me  I 
hope4  that  I  might  carry  my  darling  to  the  Ca|ie 
of  Good  Hoi)e,  and  therefore  1  remitted  there 
a  large  sum ;  but  after  she  left  me  I  cared  not 
where  I  went,  and  finding  that  a  vessel  was  go- 
ing to  Manilla  I  decided  to  go  thei-e. 

"It  was  I'otts  who  found  out  this.  I  now 
know  that  he  engaged  the  vessel,  put  the  crew 
on  board,  who  were  all  creatures  of  his  own,  and 
t'X)k  the  route  to  Manilla  for  the  sake  of  carry- 
ing out  his  designs  on  me.  To  give  eveiy  thing 
a  fair  appearance  the  vessel  was  laden  with  store 
and  things  of  that  sort,  for  which  there  was  a 
demand  at  Manilla.  It  was  with  the  most  per- 
fect indifference  that  I  embarked.  I  cared  not 
where  I  went,  and  hoped  that  the  novelty  of  the 
sea  voyage  might  benefit  me. 

"  The  captain  was  an  ItaUan  named  Cigole,  a 
low-browed,  evil-faced  Wllain.  The  mate  was 
named  Clark.  There  were  three  Lascars,  who 
formed,  the  small  crew.  Potts  came  with  me, 
and  «lso  an  old  servant  of  mine,  a  Malay,  whose 
life  1  had  saved  years  before.  His  name  was 
Uracao.  It  struck  me  that  the  crew  was  a  small 
one,  but  I  thought  the  captain  knew  his  business 
better  than  I,  and  so  I  gave  myself  no  concern. 
"  After  we  embarked  Potts's  manner  changed 
very  greatly.  I  remember  this  now,  though  I 
did  not  notice  it  at  the  time,  for  I  was  almost  in 
•  kind  of  stupor.  He  was  particularly  insolent 
to  Uracao.  1  remember  once  thinking  indiffier- 
ently  that  Potts  would  have  to  be  reprimanded, 
or  kicMl,  or  something  of  that  sort,  but  was  not 
capable  of  any  action. 

*'  Uracao  had  for  years  slept  in  front  of  mj* 
doo^r  when  atliome,  and,  when  traveling,  in  the 
same  room.  He  always  waked  rtt  the  slightest 
noise.  He  regarded  his  life  as  mine,  and  thought 
that  he  was  bound  to  watch  over  me  till  I  died, 


Although  this  was  often  inconvenient,  yet  it  would 
have  broken  the  affectionate  fellow's  heart  if  X 


TSd  forbidden. Tt,  so  It  went  on.  Potts  made  an 
eflbrt  to  induce  him  to.  sleep  forward  among  the 
Irfwcars,  but  though  Uracao  had  borne  insolence 
from  him  without  a  murmur,  this  proposal  made 
hia  eyes  kindle  with  a  menacing  fire  which  si- 
lenced the  other  into  fear. 

"The  passage  was  a  quick  one,  and  at  lost  we 


wei-e  only  a  few  days'  sail  from  Manilla.  Now 
our  quiet  came  to  an  end.  One  niglit  I  was 
awakened  by  a  tremendous  struggle  in  n-.y  cabin. 
Starting  up,  I  saw  in  the  gloom  two  figures 
struggling  desperately.  It  was  impossible  to  see 
who  they  were.  I  sprang  from  tha  bertii  and 
felt  for  my  pistols.     'iTiev  were  gone. 

"  'What  the  devil  is  this?'  I  roared  fiercely. 
"  No  answer  came ;  hut  the  next  moment  there 
was  a  tremendous  fall,  and  one  of  the  men  clung 
to  the  other,  whom  he  held  downward.  1  sprung 
from  my  berth.  There  were  low  voices  out  in 
the  cabin. 

"  '  You  can't,'  said  one  voice,  whi'cli  I  recoe- 
nized  as  Clark's.     '  He  has  his  pistols. ' 

"  '  He  hasn't,'  said  the  voice  of  Cigole.    'Potts 
took  them  awny.     He's  unarmed. ' 

'• '  Who  are  you?'  I'fcried,  grusimig  the  man 
who  was  holding  the  other  down. 

"'Uracao,'  said  he;     'Get  your  pistols  or 
you  re  lost!' 

"  '  What  the  devil  is  the  matter  ?'  I  cried,  an- 
grily, for  I  had  not  even  yet  a  suspicion. 
"  '1-eel  around  your  neck,'  said  he. 
"  Hastily  I  put  my  hand  up.    A  thrill  of  hor- 
ror passed/tirough  me.    It  was  the  Thuggee  cord. 
"'Who  is  tliis?'  I  cried,  grasping  the  man 
who  had  fallen.  ^^, 

"  'Potts,'  cried  Uracao.  «  Your  pistols  are 
under  your  berth.  Quick !  Potts  tried  to  stran- 
gle you.  There's  a  plot.  The  Lascars  are  Thugs. 
I  saw  the  mark  on  their  arms,  the  name  of  Bow- 
hani  in  Hindu  letters.' 

"  All  the  truth  now  seemed  to  flash  across  me. 
I  leaped  back  to  the  berth  to  look  under  it  for 
my  pistols.  As  I  stooped  there  was  a  rush  be- 
hind me. 

'"Help!  Clark  1  Quick !' cried  the  voice  of 
Potts.     '  This  devil's  strangling  me ! ' 

"At  this  a  twnult  arose  round  the  two  men. 
Uracao  was  dragged  off.  I'otts  rose  to  his  feet. 
At  that  "moment  I  found  my  pistols.  I  could 
not  distiuguiijh^wrsons,  but  I  ran  the  risk  and 
fired.  A  saarp  cry  followed.  Somebody  was 
wounded. 

"  '  Damn  him !'  cried  Potts,  '  he's  got  the  pis- 
tols.' 

"The  next  moment  they  had  all  rushed  out, 
dragging  Uracaeu  with  them.  „The  door  was 
drawn  to  violentlji.  with  a  bang  and  fastened  on 
the  outside.  They  had  captured  the  only  man 
who  could  help  me,  and  I  wa»a  prisoner  at  the 
mercy  of  tliese  miscreants. 

"All  the  remainder  of  the  night  and  until  the 
following  morning  I  heard  noises  and  tramp- 
ling to  and  fro,  but  had  no  idea  whatever  of 
what  was  going  on.  I  felt  indignation  at  the 
treacherj-  of  Potts,  who,  I  now  peixeived,  had 
deceived  me  all  along,  but  had  no  fear  whatever 
of  any  thing  that  might,  happen.  Death  was 
rather  grateful  than  otherwise.  Still  I  determ- 
ined to  sell  my  life  as  dearly  as  possible,  and, 
loadii^g  my  pistol  once  more,  I  waited  for  them 
to  come.  The  only  anxiety  which  I  felt  was 
about  my  poor  faithful  Mala^ 

''Rnt   timn   nnaoiMl     nn/l    a* 


Bat  ume  passed,  and  at  last  all  was  stilL 
There  was  no  sound  either  of  voices  or  of  foot- 
8te^)8.  I  waited  for  what  seemed  hours  in  im- 
pauence.  Until  finally  I  could  endure  it  no  lon- 
ger. I  was  not  going  to  die  like  a  dog,  but  de- 
termined at  all  hazards  to  go  out  armed,  fact 
them,  and  meet  my  doom  M  once. 


CORD  AND  CREESK 


»j>ing  the  man 
Qur  pistols  or 


A  few  ngorons  kicks  at  the  door  broke  it 
open  and  I  walked  pw.     ITiere  was  no  one  in 
tiie  cabm.     I  went  out  on  deck.     There  was  no 
one  there.    I  saw  it  all.    I  was  deserted.    More- 
the  bng  had  settled  down  so  16w  in  the  water 
that  the  sea  was  up  to  her  gunwales.     1  looked 
out  o^-er  the  oceawilo  see  if  I  could  perceive  any 
trace  of  them— Potts  and  the  rest.     I  saw  no- 
thing.   They  must  have  left  long  before.    A  faint 
jmoke  in  the  hatchway  attracted  my  attention 
Looking  there,  I  perceived  that  it  had  been  burn- 
ed away.    The  vilhiins  had  evidently  tried  to 
scuttle  the  brig,  and  then,  to  make  doubly  sure, 
had  kmdled  a  fire  on  the  cargo,  thinking  that 
the  wooden  materials  of  which  it  was  composed 
would  kindle  readily.     But  the  water  had  rush- 
ed in  too  rapidly  for  the  flames  to  spread ;  never- 
theless, the  water  was  not  able  to  do  its  work, 
for  the  wood  cargo  kept  the  brig  afloat,     She 
was  water-logged  but  still  floating. 

"The  masts  and  shrouds  were  all  cut  away 
The  vessel  was  now  little  better  than  a  raft,  and 
was  drifting  at  the  mercy  of  the  ocean  currents 
For  my  part  I  did  aot  much  care.  I  had  no 
desire  to  go  to  Manilla  or  any  where  else ;  and 
the,loveof  life  which  is  usually  so  strung  did  not 
exist  I  should  have  preferred  to  have  l)een 
kiUed  or  drowned  at  once.  Instead  of  that  I 
hved. 

"She  died  on  June  16.     It  waa  the  2d  of 
Jaljr  when  this  occurred  which  I  have  narrated 

r-iV^T.""®  '"*•     ^•"'  »  *e«k  I  have  been 
drifting  I  know  not  where.    1  have  seen  no  land 
There  are  enough  provisions  and  water  on  board 
to  sustain  me  for. months.    The  weather  has 
been  fine  thus  far. 

"I  have  written  this  with  the  wish  that  who- 
ever may  find  it  wiU  Rend  it  to  Ralph  Brandon 
Lsq.,  of  Brandon  Hall,  Devonshire,  that  he  may 
see  that  justice  is  done  to  I'otts,  and  the  rest  of 
the  conspirators.  Let  him  also  tty,  if  it  bo  not 
joo  late  to  save  Uracao.  If  thia  fall  into  the 
hands  of  any  one  going  to  EngUnd  let  k  be  de- 
hver^  to  him  as  above,  but  if  the  finder  he  going 
to  India  let  him  place  it  in  the  hands  of  the  Gov- 
ernor-General ;  if  to  China  or  any  other  place, 
et  him  give  u  to  the  authorities,  enjoining  them 
however,  after  using  i^  to  send  it  to  lialnh 
iiranuon  as  above. 

"It  will  be  seen  by  this  that  John  Potts  was 
in  connection  with  the  Thugs,  probably  for  the 
sake  of  plundering  those  whom  they  murdered  • 
that  he  conspired  against  me  and  tried  to  kill 
me;  and  that  he  has  wrought  my  death  (for  I 
expect  to  die).  An  examination  of  my  desk 
shows  that  he  has  token  papers  and  bank  bills 
to  the  amount  of  four  thousand  pounds  with 
him.    It  was  this,  no  doubt,  that  induced  him 

ICn   fhla    A**awnn*    . ^—-^ 


<t  Sight. 

"4«7«M 

ea^Hhys 


.n  i^.i.   »!.•     — '       '-"""■i  "lai  uiuucea  mm 
to  make  this  attempt  against  me. 

I  desire  also  hereby  to  appoint  Henry  Thorn- 
ton, Sen.  Esq.  of  Holby  Pembroke,  Solicitor, 
my  executor  and  the  guardian  of  my  son  Conrt- 
T7'  iwiT  T  '  '^neath  a  fiither's  blessing 
«»5»UaatIpo8ge«».  Let  him  try  to  secure 
^W^»pn«riH^tSipe  Town  Ibr  my  boy,  and,  if 
Powible,  to  regain  for  him  the  four  thousind 
Poonda  ♦hich  Potts  has  carried  off. 

.K.  "Z?"*..*^""  "•'*  manuscript  I  also  inclose 
«ne  strangling  cord. 

^J^y   God  have  mercy   upon    my  sonll 
"LiokblDespahd." 


3C 

I      "Jul;/  28.  —Since  I  wrote  'this  there  has  been 

a  series  of  tremendous  storms.    The  weather  has 

,  cteared  up  again.     I  have  seen  no  land  and  no 

I      'V«/y  31.— Land  to-day  visible  at  a  great 
dwtan^  on  the  south.     I  know  not  what  land" 

SS'     "°  "°*  **" '"  ""•"*' '""''"°"  ^  "™ 

wel/*Tlf'~rr*^..™'^'''  '"^"•J  "'e  south- 
west.    It  seems  like  the  summit  of  a  ranee  of 
mountains,  and  is  probably  fifty  miles  distant. 
If  w„1'J^*i-  :~'^  ^^  appeared  on  the  horizon. 
of  ri^h^^  '°  ^        '^  ""^     ^'  ^'^""^  °«' 

;•"'  '  'J;— A  series  of  severe  gales.     The 

„ y.  *^"8  o^er  the  biig  in  these  storms, 

«ncFlipfctimes  seems  about  to  cany  her  down 

W^^'&^sTnfr'  ''"'  """*  ^'^™'''"'«- 
"Attffust  25. -.Land  again  toward  the  west. 

ilri°"/f.  ?"?.''  '  '""y  •*  •^"^'"'g  among  «ho 
islands  of  the  Indian  Archipekgo.  • 

iTJf'!?''*"'*.*''T^-~^.'""®  '*«"  "*-•''  <■•"•  «  «eek. 
Unfortunately  I  am  beginning  to  recover  again. 
A  faint  blue  streak  in  the  north  seems  like  land. 

^^  September  10.— Open  water. 

"September  28.— A  series  of  storms.  How 
the  bng  can  stand  it  I  can  not  see.  I  remem- 
ber Potts  telling  me  that  she  was  built  of  mahojr- 
any  and  copper-fastened.  She  does  not  appear 
to  be  much  injured.  I  am  exceedingly  W' 
from  want  and  exposure.  It  is  with  difficulty 
that  I  can  move  about 

"  Octofter  2.— Three  months  adrift.  My  God 
have  merty  on  me,  and  taake  haste  to  deliver 
mel  A  Storm  is  rising.  Let  all  Thy  waves 
and  billows  overwhelm  me,  O  Loi-d ! 

H„vl^ tI""  f '^^  **"^''''  "°'"'-  K^eed  three 
I  days.  The  bng  has  run  aground.  It  is  a  low 
island,  with  a  rock  about  five  miles  awav.  Thank 
Ood,  my  last  hour  is  at  hand.  The  sea  is  rush- 
ing in  with  tremendous  violence,  huriing  sand 
uiJon  the  brig.  I  shaU  drift  no  more.  I  can 
scarcely  hold  this  i>en.  These  are  my  last 
words.  This  IS  for  Ralph  Brandon  My  bless- 
ing for  my  loved  son.  I  feel  death  coming. 
\V  .ether  the  storm  takes  me  or  not,  I  must  dil 
.  \\  hoever  finds  this  will  take  it  from  my 
hand,  and,  in  the  name  of  God,  I  charge  him  to 
do  my  bidding." 


aw,- 


This  was  the  last  The  concluding  pages  of 
the  mannscnpt  were  scaicely  legible.  The  en- 
tries were  meagie  and  formal,  but  the  hand- 
writing s|)oke  of  the  darkest  despair  What 
agonies  had  this  man  not  endured  durine  thoa« 
three  months  I 

Brandon  Voided  up  the  manuscript  reveren- 
tially, and  put  it  into  his  pocket  He  then 
went  back  Into  the  cabin.  Taking  the  bony 
skeleton  hand  he  exclaimed,  in  a  solemn  voice. 

In  the  name  of  God,  if  I  am  saved,  I  swear  to 
do  your  bidding!" 

He  next  proceeded  to  pe^iflB^^h«  j 
to  the  remains  of  Colonel  I>espard.  On  remov- 
ing the  sand  something  bright  struck  his  eye. 
It  was  a  gold  locket  As  he  tried  to  oiien  it 
the  rusty  hinge  broke,  and  the  cover  came  off. 

It  was  a  painting  on  enamel,  which  waa  m 
bright  as  when  made— the  iiortiait  of  a  bMnti- 
fnl  woman,  with  pensive  eyes,  and  delicate.  In- 
teUectual  expreBsion;  and  appeand  aa  thoagh 


/ 


M 


CORD  AND  CREESE. 


THKKG   MONTHS   ADHIFT." 


It  might  have  been  worn  oronnd  the  Colonel's 
neck.  Brandon  sighed,  then  patting  this  in  his 
pocket  with  thc)  manuscript  he  proceed  to  his 
task.  In  an  hour  the  remains  were  buried  in 
the  grave  on  CbflSn  Island. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

TUB  SIGNAL  or  FIRE. 

The  wreck  broke  in  upon  the  monotony  of 
Brandon's  island  life  and  changed  the  current 
of  his  thongttts.  The  revelations  contained  in 
Despard's  manuscript  came  with  perfect  novelty 
to  his  mindi  Potts,  his  enemy,  now  stood  be- 
fore him  in  okrker  colors,  the  foulest  of  miscre- 
Mits,  one  who  hitd  descended  to  an  .association 
with  Thuggee;,  one  who  bore  on  his  arm  the 
dread  mark  of  Bowhani.  Against  such  an  en- 
emy as  this  he  would  have  to  be  wary.  If  this 
enemy  suspected  his  existence  could  he  not  read- 
ily find   means  to  effect  his   destniction   for- 

■  ever?  Who  could  tell  what  mysterious  allies  this 
man  might  have?  Cigole  bad  tracked  and  fol- 
Iwyed  him  with  the  patience  and  vindictiveness 

-of  a  bioodofaonnd.  Tfien  mlgfalii  nluuiy  such 
as  he.  He  saw  phunly  that  if  he  ever  escaped 
his  first  and  highest  necessity  would  be  to  work 
to  secret,  to  conceal  his  true  name,  and  to  let 
it  b«  rappcMd  that  Louis  Brandon  had  been 
drowned,  while  another  name  would  enable  him 
to  do  what  he  wished. 


'•*>;A' 


The  message  of  Despard  was  now  a  sacred 
legacy  to  himself.  The  duty  which  the  murdered 
man  had  imposed  upon  his  father  must  now  be 
inherited  by  him.  Even  this  cojild  scarcely  add 
to  the  obligations  to  vengeance  Hnder  which  he 
already  lay ;  yet  it  freshened  his  passion  wid 
quickened  his  resolve. 

The  brig  was  a  novelty  to  him  here,  and  us 
day  succeeded  to  day  he  found  occupation  in 
searching  her.  During  the  hotter  part  of  the 
day  he  busied  himself  in^  shoveling  out  the  sand 
from  the  cavern  with  a  board.  In  the  cool  of 
the  morning  or  evening  he  worked  at  the  hatch- 
way.    Here  he  soon  reached  the  cargo. 

This  cargo  consisted  of  staves  and  short  boanls. 
All  were  blackened,  and  showed  traces  of  fire. 
The  fire  seemed  to  have  bunied  down  to  n  depth 
of  four  feet,  and  two  or  three  feet  under  the  sides; 
then  the  water  coming  in  had  quenched  it. 

He  drew  out  hundreds  of  these  staves  and 
boards,  which  were  packed  in  bundles,  six  boards 
being  nailed  together  as  box-shooks,  and  thirty 
or  forty  staves.  These  he  threw  out  upon  the 
deck  and  on  the  sand.  What  remained  he  drew 
about  and  scattered  loosely  in  the  hold  of  the 
VMseL     He  did  this  with  a  purposf.  for  he  I    " 


forward  to  the  time  when  some  ship  might  paa, 
and  it  would  then  be  necessary  to  attract  her  at- 
tention. There  was  no  way  of  doing  so.  He 
had  no  pole,  and  if  he  had  it  might  not  be  no- 
ticed. A  fire  would  be  the  surest  way  of  draw- 
ing attenti;n,  and  all  this  wood  gave  him  the 
means  of  building  one.     He  tcattored  it  about 


J-it.a^UitiL 


CORD  AND  CREESB. 


on  the  sand,  so  that  it  might  dry  in  the  hot 
lun. 

Yetit  was  also  necessary  to  have  some  sort  of 
s  Bigrml  to  elevate  in  case  of  need.     He  hiid  no- 
thing but  a  knife  to  work  with ;  yet  patient  ef- 
fort will  do  much,  and  after  about  a  week  he  had 
cut  away  the  rail  that  ran  along  the  quarter-deck, 
which  gave  him  a  pole  some  twenty  feet  in  length! 
The  nails  that  fastened  the  boards  were  all  rust^ 
ed  90  that  thev  could  not  be  used  in  attaching 
any  thing  to  this.     He  decided  when  the  time 
came  to  tie  his  coat  tS  it,  and  use  that  as  a  flag. 
It  certainly  ought  to  be  able  to  attract  attention. 
Occupied  with  such  plans  and  Libors  and  pur- 
poses as  these,  the  days  passed  quickly  for  two 
weeks.     By  that  time  the  Heree  rays  of  the  sun 
lud  dried  every  board  and  stave  so  that  it  be- 
came like  tinder.     The  ship  itself  felt  the  heat  • 
the  seams  gaped  more  widely,  the  boards  warped 
and  fell  away  from  their  rusty  nails,  the  timbers 
were  exposed  all  over  it,  and  the  hot,  dry  vrind 
penetrated  every  cranny;     The  interior  of  the 
hold  and  the  cabin  became  free  from  damp,  and 
hot  and  dry. 

pen  Brandon  flung  back  many  of  the  boards 
and  staves  loosely ;  and  after  enough  had  been 
thron-n  there  he  worked  Liboriously  for  days  cut- 
ting up  large  numbers  of  the  boards  into  fine 
sfJints,  untU  at  last  a  huge  pile  of  these  shavings 
were  accumulated.  With  these  and  his  pistol 
he  would  be  able  to  obtain  light  and  fire  in  the 
time  of  need. 

The  post  which  he  had  cut  off"  was  then  sharp- 
ened at  one  end,  so  that  he  could  flx  it  in  the 
nnd  when  the  time  came,  should  it  ever  come. 
Here,  then,  these  prepai-ations  wero  Completed. 
After  all  his  labor  in  the  cabin  nothing  was 
fonnd.  The  bedding,  the  mattresses,  the  chests, 
the  nautical  instruments  had  all  been  ruined 
The  tables  and  chairs  fell  to  pieces  when  the 
tand  was  removed ;  the  doors  and  wood-work 
tank  away ;  the  cabin  when  cleared  remained  a 
wreck. 

The  weather  continued  hot  and  dry.  At  night 
Brandon  flung  himself  down  wherever  he  hap- 
pened to  be,  either  at  the  brig  or  at  the  rock 
Every  day  he  had  to  go  to  the  ro«k  for  water' 
Md  also  to  look  out  toward  the  sea  ftt>m  that 
Sde.  At  first,  while  intent  upon  his  work  at  the 
mm,  the  sight  of  the  barren  horizon  every  day 
did  not  materially  affect  him ;  he  rose  superior 
todespondency  and  cheered  himself  with  his  task. 
But  at  length,  at  the  end  of  about  three  weeks, 
aU  thw  work  was  done  and  nothing  more  re- 
mained. His  only  idea  wua  to  labor  to  effect  his 
ft»po,  and  not  to  insure  his  comfort  durine  his 
rtay.  , 

Now  OS  day  racceeded  to  dav  aU  his  old  gloom 
iwnmed.  The  excitement  of  the  last  few  weeks 
tad  acted  favorably  upon  his  bodily  health,  but 
when  this  was  removed  he  began  to  feel  mora 
ttan  his  old  weakness.  Such  diet  as  his  mkR 
rastom  nature,  but  it  could  not  preserve  heaSC^ 
^jtrawat  length  to  loathe  the  food  which  Ifi' 
"WWSIe,  and  it  was  only  by  a  stem  resolve 
M»t  he  forced  himself  to  swallow  it. 

At  length  a  new  evil  was  superadded  to  those 
which  had  Already  afllicted  him.  During  the 
am  port  of  his  stay  the  hollow  or  pool  of  water 
on  the  rock  had  always  been  kept  filled  by  the 
wqnent  rains.  But  now  for  three  waeka,  in 
act  ever  since  the  uncoverinc  of  the  Vitknu,  not 


87 

a  single  drop  of  rain  had  fallen.     The  sun  shone 
with  intense  heat,  and  the  evaiwration  was  great. 

Ihe  wind  at  first  tempered  this  heat  somewhat.  / 
but  at  last  this  ceased  to  Wow  by  day,  and  often/ 
for  hours  there  was  a  dead  calm,  in  which  the 
water  of  the  sea  lay  unruflled  and  all  the  air  was 
motionless. 

If  there  could  only  have  been  something  which 
he  could  stretch  over  that  precious  pool  of  water 
lie  might  then  have  arrested  its  flight.  But  he 
had  nothing,  and  could  contrive  nothing.  Every 
day  saw  a  perceptible  decrease  in  its  volume,  and 
at  last  It  went  down  so  low  that  he  thought  he 
could  count  the  number  of  days  that  were  left 
mm  to  live.  But  his  despair  could  not  stay  the 
operation  of  the  laws  of  nature,  and  he  watched 
the  decrease  of  that  water  as  one  watehes  the 
failing  breath  of  a  dying  child. 

Many  weeks  passed,  and  the  water  of  the 
pool  stiU  diminished.  At  last  it  had  sunk  so 
low  thqt,  Brandon  could  not  hope  to  live  more 
than  another  week  unless  rain  came,  and  that 
now  he  could  scarcely  expect.  Tlie  look-out  be- 
came more  hopeless,  and  at  length  his  thoughts, 
instead  of  turning  toward  escaiie,  were  occupied 
ydtb  deliberating  whether  he  would  probably  die 
of  starvation  or  simple  phvsical  exhaustion.  He 
began  to  enter  into  that  state  of  mind  which  he 
had  read  m  Despard's  MSS.,  in  which  Ufe  ceases  i 
to  be  a  .matter  of  desire,  and  the  only  wish  left 
18  to  die  as  quickly  and  as  painlessly  as  possible. 

At  length  one  day  as  his  eyes  swept  the  wa- 
ters mechanically  out  of  pure  habit,  and  not  ex- 
pecting any  thing,  he  saw  far  away  to  the  north- 
east something  which  looked  like  a  sail  He 
watehed  it  for  an  hour  before  he  fairly  decided 
that  It  was  not  some  mocking  cloud.  But  at 
the  end  of  that  time  it  had  gro»Ti  larger,  and  had 
assumed  a  form  which  no  cloud  could  keen  so 
long.  '^ 

Kow  his  heart  beat  fest,  and  all  the  old  long- 
ing for  escape,  and  the  old  love  of  life  retumwl 
with  fresh  vehemence.  This  new  emotion  over- 
powered him,  and  he  did  not  try  to  strumrle 

with  it.  .f  66  » 

Now  had  come  the  day  and  the  hour  when  all 
Ufe  was  in  suspense.  This,  was  his  first  hope, 
and  he  felt  that  it  must  be  his  lost.  Experience 
had  shown  that  the  island  must  lie  outside  the 
common  track  of  vess^,  and,  i^  the  ordinary 
course  of  things,  if  this  passed  by  he  could  not 
hope  to  see  another. 

Now  he  had  to  decide  how  to  attract  her  no- 
tice. She  was  still  far  away,  yet  she  was  evi- 
dently drawing  nearer.  The  rock  was  higher 
than  the  mound  and  more  conspicuous.  He  de- 
termined to  carry  his  signal  there,  and  erect  it 
somewhere  on  that  place.  So  he  took  tip  the 
ht«vy  staff,  and  bore  it  laboriously  over  tlie  sand 
till  he  reached  the  rock. 

\  By  the  time  that  he  arrived  there  the  vessel 
imd  come  nearer.  Her  top-sails  were  visible  above 
.rtiehorizon.    Her  progresswas  very  slow,  forthere 

wo«  only  very  little  wind.-  Hw  rtuddinglwlfa 

were  all  set  to  catch  the  breeie,  and  her  course 
was  such  that  she  came  gradually  nearer.  Wheth- 
er she  would  come  near  enougli  to  see  the  island 
was  anotlier  question.  Yet  if  they  thouriit  of 
keeping  a  look-out,  if  the  men  in  the  top*  had 
glasses,  this  rock  and  the  signal  could  easily  be 
seen.  Hefeared,  however,  that  this  would  not  be 
thought  o£    The  existence  of  Coflin  laUod  wu 


V. 


m^l^mmf 


ts 


CORD  AND  CREESE. 


"still  hb  stood  tribe,  holding  aloit  bis  signal. " 


not  generally  known,  and  if  they  sopposed  that 
there  was  only  open  water  here  they  would  not 
be  on,  the  look-out  at  alL 
^  Nfivertheless  Brandon  erected  his  sipial,  and 
B8  there  Wag  no  place  on  the  solid  rock  where  he 
could  in»prt  it  he  held  it  up  in  his  own  hands. 
Hours  pwsed.  The  ship  liad  come  very  much 
nearer,  brtt  her  hull  was  not  yet  visible.  Still 
he  stood  there  under  the  burning  sun,  holding 
•loft  his  signal.  Fearing  that  it  might  not  be 
sufficiently  conspicuous  he  fastened  his  coat  to 
the  top,  and  .then  waved  it  slowly  backward  and 
forward. 

The  ship  moved  more  slowly  than  ever  ;  but 
still  it  was  coming  nearer ;  for  after  some  time,* 
which  seemed  to  that  lonely  watcher  like  entire 
davs,  her  hull  became  visible,  and  her  course 
still  lay  nearer. 
Now  Brandon  felt  that  he  must  be  noticed. 
-JHAwaved  hi*  signal  incewutntly,  Heeven  leaped 
in  the  air,  so  that  he  might  he  seen.  He  thought 
that  the  rock  would  surely  be  perceived  from  the 
ship,  and  if  they  looked  at  that  they  would  see 
the  flgnre  upon  it.  * 

^  Then  despondency  came  over  him.  The  hull 
of  tlie  ship  was  visible,  but  it  was  only  the  np- 
pcrmost  line  6i  the  hull.     He  was  itanding  on 


the  very  top  of  the  rock,  on  its  highest  poin» 
From  tli»  deck  Aey  could  not  see  the  rock  it- 
self. He.stoopea  down,  and  perceived  that  the 
hull  of  the  ship  sank  out  of  sight.  Then  ho  knew 
that  the  rock  would  not  be  visible  to  them  at  «11. 
Only  the  upper  half  of  his  body  could  by  any 
possibility  he  visible,  and  he  knew  enough  of  the 
sea  to  understand  that  this  would  have  the  dark 
sea  for  a  back-ground  to  observers  in  the  ship, 
and  therefore  could  not  be  seen. 

Still  he  would  not  yield  to  the  d^ection  that 
was  rapidly  coming  over  him,  and  deepening  into 
despair  eveiy  minute.  Never  before  had  he  so 
clung  to  hope — never  before  had  his  soul  been 
more  indomitable  in  its  resolution,  more  vigo^ 
ouB  in  its  strong  self-assertion. 

He  stood  there  still  waving  his  staff  as  though 
his  life  now  depended  upon  that  dumb  yet  elo- 
quent signal— as  though,  like  Moses,  as  long  u 
hia  anas  were  ereet,  so  long  wonid  he  he  ai^ 
to  triumph  over  the  assault  of  despair.  H^nra 
passed.  Still  no  notice  was  taken  of  him.  Still 
the  ship  held  on  her  course  slowly,  yet  steadily, 
and  no  change  of  direction,  no  movement  of  any 
kind  whatever,  showed  that  he  had  been  seen. 
What  troubled  him  now  was  the  idea  that  the 
ship  did  not  come  any  nearer.    This  at  flnt  bt 


refused  to  believe,  but  at  last  he  saw  it  beyond 

We  above  the  horizon. 

The  rfhip  was  now  due  north  from  the  rock 
saihng  on  a  line  directlj.  parallel  with  the  island' 

And  now  Brandon  saw  that  his  last  hopi  of  atl 
tracting  attention  by  the  signal  was  gon^  The 
.hip  was  moving  onward  to  the  wes*  and  every 
minute  would  make  it  less  likely  that  tliose  o^ 
board  could  see  the  rock. 

During  the  hours,  in  which  he  had  watched 
the  ship  he  had  been  busy  conjectuHng  wh^ 

^l^'^^r^  r*^  ^"^"^  what  portihe  might  have 
come.      I  he  direction  indicated  China  ahnost 
andoubtedly.     He  depicted  in  his  mind  at^^  i 
conmiodious,  and  swift  ship,  with  many  pasS 
gers  on  their  way  back  to  England.     i^iT^.  I 
med  pleasant  society,  and  genoml  inten-ou.^ 
His  fancy  created  a  thousand  scenes  of  delX  ' 

5"  I  ^M^T  "^'"^  "'-*'«.  ^^'^^y  "•««=«  of  men  •' 
AH  earthly  happiness  seemed  to  him  at  that  time 

ss;:\re^°"'-«'*'''«'''p-'"eh';r 

'Ihe  seas  were  bright  and  spailcling,  the  skies 

the  white  sweUing  sails  puffed  out  like  clouds 
.gainst  the  blue  sky  beyond.  That  shfp  sS 
to  the  lonely  watcher  like  Heaven  itself  Oh^  j 
to  pass  beyond  the  limits  of  this  narrow  sand^ 

0l^to,^chT/''^*"'i^"  ""«»  enter  tS  I 

Oh!  to  reach  that  ship  which  moved  on  so  mi-  I 

jestically,  to  enter  there  and  be  at  rest  "  I 

It  was  not  given  him  to  enter  there.'    Br»n-  ' 

a«a  .  Already  the  sun  was  sinking,  and  the 
udden  nighfof  the  tropics  was  coming  "wiftly  I 
on     1  here  was  no  longer  any  hope.  ^  I 

He  flung  the  staff  down  tifl  it  broke  asunder  ' 
on  the  bird  rock,  and  stood  for  a  few  moments  ' 
looking  out  at  sea  in  mute  despair         °"*"'*"** 

let  could  he  have  kif5wn  what  was  shortly  to 
be  the  fate  of  that  ship-shortly,  only  in  a  few 
day»-he  would  not  have  des,idr,^,Ve  woSd 
have  rejoiced,  since  if  death  wereTi  he  hT" lot 

rwcued  and  gam  the  sweet  hope  of  life  afresh 

B^CT/  '"f- .""'^  extingiilshed  in  bS' 
«But  Brandon  did  not  remain  long  in  idlenels 
There  wag  yet  one  rosouree-«ne  which  he^ 
alr»dy  thought  of  through  that  long  day,  but  K 
««ted  to  try,  since  he  would  havelo  foreake  hta 
«gnal-8tation  ;  and  to  remain  there  with  Ws  staff 
«*nied  to  him  then  the  only  punK.se  of  hfsS 
bi^enT  ""'  '"«"'^-«t«ff  had  foiled,  he  had 

.«?!  *T"  hat'  ,fi"'e<l  to  work  its  appropriate 
^,  and  orfier  things  were  before  h^  He 
took  his  ,. oat  and  descended  f^oto  the  rock  t^ 
n»ke  a  last  effort  for  life.     He  walked  Lk 

te''  "•*  «''^*'""«  8'°°™  towa,^  the  wreTk 
;«^  «^^^*"*  whatever.     He  walked  with  a 
=-«»  lagging  back,  hnt  adranefng  calmlv. 

i«Lr  1.**  *i"'  l"'^"  'n  •  wa  of  fire,  and  the 

WW  uarsnes*.     There  was  no  moon.     The  stum 
•bone  dimly  from  behind  a  kind  of  haze  th« 

C;:&".r''''-     '"•«  *ind  came  uTmore 
"Wly  from  the  Mst,  and  Brandon  knew  that 


CORD  AND  CREESE, 


89 

to  attract  further  and  further  away.     That  ship 
had  now  died  out  in  the  dark  of  the  ebon  sea; 

Lr^tn^H— '''\"°''*''  '''"=^  ■'"  notice  wer^ 
all  against  him,  yet  he  never  faltered 

«f  Xi?  h  ''T?  ^u"  "''^  resolution,  which  was 
fhe  ch«n""''^'  *  •  """k^'"  '■"  «gnal-fl^,  whatever 
th«f It  fl  Ti"' •  *'™  '"'8''*  he.  He  thought 
that  the  flamed  flanng  up  would  of  necessity  at- 
tract attention,  and  that  the  vessel  might  turn, 
or  lie-to  and  try  to  discover  whdt  this  might  be 

I  Ueath  had  now  become  to  him  rather  a  tiling  to 
I  w»    T'''^  *^"  ''^°''^^-     ^or  he  knew  thai  it 
i  w^nlH  1^*  k''""^'  "^  •"■« '  """J  how  much  better 
td'ely  UL"  "  '^'""^  ""^''^  """  «f«  - 
This  decision  to  die  took  away  despair     De- 
spair is  only  possible  to  those  who  value  this 
earthly  hfe  exclusively.     To  the  soul  that  looks 
forward  to  endless  lif^  despair  can  never  cpml 

wi.^T.iT"''  *,"  "°'«"°"  P°'To»«  that  Brandon 
went  to  the  wreck,  seeking  by  a  last  chance  after 
Ute,  yet  now  prepared  to  relinquish  it.  Ho  had 
stn.ggl«l  for  life  all  these  weeks ;  he  had  fought 

SnTLf  d**  ^'  '"■"  '^i^  -""tt^srable  spirTtS 
agony,  all  day  long,  on  the  summit  of  that  ixKk, 
and  now  the  bitterness  of  death  was  past. 
An  hour  and  a  half  was  occupied  in  the  walk 
I  over  the  sand  to  the  wreck.     Fresh  waveT  of 
I  fZt^  come  over  all  things,  and  now,  though 
i  i^Jn7rJ?-\''°'jt'^'''  "•«  g'oom  was  intense 
wher^thi^I"''  ''^■Yi^  "•«  ^''y  "hovp  showed 
where  the  stars  might  be.     Where  now  was  the 
ship  for  which  Brandon  songht  ?    He  cared  not  '    " 

wasbK"V"M"t''r*«"''l-«^-    Thowi^d 
Z  n^^^  t'*''?'^  ^y  *•■«  ♦''"^  'hat  he  reacheil 

w^k^s      l'»  u,^"?  •  "i*'".^  ^'^  °°'  hlown  for 
weeks.    Jt  would  take  the  ship  away  farther 

cSn  e.Ti?'''  "'  i''«  '^""'^  -'-  his  iL; 
awav fnri  ^V  u^^y  ^  P"*  'hat  last  chance 
a>*ay  forever,  and  thus  make  an  end  of  suspense.  ' 
fhi;  ,  P''«Pa™t,>on8  had  long  since  been  made; 
the  ^I^  7°K  '"^  '°°^'y  ""■''^''  "hout  the  hold 
iL^t^ft'^T^t-'^  ""« thread-like  splinter; 
th^fjre  '  ""■'"''"«  '*'"'•    "«  '"^  «"Jy  to  apply 

intl.'Vn'^rh''"  ""«"  handkerchief  and  tore  it  up 
into  fine  threads,  these  he  tore  apart  again  and 

2S  '"ulT^f  "i'  '^y  «■«-  a?mos^"cS 
as  tant.     He  then  took-these  loose  fibres,  and  dc- 

'  XiZhT  1^'"°'*''  P"'  '"«"'  "ndenieath  the 
D^toT  -n^  II  ^'^  ^""^r^-     '^''•«"  he  took  his 
pistol,  and  holding  it  close  to  the  lint  fired  it 
Ihe  explosion  rang  out  with  startFing  force  iil 

flr^  ^7  '"^  ""^  H'V^'P'  '•»«  "■"  received  tl^ 
fire  and  glowed  with  the  sparks  into  spots  of  red 
heat.  Brandon  blew  with  his  breath,  and  the 
wind  streaming  down  lent  its  assistance 

in  a  few  moments  the  work  was  done. 

it  blazed ! 

But  scarcely  had  the  first  flame  appeared  than 


though  the  fickle  wind  were  tantalizing  him-at 
one  time  helpmg,  at  another  baffling  him.  Onco 
more  B,»ndon  blew.  Once  more  thi  blwe  aro^ 
m!!S?"".^"*  ''"  *="?'  '■''«''  •"  front  of  it  till  it 
S£rf*«  "'"'".?*''•  '^''«  hkze  ren  mpidly 
through  he  fine  splints,  it  extended  itself  towarJ 
Ae^hav,^,  It  threw  it.  arms  upward  to  Z 


*«- 


«f^-' 


■i\'-wwiw"n;c.  I'  'V"'  w"fmrmiwj,^''^''^m'f'rfm^mmiififf;^miffmf^^f^i'^iil&ffnit 


40 


The  dry  wood  kindled.  A  million  sparks  flew 
ont  as  it  cracked  under  the  assault  of  the  devour- 
ing fire.  The  flame  spread  itself  out  to  a  larger 
volume ;  it  widened,  expanded,  and  clasped  the 
kindling  all  around  in  its  fervid  embrace.  The 
flame  had  been  baffled  at  first ;  bUt  now,  as  if  to 
assert  its  own  supremacy,  it  ru8he4  out  in  all  di- 
rections, with  something  that  seemed  almost  Uke 
exultation.  That  flame  had  once  been  conquered 
by  the  waters  in  this  very  ship.  The  wood  had 
saved  the  ship  from  the  waters.  It  was  as  though 
the  Wood  had  once  invited  the  Fibe  to  union, 
but  the  Water  had  step])ed  ip  and  prevented 
the  union  by  force ;  as  though  the  Wood,  resent- 
ing the  interference,  had  buttled  the  assaults  of 
the  Wateb,  and  saved  itself  intact  through  the 
long  years  for  the  embrace  of  its  first  love. 

Now  the  FiKE  sought  the  Wood  once  more 
after  so  many  years,  and  in  ardor  unspeakable 
embraced  its  bride. 

Such  fontastic  notions  passed  throng^  Bran- 
don's fancy  as  be  looked  at  the  triumph  of  the 
flame.  But  he  could  not  stay  there  long,  and  as 
he  had  not  madja  up  his  mind  to  gire  himself  to 
the  flames  he;  Clambered  up  quickly  out  of  the 
hatchway  and  stood  upon  the  sand  without 

The  smoke  was  pouring  through  the  hatchway, 
the  block  voluminons  folds  being  rendered  visible 
by  the  glow  of  the  flames  beneath,  which  now 
had  l^ned  the  ascendency,  and  set  all  the  vnnds 
at  defiance,     indeed  it  was  so  now  that  what- 
ever wind  came  only  assisted  the  flames,  and 
Brandon,  as  he  looked  on,  amused  hitnself  with 
the  thought  that  the  wind  was  like  the  world  of 
man,  which,  when  any  one  is  first  stfnggling, 
lias  a  tendency  to  crush  him,  but  when  he  has 
once  gained  a  foothold  exerts  all  its  eflTorts  to 
lielp  him  along.     In  this  mood,  half  cynical,  half 
imaginative,   he  watched  the  progress  of  the 
flames. 
Soon  all  the  fine  kindling  had  crumhled  away 
1  at  ihe  touch  of  the  fire,  and  conununicating  its 
o^  heat  to  the  wood  around,  it  lank  down,  a 
{Rowing  mass,  the  foundation  of  the  rising  fires. 
Here,  from  this  central  heart  of  fire,  the  flames 
rtuhed  on  upon  the  wood  which  lay  loosely  on 
.  all  sides,  filling  the  hull.     Through  that  wood 
'  the  dry  hot  wind  had  streamed  for  many  weeks. 


CORD  AND  CREESE. 


And  fast  and  furious,  with  eager  advance,  the 
flames  rushed  on  devouring  every  thing.  Through 
the  hatchway,  around  which  the  fiercest  flKg 
gathered,  the  stream  of  flame  rose  impetuously 
on  high,  in  a  straight  upward  torrent,'hurling  up 
a  vast  pyramid  of  fire  to  the  ebon  skies,  a  0Xoy6( 
liiyav  ■Kiiiyiava  which,  like  thfit  which  once  il- 
lumed the  Slavonic  strait  with  the  signal-fire  first 
caught  from  burning  iVoy,  here  threw  its  radi- 
ance far  over  the  deep. 

While  the-  lighter  wood  lasted  the  flame  was 
in  the  ascendant,  and  nobly  it  did  its  work. 
Whatever  could  be  done  by  bright  radiance  uiid 
far-penetratii^g  lustre  was  done  here.  If  that 
ship  which  had  passed  held  any  men  on  board 
capable  of  feeling  a  human  interest  in  the  visible 
signs  of  9alamity  at  sea,  they  would  be  able  to 
r^  in  this  flame  tl)at  tliere  was  disaster  some- 
where upon  these  waters,  and  if  they  had  human 
hearts  they  would  turn  to  see  if  there  was  not 
some  suffering  which  they  might  relieve. 

But  the  lighter  and  the  dryer  wood  was  at  last 
consumed,  and  now  there  remained  that  which 
Brandon  had  never  touched,  the  dense  masses 
which  still  lay  piled  where  they  had  been  placed 
eighteen  years  before.  Upon  these  the  fire  now 
marched.  But  already  the  long  days  and  weeks 
of  scorching  sun  and  fierce  wind  had  not  been 
without  their  effects,  and  the  dampness  had  been 
subdued.  Besides,  the  fire  that  advanced  ujiori 
them  had  already  gained  immense  advantage ;  for 
one  half  of  the  brig  was  one  glowing  moss  of 
heat,  which  sent  forth  its  consuming  forces,  and 
withered  up,  and  blighted,  and  annihilated  all 
around.  The  close -bound  and  cldse- packed 
masses  of  staves  and  boards  received  the  ^esili^ 
less  embrace  of  the  fire,  and  where  they  did  not  -> 
flame  they  still  gave  forth  none  the  less  a  blaze- 
less  glow. 

Now  from  the  burning  vessel  the  flame  arose 
no  more ;  but  in  its  place  there  appeared  that 
which  sent  forth  as  vivid  a  gleam,  and  as  far- 
flashing  a  light.  The  fire  had  full  sway,  thongfa 
it  gave  forth  no  blaze,  and,  while  it  gleamed  bat 
little,  still  it  devoured,.  From  the  sides  of  the 
ship  the  planks,  blasted  by  the  intense  heat  and  | 
by  the  outburst  of  the  flames,  had  sprung  away 
and  now  for  nearly  all  the  length  of  the  veswl 


till  every  stave  and  every  bdard  had  become  dry  1  th4  timbers  were  exposed  without  any  covering, 


to  its  utmost  possibility.  Now.  at  the  first  breath 
of  the  flame  the  wood  yielded;  at  the  first  touch 
H  flared  up,  and  prepared  to  receive  the  embrace 
of  the  fire  in  every  fibre  of  its  being. 

Tlie  flame  rolled  on.  It  threw  its  long  arms 
through  the  million  interstices  of  the  loose  piles 
of  wood,  it  penetrated  v/orj  where  with  its  sub- 
tle, far-reaching  power,  till  within  the  ship  the 
glow  broadened  and  widened,  the  central  heart 
of  fire  enlarged  its  borders,  and  the  floods  of  flame 
that  flowed  from  it  .rushed  with  consuming  fury 
through  the  whole  body  of  the  ship. 

Glowing  with  briglit  lustre,  increasing  in  that 
brightness  every  moment,  leaping  up  as  it  con- 
sumed and  flashing  vividly  aa  it  leaped  up.  A 
thousand  tongues  of  flainjB   8tr«tmed  npwf^ 


Between  these  flashed  forth  the  gleam  of  the  fire 
inside,  which  now  in  one  pure  mass  glowed  with 
dazzling  brightness  and  intense  heat. 

But  the  wood  inside,  damp  as  it  was,  aod  solid 
in  its  fibre,  did  not  allow  a  very  swift  progress 
to  the  fire.  It  burned,  but  it  burned  slowly.  >It 
glowed  like  tlie  charcoal  of  a  furnace  from  be- 
hind its  wooden  bars. 

The  massive  timbers  of  mahogany  wood  yield- 
ed slowly  and  stubbornly  to  the  conflagration. 
They  stood  up  like  iron  bars  long  after  all  the 
interior  was  one  glowing  moss.  But,  though 
they  yielded  slowly,  still  they  had  to  yield  with 
the  parage  of  hours  to  the  progress  of  the  fire. 
And  so  it  came  to  pass  that  at  length  the  strong 
sides,  sapped  by  Uie  steady  and  resistless  assault, 


througfi*  the  crannies  ofi'  the  gaping  deck,  and  i  suirehdered.  One  by  one  the  stout  timbers,  now 
between  the  wide  orific^  of  the  planks  and  tim-  wasted  and  weakened,  gt7e  way  and  sank  down 
hers  the  dazzling  flames-beamed ;  a  thousand  |  into  the  fervid  mass  beneath.  At  last  the  whole 
resistless  arms  seemed  «xtepded  forward  to  grasp  centre  was  one  accumulation  of  glowing  asbea, 
the  fabric  now  completely  at  its  mercy,  and  the  [  and  all  that  remained  were  the  bow,  covered 
hot  breath  of  the  fii«  shriveled  up  all  in  its  path  |  with  sand,  and  the  stem,  with  the  quarter-deck, 
before  yet  its  bands  were  laid  upon  it.  I     The  tire  spread  in  both  directions.    The  stem 


!W^l^IfWB?IWip 


yWdad  flm.    Here  the  strong  deck  gnstained  for 

!,S?,K  Tf*'  "l '?'  «'«  ^"  h-J  consumed 
evwy  thing  beneath,  but  at  last  it  sunk  in ;  the 
ambers  of  the  sides  followed  next,  and  aU  hsA 
gone.  With  the  bow  there  was  a  longerand  a 
harder  struggle  The  fire  had  penetmtJi  fa^ 
into  that  part  of  the  vessel;  the  flames  smoul- 
dered ther^  but  the  conflagration  went  on,  and 
moke  and  blue  fl^ames  issued  from  every  paW  of 
iha  sandy  momid,  whi'ch,  fiercely  assailed  by  the 
heat,  gave  way  in  every  direction,  broke  into  a 
million  crevieen,  and  in  places  melted  and  wn  to- 
jjether  in  a  glowing  molten  heap.    Here  the  fires 

S  ml"i^.''  ""'  "^^  ^'^y  "^"^  -I  ^"-""^ 

Long  before   morning  Brandon   had  fallen 

-^P.     He  had  stood  fir»t  near  the  burnkg 

IT^«  K  ^"  *''*  '•'*'  '"'■'^'^  ''™  ">  move  awayf 
and  he  had  gone  to  a  ridge  of  sand,  where  tWs 
pemnsuU  joined  the  island.    There  he  sat  down 

A^^h? fl'^Ji"'*'"?''''" fora'ongtime.  -S 
Ae  light  flashed,  and  if  that  ship  for  whom  he 
was  .signaling  had  noticed  this  si^,  and^h^ex! 

one  that  chose  to  examine.  '' 

But  hours  i«ssed  on.     He  strained  his  eves 

Md''"  '^'r:?  '"  "*«  ''"^"«"  in  wWchX 
sbiD  had  vanmlinH  tn  <uio  ;<•  .1 . 


CX)RD  AND  tJBEESE. 


41 


n.i!l^  qoMtion  at  a  timo,  mess-mate, "  said-th. 

&  «",^^±""r*'  '">«>  «y«ta7  to  London  ,^1 
LM??,iT.    K  *  "^T^  •""'•     We  saw  this  light 

bow  and  came  up  to  see  what  it  was.    We  found 

Se"!S:s!^^  '*""  "«■ '"'  -rning.^&1 

ITie  Captain  waved  his  hand  proudlv  to  where 

-i'y^l^ttlX  ''''  '"^-  ••^-  --  -^e^ 

of  vo^y-^T^n  '  .^'•^  y"»  ««  'he  fire  a/,e„d 
n2,  1  .?"■"?*  fi""**"".  who  now  begun  to  com 
prehend  the  situation.  ^ 

"Yes."  « 

yes'telJay"?^""  '"''''''  '**'  "*  '"""^  '^e  north 

mo'i^i'.  """"*'•  '^"'  ■*"  '^'''  ?§•=«  before  this 

J  LTdi,''zsr'"''  "*f  *""'  •'•"•" 

ha^you  t"n  here^  *"'  "'«'  "«>  '"'"'  '»"« 
Brandon  had  long  since  decided  on  the  nart 
he  WM  to  plsy      His  stoty  was  all  ,«ady 7  ' 

My  name  18  Edwaitl  Wheeler.     I  4me  out 
hogshead  staves  and  ho*  .1.^.1..,  «•„ ^,  «"  "• 


.hipisiv  vs;i"^'ri?rerwrret?.[i1ro^rr»'"  «•-  h'T^V'^r^uh .  r^":/ 

there.  None  appeared.  'l^Tv^^^oTLZltXSlJ^ZT  ^l '"r"^ '"^'^  ^-^^ 
■  "^"I;  ^'  *«"'  °"  burning  and  glowing  vrith  ™conZ~:i  .^  "'*'  ^*^"•  "'  September  kst  we 
iwinderfij  energy  all  through  the  nigT^rlt  I  ™U^Zd^«„W  T^?''""''  r™  "^^  ""«=k  on 
hst  not  long  before  dawn,  the  stem  ffu  i„  and  ch^  ^«  ^'.  "  "*?  ^*»  ""  ""/  "'  the 
rtothmg  now  wa«  left  but  the  sand-monid  t^t  thT^  mlS^ .  T*  ^'^'••'^  »"«"  '^''•.  «nd 
r?"^  the  bows,  which,  burning  benea°h  »ue  I  tain  «d  c»!,  «  **"  '"T'.^  °''^  •"••  '^'h"  cap- 
forth  smoke  and  fire.  """cam,  gai  e   tain  and  crew  put  out  the  boat,  ind  tried  to  set 

Then,  exhausted  by  fetigue.  he  sank  H„om  «„    k     ?i!        *T"  *'»«"np«l  and  drowned.     I  staid 

-'^.he  «u.d  and  feu  inufa  sorKp"*"'  '""^  '^  tt  s't^n^'^eV".'  "Tl"*;    '^''"'  ^3 

In  the  midst  of  thronging  dreains.  fi«m  A-   .,     ^^  m*"'  *"•"  *hr  had  a  solid  canro  was 

depths  of  that  imaginanflaSd  ^ShS^^eS   aCtter  "" V"^ ''"•'  TH"^'^  "S'^  al 

^mt  wandered  in  sleep,  lie  was  suddenly  rouS^   and  bv  th;  .I^/lu"^  >*"^  '"'"■  '«^«'-«'  J«vs, 

.\  hand  was  kid  on  £i.  .i,«..i,i„.  ..  uV^u    .^-    '""  "y  the  end  of  that  time  a  shml  h..i  fi>w„i.i 


--J..™  w  „.„»  luuiguiaiT  land  where  his  weHrv 
n.mt  wander^  ij,  sleep,  L  was  suddenly  ro3 

ti^Z""  ^^  Z"  *■"  *b'"''*'«^'  which  sh^k 

"M^l  ^'  f  »i»  ho*nK,  voice  shouted  in  his  earT 

Mess-mate!   Halloo,  mess-mate !    Wake  upV-' 

,<»S°"  '"*"*^  "f  *"•'  f*^*!  with  wild,  V«- 
tomshed  eyes  arouni  It  was  day.  iC,^ 
«s  two  or  three  hoars  above  the  horizo.^*'  He 
WM  surrounded  by  half  a  dozen  seamen  who 
2^'X'o"?  "^  «i'h  -ondering  but  "kin"!; 
£to  ^!h«M'1""'P"H''*PP*'*^'«  he  their 
«;f"..  5  t'**.*  'P3^-8'«««  in  his  hand.  He 
WW  a  stnrdpr,  thick-set  man  of  about  fifty,  Wow 
gmzled  hair,  weather-beaten  face,  grogbr^M^ 
and  whiskew,  coming  all  round  under^  chhS! 
»ve  hm,  the  air  of  old  Benbow  as  he  apM^re 
on  the  stage-" a  reg'lar  old  salt,"  "LK™! 
or  whatever  other  mime  the  popdar  tl^^« 
to  ^ply  to  the  British  tar.         "^  "^^  \ 

wiA^J^iiL"'' u'lf'^  m««hmate,"  said  thU  man, 

twr.  •w^."'y°""'»""Khtnow..CW 
Cheer  up !  Won't  you  take  a  drink  ?'  And  he 
held  out  a  brandy-flask.  * 

Brandon  rose  mechunicallv  in  a  kinH  nr»... 
notyet  nnde^tanding  his  ^  foj  "ne,  nrye"; 
knowing  whether  he  was  alive  or  dead.    He  t^k 
d»  flask  wd  raised  it  to  hi«lin.     -aej™^ 
TJ^nS^  gdve  him  ne,y  life/ffo  ^kKf 

S::-^«^tW^I;r''^'''^tr^^ 

wWyiS^T'Sr"'*>r"««-'»' 

M}uZ7  V^^    ^'  how  and  when  did  you 

Sij^'the'ivrrriy^'?./**-  -  -  -y  I 

'  C      t%f 


.„j  /  "■•  '™  •■"rui  uwtea  tor  several  davs. 
^d  by  the  end  of  that  time  a  shoal  ha.1  foS. 
Sevend  storms  have  occurred  since,  andXve 
heaped  the  sand  all  over  her.  I  .,  n^  Hv2h^ 
ever  since  in  great  misery.     Yesterday  a  vm!3 

tCXV  rVj  '  "«""  -  •he"'">^k  o^ 
there,  which  she  did  not  notice.     In  desDair  I 

{ha"v;tSyT  ^"°  «»•»•"»««•  ThiS-sJl 
On  hearing  this  stoiy  nothing  could  exceed 
WrtJ'*"'*''  -»«*  '/"P-'hy  of  these  h"n^ 
hearted  seamen  Tfie  Captain  insisted  on  hU 
taking juiother  drink,  apologised  for  having  to 
iS^nffT^i^  England7and  finatlv  huK 

!^     *°.^^^    »«*"«  »w«  ho»t»Bnuidon 
stood  on  the  deck  of  the  Falcon.  '»"""" 


9      .— 


CHAPTER  DC  .  ' 

THK  MALAT  PIRATK. 

TK^**^!"-''!'  had.pawed  since  Bnmdon's  resiine. 
The  light  wind  which  had  brought  jip  th«  J^A^^L 
soon  died  oat,  and  before  th/kX'Jti £ 
teftftf  befiinra  0,1m  sucoeedeTSa  S«*  wS 
nothing  lefk  but  to  drift.  ■" 

rndi.?l'2:'"  **•''?'■  ■*"  "  •''"«>«.  hero  on  the 
likjTL^"  H  » '«^«*i?n-  The  calmnesTb 
•l.lryP''*!'  dw'kness.  It  may  be  felt.  The 
stagnation  of  the  waters  seems  Seep  wonrii  to 
J«.troy  all  life  there.  The  air  is  thfckToZL^ 
'  ne,  fevensh ;  there  i«  not  a  breath  or  a  mZpv 


LiH'SiiAv,  \  J. 


48 


CORD  AND  CREESE. 


3{  wind ;  even  the  swell  of  ocean,  whicd  is  nev- 
er-ending, here  approaches  as  near  as  possible  to 
an  end.  The  ocean  rolled  but  slightly,  but  the 
light  undulations  gave  a  lazy,  listless  motion  to 
the  ship,  the  spars  creaked  monotonously,  and 
the  great  sails  flapped  idly  in  the  air. 

At  such  a  time  the  calm  itsolf  is  sufficient- 
ly dreary,  but  now  there  was  something  which 
'fflitade  all  things  still  more  drear.  For  the  calm 
was  attended  by  a  thick  fog ;  not  a  moist,  driz- 
zling fug  like  those  of  the  North  Atlantic,  but  a 
•  Bultnr,  dense,  dry  fog ;  a  fog  which  gave  greater 
emphasis  to  the  heat,  and,  instead  of  alleviating 
it,  made  it  more  oppressive.  i> 

It  was  so  thick  tliat  it  was  not  possible  while 
standing  at  the  wheel  to  see  the  forecastle. 
Aloft,  all  the  heavens  were  hidden  in  a  canopy 
of  sickly  gray ;  beneath,  the  sea  showed  the 
same  color.  Its  glassy  surface  exhibited  not  a 
ripple.  A  small  space  only  surrounded  the  ves- 
sel, and  beyond  |g/  things  were  lost  to  view. 

The  sailors  were  scattered  aboiit  the  ship  in 
groups.  Some  had  ascended  to  the  tops  with  a 
fiiint  hope  of  finding  more  air;  some  were  lying 
flat  on  their  faces  on  the  forecastle :  others  had 
sought  those  phtces  which  were  under  the  ^ils 
where  the  occasional  flap  of  the  broad  canvas 
sent  down  a  slight  current  of  air. 

The  Captain  was  standing  on  the  quarter-deck, 
while  Brandon  was  seated  on  a  st«ol  near  the 
wheeL  He  had  been  treated  by  the  Can|din  witfi 
unbounded  hospitality,  and  supplied  with  eveiy 
thing  that  he  could  wish. 

"The  fact  is,"  said  the  Captain,  who  had 
been  conversing  with  Brandon,   "I  don't  like 
calms  any  where,  still  less  calms  with  fogs,  and 
least  of  nU,  calms  off  these  infernal  islands." 
"Why?" 

"Because  to  the  north'ard  is  the  Strait  of 
Sunda,  and  the  Malay  pirates  are  always  cruis- 
ing obout,  often  as  far  as  this.     Did  you  ever 
happen  to  hear  of  Zangorri  ?" 
''Yes." 

"Well,  all  I  can  say  is,  if  you  hadn't  been 
wrecked,  you'd  have  probably  had  your  throat 
cut  by  that  devil." 

' '  Can't  any  body  catch  him  ?" 
"They  do^'t  catch  him  at  any  rate.    Wheth- 
er they  can  or  not  is  another  question. " 
"Ha*p  you  arms?" 

"  Yes.     I've  got  enough  to  give  Zangorri  a 
,  pieasanter  reception  than  he  usually  gets  from  a 
merchant-ship ;  and  my  lads  are  the  boys  that 
can  use  them." 

"  I  wonder  what  has  become  of  that  other 
ship  that  passed  me  on  the  isUnd,"  said  Bran- 
■don,  after  a  pause. 

y  "  She  can  t  be  very  far  away  from  us,"  replied 
the  Captain,  "and  we  may  come  up  with  her 
before  we  get  to  the  Cape. ' 

A  silence  followed.  Suddenly  the  Captain's 
attention  was  arrested  Iw  something.  He  raised 
his  hand  to  his  ear,  and  listened  veiy  attentively. 
"Do  yon  hear  that?"  he  asked,  quickly. 

Brandon  arose  and  walked  to  where  the  Cap- 
tain was.     Then  both  listened.     And  over  the 
=ieaiteei<e  came  unmistakable  sounds.  Theregu-, 
lar  movement  of  oars !     Oars  out  on  the  Indian' 
Ocean !     Yet  the  sound  was  unmistakable. 

"It  must  be  some  poor  devils  that  have  es- 
taped  from  shipwreck,  said  the  Captain,  halTto 
himself. 


m 


"Well,  fire  a  gun. - 

"No,"  said  the  Captain,  cautiously,  afker  « 
pause.  "It  may  be  somebody  else.  Wait  a 
bit." 

So  they  yaited  a  little  while.  Suddenly  there 
came  a  cry  of  human  voices — a  volley  of  guns ! 
Shrieks,  yells  of  defiance,  shouts  of  triuraphj 
howls  of  rage  or  of  pain,  all  softened  by  the  dis- 
tance, and  all  in  their  unison  sounding  appalling- 
ly as  they  were  borne  through  the  gloom  of  the 
fog. 

Instantly  every  man  in  the  shiji  bounded  to  his 
feet  They  had  not  heard  the  first  sounds,  but 
these  they  heard,  and  in  that  superstition  which 
is  natural  to  the  sailor,  each  ifuin's'  first  thought 
was  that  the  noises  came  from  the  sky,  and  so 
each  looked  with  a  stupefied  countenance  at  his 
neighbor.  -^ 

But  the  Capt^ti^'did  not  share  tha/*ommon 
feeling.  "I  knew  it!"  he  cried,  "^expected 
it,  and  blow  my  old  eyes  out  if  I  don't  catch  'em 
this  time!" 

"What?"  cried  Brandon. 

,  But  the  Captain  did  not  hear.  Instantly  his 
whole  demeanor  was  changed.  He  sprang  to 
the  companion-way.  He  spoke  but  one  word, 
not  in  a  loud  voice,  but  in  tones  so  stem,  so 
startling,  that  every  man  in  the  ship  heard  the 
worff: 

"Zangorri!" 

All  knew  what  it  meant.  It  meant  that  the 
most  blood-thirsty  pirate  of  these  Extern  seas 
was  attacking  some-ship  behind  that  veil  of  fog. 

And  what  sliip  ?  ITiis  was  the  thought  that 
came  to  Brandon.  Could  it  by  any  possibilitr 
be  the  one  which  passed  by  him  when  he  strove 
so, earnestly  to  gain  her  attention ! 

"Out  with  the  long-boat!  Load  the  car- 
ronade!  Man  the  boat!  Hurry  up,  lads,  for 
God's  sake!"  And  the  Captain^  dashed  down 
into  the  cabin.  In  an  instant  he  vfes  back  again, 
buckling  on  a  belt  with  a  couple  of  pistols  in  it, 
and  calling  to  his  men,  "  Don't  shout,  don't 
cheer,,  but  Ifurry,  for  God's  sake!" 

And  the  men  rushed  about,  some  collecting 
arms,  others  laboring  at  the  boat.  The  Fakim 
was  well  supplied  with  arms,  as  the  Captain  had 
said.  Threeguns,  any  quantity  of  smaller  arms, 
and  a  long  Tom,  formed  her  armament,  while 
the  long-boat  had  a  carronade  in  her  bows. 
Th&nktf  to  the  snug  and  orderly  arrangement  of 
the  ship,  every  thing  was  soon  ready,  ihe  long- 
boat was  out  and  afloat.  All  the  seamen  except 
four  were  on  board,  and  the  Captam  went  down 
last. 

"Now,  puU  awar,  hids!"  he  cried ;  "no  talk- 
ing," and  he  took  the  tiller  ropes.  As  he  seated 
himself  he  looked  toward  the  bows,  and  liis  eyes 
encountered  the  calm  fiace  of  Brandon. 

"  What !  you  here  ?"  he  cried,  with  unmistak- 
able delight. 

Brandon's*  replr  consisted  sifnply  in  drawing 
a  revolver  from  his  pK>cket 

"  You're  a  bri(;k !!'  said  the  Captain. 

Not  another  word  was  spoken.  The  Captain 
steered  the  boat  toward  the  direction  from  which 
the  sounds  came.  These  grew  louder  every  mo- 
ment— more  menacing,  and  more  terrible. 

The  sailors  put  all  their  strength  to  the  oars, 
and  drove  the  great  boat  through  the  water.  To 
their  impatience  it  Seemed  as  though  they  wonlil 
never  get  there.    Yet  the  place  which  they  desired 


i^t 


so  much 

werenov 

onward, 

sight  thn 

.  of  the  kin 

the  ship  I 

rushing  a 

In  a  m 

from  the 

swiftly  do 

panic  see 

looking  ai 

cape.  ' 

The  boi 

bqst,  and  i 

he  took  ail 

explosion  ( 

shriek  foll( 

boat,  filled 

down  benei 

The  long 

sicfe  of  the 

his  left  hai 

right,  leape 

knife  struck 

and  the  M 

Brandon^  wa 

ors,  who  spi 

vessel  betbr< 

first  shock  o: 

But  the  f 

boanded    up 

Boosed  by  tt 

«?>  «nd  rea< 

arrived.     In 

Us  men,  and 

from  his  wore 

«nd  not  mon 

the  former  h 

ahoat,  and  jn 

«li  the  lattei 

The  first  thi 
ley  into  the  cr 
ing  to  face  the 
the  sailors  rusi 
e«,  some  with 
muskets.  i 
The  Malays  1 
with  their  cree 
•ad  used  them  T 
themselves  upoi 
■Dg  like  wild  be 
In  the  midst  c 
■ng  a  clubbed  It 
•tature,  broad  a 
Three  or  four  < 
knocked  down  b 
,  "Down  with  1 
Zangorri!" 

A  venomous  t 

?•  the  Malay.     1 

in  an  instant  thej 

•"^k  np  a  positi 

"^wme  mon 

«•  CapfintTt 

P?f» <ung  the  Mai 

did  so,  poured  in  I 

quarter-deck.     ^ 

ine  Captain  with 

»•  next  instant 

""•f  *ain  was  gr 


onwanl,  thHand^  of'*a'Z''r '^^""'^ 
sight  through  the  gloom  Bvif  !^""'  ""  ">"*' 
,  of  the  kind  that  is  Ssed^V  fh„M  ."'*'  '^'"  »  *>»»» 
the  ship  a  lariw  nZbpV '^  ^"^y"'  ^n  boartl 
mhing'^aboutl'nSt.^^.^'*'  ««^  -«« , 

In  a  moment  the  boat  was  senn      a   i. 
from  the  Malays.     A  scom  nf  fh    ^  'I""" ""» 
.*i%  down  the  shiJgsTde  to  th„-°\^'^'«'«» 
panic  seemed  to  seL  til  the  ^f  '^t'  ^d  a 
J-kinK  around  irxeso.utS^  t  sZ^e:;;  o^^ 

Hhriek  followwL  The  n«v^  •'"'  '^^  ^  '«'riflc 
boat,  filled  wth  ^h^Td^^TLt^' 
down  beneath  the  waters  ^     '^"^'  ^^n' 

siroffeht'  ^Sr^  after  tonched  the 
his  left  hand,  ^nd  S.^'^  "J  "^P*  '^i'h 
right,  leaped  upwari     A^w  '.*  '"''"'"^^  '"  ^ 

knife  stJatCBatfwfL!?'^  "P«ft«d 
Md.the  Malay  fell   "Z^'  !J!"'  the  revolver, 

Braadotfwas  on  boarcn„ri  aI  "«'  instant 
0^  who  sprang  „™rdf?'^r^  ^^  »"  '^e  «*«- 
vessel  betbre  the  Kr,.  *'?">'«'«»  into  the 
first  shock  of  su^..^^        "'**  "^y  fr°"»  the 

Boosed  by  Cnot 'of  fh^^;  hS^hJ^r^^^J 
«P,  and  reached  the  deck^usi  «  ,1? '""i^"'* 
amved.     In  fierce,  stern  t;^^?    t^  '?**  ^'°" 
his  men,  and  the^MS^^^,      ^^  ''"'"'^^  to  ' 
from  his  words     Th^Z  «ati'ered  new  courage 

the  former  had^reS  hI^^''^  **i'°" '  b?' 
ahoat,  and  m^tTf  the^  ^^^  ^ei^  arms 

i^  h.tt^  th^iftThK^^'s.rx- 
hy^L's:  SSd' of' fcf aTrK*"  •-'  "^  -' 

«»« to  face  their  new  eS/  '  ;?iLf  ^^  """^  try- 
the  sailors  rushed  upon  thL  ^  ""^J  °""'°eit 
es,  some  with  pwtoh  ^T'  """''^'"^""tlass- 
mnskets.         ,''"'*"*'  «Pd  some  with  clubbed 

«'«insedth^Sr^i7„T*«'»«<l  "P  muskeV 
themselves  noon  fh!?,  .  ^'  m""*"'  """armed,  Audk 
n  like  ^u'CsU     "'*^'*'  •'*'^«  "^  tZ? 

ing^.thK'^illrX^  *"«  «'>^«^-  -eJ<J- 
"tatnre,  broad  S  L^  "^"*  *  •"a"  of  short 
Three  or  fourtf  th^    feat  muscular  power 

knocked  diZlS^R'^ir'  '^"^^  »-" 
^Down_w.thhimr'yelIedthe6aptain.    "if, 

offheMai::;'"'TStar'  r--  *«  -^ark  face 
«  Minstan^-they  mhed  i?h^  *"  ^^  '»«"'  and 
*?k  up  a  positioTfhi,     \  r^'""*^«=''and 

Jje  Captain  with  h7s  pift^Uhnt"***  *^^  ?«ace. 

*•  next  instant  he  C  LLt  "r^"""  ^ead; 

'»«8*ain  was  jmiDDl^hv^^'^  '''*'™-    The 

grappled  by  two  powerful  men. 


CORD  AND  CREESE. 


Th^rest  of  the  saUor,  we«,  driving  all  befo« 

i  hand  he  held  «  cuSin  h"'"'^'" '"  his  lefl 
blow  that  he  g^ve  told     ^U  "g''^'  *"«*  every 
through  the  st^^Ie  tL^«»^u''  ^^'^  ^o-^ht  ji 
Zangorri  stood^^    h^  SL^^LT '  ^'"'^ 
cessful.     Atth^  reL:.    k-  ^^"^  heen  unsuc- 
he  hastily  lSl£  Jif 'he  Malays  made 
revolver  which  h«h^  of  the  chambers  of  his 
ofthree  ^^2^1^^,^^^  '""o  the  hearts  ' 
deck  first.     TWZn  wC  f  "?^  "»«  <l»arter- 
tain  fell  dead  frorB,^^^  ^^"^  '*°-"  'he  Cap- 
stooped  to^uS  his^Se  ?nLT'l,J""*  «"  »^ 
prostrate  mn.     Anoth«r  ti.  .    **  ''*art  of  the 
the  boatswain's  as^Z  "''"^  T'  "^"^  one  of 
ant  was  kick«l  uH^"?:  *?•*  'he  other  assaU- 
the  boatswain  hbClf    '^^  "^  *"**  overboard  by 

^^^Ln^AtrZVj''  fT  '-°»>'«  'o 
of  fury  caltedou  his^  „^'^yi'"«f  ^'h  a  howl 

Two  quick  f^hLltoZ^  *'"^«  "  ^''^■ 
went  two  of  them  '  zTniT?  "'P*'"*'  and  down 
hand,  and  S  iS^k^Z^r^^^^on's 
Brandon  had  shifted  UgS.  ^*  °«'  '"stant 
he  fired,  ZangomTZitt'^K^  ?"•«■•  h«nd ; 

his'ir rroS"iS  'a^d'rlr  «« -"" 

hurled  Zangom'She^fer'aVdS  v''""!^* 
A  cry  of  terror  and  Hi.^  ,    h™  there, 

lays  as^hej^^'SJS^osefrxjmtheMa- 
shouted;  thet«  wm  no  fo«L  «  ..^he  sailors 
of  the  pirates  we^lSnJJ^r  ''«?'*"«'  "ome 
hoard  aSd  tried  TsKwaf  ^i^P^i  °^-- 
their  furr,  shot  at  tlK^^wreShes  l^tC^^"'^  ^    ■ 

qnaner.    X^'Sl'^'^a^i-f '  of,«iving 
ahve  was  Zangorri  himwJftt^      ®  .""^^  one 

•"KtriF'^  hiKi:;;\"hrar  '"^  '^•^ 
-itSis"g^;'™a:  s::  '-r-  «-«ion 

>»ith  ap|«^  Kn^^J^^e  o<i5he  sailors  came  up 

nim.     He's  mine!"  "»-«'7-       iJont touch 

"He  must  die." 

stem?£e£:,frbalS;n^r''7"^  ^  » 
seemed  to  feel  tharhe  hid  th«  ^l"'',*^*"*""" 
since  he  had  not  only  caotuii^  7*^*  !¥«"  here, 
own  hands,  hue  hadS^  cSr^llJ^ 

fail  E^glft"'  ''••»  '-1  «P0kf ;  «.d  in^e^ 

-^f^/inK^^^"^''^""^^ 

'Kt^idSorher.  ''^^  -^  --«fc  of  th^ 

^^»  scoundrel!"  cried 
^^Jfto  thank  mef<,r.    Y^ 


'on,  "yon  hare 


inn  dies  wone 


"Ah, "sneered Zangorri.    "Wnll     n>.  v 
time.     But  mv  death  »,-ii\.  .         :   "«*•»« 

d««lsof  EmrufhuZt^Vr  ^^J'''  '^«  hon- 
you,  tho^fo^TOr^^iv^'^"'  '?^*"-  '  'hank 
the  Enga?n7^:r^^^^^^  yet  to  teU 

the^yt'^oWEy-l^-X*"^^*"'" 


(4 


CORD  AND  CREESE. 


"Why  do  yon  hate  them?"  wked  Brandon, 
whose  curiuHity  wan  excited. 

"  My  brother's  blood  was  shed  by  them,  and' 
a  Malay  never  forgives.  Yet  I  have  never  found 
the  man  I  sought.  If  I  had  found  him  1  would 
not  have  killed  any  more." 

"The  man — whot  mon?" 

"The  one  whom  I  l|ave  songht  for  fifteen 
years  through  all  these  seas,"  said  the  other, 
hoarsely. 

"What  is  his  name?" 

"  I  will  nbt  »\)eak  it.  I  hod  it  carved  on  my 
creese  which  hangs  around  my  neck." 

Brandon  thrust  his  hand  into  the  bosom  of  the 
Malay  where  he  saw  a  cord  which  passed  around 
his  neck.  He  drew  forth  a  creese,  and  holding 
it  up  saw  this  name  out  upon  the  handle :  "  JUHN 
POTTS." 

The  change  that  came  over  the  severe,  im- 
passive face  of  Brandon  Was  so  extraordinary 
that  even  Zangorri  in  his  pain  and  fury  saw  it. 
He  uttered  an  exclamation.  The  brow  of  Bi'an- 
don  grew  ivs  block  as  night,  his  nostrils  (|uivered. 
Ins  eyes  seemed  to  blaze  with  a  terrilic  lustre,  and 
a  slight  foam  spread  itself  over  his  (juivering  lips. 
But  he  commimded  himself  by  a  violent  eflbrt. 

He  looked  all  around.  Tlie  sailors  were  busy 
with  the  C^aptoin,  who  still  lay  senselesp.  No  one 
observed  him.     t^e  turned  to  Zangorri. 

"This  shall  he  mine;"  said  he,  and  he  threw 
the  cord  around  his  own  neck,  and^ut  the  creese 
under  his  waistcoat.  But  the  sharp  eye  of  the 
Malay  had  Iteen  watching  him,  and  as  b,e  raised 
his  arm  carelessly  to  put  the  weapon  where  he 
desired,  he  thoughtlessly  loosed  his  hold.  That 
instant  Zangorri, took  advantage  of  it.  By  a 
tremendous-  «lfort  he  disengaged  himself  and 
iMJunded  to  his  feet  The  next  instant  he  was 
at  the  taflrail.  One  hasty  glance  all  aronnd 
showed  him  all  that  he  wished  to  see.  Another 
moment  and  he  was  beneath  the  water. 

Brandon  had  been  taken  unawares,  and  the 
Malay  was  in  the  water  before  he  coluld  think. 
But  he  dfew  his  revolver,  in  which  thei«  yet  re- 
mained two  shots,  and,  stepping  to  the  iaifrail, 
watched  fer  Zangorri  to  reappear.  ) 

Daring  the  figh^  change  hadScome^ver  the 
scene.  The  fog  had  begun  to  be  dissipated  and 
a  wider  horizon  npfieared.  As  Brandon  looked 
he  saw  two  vessels  upon  the  smooth  surface  of 
the  sea.  One  was  the  Fakon.  The  other  was  a 
large  Malay  proa.  On  the  decks  of  this  last  was 
a  crowd  of  men,  perhaps  about  fifty  in  number, 
who  stood  lookmg  toward  the  ship  where  the 
light  had  been.  The  sweeps  were«out,  and  they 
were  preparing  to  move  away.  But  the  escape 
of  Zangorri  had  aronse<l  them,  and  they  were 
evidently  waiting  to  see  the  result.  .  That  result 
lay  altogether  at  the  disposal  of  the  m^  with 
the  revolver,  who  stood  at  the  stern  fronPvrhich 
Zangorri  had  leape<I. 

And  now  Zangorri's  head  appeared  above  the 
waves,  while  he  took  a  long  breath  ere  he  plunged 
again.  'The  revolver  covered  him.  In  a  mo- 
ment a  bullet  could  have  plunged  into  his  brain. 

Bttt  BnuKloa  did  ntitfice.  Heconld  not.  It 
was  too  cold-blooded.  True,  Zangorri  was 
stained  with  countless  crimes ;  but  all  his  crimes 
4<t  that  moment  were  forgotten :  he  did  not  appear 
m  Zangorri  the  merciless  pirate,  but  simply  as  a 
wounded  wretch,  trying  to  escApe  from  death, 
'iliat  death  «Brandon  could  not  deal  him. 


I  The  sailors  wen  still  int,ent  npon  the  Captain, 
■whose  state  was  critical,  and  Brandon  alone 
watched  the  Malar.  Soon  he  saw  those  on 
board  the  proa  send  down  a  boat  and  row  quick- 
ly toward  him.  They  reache<l  him,  dragged 
.  him  on  board,  and  then  rowed  back. 
I  Brandon  turned  away.  As  yet  no  one  had 
been  in  the  cabin.  He  hurried  thither  to  see  it' 
perchance  anvone  was  there  who  might  be  saved. 

He  entered  the  cabin.  The  first  look  which 
he  gave  disclosed  a  sight  which  was  enough  (<> 
chill  the  bloo<l  of  the  stoutest  heart  that  ever  l>etit. 

All  around  the  cabin  lay  human  bodies  dis- 
torted  by  the  agonies  of  death,  twisted  anil 
twined  in  different  attitudes,  and  still  lying  in. 
the  pHOsition  in  which  death  had  found  them. 

Oiie,  whose  appearance  showed  him  to  be  the 
captain,  lay  gras|)ing  the  hair  of  a  Malay,  willi 
his  sword  through  his  enemy's  heart,  while  n 
knife  still  remained  buried  in  his  own.  Another 
lay  with  his  head  cut  open ;  another  m*h  his  faco 
torn  by  the  explosion  of  a  gun.  'rheFe  were 
four  whites  here  and  about  ten  Malays,  all  dead. 
But  the  fourth  white  was  a  woman,  who  lay 
dead  in  front  of  a  door  that  led  to  an  inner 
cabin,  and  which  was  now  closed.  The  woman 
appeared  to  be  about  fifty  years  of  age,  her  ven- 
erable gray  hair  was  stained  w-ith  blood,  and  her 
hand  clutched  the  arm  of  a  Malay  who  hiy  dead 
by  her  side. 

While  Brandon  stood  looking  at  this  sight  he 
became  aware  of  a  movement  in  a  conjeri  of  the 
cabin  where  there  were  Ave  or  six  bodies  jieajietl 
together.  He  hurried  over  to  the  plac^,  and, 
pulling  away  the  bodies  of  several  Malays,  found 
at  length  a  Hindu  of  large  stature,  in  whom  life 
was  by  no  means  extinct,  for  he  was  pushing 
with  hands  and  feet  and  making  faint  efforts  to 
rise.  He  had  been  wounded  in  many  ploce», 
and  was  now  quite  nnconscious. 

Brandon  dragged  away  all  the  bodies,  laid 
him  in  as  easy  a  posture  as  possible,  and  then 
rushed  up  to  the  deck  for  some  water.  Ke- 
tuming  he  dashed  it  over  the  Hindu,  and  bonnd 
up  one  or  two  wounds  which  seemed  most  dan- 
gerous. 

His  care  soon  brought  the  Hindu  to  consciotu- 
ness. 

'ITie  man  opened  kis  eyes,  looked  upon  Bran- 
don first  with  astonishment,  then  with  speechless 
gratitude,  and  clasping  his  hand  moaned  fainllj, 
in  broken  English,        >  *- 

•"  Bless  de  Lor!  Sahib!'*"        ^ 

Brandon  hurried  up  on  deck  and  calling  tome 
of  the  sailors  had  the  Hindu  conveyed  there. 
All  crowded  around  him  to  ask  him  questions, 
and  gradually  found  out  about  the  attack  of 
the  pirates.  The  ship  had  been  bemlmed  the 
day  before,  and  the  Malay  proa  was  iWiight,  evi- 
dently with  evil  intentions.  They  had  kept  i* 
good  watch,  and  when  the  fog  came  had  some 
hope  of  escape.  But  the  Malay  boats  had  sought 
them  through  the  fog,  and  had  found  them. 
They  had"  resisted  well,  but  were  overiwwered  hv 
numbers.  The  Hindu  had  been  cook  of  the  ship, 
and  had  fought^^till  the  last  by  the  side  of  his  fn^'- 
tain. 

Without  waiting  to  hear  the  Hindu's  story 
Brandon  went  back  to  the  cabin.  The  door  that 
opened  into  the  inner  cabin  was  shut.  He  tried 
it  It  was  locked.  He  looked  into  the  keyhole. 
It  was  locked  from  the  inside.  % 


CORD  AND  CRBESE, 


1  to  conscioiu- 


"«HK   FLDNO  HKB8ELF  OJI  HKB   KMEKS 


"Is  any  one  there?"  he  asked 

A  cry  of  surprise  was  the  sole  answer. 

criJeLZ"'"     ^'^  '^  ^"-"^     Open," 

Then  ciimo  the  sound  of  light  footstetx.  th« 

key  was  tamed,  the  door  slide!  back  and  there 

.Pl^ired  before  the  astonished  eyt  of  flindo^ 

■  bT,^  ""'h  '^"2'  *^?  "«'"'«"'  'hat  she  ^w  ht 
«tmg  herself  on  her  knees  in  a  transport  of  g™™ 
tnde  and  raised  her  face  to  Heaven,  while  heTTiw. 
altered  inaudible  words  of  thanks^vlnS . 

8lendlZr.f'''.''r^°""«  ««rl,  with  a  delicate, 

ender  frame  and  features  of  extreme  loveUness 

Her  complexion  was  singularly  colorlMs      H-r 

h.l-^Vu  ^T  ""^^  he''  shouldew.    In  one 

dtiie'^l^f;*^ '» ''-"=••  ^"^  *-«  ^«^  * 

^tm  con  d  do  with  that  knife"       ^*  ^"^ 

at  the  i«^   1?  *' ''™  •"  "h^  >'"«>».  then  looked 
« tbe  keen  glittering  steel,  and,  with  a  solemnitv 
ofwcent  which  showed  how  deeply  sCwTn 
Mraest,  murmured,  half  to  herself 
It  TOoId  at  least  have  saved  me !" 
Bnwdon  smilea  upon  her  with  »ch  a  smile  as 


IK  A  TRANBPOKT  OF  OBATITCOB." 


o%tm:iai^;r '"•''«*"' *''"''''p~«« 

"-niereis  no  need,"  lie  said,  with  a  voice  of 
deep  feeling    "there  i.  „o  n^d  of  thirnow 

me""'Ve'll  J^  •^r"'^"  Com«  Z. 
?  V^?  *?'^'  ."*^  But  w«Jt, "  said  Bran- 
don, and  he  looked  at  her  earnestly  and  mw, 
pityingly.  "There  are  things  here  whichTu 
iit";^u7:     ^"'y^-hTyoureyesii/SI 

sh:;mTey^'''''"'^f '^^•-     "'^^-^ 
„..".^°»  ™"»V'  "»^^  Bwndon,  firmly,  but  still 

man  who  lay  in  blood  outside  the  door.     The 
girt  looked  at  him  and  seenied  at  fit«t  as  though 

fl^'^fTf    'l'h««'.''«  «"nething  inZ 
fece  so  ful    of  compassion,  and  entreaty,  and 
calm  control  that  she  consented.     She  clos^hJL. 
^^'Ji.^^1^'"?''-    B-^ndon  took  it" 


.iJi-^  k     .t.  '""\T  "»""•     Brandon  took  it 
to  ?he  dik.         ''^  T  ^^"'^  °^  ''"™'  •"«»  «P 

fmm  Mr.T"'?"'*'  W^^e'ed  with  a  cry  of  joy 
from  all  the  sailors.  The  girl  looked  around.   sS^- 
saw  the  Malays  lying  dead  upon  the  deck.    ShlB 

n .  "  'i!!?  i.*""  '^  "»«°«^'  ond  the  proa  thaV 
had  temfied  her.    But  she  saw  no  fiimiKcJ^ 


'4S 


CORD  AND  CREESE. 


Rbe  turned  to  Brandon  witki  -*  <°ace  of  horror, 
and  with  white  lips  asked : 

"Where  are  they  all?" 

"Gone,"  said  Brandon. 

"  What !     All  ?"  j^agped  the  girl. 

"  All — except  yourself  and  the  cook." 

She  shuddered  from  hxltfA,  to  foot ;  at  last, 
coming  closer  to  Brandon,  she  whispered :  "And 
my  nurse — ?" 

Brandon  said  nothing,  hot,  with  a  face  ftill  of 
meaning,  pointed  upward.  The  girl  rnidenitood 
him.'  She  reeled,  and  would  have  fallen  l&d  not 
Brandon  supported  her:  Then  she  covered -her 
face  with  her  hands,  and,  staggeigpg  away  to  a 
seat,  sank  down  and  wept  bitterly.  - 

All  were  silentt     Even  the  rough  sailors  re- 

rcted  that  grief.  Rough  I  Who  does  not  know 
t'sailors  are  often  the  most  tender-hearted  of 
Taeijf,  and  always  the  most  impulsive,  and  most 
quick  to  sympathy  ?  '' 

So  now  they  said  nothing,  but  stood  in  groups 
sorrowing  iit^her;  sorrow.  The  Captain,  mean- 
while,- hod  revived,  and  was  already  on  his  feet 
looking  around  upon  the  scene.  The  Hindu 
'  also  bad  gained  strength  with  ever^  throb  of  his 
heart  and  every  breath'of  the  air. 

Bnt  suddenly  a  cry  arose  from  one  of  the  men 
irtio  6tood  nearest  the  hotchwayj/i^v,  ■ 
"  The  ship  is  sinking ! "  h,^i^ 
Every  .one  started.  Yes,  (kie'  ship  was  sink- 
ing. No  one  had  noticed  it;  but  the  water  was 
already  Within  a  few  feet  of  the  top."  No  doubt 
Zangorri  had  been  scuttling  her  when  he  rushed 
out  of  the  hold  at  the  noise  of 'the  attack. 

There  was  nothing  left  but  to  hasten  away. 
There  was  time  to  save  nothing.  The  bodies  of 
the  dead  had  to  be  left  with  the  ship  for  ^eir 
tomb.  •  In  a  short  time  they  had'all  hurried  into 
'^the  boat  and  were  palling  away.  But  not  too 
soon.  For  scarcely  had  they  pulled  away  half 
It  dozen  boat-lengthy  from  the  ship  than  the  wa- 
ter, which  had  been  rising  higher  and  higher, 
more  rapidly  every  moment,  rushed  madly  with 
a  final  onset  to  secure  fts  prev ;  and  with  a  groan 
like  that  of  some  living  thing  the  ship  went 
down.  •  '^feii 

A  yell  came  from  over  the^^ter.     It  rose 
'  from  the  Malay  proa,  which  Was  moving  away  as 
fast  as  the  long  sweeps  could  carry  her.    But  the 
dead  were  not  revenged  only.     They  were  re- 
membered.    Not  long  after  reaching  the  Fa/con 
'  the  sailors  were  summoned  ta  the  side  which 
looked  toward  the  spot  where  the  ship  had  sunk, 
jvad  the  solemn  voice  of  Brandon  read  the  burial- 
;jlc0^  the  Church. 

iiiti!^%J^  that  service  h6  understood  the 
had  es^ped  when  the  ship  passed 
i  without  noticing  his  signal 


CHAPTER  X. 

BEATRICB. 


It  waq  natural  that  a  young  girl  who  had  gone 
^dmmgh  (o  feaffiil  an  ordeal  sEouId  for  some  tiura 
feel  its  eiFects.  Her  situation  excited  the  warih- 
«Bt  sympathy  of  all  on  board  the  ship ;  and  her 
^'pearance  Wliq^  such  as  might  inspire  a  chival- 
rooa  respect-  in  the  hearts  of  those  rough  but 
kindly  and  sensitive  sailors  w^o  had  taken  part 
in  her  rescne. 


Her  whole  appi^krance  marked  her  as  dne  of 
no  common  order.  There  was  about  her  an  air 
of  aristocratic  grace  which  inspired  involuntary 
respect;  an  elegance  of  manner  and  complete 
self-possession  which  marked  perfbct  breeding. 
Added  to  this,  her  face  had  something  which  is 
grehijr  even  than  beauty — or  at  leastf  somethini^ 
without  which  beauty  itself  is  feeble — namely 
chamcter  and  ei^pression.  Her  soul  spoke  (iii 
in  every  lineament  of  hor  ndble  features, 'an' 
threw  around  her  the  charm  bf  spiritual^jtKalta' 

tion.  d     '  '  'jfefi 

To  such  a  charm  as  this  BranoAn  didtaBahm 
indifferent.  His  usual  self-abstraMO^Pwhied 
to  desert  him  for  a  time.  '  The  part  thai  he  h&A 
taken  in  her  rescue  of  itself  formed  a  tie  betwesn 
them;  bnt  there  was  another  bond  in  the  fact 
that  he  alone  of  all  on  board  could  associate  with 
her  on  equal  termi>,  as  a  high-bred  gentleman  with 
a  high-bred  lady. 

The  Hindu  had  at  once  found  occupation,  for 
Brandon,  who  had  seen  the  stuff*  that  was  in  him, 
offered  to  take  liim  for  his  servant  He  said  that 
his  nome  was  Assgeelo,  but  be  was  commonly 
called  Cato,  and  preferred  that  name  to  any  oth- 
er. He  regarded  Brandon  as  his  saviour,  with 
all  the  superstition  which  Hinilus  can  feel,  and 
looked  up  to  this  saviour  as  a  superior  being.  The 
offer  of  employment  was  eagerly  accepted,  and 
Cato  at  once  entered  u|)on  the  few  duties  which 
his  situation  could  re(|uire  on  ship-board. 
'  Meanwhile  the  young  lady  remained  unknown. 
At  first  she  spent  the  greater  part  of  her  time  in 
her  room,  and  only  came  out  at  meal-times,  when 
the  sadness  of  her  face  preveilted  any  thing  ex- 
cept the  most  distant  and  respectful  courtesv. 
No  one  knew  her  name,  and  no  one  asked  it 
Cato  was  ignorant  of  it.  She  and  the  old  nurse 
had  only  been  known'  to  him  as  the  young  missis 
and  the  old  missis.^ 

Brandon,  roused  mm  his  indifference,  did  all 
4^  his  ppwer  to  mi^gate  the  gloom  of  this  fitir 
young  creature,  whom  fate  had  thrown  in  his 
way.  ,  He  J|uid  ti^t  his  attentions  were  not  im- 
acceptablilKnbytBvh^he  cafne  out  more^fre- 

she  had'WMHPBI'^er^ntitude  to  himself,  ^e 
persisted  in  regarding  him  alone  as  the  one  to 
whom  she  owed  her  Gfe,  and  apologized  to  him 
for  her  selfishness  in  giving  way  so  greatly  to  her 
grief.  After  a  time  she  ventured  to  tell  him  the 
story  of  the  voyage  which  she  had  been  making. 
She  was  on  her  way  from  China  to  England. 
Her  father  lived  in  England,  |>ut  she  had  passed 
her  life  in  Hong-Kong,  having  been  brought  np 
there  by  the  old  nurse,  who  had  accompanied 
her  on  her  voyage  until  that  fearful  calamity. 

She  told  Mm  at  different  timto  that  her  &ther 
was  a  merehant  who  had  business  all  over  th« 
world*  and  tl^at  he  had  of  late  taken  up  bis  sta- 
tion in  his  own  home  and  sent  for  her. 

Of  her  father  she  did  not  say  mnch,  and  did 
not  seem  to  know  pitch.  She  had  never  se^j 
him.  She' had  beat  in  Honf^Cong  even ' 
she  could  remember.  %e  believed,  however, 
that  tihe  was  bom  in  England,  but  di4  not  know 
for  certidn. '  Her  nurse  had  not  known'  her  till 
she  had  gone  to  China. 

It'  was  certainly  a  carious  life,  but  quite  nat- 
ural, when  a  biuy  merclwnt  devotes,  all  liii 


\ 


-  (-.», 


<«»* 


y 


i  yoang  missu 


out  more.fi*- 


hu  fiimil;.    Khe  had  no  mothv,  but  thouirht  ihe 

I  M.  K  '.  J""""""'  "'"'  "''P^uxi  to  bear  wHm 
*!?.jhrfjj8»ched  home  and  met  fiw  fcther 
L.«.B,  th„  time  that  «he  had  been  a  month  on 
ndon  knew  much  of  the  evenu  of  her 


•  CXmD  AND  CHEESE, 


1.   «f.jhH^hed 


™,.1"..?i?,*i!' i^r^'wffiTl.ta^i,.  jK 


never  Heeg, 

-     If.   It. 

pity  on 


eoald  not  help  looting  with  inexpi^ib 
one  BO  tovely,  yet  no  neglected 

-  Jni^lTh'^";  *■"  ""  «>««>' money  was  con- 
cerned, «he  had  never  .offered.  ,  Her  afcom- 
p  .8hment8  were  numerous.  ,  She  wa^  pXfo" 
ately  fond  of  muwc,  and  was  familiar  with  J^ 
tiw  cl««ic  compositions.     Her  voice  y,Z7nS' 
trained,  for  sh,^  had  enjoyed  the  advantaT  of 


been  banish^,  «nd  hajf^nT^rtTo-H^nrKon"^ 
'^"iVatiethHegiment.    She 


u  band-master  in  t..o  x  woniietii  KniKim«n>     «i. 
a^thS-^''^-^'^-"^^^^^ 

^  sometimes,  wVhTe  couK  Z^r 
ucing,  from  this  very  cause,  and  yet  she  sL^ 
nothing  about  it.  Brandon  did  not  like  to  i^k 
^  *»>™r'"y' «nce  he  saw  that  she  ^d  not  ^ 
yond  to  lus  hmu.  So  he  coijjectured  and  woT 
*«^-  ,.««  Jhought  that  her  name  must  to  of' 
^e  lordhest  kind,  and  that  she  for  sTe  reL^ 

Yet  as  he  thought  this,  he  was  not  insensibln 
to  the  music  of  her  soft,  low  voice  thTnnni,! 

Hi     T    u"!^  ***  superiority  of  his  nature 
StTS  *■'«"«'•  «  it.     Circumstanies  ?hre^ 

aavantage  of  circumstances  to  the  ut- 


HKMt. 


„  .jj  L  "^  ""'  ^  ^'^^^  any  name  bv  which 
^dress  her,  and  chief  of  those  was  tZ  S 
^^n.    After  calling  her  Ma'am  and  Miss  irT 

S.«e"he:Lfr'^'  -o-onedayatthediV 

"«'  1  ao  not  know  ypnr  name,  and  have  tievnr 
W  a  chpnce  to  fl„<f  it  out  .If  its  no  offeZ 
P^payon  would  be  so  good  as  to  tr»U?"  "^ 

son  th«nTiJ!?^  ^S*  "^'^""^  fln-he'l  critn- 
««.  then  looked  at  Brandon,  who  was  gaX 
Medly  on  hu  plate,  and  with  visible  emb^M 
^^a'  ^  '^^Hf  "Beatrice."  •""•*™«'- 
1 1,^  .;.  ^  ™achy,  said  the  Captain  "Ah! 
-&  M,ss  Treachy,  you  wai  pS^r^ 
?&nr^^  «>  everlasting  S^^^ 
B«tBitii«S»^S  fr^/he  lips  of  Brendon. 
'^^SZTiCST  «''«'-'«^  a  little 
Oh  that  is  only  ray  Christian  name!"- 

-e«M^nS"?^'    '^^  theCapt«„.    " 
"WHiat  be  o  Christian  name?" 


forward  and  he  «^„SI.    r"  """"e  his  head  fell 

JJeatnco  could.no*  help  associatiiiir  *i,il  -,k 
«n  Brandon  with  the  knoturf™  5^    ''''""«" 
That  mune  was  hateful  t^SS??  VZ^^'^ 

tW«  wi^Zrei^'  '"'"'""«'  "''«  '"-^  'oW  it, 

should  he  feer^^CkS'a  i??f?"?,"feoSr 

name.  InS   lll*^"""  """  ^  •^'^  «>'»e  gre^  " 
."Zbn      iliT'"*,'"^  *"•«  ""«'  has  los™ 
Z^Z  m""  '■  "~"^  '*'«"»«d  -»«■     He  now    ' 

'elt.     Her  outraged  pnde  made  sadness  impos- 


'-  .dible. 


'How 


twoT£:Z^i^  in  his  state-room  for  about 
^tnce  there,  who  gn^d'Sn';! '^  dS^t 

nr^^H"*^  "  '^^"^  '"-'•i''  fi«*  «•  he  ap. 
K^  h"er  ^J;  "  ***'  "•*[.  ''«'•  '^Wch  at  onc^ 
aJS  pity''  ^"^'^  "'^"y  -^^  indignation,  and 

"Yes,"  saict  Brandon,  in  a  low  voir«  ""k„» 
now  that  I  am  able  to  ^  aboutlgLTl  fi,^ 
act  IS  to  apologize  to  you  for  m/rude^L  in 
quiring  the  table  so  abAiptly  as  to  mXulL^ 
•'^  a  personal  insult  to  vol  Mn'^  T  Ll^ 
wra  believe  me  when-I  saVThattTnuft  J^ 
S^o^l'Tl'^     Something  like  a  sp^m 

"I  confess,"  said  Beatrice,  fiwnkly   "thut  T 

do^S  r  0  "''•"  ^"P'""'^  h^  sSietwi^tJ 
ao  with  the  conversation  about  me     I  am  ™ri 

Uny  mdeed  that;  did  you  wch".  IZ^"^ 


\  -^ 


^^■> 


yi&i'MS^  *tJ  ^j-.\, 


*8 


CORD  AND  CREESE. 


might  have  known  you  better.     Will  you  forgive 
me?" 

Brandon  smiled,  &intly.  "  You  are  thp  one 
who  must  forgive. "  /' 

"But  I  hate  my  name  so,"  burst  out  Beatrice. 

Brandon  said  nothing. 

"Don't  you?     Now  confess. " 

"  How  can  I — "  he  began. 

"You  do,  you  do!"  she  cried,  vehemently; 
"but  I  don't  care — for  I  hate  it." 

Brandon  looked  at  her  with  a  sad,  weary  smile, 
and  said  nothing.  "You  are  sick,  "she  said;  "I 
am  tlioughtMss.  I  see  that  my  name,  in  some 
way  or  other,  recalls  painful  thoughts.  .How 
wretched  it  is  for  me  to  give  pain  to  others!" 

Brandon  looked  at  her  appealingly,  and  said, 
"You  give  pain?  Believe  me!  believe  me! 
there  is  nothing  but  happiness  where  you 
are." 

At  this  Beatrice  looked  confused  and  changed 
the  conversation.  There  seemed  after  this  to  be 
a  mutual  understanding  between  the  two  to  avoid 
the  subject  of  her  name,  and  although  it  was 
a  constant  mortification  to  Beatrice  yet  she  be- 
lieved that  on  his  part  there  was  no  contempt  for 
the  name,  but  something  very  different,  some- 
thing associated  with  better  memories. 

They  now  resumed  their  old  walks  and  con- 
versations. P2very  day  bound  them  more  close- 
ly to  oiie  another,  and  each  took  it  for  granted 
that  the  other  would  he  the-constant  companion 
of  every  hour  in  the  day.    " 

Both  had  lived  unusual  lives. "'  Beatrice  had 
jmuch  to  say  about  her  Hoog-Kong  life,  the 
Chinese,  the  British  officers^  and  the  festivities 
of  garrison  life.  Brandon  had  lived  for  years  in 
A'ustralia,  and  was  familiar  with  all  the  round  of 
events  which  may  be  met  with  in  that  country. 
He  had  been  bom  in  England,  and  had  lived 
there,  as  has  already  been  mentioned,  till  he  was 
almost  a  man,  so  that  he  had  much  to  say  about 
that  mother-land  concerning  which  Beatrice  felt 
guch  curiosity.  Thus  they  settled  down  again 
naturally  and  inevitably  into  constant  association 
with  each  other. 

■Whatever  may  have  been  the  thoughts  of  Bran- 
don during  the  fortnight  of  his  seclusion,  or  what- 
ever may  have  been  the  conclusion  to  which  he 
came,  he  carefully  refrained  from  the  most  re- 
mote hint  at  the  home  or  the  prospects  of  Bea- 
trice. He  found  her  on  the  seas,  and  he  was 
content  to  take  her  as  she  was.  Her  name  was 
a  common  one.  She  might  be  connected  with 
his  enemy,  or  she  might  not.  For  his  part,  he 
did  not  wish  to  know. 

Beatrice  also  showed  equal  care  in  avoiding 
the  subject  The  effect  which  had  lieen  produced 
by  the  mention  of  her  name  was  still  rememlwred, 
and,  whatever  the.cause  may  have  been,  both  this 
and  her  own  strong  dislike  to  it  prevented  her 
from  ever  making  any  allusion  eitlier  to  her  fa- 
ther or  to  any  one  of^her  family.  She  had  no 
Kcniples,  however,  about  talking  of  her  Hong- 
Kong  life,  in  which  one  person  seemed  to  J||ive 
—figured  Baost  proffiineatly — a  iBftB  who  bad  iired 


there  for  years,  and  given  her  instruction  in  mu- 
lie.  He  was  an  Italian,  of  whom  she  knew  no- 
thing whatever  but  his  name,  with  the  exception 
of  tlie  fact  that  he  had  been  unfortunate  in  Eu- 
rope, and  had  come  out  to  Hong-Kong  aa  band- 
master of  the  Twentietli  Regiment.  His  name 
was  I'oolo  LanghetU. 


"Do  you  like  music?"  asked  Brandon,  ab- 
ruptly. 

"  Above  all  things, "  said  Beotrice,  with  on  in- 
tensity of  empha-sis  which  spoke  of  deep  feeling. 

"Do  you  play?" 

"  Soniewhat. 

"Do  you  sing?" 

"  A  little.  I  was  co'hsidered  a  good  singer  in 
Hong-Kong ;  but  that  is  nothing.  I  sang  in  the 
Cathedral.  Langhetti  was  kind  .enough  to  praise 
me ;  but  then  he  was  so  fond  of  me  that  what- 
ever I  did  was  right. " 

Brandon  was  silent  for  a  little  while.  "  Lan- 
ghetti  was  fond  of  you  ?"  he  repeated,  interrog- 
atively, and  in  a  voice  of  singular  sweetness. 

"Very,"  returned  Beatrice,  musingly.  "He 
eilwaya  called  me  'Bice'— sometimes  'Bicetta,' 
'Bicinola,'  'Bicina;'  it  was  his  pretty  Italian 
way.  But  oh,  if  you  could  hear  him  play! 
He  could  make  the  vidlin  speak  Uke  a  human 
voice.  He  used  to  think  in  music.  He  seemed 
to  me  to  be  hardly  human  sometimes." 

"  And  he  loved  to  hear  you  suig  ?"  said  Bran- 
don, in  the  same  voice. 

"  He  used  to  praise  me,"  said  Beatrice,  meek- 
ly. "His  praise  used  to  gratify,  but  it  did  not 
deceive  pie.    I  am  -not  coilceited,  Mr.  Wheeler." 

"Would  you  sing  for  me?"  asked  Brandon, 
in  accents  almost  of  entreaty,  looking  at  her  with 
an  imploring  expression. 

Beatrice's  head  fell.  "Not  now — not  yet- 
not  here,"  she  murmured,  with  a  motion  of  her 
hand.  "Wait  till  we  pass  beyond  this  ocean. 
It  seems  haunted." 

Brandon  understood  her  tone  and  gesture. 

But  the  weeks  passed,  ai)d  the  months,  and 
they  went  over  the  seus,  touching  at  Mauritius, 
anJ  afterward  at  Ca])e  Town,  till  finally  they 
entered  the  Atlantic  Ocean,  and  sailed  North. 
During  all  this  time  their  association  was  clo$e 
and  continuous.  In  her  presence  Brandon  soft- 
ened ;  the  sternness  of  his  features  relaxed,  and 
the  great  purpose  of  his  life  grew  gradually 
fainter. 

One  evening,  after  they  had  entered  the  At- 
lantic Ocean,  they  were  standing  by  the  stem 
of  the  ship  looking  at  the  waters,  when  Brandon 
repeated  his  request. 

"Would  you  be  willing  to  sing  now?"  he 
asked,  gently,  and  in  the  same  tone  of  entreaty 
which  he  had  used  before. 

Beatrice  looked  at  him  for  a  moment  without 
speaking.  Then  she  r^sed  her  face  and  looked 
up  at  the  sky,  with  a  deep  abstraction  in  her 
eyes,  as  though  in  thought.  Her  face,  usually 
colorless,  now,  in  the  moonlight,  looked  like 
marble;  her  dark  hair  hung  in  |)eculiar  folds 
over  her  brow — an  arrangement  which  was  an- 
tique in  its  style,  and  gave  her  the  look  of  u 
statue  of  one  of  the  Muses.  Her  stniight,  Gre- 
cian features,  large  eyes,  thin  lips,  and  well- 
rounded  chin — all  had  the  same  classic  air,  an<l--> 
Brandon,  as  he  looked  at  her,  wondered  if  she 
knew  how  fair  she  was.  She  stood  for  a  mo- 
iBeat  in  aileiiee^  aad^hca  heganr^t^waa  a  jmfer- 
velous  and  a  memorable  epoch  in  Brandon's  life. 
The  scene  around  added  its  inspiration  to  the 
voice  of  the  singer.  The  ocean  spread  ufar  away 
before  them  till  the  verge  of  the  horizon  seemed 
to  blend  sea  and  sky  together.  Overhead  the 
dim  sky  hung,  dotted  with  innumenihle  stan, 
prominent  among  which,  not  far  above  the  bo- 


CORD  AND  CREESE. 


moment  as.  if  to  decide  upon  her  8on«  at  iLt  I  oi«„»  ♦"'''«*^'«»e8  of  music  spoken  of  in  in- 
c«aght  her  idea  from  this  sieno  aro.m7her  S  i  ZH^^'r.  .""  '^"'^'  of  Orph^,«  hushing  i^l 
l^n  one  of  the  most  magnificent  of  l£  I  Zr^^rn't '"''!"  ^^  "■«  '"''K"'  «*his 
compositions :  "  "'  ^'*'^  I  *""8-     -At  last  all  thoughts  of  his  own  left  him 

itninir    rotnainA^]    1...*    aL-^    ^    I  •    1       ■  * 


compositions  : 

"I  clell  Immensl  narrano 
Del  KT^Kd'  Iddio  la  irloria." 
Her  Srst  notes  jfcnred  forth  with  a  sweetness 

board  the  ship.  It  was  the  first  time  she  had 
»nng  as  she  afterward  said,  since  I^nghetti  had 

ZZa  V7  -^  *"."«•  ««'  ^"'«^  Jong  silent 
Mead  of  hftvmg  been  injured  by  the  sorrow 
th")..gh  which  she  had  pIkkI,  was  puiTftTir 
^arvebHs.  and  thrilling.  A  gliw  ifke'^rme  d  I 
"ne  n  piratmn  pass.!  over  the  marble  beauty 

^^  «pe8k  of  all  that  glory  of  which  she  sang, 
M  the  sacred  finj  of  genius  flashed  from  them    ' 

petrntmg  with  their  sublime  meaning,  all  on 
^  the  ship  looked  and  listened  with 'amaze 
S  li.J!^f  ,'""t  *'^"•?  '"««n,m«n  held  the 
JiiT thi W^-  ""n«lo"  «  own  soul  was  filled 
with  the  fullest  effects    He  .Wl  watching  her 


.„j       .1.V  ."•"•■Bills  oi  nis  own  left  him. 

and  nothing  remaine.1  but  that  which  the  song 
of  Beatrice  swept  over  his  spirit. 

But  Beatrice  saw  nothing  and  heard  nothing 
except  the  scene  before  her,  with  its  grand  in? 
spiration  and  her  own  uttei^uice  of  itfjl^ 
Brandons  own  soul  was  more  and  more  over- 
come; the  divine  voice  thrilled  over  his  heart: 
he  shudderwl  and  uttered  a  low  sigh  of  rapture. 
My  God  I    he  exclaimed  as  she  ended ;  "  I 
never  before  heard  any  thing  like  this.     I  never 
dreamed  of  such  a  thing.     Is  there  on  earth  an- 
other such  a  voice  as  yours  ?    Will  I  ever  again 
W  any  thing  like  it?    Your  son^  is  h1^jL_ 
w»co  from  those  hCTrcnsbfwIiIcFyouslnir     It 
18  a  new  revelation."  e     " 

He  poured  forth  these  words  wiih  passionate 
impetuosity.     Beatrice  smiled. 

reliil^"*'''^"'  "*^*^  '"  J*""^  ™^"  ^^  *'•"?'/ 
'^  You  terrify  me, "  said  he. 
]'Why  ?"  asked  Beatrice,  in  wonder. 
Because  your  song  works  upon  me  like  * 


N 


60 


CORD  AND  CBEESE. 


spell,  and  all  my  sonl  sinks  away-j^and  all  my 
\dll  is  weakened  to  nothingness." 

Beatrice  looked  at  him  with  a  monrnfhl  smile. 
"Then  you  have  the  tme  passion  for  music," 
she  said,  "if  this  be  so.  for  my  part  it  is  the 
joy  of  my  life,  and  I  hope  IjOigive  np  all  my  life 
to  it." 

"  Do  yon  expect  to  see  Langhetti  when  yon 
reach  England  ?"  asked  Brandon,  abruptly.. 

" I  hope  BO,"  said  she,  musingly. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

•       THE   UIPROVI8ATORB. 

The  character  of  Beatrice  onfolde^more  and 
more  e^ery  day,  and  every  new  development  ox- 
cited  the  wonder  of  Brandon. 

She  kaA  once  that  music  was  to  her  like  the 
breath  of  life,  and  indeed  it  seemed  to  bef;  for 
now,  since  Brandon  had  witnessed  her  powers, 
he  noticed  how  all  her  thoughts  t0Ql»^M»lor- 
ing  from  this.  What  most  snrpij^im  mm  was 
her  profound  acquirements  in  the  more  difficnlt 
branches  of  the  art.  It  was  not  merely  the  case 
of  a  great  natural  gift  of  voice.  Her  whole  soul 
seemed  imbued  with  those  subtle  influences  which 
mtisic  can  most  of  all  bestow.  Her  whole  life 
seemed  to  have  been  passed  in  one  long  inter- 
course with  the  greatest  works  of  the  greatest 
masters.  All  their  works  were  perfectly  well 
known  to  her.  A  marvelous  memory  enabled 
her  to  have  their  choicest  produotioiu  at  com- 
mand ;  and  Brandon,  who  in  the  early  part  of 
his  life  had  received  a  careful  musical  edncation, 
knew  enough  about  it  to  estimate  lightly  the 
full  extent  of  the  genius  of  his  companion,  and 
to  be  astonished  thereat. 

Her  mind  was  also  full  of  stories  aboqt.the 
lives,  acts,  and  words  of  the  great  masters.  For 
her  they  formed  the  only  world  with  which  she 
cared  to  be  acquainted,  and  the  only  heroes  whom 
she  had  power  to  admire.  All  this  flowed  from 
one  profound  central  feeling — namely,  a  deep  and 
all-absorbing  lolre  of  this  most  divine  art  To 
her  it  was  more  than  art.  It  was  a  new  faculty 
to  him  who  possessed  it  It  was  the  highest 
power  of  utterance — such  utterance  as  belongs 
to  the  angels ;  such  utterance  as,  when  possessed 
by  man,  raises  him  alipost  to  an  equality  with 
them.  jf 

Brandon  found  oat  every  day  mme  new  power 
in  her  genius.  Now  her  voice  was  unloosed  from 
the  bonds  which  she  bad  placed  upon  it.  She 
sang,  she  said,  because  it  was  better  than  talk- 
ing. Words  were  weak — song  was  aU  expres- 
sion. Nor  was  it  enough  for  her  to  take  the 
compositions  of  others.  Those  were  infinitely 
better,  she  said,  than  any  thing  which  she  could 
produce;  but  "each  one  must  have  his  own  na- 
tive expression ;  and  there  were  times  when  she 
had  to  sing  from  herself.  To  Brandon  this 
seemed  the  most  amazing  of  her  powers.  In 
-Italy  the  power  of  improvisation  ia  not  nncom- 
mon,  and  Englishmen  generally  imagine  that 
this  is  on  account  of  some  peculiar  quality  of 
Uie  Italian  language.  Tliis  is  not  the  case.  One 
can  improvise  in  any  language ;  and  Brandon 
found  that  Beatrice  could  do  this  with  the  En- 
glish. 

"  It  is  not  wonderful,"  laid  she,  in  answer  to 


his  expression  of  astonishment,  "it  is  not  evoi 
difficult.  There  is  an  art  in  doing  this,  but, 
when  yon  once  know  it,  you  find  no  trouble.  It 
is  rhythmic  prose  in  a  series  of  lines.  Each  line 
must  contain  a  thought  Langhetti  found  no 
difficulty  in  making  rhyming  Unes,  but  rhymes 
are  not  necessary.  This  rhythmic  prose  is  as 
poetic  as  any  thing  can  be.  All  the  hymnn  of 
the  Greek  Church  are  written  on  this  principle. 
So  are  the  Te  Deum  and  the  Gloria.  So  were 
all  the  ancient  Jewish  psalms.  The  Jews  im- 
provised. I  suppose  Deborah's  song,  and  per- 
haps Miriam's,  are  of  this  order. " 

"And  you  think  the  art  can  be  learned  by., 
every  one?" 

"No,  not  by  every  one.    One  must  have  a^, 
qiiick  and  vivid  imagination,  and  natural  fluei\^ 
cy — bat  these  are  alL     Genius  makes  all  ti^ 
difference  between  what  is  good  and  what  is  bod. 
Sometimes  yoa  have  a  song  of  Miriam  ^atjivj 
while  the  world  lasts,  sometimes  a  p<w 
song  like  one  of  mine. "  °        V 

"Sing  to  me  about  music,"  Sidd  Brandon,^ 
snddttily. 

Beatrice  immediately  began  an  improvisation. 
But  the  music  to  which  she  sang  was  lofty  and 
impressive,  and  the  jnarveloas  sweetness  of  her 
voice  produced  an  indescribable  effect  And 
again,  as  always  when  she  sang,  the  foshion  of 
her  fiwe  was  changed,  and  she  became  transflg- 
ored  before  bis  mres.  It  was  the  same  rhythmic 
prose  of  which  sn^  had  been  speaking,  sung  ac- 
cording to  the  mods  in  whieh  tb«  Gloria  is  cbant- 
edi  and  divided  into  bars  of  equal  time. 

Brandon,  as  always  yielded  to  the  spell  of  her 
song.  To  him  it  was  an  incantation.  Her  own 
strains  varied  to  express  the  changing  sentiment, 
and  at  Jast,  m  the  song  ended,  it  seemed  to  die 
awa^  in  melodions  melancholy,  like  the  dying 
strain  of  the.&bled  swan. 

"Sing  on!"  he  exclaimed,  fervently;  "I 
would  wish  to  stand  and  hear  your  voice  fo^ 
ever." 

A  smile  of  ineffable  sweetness  came  over  her 
face.  She  looked  at  him,  and  said  nothing. 
Brandon  bowed  his  head,  and  stood  in  silence. 

Thus  ended  many  of  their  interview's.  Slow- 
ly and  steadily  this  young  girl  gained  over  him 
an  ascendency  which  he  felt  hourly,  and  which 
was  so  strong  that  he  did  not  even  struggle  against 
it  Her  marvelous  genius,  so  subtle,  so  delicate, 
yet  so  inventive  and  quick,  amaced  him.  If  be 
spoke  of  this,  she  attributed  every  thing  to  Lan- 
ghetti. "  Could  you  but  see  him,"  she  would 
say,  "  I  should  seem  like  nothing  1" 

"  Has  he  such  a  voice  ?" 

"  Olr!  he  has  no  voitae  at  all  It  is  his  sonl," 
she  would  reply.  "l|4  speaks  through  the  vi- 
olin. But  he  taugltt'  vie  tU  that  I  know.  He 
said  my  voice  was  God's  gift  He  had  a  strange 
theory  that  the  language  of  heaven  and  of  the 
angels  was  music,  and  that  he  who  loved  it  best 
on  earth  made  his  life  a%l  bis  thoughts  moM 
heavenly." 
"  Yon  mnst  have  been  fond  of  such  a  i      

"Very,"  saidBeatrice,  with  the  utmost  da- 
plicity.     "Oh,  I  loved  him  so  dearly  I" 

But  in  diis  cofifession,  so  artlessly  made, 
Brandon  saw  only  a  love  that  was  filial  or  •)•- 
terly.  "He  was  the  first  one,"  said  Beatrice, 
"  who  showed  me  the  tme  meaning  of  life.  He 
exalted  his  art  above  all  other  arts,  and  alwap 


"K 


>A><M 


riMt. 


io,"  Boid  Brandon, ^ 


nu|iitiuned  that  it  was  the  pnnwt  and  best  thing 
which  the  world  possessed.     This  consoled  him 
tor  exile,  poverty,  and  sorrow  of  many  kinds  " 
"  W  as  he  married  ?"  /       "•• 

Beatrice  looked  at  Brandon  with  a  singntor 
mule.       Marned!    Langhetti  married !    Par- 

ir^'riSnt??* "'  ^^"'"'^ '-  «»--«<= 


CORD  AND  CaiEESB. 


»1 

fhH"",!^!^^^  "T^  *°  Brandon,  is  it  not  truer 
lyl"  ^^sKd.""'  "•''«  '-'^f^  -"^  '^ 
^'^' You  were  bom  to  be  an  artist,"  he  said,  at 

er  r„^^''V'^**i"?5','y-  "  ^hafs  what  I  nev- 
er can^  I  anj  afraid,"  said  she.     "  Yet  I  hoiL 

^rinp^is^^K-ii^-- 

L^^hettiha^^-p^--    ^^^"«n!ii:r=^— -I 


Beatn'ce  look^V^  the  s^  v^Za  «^n^  :  Z.ri'"'''^'  """""S'^'  "'«  op^n 
se«ne  smile.  "LaSghetti  hj  Z^s^Tm  sTL  m^r"'lW°f  "^^  ""''•"°"«'''*  «>"'»<^'' 
of  art,"  she  said.  "As  an  arti,t  he  is  .Ul  firl  LVL T  We»i„]  t«  '"'^'T'-*!^"™  of  great  mas- 
■md  vehemence,  and  enthusiasm.  He  is  aware  to  siy  tlwt  S^^  » J""''''.-  I^"«hetti  used 
of  all  human  passions,  but  only  as  an  artist.  He  tCnw  thS  h«T«™-  'L^  T'^  ""*«  "^  """dern 
h«  on  y  one  love,  and  that  is  music.  This  ig  Thly  coA^S^^d  7„'=«'^«>  h«?^enly  inspiration. 
liM  idol.  He  seems  to  m«  himself  like  a  son.r  ,,^7  .^^f^  ^  **  '^*^'»''  prophets.  He 
Bat  all  the  mptures  which  p^and  novXt  ^ofeon^l^  *^"'  """  '^'T"*''"*'""  "^  ^'"h 
apply  to  lovers  are  felt  by  him  in  his  mus°c  H^  toterSS.tS'T'"'"-  k  ^°  ""'"  '*  P^«"  *»"« 
wante  nothing  wljUe  he  has  this.  He  thinks  So  JhSJ^!^  .•  ^/"*'  >"'  '^  '^«'™'*°  "  P^en 
mnsieian's  lite  the  highest  life.  He  Zs  thos^  L 1^^^^*'° -^^^  ?*"'^'*  "''  'he  other.  Why 
to  whom  the  revelations  of  GoA  were  commS  Ltall^hrf^i'^''  '^^^  ""  •>«  «^d,  and  eT 
were  musicians.  As  David  and  Is^iT^eiv^  ^&  ?^^^,^"*  ^'.'""  "«'  *  I^'""*  «>"  »« 
inspiration  to  the  strains  of  the  hZ^  hn  ^iiT„„"'^"  "'"  ?"f"°"  "'^ '"'^T"-*""*  the  in- 
«ys,  have  Bach  and  Mozart,  HandeSnTidn  C  '"»«««'««'  «>f  the  great  masters  of  modem 
Beethoven  and  Mendelssohn.      And  wher/ in   i      "  v„„  »  i.  •       , 

deed,"  she  continued,  in  a  musing  tonrSf  Z  '  hav«I  n '  J^ ^"^™^'  ""«  »  """>'  «nd  yon 
laoqmzing,  "  where,' indeed,  caS  man  n^sl^  SornotJc^T"  <  Y^rh'°" '""'^' ""' ^''«^*'» 
near  heaven  as  when  he  Ustens  to  the  inspired  she  rMe^Ld  .'v  ^'""'  *  P'"T^**'  »"  •'*«>'" 
strains  of  these  lofty  souls  ?"  '"spu^a    f  °® '^{ed.     "  Yonr  intercourse  with  me  wUl 

"Langhetri,"  sJd  Brandon,  in  a  low  voice,  '  foi^a  1 1*°  "'^tt"  'V^'  "*"«  "«"  »  ^e- 
"does  not  understand  love,  or  he  would  not  put  ^rpuriTin  ifJl''  ''"•*  V*^  "^^  '^"''  «« 
mnsicin  Its  place."  r      ,  "»™  »  pniKwe  in  life— suited  to  my  powers- 

ab^SattehSl'""-  •:^*'  'Poke  ,cnce  '  n'of  ^Lrfl^-'^^ '^  ^"'"^  *«-«^'' ^  ^'"^ 
ntL^'^'m""  ""  '""  *'"■"  "'«"•  '"•**=•'  he  e^-        "  How  do  you  know  that  I  have  a  purpose,  as 

U  call  it  ?"'iuilrivl  H™«  J„_    -ii ?     f^™"  "" 


pressed  to  me. 
"What  were  they?" 

•J  ^l""'  w^T®  ^  ™4'  them  as  he  said  them," 
Mid  she.  ."lor  on  t^  theme  he  had  to  express 
nnnself  in  music."     J  "^ 

Brandon  waited  in  kpt  expectation.  Beatrice 
otgan  to  sing : 


"Pairest  of  all  most  fclr,      * 

r^?  l«ve,  how  comest  thou 
.     Unto  the  goni  t 
St'll  as  the  evening  breeze 
Over  the  starry  wave— 
The  moonlit  wave— 

"The  heart  Ues  motionless: 
So  Btlll,  so  sensitive ; 

Love  fims  tfte  breexe. 
SS'  »t  his  lightest  touch. 
The  myriad  ripples  rise, 
And  mnrmur  on. 

"And  ripples  rise  to  waves, 
*^,.^'"'*»  to  rolling  seas. 

Till,  far  and  wide. 
The  endleaa  billows  roll. 
In  nudulations  long, 
For  evermore  1" 

ton^'Lvl""  '".•^  ""^"y  *"*»  »  «"»««  ondible 
toae,  which  sank  into  Brandon's  heart,  lingering 
•ad  dying  about  the  last  word,  with  touching 
wdnnattetable  melancholy,  it  was  Ukfthf 
^t  of  one  wlio  loved.  It  was  Uke  the  cry 
(«  some  yearning  Rbart. 

^JjJL^^tB^M  Jookfldjt  Bi»mioa 
^?Sf^*«^^»!Ptlnate^  She  had  song  these 
g.«  an  artist.  For  a  moment  Bmndon  had 
I'nw  nt  .K^\!I'!:  "P"*''"!?  her  own  feel- 
"«^  But  the  bright  smile  on  her  face  con- 
^^d»  strongly  with  the  meUncholy  of  her 
™w;that  he  saw  this  was  not  so. 

i«l  I  hH        '^'''  "  I^Khettl  sans  abont  it ; 
■o  i  nave  never  forgotten  his  words/' 


you  adl  It  ?".asked  Brandon,  after  a  ^u^ 
J^m  the  expression  of  your  face,  and  your 
whole  manner  when  yon  are  alone  and  subside 
into  yourself,    she  replied,  simply. 
..^v**  °f  ^hat  kind?"  he  continued. 

but  I  kn^r  that  it  must  be  deep  and  jJl-ab^ 
sorbing.  It  seems  to  me  to  be  too  stem  for 
i-ove;  you  are  not  the  man  to  devote  yourself 

!^n,  r"*^!,  ^°^Hy  **  ™"/  he  Ambition,  yet 
somehow  I  do  not  think  so.''^  ^ 

"  What  do  you  think  it  is,  then  ?"  asked  Bran- 
a  whi"  "  ^""^*  **  '""^  ^^  °^'y'  '^™'»t  t" 
She  looked  at  him  earnestly:  she  looked  at 
him  pityingly.  She  looked  at  him  ^B^ith 
that  sympathy  which  might  be  evinced  by  Uhe's 
Guardian  AngeL  if  th.it  Being  might  by  any 
chance  become  visible,  she  leaned  toward  him 
and  spoke  low  in  a  voice  only  audible  to  him :  ' 
Something  stronger  than  Love,  and  Avar- 
ice,  and  Ambition,"  said  she.  " There  can  be 
only  one  thing."  "• 

"What?" 

"Vengeance I'.'  she  sud,  in  a  voice  of  inex- 
pressible monrafulneas.  > 
Brandon  looked  at  her  wonderingly,  not  know- 
•ng  how  this  young  giri  could  have  divined  his 
tho^ts.     He  long  remained  silent. 

-jT!!''*^  **'*'^  *^  '"•"*'*  *«rth«Trma  h»fc    - 
ed  pensively  at  the  sea. 

-»  "X°?  *^.*  ""■^'"f*  being,"  said  Brandon, 

^  ••  ?*^;-..  ^■"  r"  *«"  "»« »ny  «>><»«> f" 

I  mi^t, '  said  she,  hesitatingly;  "but  I 
•^.T?*",.  y""  *'•*  think  me  impertinent." 

No,  said  Brandon.  "  Tell  me,  for  perhaps 
yon  are  mistaken."  »™"»i« 

"You  will  not  think  me  impertinent,  then? 


LS'iV'.V^  ^i^>f ''  f  L  (^i  .    t 


\ 


62 


CORD  AND  CREESE. 


/ 


You  will  only  think  that  I  said  so  because  ron 
aakedme?"  / 

"I  entreat  you  to  believe  that  it  is  impossible 
for  me  to  think  otherwise  of  you  than  you  your- 
self would  wish." 

"ShaUIsayit,  then?" 
»'Ye«.';        ' 
Her  voice  again  sank  to  a  whisper. 
"  Your  name  is  not  Wheeler." 
Brandon  looked  at  her  earnestly.    "  How  did 
you  learn  that  ?" 

"  By  nothing  more  than  observation 
"What  is  my  name?" 
*'  Ah,  that  is  beyond  my  power  to  know,"i 
she  with  a  smile.    "I have  only  discovered 
you  are  not     Now  you  will  not  think  me  t^  spy, 
will  you  ?"  she  continued,  in  a  pleading  vdce. 

Brandon  smiled  on  her  mournfully  as  she  stood 
looking  at  him  with  her  dark  eves  upraised. 
"A  spyl"  he  repeated.  "'To  me  it  is  the 
.  sweetest  thought  conceivable  that  yon  could  take 
the  trouble  to  notice  me  sufficiently. "  He  checked 
himself  suddenly,  for  Beatrice  looked  away,  and 
her  hands  which  had  been  folded  together  clutched 
each  other  nervously.  "It  is  always  flattering 
for  a  gentleman  to  be  the  object)  of  a  lady's  no- 
tice," he  concluded,  in  a  light  tone. 

Beatrice  smiled.  "  But  where,"  he  continued, 
"  could  you  have  gained  that  power  of  divination 
which  you  possess ;  you  who  have  always  lived 
a  secluded  life  in  so  remote  a  place  ?" 

"  You  did  not  tliink  that  one  like  me  could 
come  out  of  Hong-Kong,  did  you?"  said  she, 
laughingly. 

"  Well,  I  have  seen  much  of  the  world ;  but  I 
have  not  so  much  of  this  power  as  you  have. " 

"You  might  have  more  if— if — "  she  hesitated. 
"Well,"  she  continued,  "they  say,  you  know, 
that  men  act  by  reason,  women  by  intuition." 

"  Have  you  any  more  intuitions?"  ask^  Bran- 
don, eamestlv. 

"  Yes, "  said  she,  mournfully. 
"Tell  me  some." 

"  They  will  not  do  to  tell,"  said  Beatrice,  in 
the  same  mournful  tone. 
"Why  not?" 
"They  are  painful." 
"  Tell  them  at  any  rate. " 
"No." 

"Hint  at  them." 

Beatrice  looked  at  him  earnestly.  Their  eyes 
met.  In  hers  there  was  a  glance  of  anxious  in- 
quiry, as  though  her  soul  were  putting  forth  a 
question  by  that  look  which  was  stronger  than 
words.  In  his  there  was  a  glance  of  anxious 
expectancy,  as  though  his  soul  were  speaking 
unto  hers,  saying:  "'Bell  all;  let  me  know  if 
you  suspect  that  of  which  I  am  afraid  to  think." 
"We  h^ve  met  with  ships  at  sea, "  she  resumed, 
in  low,  deliberate  tones. 
"Yes." 

"Sometimes  we  have  caught  up  with  them, 
we  have  exchanged  signals,  we  have  sailed  in 
sight  of  one  another  for  hours  or  for  days,  hold- 
ing intercourse  all  the  while.  At  hist  a  new 
morning  has  come,  and  we  looked  out  over  the 


seemed  to  Ml  of  themselves  tato  rhythmic 
pauses. 

"I  understand  you,"  said  Brandon,  with  a 
more  profound  monmfubiess  in  his  voice.  ' '  You 
speak  likie  a  Sibyl.  I  pray  Heaven  that  your 
words  may  not  be  a  prophecy. " 

Beatrice  still  looked  at  him,  and  in  her  eyes 
he  read  pity  beyond  words;  and  sorrow  also  as 
deep  as  that  pity. 

"  I^oyou  read  my  thoughts  as  I  read  yours  ?" 

"^^ivadon,  abruptly. 
Yes,"  she  answered,  mournfully. 

He  turned  his  face  away.     ..  , 

"Did  Langhetti  teach  you  this  also?"  he 
asked,  at  last. 

"He  taught  me  many  things,"  was  the  an- 
swer. 

Day  succeeded  to  day,  and  week  to  week.  Still 
the  ship  went  on  holding  steadilv  to  her  course 
northward,  and  every  day  drawmg  nearer  and 
nearer  her  goal.  Storms  came — some  moder- 
ate, some  severe ;  but  the  ship  escaped  them  all 
with  no  casualties,  and  with  but  little  delay. 

At  last  they  passed  the  equator,  and  seemeti 
to  have  entered  the  last  stage  of  their  joomey. 


sea,  and  the  other  ship  has  gone  from  sight 
We  have  left  it  forever.  Perhaps  we  have  drifted 
away,  perhaps  a  storm  has  perted'uB,  the  end  is 
the  same — separation  for  evermore." 

She  spoke  moumfoUy,  looking  away,  her  voice 
inaensibly  took  up  a  cadence,  and  the  words 


CHAPTER  XII. 

TH^  STRUOaLB  FOH   LIFE. 

At  length  the  ship  came  within  the  latitude 
of  the  Guinea  coast 

For  some  days  there  had  been  alternate  winds 
and  calms,  and  the  weather  was  so  fltful  and  »> 
fickle  that  no  one  could  tell  in-  one  hour  what 
would  happen  in  the  next  All  this  was  at  lut 
terminated  by  a  dead,  dense,  oppressive  calm 
like  those  of  the  Indian  Ocean,  in  which  exer- 
tion was  almost  impossible *and  breathing  diffi- 
cult ITie  sky,  however,  instead  of  being  clear 
and  bright,  as  in  former  calnis,  was  now  over- 
spread with  menacing  qlouds;  the  sea  looked 
black,  and  spread  out  before  them  on  eveiy  side 
like  an  illimitable  surface  of  polished  ebony. 
There  was  something  appalling  in  the  depth  and 
intensity  of  this  calm  with  such  accompaniments. 
All  felt  this  influence.  Although  there  was  ev- 
ery temptation  to  inaction  and  sleep  yet  no  ow 
yielded  to  it  The  men  looked  suspiciously 
and  expectantly,  at  every  quarter  of  the  heavens. 
The  Captain  said  nothing,  but  cautiously  had  all 
his  preparations  made  for  a  storm.  Every  half 
hour  he  anxiously  consulted  the  barometer,  and 
then  cast  uneasy  glances  at  the  sea  and  sky. 

But  the  calm  which  had  set  in  at  midnight, 
and  had  become  conflrmed  at  dawn,  extended 
itself  through  the  long  day.  The  ship  drifted 
idly,  keeping  no  course,  her  yards  creaking  Uii- 
I V  as  she  slowly  rose  and  fell  at  the  movement  uf 
the  ocean-undulatlons.  Hour  after  hour  passed, 
and  the  day  ended,  and  night  came  once  more. 

The  Captain  did  not  turn  in  that  night  In 
anxious  expectation  he  waited  and  watched  on 
deck,  while  all  around  there  was  the  very  black- 
nesg  of  darknesB.  Brandon  began  to  see  fftas 
the  Captain's  manner  that  he  expected  something 
far  more  violent  than  any  thing  which  the  ship 
had  yet  encountered,  but,  thinking  that  his  pres- 
ence would  be  of  no  consequence,  he  retired  *t 
the  usual  hour. 
Tho  deep,  dense  calm  continued  until  ntaitj 


Ives  into   rhythmic 


midnight  The  watchers  on  deck  still  waited  id 
thesame  an^ug  expectation,  thinking  that  the 
night  would  ^ng  on  the  change  which  they  ex- 

Almost  half  an  hour  before  midnight  a  faint 
light  was  seen  in  the  thick  mass  of  clouds  over- 
head—it  was  not  lightning,  hot  a  whitish  streak 
as  though  produced  by  some  movement  in  the 
clouds.     All  l6oked  up  in  mute  expectation 

SddBenly  afaint  puff  of  wind  came  from'  the 
west,  blowing  gently  for  a  few  moments,  then 
stopping,  and  then  coming  on  in  a  stronger  blast 


CORD  AND  CHEESE. 


•M 

ntVll  "''/P'  "^"^^  "*""«  '■'"•  °^«»  •*  the  rtH)M 
of  the  storm,  now  at  this  new  onset  vieldwl 

The  awful  biUows  dashed  over  and  over  her 
peeping  her  in  the^fur^  fmm  end  to  end.' 
The  men  clung  helplessly  to  whatever  rigrina 
hiy  nearest,  seeking  only  i'n  that  first  momeS 
dread  to  prevent  themselves  from  being  washed 

tain,  &d  wondenng  while  they  waited 

At  the  first  p«il  of  thunder  Bmndon  had  start, 
ed  up.     He  had  lain  down  in  his  clothes,  in  or- 


lings,"  was  the  an- 


In  the  midst  of  this  the  whole  scene  burst 
forth  into  dazzling  light  at  the  flash  of  a  vast 
miss  of  lightning,  which  seemed  to  blaze  from 
eveiy  part  of  the  heavens  on  every  side  simul- 
taneously. It  threw  forth  all  things-ship,  sea, 
and  sky-mto  the  dazzled  eyes  of  the  watehere! 
They  saw  the  ebon  sky,  the  black  and  lustrous 
sea,  the  moUonless  ship.  They  saw  also,  fur  off 
to  the  west,  a  long  line  of  white  which  appeared 
to  extend  along  the  whole  horizon 

But  the  scene  darted  out  of  sight  instantly, 
and  instantly  there  fell  the  volleying  dischaige  of 
a  tremendous  peal  of  thunder,  at  whose  reverb- 
eraoons  the  air  and  sea  an«  ship  all  vibrated 

Now  the  sky  lightened  again,  and  suddenly, 
as  the  ship  lav  there,  a  vast  ball  of  fire  issu^ 
irom  the  black  clouds  immediately  overhead,  de- 
scending hke  the  lightning  straight  dowmvard, 
tiU  all  at  once  it  struck  the  main  truck.  With  a 
row  louder  than  that  of  the  recent  thunder  it 
exploded ;  vast  sheets  of  fire  flashed  out  into  the 
air,  and  a  stream  of  light  passed  down  the  entire 
mast  shattering  it  as  a  tree  is  shattei^d  when 
th.  hghtmng  strikes  it  The  whole  ship  was 
8h«ken  to  ite  centre.  The  deck  all  around  the 
mastwaa  shattered  to  splinters,  and  along  itsex- 
tMt  Md  arouiid  Its  base  a  buret  of  vivid  flame 
started  into  light 

-  Wild  confusion  foUowed.  At  once  all  thft  sail- 
on  were  ordered  up,  and  began  to  extinguish  the 
Sres,  and  to  cut  away  the  shattered  mast  The 
blows  of  the  axes  resounded  through  the  ship 
ITie  ngging  \v»a  severed;    the   mast     " 


shattered,  needed  but  afew  MowbT  i  J^/      u'v*^°'^  ^^  '^"^  «"  the  door 
1«M  fibres.  '•"^*  **»  ''^"  •"   ^hich  was  on  the  windward  side. 


Inned  until  ntarlf 


l«M  fibres. 

it^™!!^'^''""''?'  ""^  furiously,  and  in^sistibly, 
hJT^  ««  though  the  whole  tempest  which 
they  had  so  long  expected  was  at  hist  let  loose 

^S^JT-  Z^''*^  "^  *  '"''  ""»".  «"d.  while 
%  w«e  yet  trying  to  get  rid  of  the  mast,  a 
tiwnendous  squall  struck  the  ship.  It  yielded 
and  turned  far  over  to  that  awful  blow:  The 
mn  started  back  from  their  work.  The  next 
jniitont  a  flash  of  lightning  came,  and  towaH  the 
f«m  I.*  <"'^'' them,  rose  a  long,  white  wall  of 
Zn\v  t^'^  £*  ^«n-gnard  of  the  stonn,  seen 
aZ^  /"■■*  ^"^  "'*^'  '^hich  was  now  upon 
Jhm,  ready  to  M  on  their  devoted  heada. 

"W  Captain.  The  men  awaited  some  word. 
krjJ!""',T"\  '^•'"  "**  ''•ten.,  which 
hiD^S?-!?  K^*  "  heap  befys  them,  stnick  the 
K«.  the  aocnmnlatef  fury  of  that  resist- 
h«  ..^ '  ""^hurled  their  ntmo«t  weight  upon 
w  •«  she  lay  before  them.  "^ 


nn^r^'fiS  '^"'  "".^  knocked.     It  was  opened  a't 

an"dUJd  :r??::'"'''^'^''''-p^«.  --"'«-. 

,.  "I.<J>d  not  lie  down,"  said  she.  "I  knew 
that  there  would  be  something  frightful.  Bnt 
I  am  not  afraid.  At  any  rate,"  she  added,  " I 
MOW  I  Will  not  be  deserted  " 

lJ^l^^lL"^f  "*"'■'"«'  ^"^  ^"^^  "tt  to  her  an 
India-nibber  hfe-preserxer.    "  What  is  this  for?" 

hJ^^n,"^-  u  ^'^^  ^'"'  to  Pnt  it  on.  It  may  not 
be  needed,  but  it  is  best  to  have  it  on."  "And 
what  ,,-111  yon  do  ?"  "  I-^h !  I  can  swim,  yon 
know.  But  you  don't  know  how  to  fasten  it 
W.ll;ron  aflbw  me  to  do  so?"  She  raised  her 
arms.  He  passed  the  belt  around  her  waist  en- 
circhng  her  aWost  in  his  arms  while  doing  so, 
'?l'i".''r'^,','"''."^'' had  boldly  grasped  the  head  ' 
of  the  "dweller  m  the  wreck,^'  now  trembled  as 
he  fastened  the  belt  around  that  delicate  and 
slender  waist  ■ 

But  scarcely  had  this  been  completed  when  the 
squaU  strode  the  ship,  and  the  waves  foUowed 
till  the  VMsel  was  thrown  far  over  on  her  side: 
111.  .!;*"''°u  ^^'"?  Beatrice  in  one  arm.  clung 
with  the  other  to  the  edge  of  the  skylight,  and 
thus  kept  himself  upright  /  e  •,  «<« 

He  rested  now  for  a  moment  "I  must  go 
on  deck,  he  said.  "  I  do  not  wish  you  to  lea?e 
R^n^T  f"  "'"^■1  Nothing  more  was  said. 
BrAndon  at  once  lifted  her  with  one  ann  as 
though  she  were  a  child  and  cbimbered  alone 
grasping  such  fixtures  as  afforded  any  thing  to 
which  he  could  cling;  and  thus,  with  hands  and 
feet,  groped  his  way  to  the  door  of  the  cabin. 


»„,„  J  , .  -  -■■-.-  o.uc.    There  were 

?.i^"'  ""*^  hetween  them  was  a  seat 
This,  '  said  he,  "  is  the  safest  place  for  von. 
can  you  hold  on  for  a  short  time?  If  I  take 
you  on  deck  yon  will  be  exposed  to  the  waves." 
I  will  do  whatever  you  say,"  she  repUed: 
and  clinging  to  the  arm  of  the  almost  perpen- 
dicutar  seat,  she  was  able  to  sustain  herself  there 
onUdst  the  tossing  and  swaving  of  the  ship. 

Brandon  then  ckmberedl  out  on  deck  The 
ship  lay  far  over.  The  waves  came  leaping  upon 
her  in  succes-sive  swrcs.  All  around  the  wa 
was  glistening  with  phosphorescent  lustre,  and 
when  at  times  thejightninj;  flashed  forth  it  light- 
«J  np  the  scene,  BneFifiowed  the  ocean  stirrednp  ~ 
to  fiercest  commotion.  It  seemed  as  thonrii 
cataracts  of  water  were  rnshing  over  the  doom- 

^  !!'f'!^J.''K?,''  ""*  'X  har>\eHi, and  at  the  mer- 
cy of  the  billows.     Tlie  force  of  the  wind  «m 
tremendous,  exceeding  any  thing  that  BiMdon 
had  ever  witnesse<l  before. 
What  most  surprised  him  now  wms  the  inaction 


^ 


mmmnKiiiiiiim 


V- 


'  the  ship's  company.  Why  was  not  something 
bing  done  ?  Where  was  the  Captain  ? 
He  called  out  his  ii,ame;  thei#waa  no  re- 
sponse. He  called  after  the  mate;  there  was 
no  answer.  Instantly  he  conjectured  that  in  the 
first  fierce  onset  of  the  storm  both  Captain  and 
mate  had  been  swept  away.  'How  many  more 
of  that  gallant  company  of  brave  fellows  had 
perished  he  kne^v  not..  The  hour  was  a  perilous 
and  a  critical  one.  He  himself  determined  to 
take  the  lead.       ) 

Through  the  midst  of  the  storm,  with  its  tu- 
mult and  it^  fury,  there  came  a  voice  as  full  and 
dear  as  a  tpimpet-jieal,  which  roused  all  the 
sailors,  and  inspired  them  once  more  with  hope. 
"  Cut  away  the  masts : "  The  men  obeyed,  with- 
out caring  who  gave  the  order.  It  was  the  com- 
mand which  ^ch  man  had  been  expecting,  and 
whith  he  knew  was  the  thing  that  should  be 
done.  At  once  they  sprang  to  their  work.  The 
tnain-roast  had  already  been  cut  loose.  Some 
went  to  the  fore-mast,  otHers  to  the'mizzen.  The 
vast  waves  rolled  on ;  the  sailors  guarded  as  best 
they  could  against  the  rush  of  each  wave,  and 
then  sprang  in  the  intervals  to  fheir  work.  It 
was  perilous  in  the  highest  degree,  but  each  man 
felt  that  his  own  life  and  the'hves  of  all  the  oth- 
ers depended  upon  the  accomplishment  of  this 
work,  t^d  this  nerved  the  arm  of  each  to  the  task. 
At  last  it  was  done.  The  last  strand  of  rig- 
ging had  been  cjt  away.  The  ship,  diseiunim- 
bered,  slowly  righted,  and  at  last  rode  uprigm. 

But  her  situation  was  still  dangei^us.  She 
lay  in  the  trough  of  the  sea,  and  the  gigantic 
waves,  as  they  rolled  up,  still  beat  upon  her  with 
all  their  concentrated  energies.  Helpless,  and 
now  altogether  at  the  meroy  of  the  waves,  the 
only  hope  left  those  on  board  lay  in  the  strength 
of  Uie  ship  herself. 

None  of  the  ofiicers  were  left  As  the  slijp 
righted  Brandon  thought  that  some  of  them 
might  make  their  appearance,  but^none  came. 
The  Captain,  the  mate,  and  the  second  mate,  all 
had  gone.  Perhaps  all  of  them,  as  they  stood 
on  the  quarter-deck,  had  been  swept  away  simul- 
taneously. Nothing  could  now  be  done  but  to 
wait.  Meming  at  last  came  to  the  anxious 
watchers.  It  brought  no  hope.  Far  and  wide 
the  sea  raged  with  all  its  waves.  The  yrind 
blew  with  undiminished  and  irresistible  violence. 
The  ship,  still  in  the  trough  of  the  sea,  heaved 
and  plunged  in  the  4verwii^lming  waves,  wlllcl) 
howled  madly  around  and  lea)>ed  over  her  Ke 
wolves  eager  for  their  prey.  The  wind  was  too 
fierce  to  permit  even  an  attempt  to  rig  a  jury- 
mast. 

The  ship  was  also  deeply  laden,  and  this  con- 
tributed to  her  |)eril.  Had  her  cargo  been  small- 
er she  would  have  been  more  buoyant ;  but  her 
fhll  cargo,  added  to  her  dangerous  position  as 
she  lay  at  the  mercy  of  the  waves,  made  all  hope 
of  escape  dark  indeed.  <■' 

Another  night  succeeded.  It  was  a  night  of 
equal  hoiTor.  The  men  stood  watching  anx- 
iously fbr  some  sign  of  abatement  in  the  storm, 
bnifiione  cnme.  Sea  and  sty  frowned  oier  them 
darkly,  and  all  the  powers  which  they  controlled 
were  let  loose  unrestrained.- 

Another  day  and  night  came  and  went  Had 
not  the  Falcon  been  a  ship  of  unusuld  strength 
■he  would  have  yielded  before  ihls  to  the  storm. 
Ab  it  was,  she  began  to  show  signs  of  giving  way 


CORD  AND  CREESE. 

to  the  tremendous  hammering  t9  Which  she  had 
been  exposed,  and  her  heavy  Australian  cargo 
bore  her  down.  On  the  morning  of  the  third 
day  Brandon  saw  that  she  was  deeper  in^the 
water,  and  suspected  a  leak.  He  ordered  the 
pumps  to  be  sounded.  It  was  as  he  feared. 
There  were  four  feet  of  water  in  the  hold. 

The  men  went  to  work  at  the  pumps  and 
wprked  by  relays.  Amidst  the  rush  of  the  waves 
over  the  ship  it  was  di£Bcult  to  woilt^dvanta- 
gebusly,  but  they  toiled  on.  Still,  in  spite^f 
their  eftbrts,  the  leak  seemed  to  have  increased^ 
for  the  water  did  noLlessen.  With  their  utmost 
exertion  they  could  do.  little  more  than  hold 
their  own. 

It  was  plain  that  this  sort  of  thing  could  not 
last.  Already  three  nights  and  three  days  of 
incessant  toil  and  anxiety,  in  which  na  one  had 
slept,  had  produced  their  natural  eii'ecfts.  The 
men  had  become  faint  and  weary.  /  But  the 
brave  fellows  never  murmured ;  they  did  even* 
thing  which  Brandon  ordered,  and  worked  aji- 
complainingly. 

Thus,  through  the  third  day,  they  labored  on. 
and  into  the  fourth  night  That  night  the  storm 
seemed  to  have  reached  its  climax,  if,  indeM, 
any  climax  could  be  fouftd  to  a  storm  which  st 
the  very  ontset  had  burst  upon  them  with  such 
appalling-suddenness  and  fury,  and  had  sustained 
itself  all  along  with  such  unremitting  enerjjjr. 
But  on  that  night  it  was  worse  for  those  on 
board,-  since  the  ship  which  had  'resisted  so  long 
began  to  exhibit  signs  of  yielding,  her  planks  and 
timbers  so  severely  assailed  began  to  give  way, 
and  through  the  gaping  seams  the  ocean  waters 
permeated,  till  the  ocean,  like  some  beleaguering  . 
army,  foiling  in  direct  assault,  began  to  succeed 
by  opening  secret  mines  to  the  very  heart  of  the 
besieged  ship. 

On  the  morning  of  the  fourth  day  all  hands 
were  exhausted  from  night-long  work,  and  there 
were  ten  feet  of  water  in  the  hold. 

It  now  became  evident  that  the  ship  was  doom- 
ed. Brandon  at  once  began  to  take  measures 
for  the  safety  of  the  men. 

On  that  memorable  day  of  the  calm  prenons 
to  the  outbreak  Of  the  storm,  the  Captain  had 
told  Brandon  that  they  were  about  five  hundred 
miles  to  the  westward  of  the  coast  of  t^enegam- 
hio.  He  could  not  form  any  idea  of  the  distance 
which  the  ship  had  drifted  during  the  progress 
of  the  storm,  but  justly  considered  tliat  whatev- 
er progress  she  had  miade  had  been  toward  the 
land.  Their  prospects  in  tha%[lirection,  if  they 
could  only  reach  it,  were  not  nopeless.  Sierra 
Leone  and  Liberia  were  there ;  and  if  they  struck 
the  coast  any  where  about  they  might  make  their 
way  to  either  of  those  places. 

But  the  question  was  how  to  get  there.  There 
was  only  one  way,  and  t^iat  was  by  taking  to  the 
boats.  This  was  a  desperate  undertaking,  but 
it  was  the  only  v(flj  of  escape  now  left. 

There  were  three  boats  on  board — nz.,  the 
long-boat,  the  cutter,  and  the  gig. .  These  were 
the  only  hope  now  left  them.  By  venturing  in 
these  there  would  be  k  chahce  of  escape. 

On  the  motoing  of  the  fs^^ih  day,  when  it 
was  found  that  the  water  wm  W^<m»ing,  Bran- 
don called  the  men  together  aimraded  this  to 
them.  He  then  t(^d  them  that  it  vipuld  be  nec- 
esH^  to  divide  themselves  so  th 
number  should  go  in  each  boat. 


a  sufficient 
:e  offered  to' 


'<4S: 


To  this  the  men  assented  with  great  reading" 

Brandon  declined.       ^"'^«"  »"'>'»"»;   but 

tnPVn?^'"*'^  '■«'•  *««•  despemte  ven 
tura  All  the  provisions  and  water  dmtoZM 
be  needed  were  put  on  board  of  each  b^t    Tr^ 

water  were  in  the  hold.     Thn  ihir.  „   T?        ,  "' 
iuchlonger.     There  was'^Jo  Seto"/1"°*  ^^^^ 


COKD  AND  CREESE, 


56 

obedience  to  hb  dii^cTn!       ""^  *=''''"-«'«"  '" 

huSedTtreSS^^nr«.*«  ««»«J  •>« 
to  the  quarterXk.  Cato  "  "^^'^f^^  Beatrice 
up  to  the  «hira^d  ^a^^^jH'T^  h.,  boat  clos*. 

^rer»1f^rwtl75"-«--^ 


msmmMmfmm 


icirC ""^""iiHJr  tne  giant  screes  of  th. 

SMeSr"'"^.^«'^"«  boat^th  mr- 

™^  wWcriredTitdT^P-  ''^  *"« 
ficiently  under  the  le^TtcTw  t^';!?  l"'" 
w.^.etnoeso.uchsoosrrhu'Jl^d'SlgS- 

wJ'a'diJtutrdKnytiTw'r'-  "^^ 

a':.xf^£t.%F»-^F'^"- 

away  instantly  they  prepared  to  row 

^  ilrandon  turned  away  his  eyes  involun- 

-^..STard'str  fL^Sg'htr  "'^ 

M  well  M  n;« .  t!l  •  '5"^"*^  ">«"»  »»hind 

w^S^h're'^Jrsiui^'irv^^^ 

*e  cutter  in  desp^ation      ^e^x^iZ"'""^ 

Si-rs-^^-^^^ 

K;.I'l?e  '^«"'"'l°»  'bought  that  sK 
A'kf^  his  hand  and  made  a  peculiar 


was  now  .mH„7  "^'"H  "«"ong.     Uut  the  boat 

Brandon  handled  the  oar  with   «   a     .    -. 
eqnal  to  that  of  the  Hindu.Zd  „"5er  such  ™»?^ 

trr".''  T^^^''  '^^  «'  »"««  Btr^ngand  ski^fT 
the  boat  skimmed  lightly  over  thf  c^ts  of  th« 

xfer^^  "^"^  P«^^  »■"  «"t«  tL  s^tyoni 

h?grbetn  r^e^^rwr  s«  -  ?« 

But  he  discovered  L'«it«o;;'the  i'Sri 
ters,  and  at  last.lie  could  no  longer  doubt  fZt 
thecut^ahK,.  Uke  the  long-boat Vd°Ssf:l 

AH  day  lonjfehey  rowed  before  the  wind  an.l 
S  '^kt™s%r^:^^-  ^6^^ 


v-uro  looK  turns  at  the  oars— not  over-«x«rtin. 

£d  Sr^^'  ^^"""^  "'''««y '« kS^cs 

of  the  wav^'*™,^'*""'  ""I.'"  «^'«'«  *«  "»h 
mo  waves.     iJiis  last  was  the  r  constmif  Han 


•S  r-V-"v:-.-l'i''fl:f^^''i;-;r".:f^S'V<MS^,- 


fiS 


COED  AND  CREESE. 


■iv. 


ilirected  her  to  put  on,  Baying  nothing,  but  see- 
ing every  thing  with  her  watchful,  vigilant  eyes. 

"Are  you  afraid?"  said  Brandon  once,  just 
after  they  had  evaded  an  enormous  wave. 

"No!  was  tl)«T«M)ly,  in  a  calm,  sweet  voice; 
"I  trust  in  you."     V. 

"  I  hope  your  trust  may  not  be  vain,"'  replied 
Brandon. 

•'  You  have  saved  my  life  so  oflen,"  siud  Bea- 
trice.  "that  my" trust  in  yott  has  now  become  a 


she  smiled  faintly  as  she  spoke.  There  was 
something  in  her  tone  which  sank  deep  into  his 
M>al. 

Tbe  night  passed  and  morning  came. 

Fir  the  last  half  of  the  night  the  wind  had 
been  much  less  boisterous,  and  toward  morning 


the  gale  had  very  greatly  subsided.  Brandon'i 
foresight  had  secured  a  mast  and  sail  on  board 
the  gig,  and  now,  as  soon  as  it  conld  be  erected 
with  safety,  he  pnt  it  u|),  and  the  little  boat  dushed 
bravely  over  the  watery  The  waves  had  lessened 
greatly  as  the  day  wore  on ;  they  no  longer  h)8« 
in  sucii  giant  masses,  but  showed  merely  the  more 
common  proportions.  Brandon  and  Cato  now 
had  an  opportunity  to  get  some  rest  from  their 
exhahstive  labors.     Beatrice  "at  last  yielded  to 


Bnndnii's  earnwrfeqtiwl,  «ird,  flndiiig  that  Ui« . 
immediate  peril  had  pdssed,  and  that  his  toil  for 
the  present  was  over,  she  obtained  some  sleep 
and  rest  for  herself. 

For  all  that  day,  and  all  that  night,  and  «D 
the  next  day,  the  little  boat  sped  over  the  waten, 
heading  due  east,  so  as  to  reach  land  wherenr 


''^y^,'"'8*'t  find  it,  in  the  liope  that  the  knH 
might  not  be  very  far  awav  fnL  III  •.,."*! 
Mttlein«nt8  of  the  Zst  Th«  ^  '^■*"'"'"*^ 
water  which  had  be^Lt  fn  .h'^T""°5'  '^'^ 
an  anipie  supply,  wh." h''"woSd'tt'7o'r  aS 
time.  Brandou.8ha,ed  with  Cato  n  the  m«^* 
agement  of  uClmt,  not  allowing  his  ^aTto" 
have  more  ofSfie  If  bor  than  himself  ° 

During  these  days  Brandon  and  Beatrice  wen, 
of  course  thrown  into  a  closer  intimacy     It  Ich 
a  time  the  nature  of  man  or  woman  Unr.J^ 
apparent,  and  here  BeatriceZSTbk  X 
and  a  simple  trust  which  to  Rr,,mi-7„  " 

mjm  ,i,U„g  there  I  %„  "Jl.  ''"  '»'«  "  ' 

But  can  I  do  nothitiK?     It  u  h.^j  t 
to  ait  idle  while  you  wear^out  vour  m"  '"'  ™' 
^;Yoa^can8,„g,"  said  Brandon.  ' 

JLa^hetti's  song,"  he  sai4,  and  turned  his 

oofm^StrsHhew^o^^rr/rtrb^^^^^ 

had  heard  before.  '°"Png  which  Brandon 

Now,  as  they  passed  over  the  smi.   n    .  • 

Day  thus  Lcceeded  to  dav  until  »l.„  r     .1. 

,  Beatrice  remonstrated.     "  Do  nnf  "  ..i-i    u 
in  an  imploring  tone      '  v«.,  1!         !    ^"*  *''«' 
too  much      Whv  «L,I  I  ^°",'!S^"«  already  done 
"ThJ   ■    1  u ^  ^ftould  you  kil  yourseltr- 
The  wind  has  8top,4"  answered  Brandon 
^1T«  calm  ,s  treacherous,  and  no  time  o^ghtt 

;; But  wait  till  you  have  rested." 
^1  have  been  resting  for  days." 

worffihfda'nimT?"'"'  """"«""•«  "'•«'«'  ->» 

•i-ttniiitdifir  z^t'^'^r""^ '«" 

»9rkaow  »      —  ™-- '^^^«atJs  the  Jam*  to 

--t^isSi:!  tre^^r'  ^r*^«  -- 

«»f  id  tTe  1? *■  *  '^"''^  ""^  '""''"^  «ar" 
A  W,  dark  cloud  la^along  the  eaater.,  hori- 


CORD  AND  CBEKSE. 


iSSSSr£;^?Sr^^ 

loi^ranyS^ubt  "KiL  lL':"  ^"^  ^"^  "" 

waking  S  tS's.:^.e''tt"7'  ."".''  "■«  «'»<»». 
ward  thut-sCeTlidi  the^v  Cff  '^'"'"^"^  '"^ 
long  and  so  eameslry  to  ,1=  Twns",""!'!"' 
what  land  ?    No  doiibt  if^lo  ''*"'*'  1*"' 

coast  Of  ^eneg^mttbutThaToX' aV'" 
that  extensive  coast  there  ««mT  "^'""^ 
where  landing  might  be  cemr„  1  ?i""^  P'***" 
t"i"«  worse  fhan'Lr'lLvaJ^Si  "'  ""'«■ 

ltd  bv'TT""'"'  .'1:°-  whicrwe^' 
ized  by  deahiigs  with  slave-traders    op 
which  were  flourishing  i„  native  barCism      Y«. 

^^Tinrhrj^ertusr^"-^^^^^ 
si^  I  :;:i  \r,n  "^-"-'-^  lofty 

I  They  rowed  raUthnr!?'"'  "'^r""'  ''"'""''«• 

calin  and  glassy      The^L'^''^-     f*!''  '^•"«'-  was 

'  fervid  b^^s  fhe  a?;:^"rtra„H"""  ''"  ""^ 

w^iiUqLSS^StttuSdS^f^ 

neirVandVth^ir^!'"'"  t'  '«  '»  ^' 
wem^havellome'^^^U^^^^ 

atfas'TJe^c?^"'  ^f """''-  ^^^  '•»«  'a^wa, 

for?  tm''^c:ts"2  fr*'-^"!  ^  »- 

Java  to^^^Jiteatt?^^^^^^ 
i"g  count..,  wir  ill' y^odS-J^^^^^ 

i'fSSiM^^^^^ 

mTeSelvt  »''ei.  should  rel  alt^^ate^^ 

nrandoi  rnwArl  till  ». ;__     ,^     ?" — 


that  bumiL'warf  "t^  '1  '""•**.'  "PP'«  "" 
exertion  in !„ch'Sri7^J«^^-«""^^ 

sibl.     Even  to  si^JtU,  iTattKngT; 


CORD  ANDCREESE. 


58 

with  the  reflected  glare  from  t|ie  dead,  dark  sea 

around,  was  painful.  ,         „      j^ 

Beatrice  redoubled  her  entreaties  to  Brandftn 
that  he  shonld  Test.  She  wished  to  have  he«f 
mantle  spread  oyer  their  heads  as  a  kind  of  can- 
opy, or  fix  the  sail  in  some  wav  and  float  idly 
through  the  hottest  part  of  ifie  Aky.  But  Bran- 
don insisted  that  he  felt  no  evil  efl'epts  as  yet; 
and  promised  when  he  did  feel  such  to  do  as  she 
said.  ,    . 

At  last  they  discovered  that  their  water  was 
almost  out,  and  it  was  nece-ssary  to  get  a  fresh 
^  supply.  It  was  the  afternoon  of  the  seventh 
day.  Brandon  had  been  rowing  ever  since  mid- 
day. Beatrice  had  wound  her  mantle  about  his 
head  in  the  style  of  an  Eastern  turban  so  as  to 
protect  him  from  the  sftn's  rays.  Looking  out 
for  some  place  along  the  shore  where  they  miglit 
obtain  water,  they  saw  an  opening  in  th«J  line  of 
coast  where  two  hills  arose  to  a  height  of  several 
hundred  feet.     Toward  this  Brandon  rowed. 

Stimulated  by  the  pro8i)ect  of  setting  foot  on 
shore  Brandon  rowed  somewhat  more  vigorously 
than  usual ;  and  in  about  an  hour  the  boat  en- 
tered a  beautiful  little  cove  shut  i»  between  two 
hUls,  which  formed  the  outlet  of  a  nver.  Far 
up  its  winding  course  could  be  traced  by  the. 
trees  along  its  borders.  The  hUls  rose  on  each 
•  side  with  a  steep  slope,  jjnd  were  covered  with 
palms.  The  front  of  the  harbor  was  shut  in 
from  the  sea  by  a  beautiful  little  wooded  island. 
Here  Brandon  rowed  the  boat  into  this  cove? 
and  its  prow  grated  against  the  pebbles  of  the 

Beatrice  had  uttered  many  exclamations  of 
delight  at  the  beauty  of  this  scene.  At  length, 
iurprised  at  Brandon's  silence,  she  cried, 

"Why  do  you  not  say  something?  Surely 
this  is  a  Paradise  after  thd  sea !" 

She  looked  up  with  an  enthusiastic  smile. 

He^hadXrisen  to  his  feet.  A  strange,  vacant 
expression  Was  in  his  eyes.  He  made  a  step  for- 
ward as  if  to  land.  His  unsteady  foot  trembled. 
He  reeled;  and  stretched  out  his  arms  like  some 
one  gioping  in  the  dark. 

Beatrice  shrieked  and  sprang  forward,  loo 
late;  for  the  next  moment  he  fell  headlong  into 
♦he  water. 


parts,  who  had  settled  here  originally  a  poor 
young  man,  but  had  Anally  grttwn  gray  and  ridi 
in  his  adopted  home.  He  had  bought  the  place 
when  it  was  exposed  for  «ale,  with  the  Intention 
of  founding  a  new  seat  fc*;  his  own  family,  ami 
had  given  it  the  name  of  Thornton  Grange.     » 

Generations  of  care  and^  tasteful  culture  hnd 
made  Thohit«n  Orange  one  of  the  most  beautiful 
places  in  the  county.  All  around  were  wide 
parks  dotted  with  ponds  asd  clun^  of  trees. 
An  avenuft  of  elms  led  up  to  the  door.  A  well- 
kept  la^vn  was  in  front,  and  behind  was  an  ex- 
tensive grove.  Every  thing  gjwke  of  wealth  nud 
elegance.  „ 

On  an  afternoon  in  Fwrnary  a  gentleman  in 


CHAPTER  Xin. 


THE  BADINAGE  OF  OLD  FRIENDS. 

The  town  of  Holby  is  on  the  coast  of  Pem- 
broke. It  has  a  small  harbor,  with  a  hght-house, 
and  the  town  itself  contains  a  few  thousand  i)eo- 
ple,  most  of  them  belonging  to  the  poorer  class. 
The  chief  house  in  the  town  stands  on  a  rising 
ground  a  little  outside,  looking  toward  the  water. 
Its  size  and  situation  render  it  the  most  conspicu- 
008  object  in  the  neighborhood. 

This  house,  from  its  appearance,  must  have 
been  built  more  than  a  cpntury  before.  It  be- 
longed to  an  old  family  which  had  become  «x- 
=ntinct,  and  now  was  occupied  by  a  new  owner,  who 
had  given  it  another  name.  This  new  owner  was 
William  Thomtoa,  Esq.,  solicitori  who  had  an 
office  in  Holby,  and  who,  though  vtsy  wealthy 
stiU  attended  to  his  business  with  undiminished 
Application.  The  house  had  been  originally  pur- 
chased by  the  father  of  the  present  occupant, 
Hwiy  Thornton,  a  well-known  lawyer  in  these 


clerical  dress  walked  'UpjjS'*  avenue,  rang  at  the 
door,  and  entering  he  pat/ his  name  to  the  serv- 
ant as  the  Rev.  Courte&j^aaespard.  lie  was  the 
new  Rector  of  Holbj«  aiiclliftd  only  been  there 

one  week.  t 

He  entered  the  drawftig-joom,  sat  down  upon 
one  of  the  many  lounging  "chairs  mih  which 
it  was  filled,  and  waited.  He  did  not  have  to 
wait  long.  A  rapid  step  was  soon  heard  de- 
scending the  stairs,  and  in  a  few  minutes  a  lady 
entered.  She  came  in  with  a  bright  smile  of 
welcome  on  her  face,  and  greeted  him  with  much 

warmth.  ..... 

Afim.'^omton  was  very  stnkmg  in  her  appear- 
an64^»A dear  olive  complexion  and  large,  dark 
hazefc  eyes'  marked  Southern  blood.  Her  hair 
wasblack,  wavy,  and  exceedingly  luxuriant.  Her  . 
mouth  was  small,  her  hands  and  feet  delicately 
shaped,  and  her  figure  slender  and  elegant.  Her 
whole  air  had  that  indefinable  grace  which  is  the 
sign  of  high-breeding ;  to  this  there  was  added 
exceeding  loveliness,  with  great  animation  of 
face  and  elegance  of  manner.  She  was  ^  perfect. 
lady,  yet  not  of  the  EngUsh  stamp ;  for  her  looks 
and  manner  had  not  that  cold  and  phlegmatic  air 
which  England  fosters.  She  looked  rather  like 
some  Italian  beauty— like  those  which  enchant  ns 
as  they  smile  from  the  wiffis  of  the  picture-gal- 
leries of  Italy.  . 

"I  am  so  glad  you  have  come!  said  she. 
"It  is  so  stupid  here,  and  I  expected  yoa  an 
hour  ago."  ,_         , 

"  Oh,  if  I  had  only  known  that !  said  Despard. 
"  For,  do  you  know,  I  have  been  dying  of  cnnii." 

"  I  hope  that  I  may  be  the  means  of  dispel- 
ling it."  ,.         ',,.,. 

"  As  surely  so  as  the  sun  disperses  to  cloads. 

"  You  are  never  at  a  loss  for  a  compliment. 

"  Never  when  I  am  with  you."  ' 

These  few  words  were  spoken  with  a  smile  «y 
each,  and  a  slightly  melodramaric  gestnft,  as 
though  each  was  conscious  of  a  little  extiara- 

gance.  u  v       " 

"You  must  be  glad  to  get  to  your  old  home, 
she  resumed.     ' '  You  lived  here  fifteen,  no,  p- 
teen  years,  you  know."  I 

"Eighteen."  ,  ,  J„ 

"  So  it  was.    I  was  sixteen  *hen  yon  left! 
"Never  to  see  you  again  till  I  came  back, 
Mid  Despard,  with  some  mournfulness^Kx^laJt 
at  the  floor.  '  '^ 


"And  since  then  all  has  changed."        ] 
"But  I  have  not,"  rejoined  Despard,  Uf  UM 

same  tone.  i\ 

Mrs.  Thornton  said  nothing  for  a  momenL, 
"  By-the-way,  I've  been  readinig  siicb  a  m 

book,''  she  resumed.     "  It  has  just  come  oat, 


CXJRD  AND  CREESE 
It  would  suit  yon,  I 


lad  i»  making  a  BenMtion. 
know."  . 

"Wh*^it?"      * 

which  Bhe  handed  to  hun.  He  took  it,  and  read 
the  title  out  loud.  ; 

'      "Christian'rCroggT 

A  rtrangeexpressi/n  passed  over  his  (ace.  He 
looked  at  her,  holditig  the  book  out  at  arms'- 
lengm  with  feigned/consternation. 

J'^i  ^^  ^°"  ?»''«  the  heart  to  recommend 
this  book  to  me,  Mrs.  Thornton  ?" 

"Why  not?" 

"  Why  it's  religious.  Religious  books  arc  my 
terror.     How  could  1  possibly  oj^n  a  book  like 

8he  laughed. 

"  You  are  mistaken,"  she  said.  "  It  is  an  or- 
dinw^novel,  and  for  the  sake  of  youf  peace  t)f 
mind  ^^^88ure  you  that  there  is  not  a  pirticle  of 
tehgion  m  it.  Rut  why  should  you  look  with 
such  repugnance  upon  It?  The  expression  of 
your  fece  is  simply  horrar  " 

"Pietistic  iooks  have  been  t{ie  bane  of  my 

SSv.  ;h?i»T^''T^'  '•'?  '••"'Psodical,  the  medi- 
tottve  style^f  book  in  which  one  garrulously  ad- 
dresses one  s  soul  from  beginning  to  end,  is  sim- 
p^^  torture  to  me.  You  see  religion  is  a  different 
thing.  I  he  rhapsody  may  do  for  th«  Taberna- 
cle people,  but  thoughtful  men  and  women  n^d 
wmething  different."       \  "">»  women  neea 


le  cbn 


69 


^riZff??'^?!!!L -^'^  -tip-ts   ancl^ 


!r„l      ST?'     ^«y  entirely  accord  with 
iny  mvn.     bull  I  must  own  that  your  horror 
»*7.<*  °»e  w  novel,  to  say  tiie  least  of  it " 
y„„  Would  you' like  me  to  trj  to  pn.«lytize 

"You  may  try  if  you  wish.  I  am  open  to 
wnnetjon ;  tut  the  Chureh  of  aU  the  a^  the 
Apostohc,  theCatholic,  has  a  strong holdTme" 

You  need  not  fear  that  I  will  eyer  tiy  io 
oosen  It.  I  only  wish  that  I  may  see  ^i.rfi.n^ 
in  Trinity  Church  every  Sunday  ^^        ^°"  ^"^ 

l%at  happiness  shall  be  yours,"  answered 
Mrs.  Thornton.  "As  there  is  no  (  "tholic  chS 
jepi  wiU  give  you  the  honor  of  my  presence  at 

dupio  m^"'"  *'  "^  i^^iilhea  place  of  wor- 


"  Isn't  tha^a  little  cUfusing?" 

. -a  ^"If '  *"'"  ""'"^  P*'<P'"-d,  gmvely.     •'  ?,«:- 
ticft  enables  one  to  keep  all  distinct.  '^     ' 
"  Rut  what  is  the  gpod  of  it?" 

.r!!jyy  '^''""^  I>e»P«rd;  "yon  see  in  each 
novel  there  are  certain  situations.  rerhapTon 
an  average  theremay  bo  forty  each.  InterTtinK 
characters  also  may  average  ten  each.     ThriUi^ 

fifteen  each  Now  by  reading  novels  sfngly  the 
ertect  of  all  thw  is  weakened,  for  you  only  have 

he  work  of  each  in  it.  divided,  Wlated  stetl 
but  where  you  read  accoitling  ^  my  phin  you 
have  the  aggregate  of  all  these  effects  in  one 
combined-that  .s  to  say,  in  ten  boohs  which 
I  read  at  once  I  have  two  hundred  thrilling 
scenes,  one  hundred  and  fifty  overwhelming  «! 
tastrophw,  one  hundred  interesting  characters 
and  four  hundred  Hituations  of  absorbing  S- 
tion.  Do  you  not  see  what  an  advantage  thei^i 
!«  in  my  plan?  Ry  following  this  ro^I  hat^ 
been  able  to  stmiuhite  a  somewhat  faded  appetite 
and   to  keep  abreast  of  the  literature '^Sf  tS^« 

.ii'l^^l!"'""  t'^^We  plan !  And  do  you  read 
a^l  books  in  that  way?  Why,  one^coJd  write 
ten  novels  at  4  time  on  the  same  principle,  tad 
If  so  he  ouglit  to  write  very  much  better." 

T  « J  h  -I  '^'^  '7  '^  ?°°»«  '^y-  At  present 
I  am  busily  engaged  with  a  learned  treatise  on 
the  hjanboLcaTNature  of  the  Mosaic  Econom7 


He  smiled  away  the  extravagance  of  ttjla  last 
rcniark,  and  she  only  shook  her  head.     ^ 
Cine."      "  *  compliment,  but  it  is  awfalljj-  pto- 

^Not  profenity;  say  rather  justiflabl|  idol- 

."Keally,  I  feel  overcome;   I  do  n«t  know 


JbHo  siy.    ATa.r;rate:"!L;e7oa"1il,Tk:   nof ttay^'S'terh  "^^  *!."''  '^'^  ^ 
'he.book ;  I  know  you  will  fl„d  it  pCanr-         J^Ld  tnTr'^'^  ^  ^"^  y°"  *»"  '^'  ^^  ^o" 


th.  wl    Vi.  '  """•  ^  ""P*  yon  wil 

«  A      J  ''"r  y°"  "^^  "'"» *'  pleasant " 
„,!,      •'  M  "*  '"**  **™es  from  you  could  not  he 
tZT^ftP'^^"'^     "AlthetJetim^ 
"  2?  J?*^  *^^^'  ^  "^  novels  singly. " 

"ffi!    Whyhowelsecanoneridthem?" 
I  always  read  several  at  a  time.  " 

"YoJ««"?.'""i^'"^  *'  "'«  whimsical  idea. 
UiU  Zll  T  ^^  ^  "timuUte  my  interest 


"■''^''^Y.u"''"  ""^^  ^"-  Thornton,. breath- 
»Iy.     "What  was  that?" 

"The  Symbolical  Nature  of  tJje^Mosaic  Econo. 
my,'- said  Despard,  placidly.  "»»c  i!*ono- 

"  And  is  the  tiUe  all  your  own  ?" 
"All  my  own." 

.  "Then  pray  don't  write  the  booL  The  title 
ofSh  .^''•"""""'UdseeifitSS^^nM 
i;  uta'L"e7  "-"-""-"^  -rits  bring 
"I've  been  thinking  seriously  of  doine  so  " 
saKl  Despard,  "  and  I  don't  know  but  tmit  I  ^y 
follow  your.advice.  It  wiU  save  some  trouble, 
and  perhaps  amount  to  just  as  much  in  the 

cie's  ?^'"^  ^°  ^°°  °'^^°  ^''^  *"'=''  ^"^""^^  fen- 

"  No,  frankly,  not  often.     I  consider  that  title 
the  one  great  idea  of  my  life  " 

"  Rut  do  not  dwell  too  much  upon  that,"  said   , 
Mrs.  Thornton,  m  a  warning  voice;    ^'It  micht 
make  you  conceited."  ^i  migm 

»  «hSy"  u^  *°^"  rejoine^the  other,  with 
a  shudder.     "Db  you  really  think  so  ?    I  hope 


ceited  people?" 
"No." 
"Am  I  conceited?" 

Jti^\  I  l^  y°^'"  ^^^  M"-  Thonnton, 
>"th  a  slight  bow  and  a  wave  of  the  hand,  which 
she  accompanied  with  b  smile  . 

^^d  I  like  you."  said  Jiespard,  in  the «iBfc 

"  You  conW  not  do  less." 

"  This,"  said  Deqiard,  with  an  air  of  thonaht- 
tiil  seriousness,  "is  a  solemn  occasion.  .3Ser 
such  a  tender  confession  from  each  of  ua  what 
^To^l"  "^    Wh«  is  It  that  the  novels . 

"  I'm  sure,"  returned  Mrs.  thomton,  with  the 


60 


COHD  AND  CREESE.    • 


game  afsumed  nolemnity,  "it  is  not  for  me  to 
8ay.  ->  You  must  make  tlie  proiKJiiition." 

"We  can  not  do  any  tl^ntf,le88  tli'an  fly  to- 
getJier.'-'  *■      . 

"I  should  think  npt"    , 
"But  wliere?" 

"  And  not  only  whcM.bnt  how  ?     By  rail,  by 
gteflnilM>at,  or  liy  cnnal  ?    A  cunnl  KtrikcK  me  as 
tlie,l>e8t  mode  of  fliglit.     It  is  Hecluded." 
"  Free  from  observation,"  said  Ueiipard. 
"Quiet,'"  rejoiried  Mrs.  Tliorulon. 
"Poetic." 

"Kcpolc."  -'      •' 

"  Unfriended."  . 
"Solitary." 
"Mow." 

"And,  best  of  all,  hitherto  tintried." 
"  Yes,  its  novelty  is  undeniable." 
"So  much  so,"  ^id  Mfn.  Thornton,  "that  it 
overwhelms  one.     It  is  a  bright,  original  idea, 
and  in  these  days  of  commonplace  is  it  not  cred- 
itable ?    The  idea  is  mine.  Sir'  and  I  will  match 
it  with  your — what? — your  Symbolical  Nature 
of  the  Mosaic  Cosmogony." 
.  "  Economy." 

"But  Cosmogony  is  better.  Allow  me  tb 
suggest  it  by  way  of  a  changes"  "■ 

"It  must  bo  so,  since  you  say  it;  butJ  have 
a  weakness  fof  the  word  Economy.  It  w  .de- 
rive<l  from  the  Greek — " 

"Greek!"  e.\claime<l  Mrs.  Thornton,  raising 
her  hands.  "  You  surely  are  not  going  to  be  so 
ungenerous  as  to  quote  Greek!  Am  I  not  a 
lady  ?  WilUyou  be  so  base  as  to  take  me  at  a 
disadvantage  in  tljpt  way  ?" 

"  I  am  thoroughly  ashamed  of-  myself,  and 
you  may  consider  that  a  tacit  (ywtogy  is  going 
on  within  my  piind  whenever  I  see  vou."- 
"  You  are  forgiven,"  said  Mrs.  Thornton. 
"  I  can  not  conceive  how  I  could  have  so  far 
forgotten  myself.  I  do  not  usually  speak  Greek 
to  ladies.  I  consider^it  my  duty  to  make  my- 
self agreeable.  And  you  have  no  idea  how 
agreeable  I  can  make  myself,  if  I 'try." 

"I?  I  have  no  ideji?  Is  it  you  who  say 
that,  and  to  me?"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Thornton,  in 
that  slight  mclodramatio  tone  which  she  li«id  em- 
ployed thus  far,  soiriewhat  Exaggerated.  "After 
what  I  told  you — of  my  feelings  ?". 

"I  see  I  shall  have  to  devote  all  the  rest  of 
*iy  life  to  making  apologibs." 

"No.  Do  not  make  ajwiogies.  Avoid  your 
I)e8etting  sins.  Othenvise,-fond  as  I  am  of  you" 
— and  she  simke  with  exaggerated  solemnity — 
"  I  must  regai'd  you  as  a  failure." 

The  conversation  went  on  iminterruptedly  in 
this  style  for  some  time.  It  api)eared  to  suit 
each  of  them.  Despards  face,  naturally  grave, 
assisted  him  toward  maintaining  the  mock-seri- 
ous tone  which  he  chose  to  adopt;  and  Mrs. 
Thornton's  peculiar  style  of  face  gave  her  the 
same  advantage.  It  pleased  each  to  express  for 
the  other  an  exaggerated  sentiment  of  regard. 
They  considered  it  banter  and  badinage.  How 
Jar  it  was  safe  was  another  thing.    But  they  had 


known  one  another  years  before,  and  were  only 
resuming  the  maimer  of  earlier  times.  , 

Yet,  after  all,  was  it  safe  for  the  grave  Re<tor 
of  Holby  to  adopt  the  inflated  style  of  a  trouba- 
dour in  addressing  the  Lady  of  Thornton  Grange  ? 
Neither  of  them  thonght  oY  it.  They  simply  im- 
proved the  shimng  hour  after  this  foshiun,  until 


at  length  the  r6nveniatian  was  inlemipted  by  the 
opening  of  folding-doors,  and  tha  entrance  of  a 
seiTant  who  aiuiounced^nlinnor. 

On  entering  the  dining-room  Despard  was' 
greeted  with  respectful  formality  by  the  master 
of  the  house.  lie  was  a  man  of  alH>ut  forty,  with 
the  pnifcshional  air  of  the  lawyer  alxiut  him,  and 
an  al)HtrHcted  expressioi)  of  face,  such  as  usually 
behHM{s  to^one  who  is  deeply  engrossed  in  the 
cares  of  business.  His  tone,  in  spite  of  ituJ'rieiid- 
liness,  was  naturally  stiff",  and  was  in  market! 
contrast  to  the  warmth  of  Mrs.  Thornton's  greet- 
ing. 

"How  do  you  like  your  new  quarters?"  lie 
asked,  as  they  sat  down. 

"  Very  well,"  said  Despard.  "  It  is  more  mv 
home,  you  know,  than  any  other  place.  I  lived 
there  so  many  years  as  sch<)bl-boy  with  M^.  Car- 
soti  that  it  seems  natural  to  take  up  my  station 
th^re  as  home." 

■jMr.  Thornton  relapsed  into  his*  abstraction 
while  Despard  was  sfieaking,  who  directed  the 
remainder  of  his  conversation  to  Mrs.  Thornton. 
If  was  light,  idle  chat,  in  the  same  tone  as  that 
in  which  they  had  before  indulged.  Once  or 
twice,  at  some  unusimlly  extravagant  remark, 
Mr.  'ITiomton  Uxtked  up  in  perplexity,  which 
was  not  lessened  on  seeing  their  perfect  gravity. 
They  had  a  long  discussion  as  to  the  meaning 
of  the  phrase  "  the  day  after  to-monx)w. "  Des- 
pard asserted  that  it  meant  the  same  as  eternal 
duration,  and  insisted  that  it  ipust  be  so,  since 
when  to-morrow  came  the  day  after  It  was  still 
coming,  and  when  that  came  there  was  still  the 
day  after.  He  supported  his  theoir  with  so  much- 
earnestness  that  Thornton,  after  listening  for  a 
while,  took  the  trouble  to  go  heavily  and  at 
length  into  the  whole  question,  and  conclude  it 
triumphantly  against  J)espard. 

Xlien  the  subject  of  politics  came  np,  and  a 
probable  war  with  France  was  considered^  Ues- 
jiard  professed  to  take  no  interest  in  the  subject, 
since,  even  if  an  invagl6n  took  place,  clergymen 
could  «lo  nothing.  They  were  exemjit  fiom  mil- 
itary duty  in  common  with  gangers.  The  men- 
tion of  this  brought  on  a  long  discussion  as  to  the 
spelling  of  the  word  ganger.  Desjiard  asserted 
that  nobody  knew  how  it  was  spelled,  and  that, 
from  the  necessities  of  human  nature,  it  was  siui- 
ply  impossible  to  tell  whether  it  was  yaugtr  or 
ijuager.  This  brought  out  Thornton  again,  who 
mentioned  several  law  papers  in  which  the  word 
had  been  correctly  written  by  his  clerks.  Des- 
pard challenged  him  on  this,  and,  because  Thorn- 
ton had  to  confess  that  he  had  not  examined  the 
word,  dictionary  in  hand,  he  claimed  a  victory 
over  him.  \ 

Tliomton,  at  this,  looked  away,  with  the  smile 
of  a  nuin  who  is  talking  unintelligible  things  to  a 
child. 

Tlien  followed  a  long  conversation  betweea 
DesparU  and  Sre.  ThomtonilBDUt  i-cligion,  art, 
music,  and  a  iSiscellaneous  asseniblage  of  other 
things,  which listgd  for  a  long  time.  At  length 
he  rose  to  go.  \Mr8.  Thornton  went  to  a  |i<le- 
table  and  took  t^  a  book.  •" 

"  Here,"  said  she,  "  is  the  little  book  yon  lent 
mo ;  I  ought  to  have  sent  it,  but  I  thought  you 
would  come  for  it." 

"  And  so  I  will,"  said  he,  "  some  day." 
"  Come  for  it  to-morrow. " 
"  Will  you  bo  at  home?" 


.^.<  \ 


emipted  by  the 
»  entrance  of  a 

1  DeHpard  wag" 
■  by  th«  master 
Imut  forty,  with 
alKJiit  bim,  and 
8uch  a*  UMimlly 
iigroKHeU  in  the 
liteof  it&JirieiKt- 
was  in  marl(e(l 
hornton'R  greet- 

r  quarters?"  lie 


y  w'itli  Mfr.  Car- 
e  up  my  station 

hi^  abstraction 
ho  directed  the 

Mrs.  Thornton, 
ime  tone  as  that 
ilged.  Once  or 
.vacant  remark, 
jqdexity,  whicli 
peifeia  gravity. 
I  to  the  meaning 
morrow."    Ues- 

same  as  eternal 
lust  be  Bo,  since 
after  It  was  still 
lere  was  still  the 
ory  with  so  muA- 
r  listening  for  a 

heavily  and  at 
and  conclude  it 


yj  with  the  smile 
jgible  things  to  a 

ersation  between 
but  religion,  art, 
sniblage  of  other 
time.  At  length 
I  went  to  ajide- 

tle  book  yon  lent 
ut  I  thought  you 


COHD 'AND  CREEflFi 


iff.. 


*  '     }i- 


"MH8.  ISOBNTON,   WALKING   TO  TH«  WINDOW,   LOOKED  OUT.  " 


"Yes." 

"  Then  of  coprse  I'll  come.     And  now  I  must 
tear  myself  awiy-.     Good-night !"  ^ 

Da  pard  called  again.     Mrs.  Thornton  had  In 
wntmg  and  the  desk  was  strewn  with  pape™. 

1  know  I  am  disturbing  Uu,"  said  he  after 
4e  usual  greetings.    "  I  see  tL  yoH^  writing 
«.  I  w,U  not  stay  but  a  mom^t.'  I  havrcoino' 
yon  know,  after  that  little  book."  ' 

"  Indeed,  you  are  not  disturbing  me  at  all  I 
hsve  been  trying  to  continue  a  letter  which  I  be 
CabZt'S"'^ -^ --'"  ««°-     Tht'iit 

"And  how  is  Paolo?" 

"  I  have  not  heard  for  some  time.    I  oneht  to 
4^L^n.     He  w;ent  to  America  last  summed" 


now,  since  youVre' hr,;r;ou's  a~  'T'  U   flT^  '"'":"."'"  '"^"  *"  '« 
SiTa';;"/'"  r^P'■^""^  '*"  I  am  so  tl 

S^«  of  Sr^Jr."""'  "P  '•^■"  "'^'^^  ^'"^  *  P-'^y 
Despard  looked  at  her  for  a  moment  as  she 


stood  in  her  bright  beauty  before  him.    A  sudden 

*or  unfading  power  of  compliment,  for  an 
unending  supply  of  neat  «nd  pretty  speThes 
commend  ine  to  the  Rev.  Courtenny  De.Cd  "  ' 
Vet    singularly  enough,  no  one  else  ever 
di-eamed  thatofme."  "wj  e»er 

"  You  were  always  so." 
"With  you." 
"Inihe  old  days." 
"Now  lost  fore"\^r." 
JHieir  voices  sank  low  and  expressive  of  a  deep 
.me^rholy.      A  silence  followed.      Despard  at 
last,  with  a  sudden  effort,  began  talking  in  his 
usual  extravagant  strain  about  badgers  tiU  at  last 

of!^;2  ™?"  ^^"  *"  ''"'8'''  "'"'  "'«  radiancy 
x.f their  spinuwa^restored.  ".Strange," said  hS-= 
taking  up  a  prayer-book  vvith  a  peculiar  binding 
on  which  there  was  a  curiously  intertwisted  tiguFe 
m  gilt.  That  pattern  has  been  in  my  thoughts 
and  dreams  for  a  week  "  ""«"" 

"How  so?"  , 

"Why,  1  saw  it  m  your  hands  last  Sunday, 
and  my  eyes  were  drawn  to  it  till  iu  whole  figure 


;-;S»ai<: 


M 


>M 


tm 


'm* 


63 


CORD  AND  CREESE. 


seemed  to  stamp  itself  on  my  mind.-  See !  I  can 
trace  it  from  memory."  And,  taking  his  cane, 
he  traced  the  curiously  involved  figure  on  the 
carpet. 

"And  were  your  thoughts  fixed  on  npthing 
better  than  that?" 

5'  I  was  engaged  in  worship,"  was  the  reply, 
with  marked  emphasis. 

"  I  must  take  another  book  next  time." 

"Do  not.  You  will  only  force  me  to  study 
another  pattern." 

Mrs.  Thornton  Jaughed  lightly,  and  Despard 
liopked  at  her  with  a  smile.  . 

"  I'm  afraid  your  thoughts  wander, '  she  said, 
lightly,  "as  mine  do.  There  is  no  excuse  for 
you.  Therciis  for  me.  For  you  know  I'm  like 
Naaman ;  I  have  to  bow  my  head  in  the  temple 
of  Baal.  After  ail,"  she  continued^  in  a  more' 
serious  voice,  "I  suppbse  I  shall  bo  able  some 
dny  to  worship  before  my  own  altar,  for,  do  you 
"know,  I  expect  to  end  my  days  in  a  convent. ' 

"And  why?" 

"  For  the  purpose  of  perfect  religions  seclu- 
sion." 

Despard  looked  at  her  earnestly  for  a  moment. 
T^en  his  usual  smile  broke  out. 
.   "  Wherever  you  go  let  me  know,  and  111  take 
iip  my  abode  outside  the  Vails  and  come  and 
look  at  you  every  day  throngh  the  grating." 

"  And  would  that  be  a  help  to  a  religious  life  ?" 

"  Perhaps  not ;  but  111  tell  you  what  would  be 
a  help'.  Be  a  Sister  of  Charity.  Ill  be  a  faul- 
ist^  111  devote  myself  to  the  sick.  Then  ^ou 
and  I  can  go  together ;  and  when  you  are  tired 
I  can  assist  you.  I  think  that  idea  is  much  bet- 
ter than  yours." 

"  Oh,  very  much,  indeed !"  said  Mrs.  Thorn- 
ton, with  a  strange,  sad  look. 

"  I  remember  a  boy  and  girl  who  once  used  to 
go  hand  in  hand  over  yonder  shore,  and-^"    He 
•  stopped  suddenly,  and  then  hastily  added,  "  and 
now  it  would  be  very  sad,  and  therefore  very  ab- 
surd, in  one  of  them  ta  britig  up  old  memories." 

Mrs.  Thornton  sud(fenly  rose,  and,  walking  to 
the  window,  looked  out.  ,  "  I  wonder  if  it  will 
rain  to  day !"  she  said,  in  a  sweet  voice,  full  of  a 
tremulous  melancholy. 

"There  are  very  dark  clouds  about,"  returned 
Despard,  monmfuily. 

"I  hope  there  will  not  be  a  storm,"  she  re- 
joinedj  with  the  same  sadness.  Her  hands  were 
held  tightly  t<^ther.  "  iSome  things  wilL{^rish 
if  a  storm  comes." 

"Let  us  pray  that  there  may  be  oJm  and 
peace,"  said  Despard.     .  -^ 

She  tamed  and  looked  at  him  for  a^moment. 
Ktrange  that  these  two  ^should  pass  so  qiiickly 
from  Myely  to  gloom!  Their  eyes  met,  and 
each  read  in  the  face  of  the  other  sftdness  be- 
yond words. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 


TWO  LETTERS. 

Despard  did  not  go  back  to  the  Grange  for 
•ome  days.  About  a  week  had  passed  since  the 
scenes  narrated  in  the  preceding  chapter  when 
one  morning,  having  finished  his  breakfast,  he 
went  into  his  library  and  sat  down  at  the  table 
to  write.    A  litter  of  papers  lay  all  around.    The 


walls  were  covered  with  shelves,  filled  ^(h  books. 
The  table  was  piled  high  with  ponderous  tomes.' 
Manuscripts  were  strewn  around,  and  Ijooks  were 
scattered  on  the  floor.  Yet,  amidst  all  this  dis- 
order, some  order  was  apparent,  for  many  of  these 
books  lay  open  in  certain  places,  and  others  were 
arranged  so  as  to  be  within  reach. 

Several  sheets  of  paper,  covered  with  writing, 
lay  before  him,  headed,  "  Tha Byzantine  Poets." 
The  books  were  all  in  Greek.  It  was  the  library 
of  a  hard-working  student. 

Very  different  was  the  Despard  of  |he  library 
from  the  Despard  who  had  visited  the  Grange. 
A  stem  and  thoughtfiU  expression  was  read  in 
his  face,  and  his  eyes  had  an  abstraction  which 
would  have  done  credit  to  Mr.  Thornton  him- 
self. 

Taking  his  seat  at  the  table,  he  remained  for 
a  while  leaning  bts  head  on  his  hand  in  deep 
thought.  Then  he  took  up  a-y^  and  drew  a 
piece  of  paper  before  him  to  trj^'  it.  Ha  began 
to  draw  upon  it  the  same  figure  which  he  had 
marked  with  his  cane  on  Mrs.  Thornton's  carpet. 
He  traced  this  figure  over  and  over,  until  at  last 
the  whole  sheet  was  covered. 

Suddenly  he  flung  down  the  pen,  and,  taking 
up  the  paper,  leaned  back  in  his  chair  with  a  mel- 
ancholy face.  "What  a  poor,  weak  thing  I  am!" 
he  muttered  at  lost,  and  let  the  paper  fall  to  the 
floor.  He  leaned  ms  head  on  his  hand,  then  re- 
sumed his  pen  and  began  to  make  some  idle 
marks.    At  length  he  bigan  to- draw. 

Under  the  fine  and  delicate  strokes  of  his  pen, 
which  were' as  neat  and  as  exquisite  as  the  must 
subtle  touches  of  an  engraving,  a  picture  gmda- 
ally  rose  to  view. ,  It  was  a  sea-side  scene.    The 
place  was  Holby  Beach.     In  the  distance  was 
the  light-house ;  and  on  one  side  a  promontory, 
which  protected  the  harbor.     Upon  the  shore, 
looking  out  toward  the  sea,  was  a  beautiful  girl, 
of  about  sixteen  years  of  age,  whose  features,  as 
i  they  grew  beneath  his  tender  touches,  were  those 
of  Mrs.  "jTioraton.     Then  beside  her  there  grad- 
I  ually  rose  another  figure,  o  youth  of  about  eight- 
een, with  smooth  face  and  clustering  locks,  who 
j  looked  exactly  like  what  the  Rev.  Courtenny 
I  D^pard  might  have  been  some  seven  or  eight 
years  before.    His  left  arm  was  around  her  waist, 
I  her  arm  was  thrown  up  till  it  touched  his  shorl- 
I  der,  and  his  .right  hand  held  hers.     Her  head 
feaned  against  him,  and  both  of  them,  with  a 
subdued  expression  of  perfect  happiness,  tinged 
with  a  certain  {lensive  sadness,  were  looking  out 
upon  the  setting  sun. 

As  soon  as  he  finished  he  looked  at  the  sketch, 
and  then,  with  a  sudden^  impulse,  tore  it  into  a 
thousand  small  fragments.  He  drew  the  written 
manuscript  l)efore  him  with  a  long  and  deep-drawn 
sigh,  and  began  writing  with  gient  rapidity  upon 
the  subject  of  the  Byzantine  Poets,  lie  h^  just 
written  the  following  words : 

"The  Anacreontic  hymns  of  John  Damasce- 
nuR  form  a  marked  contrast  to—"  when  the  sen- 
tence was  interrupted  by  a  knock  at  the  door. 
=^Come  inl"  It  wartha mrvnttt  with  lettei-s  bm^ 
the  post-offlce.  Despard  put  down  his  pen  grave- 
ly, and  the  man  laid  two  letters  on  tlie  table. 
He  waited  till  the  servant  had  departed,  then 
seizing  one  of  them,  a  small  one,  addressed  in  • 
lady's  hand,  lie  pressed  it  vehemently  to  bis  Upi 
and  tore  it  open. 

It  was  as  loUows  i 


"Thobktoh  G»a 


■4^ 


CORD  AND  CREESE. 


68 


♦both  WBBE   tOOKBTO  OUT   UPON  THB  SETTING  SON." 


Dbah  Mr.  Despahd,— I  mppose  I  may  nev- 
er expect  to  see  you  again.    Yet  I  must  see  f  ou, 

pLTn/^^  •  "^r'^ "  ^<"7  '""K  '«««r  La 

Paolo  of  so  smgukr  a  character  that  you  wiU 
bwe  to  explain  it  to  me.    I  shaU  expect  you  this 
afteraoon,  and  till  then,  I  remain, 
'*  Yours  sincerely, 

iiiii_  ^  "  Tekesa  Thornton.  . 

"Tbobhtom  GiANoi,  Friday." 

^pard  read  this  letter  a  score  of  times,  and 
pUced  It  reverenUy  in  an  inner  drawer  of  his 

foUoiw:  "  "^^  **"*  "*•*''  *"'*  "^  »* 

i.«  "^^"*jj'  NovaSootia,  January  19,*84r. 
1,-.    J  ""*"  CouHTBNAY,-I  was  Very  glad  to 
ftew  of  vour  appomtment  as  Rector  of  Holby 

re  fully  estaUlished  in  the  old  Rectory,  where 

11.*^    ^  "T^  y^"-    I  WM  there  often 

Moogfcm  poor  old  Carsong  day  to  know  thatU 

-Jiu*ffiiao](|  place.  

N<l^°<Lr'"  '^^y  *'•'''  *»*  I  •""  'n  """fax, 
h«^l.S^'*-  J*^  ««"nent  was  ordered  off 
M  j^i  J^T^""'  '"**  ^  ?™  ^"'"  »^«>ning  to 

SmS^"  T  ^^  i'  *^P'V^  """^  ■"»•"'"(?  "P  f '« 
Zl^K  .  u**?"'  '^'"'  "^y  accommodations 
"Mch  J  but  it  1.  not  a  bad  little  town,  consider- 


ing aU  things.    The  people  are  pleasant,  and  there 
IS  some  stir  and  gayety  occasionally 

Not  long  before  leaving  Quebec,  who  do  vou 
^k  turned  up?  No  less  a  perK,.!  thanKo 
Langhettj,  who  in  the  course  of  his  wanderinm 
came  out  there.  He  had  known  some  exS 
dinanr  adventures  on  his  voyage  out;  and iC 
««^  the  immediate  cause  of  this  letter 
«hi„  r  '«''',P«f««e  early  in  June  last  in  the 
ship  Tecumsth,  from  Liverpool  for  Quebec  It 
WM  an  en^grant  ship,  and  cmmmed  «ith'pas- 

ot  that  middle  passage,  which  occurred  last  year 
when  those  infernal  Liverpool  merchants,  for  the 
sake  of  putting  a  few  additional  pgunds  in  their 
pockets,  sent  so  many  thousands  to  destruction, 
ine  Jectmgeh  was  one  of  these.  It  wa« 
crammwl  with  emigrants.  You  knowLanghetti's 
extraordinary  pluck,  and  his  aueer  way  of  devot- 
mg  lumself  for  othek^  Weiji,  what  did  h«  do 

left  the  cabm  and  took  up  his  abode  in  the  steer- 
age with  the  sick  emigrants.  He  is  very  quiet 
about  this,  and  merely  says  that  he  hefped  to 
nurie  the  sick.    I  know  what  that  means.  . 

.h-.  mortality  was  terrific.  Of  all  the  ships 
that  came  to  Quebec  on  that  fktal  summer  tfte 
y««.m««A  showed  the  Urgeat  record  of  deaths, 
un  reaching  the  quarantine  station  Laughetti  at 


'^M*i.' 


'41^"^ ."  ; 


64 


CORD  AND  CREESE. 


once  insisted  on  continuing  his  attendance  on  the 
sick.  Haijds  were  scarce,  and  his  offer  was 
eagerly  accepted.  He  staid  down  there  ever  so 
long  till  the  worst  of  the  sickness  was  over. 

"  Among  the  passengers  on  the  Tecumseh  were 
three  who  belonged  to  the  superior  class.  Their 
names  were  Brandon.  He  took  a  deep  interest 
in  them.  They  suffered  very  much  from  sick- 
ness both  during  the  voyage  and  at  quarantine. 
The  name  at,pnce  attracted  him,  being  one  well 
known  both  to  him  and  to  us. ,  At  last  they  all 
died,  or  were  supposed  to  have  died,  at  the  quar- 
antine station.  Langhetti,  however,  foUnd  that 
one  of  them  was  only  in  a  '  trance  state,'  a«d 
his  efforts  for  resuscitation  were  successful.  This 
one  was  a  young  girl  of  not  more  than  sixteen 
years  of  age.  After  her  restoration  he  left  the 
quarantine  bringing  her  with  him,  and  came  up 
to  the  city.  Here  he  lived  for  a  month  or  so, 
until  at  last  he  heard  of  me  and  came  to  see  me. 

"  Of  couise  I  was  delighted  to  see  him,  for  I 
always  thought  him  the  noblest  fellow  that  ever 
breathed,  though  most  undoubtedly  cranky  if  not 
crazy.  I  told  him  we  were  going  to  Halifax, 
and  as  he  had  no  settled  plan  I  vade  him  come 
here  with  me. 

"  The  girl  remained  for  a  long  time  in  a  state 
of  mental  torpor,  as  though  her  brain  had  been 
affected  by  disease,  but  the  journey  here  had  a 
beneficial  effect  on  her,  and  during  her  stay  she 
has  steadily  improved.  About  a  week  ago  Lan- 
ghetti ventured  to  ask  her  all  about  herself. 

"  What  will  you  say  when  I  tell  you  that  she  is 
the  daughter  of  poor  Ralph  Brandon,  of  Brandon 
Hall,  your  father's  friend,  whose  wretched  fete 
has  made  us  all  so  miserable.  You  know  no- 
thing of  tkis,  of  course ;  but  where  was  Thorn- 
ton ?  Why  did  not  he  do  something  t6  prevent 
this  horror,  this  unutterable  calaniity?  Good 
God  !•  what  suffering  there  is  in  this  world ! 

"  Now,  Courtenay,  I  come  to  the  point.  This 
poor  Edith  Brandon,  still  half  dead  from  her 
grief,  has  been  able  to  tell  us  that  she  has  still  a 
relative  living.  Her  eldest  brother  Louis  went 
to  AubUulia  many  yeoi's  ago.  A  few  weeks  be- 
fore her  father's  death  ho  \vrote  to  his  son  telling 
him  every  tiling,  and  imploring  him  to  come  home. 
8be  thinks  that  her  brother  must  bai;|i|„  England 
by  this  time.  *'- 

"I  want  yon  to  hunt  up  Louis  Brandon.  Spare 
no  trouble.  In  the  name  of  God,  and  b^  the 
m«nory  <Jf  yonr  father,  whose  most  intimate 
friend  was  this  poor  old  Brandon,  I  entreat  you 
to  search  after  Louis  Brandon  till  you  find  him, 
and  let  him  know  the  fate  of  his  friends.  I  think 
if  she  could  see  him  the  joy  of  meeting  one  rela- 
tive would  restore  her  to  health. 

"  My  boy,  I  know  I  have  said  enough.  Your 
own  heart  will  impel  you'  to  do  all  that  can  be 
done  for  the  sake  of  this  poor  voung  girl.  You 
can  fina  out  the  best  ways  of  learning  informa- 
tion. You  had  better  go  up  at  once  to  London 
and  make  arrangements  for  finding  Brandon. 

Write  me  soon,  and  let  me  know.  

"-""YoonflScirdraiteTnielB,  " 

"Hbicbt  Despabd." 


Despard  read  this  letter  over  and  over.  Then 
he  put  it  in  his  pocket,  and  walked  up  and  down 
the  room  in  deep  thought.  Then  he  took  out 
Mrs.  Thornton's  note  and  studied  it  /or  a  long 
time.    So  the  hours  passed  away,  antU  at  length 


two  o'clock  came  and  he  set  out  for  Thornton 
Grange. 

On  entering  the  drawing-roohi,  Mrs.  Thornton 
was  there. 

"  So  you  have  come  at  last,"  said  she,  as  they 
shook  hands. 

"  As  if  I  would  not  come  ten  times  a  day  if 
I  could,"  was  the  answer,  in  an  impetuous  voice. 
"  Still  there  is  no  reason  why  you  should  per- 
sisteiitly  avoid  the  Grange." 

"What  would  you  say  if  I  followed  my  own 
nnpulse,  and  came  here  every  day?" 

"  I  would  say',  Good-moming,  Sir.     Still,  now 
that  you  are  here,  you  must  stay." 
'*I  will  stay,  whether  1  must  or  not." 
"Have  you  recovered  from  the  effect  of  my 
prayer-book  yet  ?" 

"  No,  nor  ever  will  I.  You  brought  thfe  same 
one  last  Sunday." 

"That  was  in  order  to  weaken  the  effect. 
Familiarity  breeds  contempt,  you  know." 

"Then  all  I  can  say  is,  that  contempt  has 
very  extraordinary  manifestations.    Among  oth- 
er strange  things,  it  makes  me  cover  my  paper 
with  that  pattern  when  I  ought  to  be  writing  on 
the  Mosaic  Economy." 
"Cosmogony,  you  mean." 
"Well,  then, Cosmogony." 
"  Cosmogony  is  such  a  delicious  word !    It 
has  been  the  hope  of  my  life  to  be  able  .tojntro- 
duce  it  in  a  conversation.     There  is  oibh  one 
other  word  that  compares  with  it."  " 

"  What  is  if?" 

"I  am  afraid  to  pronounce  it."  / 

."Try,  at  any  rate." 

"Idiosyncrasy,"  said  Mrs.  Thornton.  Fo^ 
five  or  six  years  I  have  been  on  the  look-out  for 
an  opportunity  to  use  that  word,  and  thus  fur  I 
■have  been  unsuccessful.  I  fear  that  if  the  op- 
portunity did  occur  I  would  call  it  '  idiocraej-.' 
In  fact,  I  know  I  would." 

"And  what  would  be  the  difference?  Yonr 
motive  would  be  right,  and  it  is  to  motives  that 
we  must  look,  not  acta." 

After  some  further  badinage,  Blrs.  Thornton 
drew  a  letter  from  her  pocket. 

"  Here,''  said  she,  gravely,  "  is  Paolo's  letter. 
Bead  it,  and  tell  too  what  you  thinkof  it." 

Despard  took  the  letter  and  began  to  read, 
while  Mrs.  Thornton,  sitting  opposite  to  him, 
watched  his  face. 

The  letter  was  in  Italian,  and  was  accompa- 
nied by  a  large  and  closely-written  manuscript 
of  many  pages. 

"  HALnpAZ,  Not*  Sootia,  January  i,  1941. 
"  Mt  Sweetest  Little  Sister,— I  send  yon 
my  dianr,  as  I  promised  you,  my  Teresella,  ami 
you  will  see  all  my  adventures.  Take  care  of 
yourself,  be  happy,  and  let  ns  hope  that  we  may 
see  one  another  soon.  I  am  well,  through  the 
mercy  of  the  good  God,  and  hope  to  continue  «o. 
'There  is  no  such  thing  as  music  in  this  place, 
hut  I  have  found  an  organ  where  I  can  plaj. 
My»Cremona  Is  uninjured,  though  it  has  paww. 
tHronth  hard  times  it  sends  »  mHe  of  lovrts 
my  Tereslna.  Remember  your  Paolo  to  the  just 
and  upright  Thornton,  whom  you  love.  May 
God  bless  my  little  sister's  husband,  and  fill  hii 
heart  with  love  for  the  sweetest  of  children  I 

"Read  this  manuscript  carefully,  Teresnola 
nia  dolcissimft,  and  pray  for  the  souls  of  tho* 
unhappy  ones  who  perished  by  the  pestilenoe. 


brought  thb  same 


;e,  BIrs.  Thornton 


CHAPTER  XV, 

JOURNAL  OF  PAOLO  UNGHBTTI. 

Liverpool,  June  2,  184fi.-I  promised  you. 
my  leresma,  to  keep  a  diary  of  all  my  wanderl 

T')  «r  ^  .'^"'  "•"  '^^'^i-K  whether  it 
wdl  be  worth  reading  or  not,  but  knowing  this- 

hat  my  corelhna  will  read  it  all  with  equal  inl 
terest,  whether  it  be  trivial  or  important 
I  have  taken  passage  in  the^hip  Tecumseh 

rom  L.ve.jpool  to  Quebec.  I  hafe  embark^  in 
her  for  no  better  reason  than  this,  that,  she  is  ttie 
fi«t  that  W.U  sail  and  I  am  impatient.     M^, 

kIJwI.^V"^  "°'  '«*'«  <■»'  *  fortnight. 
A  fortnight  m  Liverpool  I    Hotror' 

^'^Jtu'*?  u  °°  .'^"■'^  '"  »«cure  my  room.     I 
am  told  that  there  is  a  large  number  of  emigrants 
It  19  a  pity,  but  It  can  not  be  helped.     All  shins 

Tw'^r'"*  T    ^"^'""'^ "  ^^e  evacuated 
There  will  soon  be  no  peasants  to  till  the  soil 

!r.LT''T""'*  '^**'y  ""'«'  ^  'n  that  most 
wretched  of  countries!  Is  Italy  worse  1-  Yes 
far  worse;  for  Italy  has  a  past  to  contmst  wwl 
the  pr^nt,  whereas  Ireland  has  no  past 
.t  T  •  uA/""*  *•— We  are  many  miles  out  in 
™n^l?'"r'-  '^^"'"^  «"*  Bix  hundred  em^ 
S^^nW^i.  ?'""'*~'",™L*°'°«"'  «««»  children.  I 
am  told  that  most  of  these  are  from  Ireland,  un- 
happy Ireland!  Some  are  from  England/Z 
a«  going  to  seek  their  fortune  in  Amfri«?-»  As 

look  on  them  I  think,  My  God!  what  taiselr 
there  is  in  this  world !  And  yet  what  c  m  Td^ 
l^^T^x  "n  }  -^helpless.  Let  the  world 
suffer.    All  will  be  right  hereafter 

Jm^  10.  — isix  hundred  passengers !  Thev  are 
f  crowded  together  in  a  mamier  that  is  frightfd 
to  me.  Comfort  is  out  of  the  question ;  theC 
istress  IS  every  where  prtsent ;  the  ,x,ir  wWch^ 
only  try  to  escape  suffering.  •  During  storms  tC 
jre  shut  m;  there  is  lUtle  ventiUtion ;  Tnd  the 
hoHDr  that  reigns  in  that  hold  will  not  let  me 

,tr  T-  T  "'•^Pl  I  '"'^«  remonstmted  US^ 
4e  captain,  but  without  eftect.  He  told  me  ^at 
he  could  do  nothing.     The  ownen,  of  the  shfp 

fw  f  Z  ^^'  *^  ''«  ^'^  ^-ployed  t^  wke 
a.em  to  their  proper  destination  V  G^- 
wh«t  will  become  of  them?  ' 

wiV'^'^'f'^^.'lfT  '^"  *  '*"'  ^"y^  of  fine 
on  deck.  Among  them  I  noticed  three  who. 
from  their  a,.pearance  belonged  to  a  differen 
«IM«.  There  was  a  lady  with  a  yonnR  man  and 
ffif  r^  ^^V^e™  evidentlj  he?  c^Hdren 
ne  lady  has  once  been  beautiful,  and  still  bears 
Je  uuces  of  that  beauty,  thouS  C  IS  S 
Mtw  the  extreme  of  sadness.     The  son  U  a  man 

*n7who^ihtet:;r.Ht» 
ctdt^odi'^BS:Kr'Khr'°^pr'^ 

nf  Artomi.  n.  ."  wrono-  She  reminds  me 
m  Tt;  I?"'  "  fl^*"'"  '»  her  inmost 

hSS^'^' '»  meet- wifh7ne  who  dS^ 
m  Jipret  my  ideas  with  so  divine  a  voice     But 

«»  one  IS  Holy  Agnes  or  Saint  Cecilia.  There 
^ha,  swce,  and  holy  face  the  same  depth  o7 
"^on  which  our  painter,  portmy  oil  the  face 


COBD  AND  CKEESE. 


65 

2st^?'!h«'"^K.  ™'  ^'^'^  '■'""5'y  «™«p  «"«d 

^tlf-    /  °"^  •  P'«««"gers,  separated  by  the 

fetrvt"'P*"°'"u'''^'''  f"'  'hey  are  iLni- 
testly  trom  among  the  upper  classes,  but  still 
more  so  by  the  solemn  isolation  of  grief  It  is 
touching  to  see  the  love  of  the  mofher  for  her 
chUdren,  and  the  love  of  the  children  for  thei 
mother.  How  can  I  satisfy  the  longings  w*ich 
I  feel  to  express  to  them  my  sympatic? 

T  hlT.^""^  ^"^^  • '  Jengthgained  my  desire. 
I  have  become  acquainted  with  that  lit^  group 
I  went  up  to  them  this  moming  in  otedie^e  to 
a  resistless  impulse,  tod  with  Ihe  most  tend« 
sympathy  that  I  could  express;  and,  wi  h  ^nv 

rfctf  "^,?*  yT«  '"'^  »  b<;ttle  of^n^ 
for  hi^mother.  He  took  it  gratefully  and  frank- 
\y.  He  met  me  half-way  in  my  advances.  The 
poor  lady  looked  at  me  with  speechless  gratitude 

rmrie""^"^'^'  "^-  /our'synlp^tjS 

rewlI^L^r^'"  '?'**  ^'  "^  ^'^  °°  »fher 
reward  than  the  consciousness  that  I  may  have 
alleviated  your  distress  "  "i^y  iu*»e 

A^}'^  ^'^  %^\^  P*^''  Clotures.  Cast 
ofT^^Ttf!  '•'^  ^^"^  '"."^'  ^"'^  °-««  been  one 
tlh^J'  }^^  ''*"^  """^ '°  *e  foulest  of  phices, 
the  hold  of  an  emigrant  ship.  I  went  b^k  to 
the  captairj  to  see  if  I  could  not  do  sometS  n 

hT;!,  ^  ^^  '  """^^  "^^  ^  if^  wished,  but 
h»L  i!!!  T  "°,I°*"°  ^"^  '"  the  cabin.     Had 

there  been  I  would  have  hired  one  and  insisted 

on  their  going  there. 

»/^Il[?"'/,°  ^l^^  '^y-  *"^  ™^e  this  proposal 
as  dehcately  as  I  could.  There  were  two  b^hs 
n  my  room.     I  urged  her  and  her  daughter  to 

tie  so  put  off.     To  the  mother  I  portrayed  the 

to  rT  " V*""  ^"«''''''  *"  '•"''  de^  orhon^rt 
to  the  daughter  I  pointed  out  the  condition  of  the 

Z  h!!: '  '^  *•*'  ■""  '  S''"^'^  'he  position  of  his 
moUier  and  sister,  and  thus  I  worked  upon  the 
holiest  feehngs  of  their  hearts.     For  mvsdf  I  m- 

d^r«„  «  '•";«««"«.  and  that  I  prefentid 
doing  so.     By  such  means  as  these  I  moved  them 

LXm""-  'i?«y«^'dsowi,hanexpresriono7 
thankfulness  that  brought  tears  to  my  eyes. 

h»»rr^  Madame,"  said  I,  "you  wiU  bi«ak  my 
te^H  *""'.!?•  Take  the  room  and  say  mS^ 
thing.  I  have  been  a  wanderer  for  years,  and 
can  live  any  where."  '       ' 

r  txJ'^  "*"  '•"  "•*"  ife"  ^  '"""^  ""t  their  mimes, 
in^il  -T  ""'"'•  »  ^'y  '°«^  at  one  another 
in  astonishment.     "  Langhetti  ?"8aid  the  mother. 

II  Did  yon  ever  live  in  Holby ?" 

Chn^h\„^?  ^"'^^^  *'^  "'«"°*«t  ™  Trinity 
Church,  and  1  and  my  sister  Uved  there  some 
years.     Mie  lives  there  still." 


^|fr^^ '^  fier  ejaisnfetlon. 
Why?     1 1  asked,    with    eager    curiosity. 


"Wh«.  J      *  I  ""V™-   ,""»    eager    curiosity. 

L^ettir^i  "'''*'^'  '^'^  •'*"' 

"r"«iT*r^  r  """  .***  '•»'«"""  earnestness. 
chLC^f  '•  ^f™  ""  ''"■'^  "«*  these  are  the 
children  of  one  who  was  your  fathers  friend.  He 
I^mIT  ""y  h""hand,  and  the  father  of  thM. 
chUdnm,  was  llalph  Brandon,  of  Bmndon  vS^' 


t. 


6« 


COBD^KD  CREESE. 


I  stood  for  a  moment  stupefied.  Then  I  borst 
into  tears,  llien  I  embraced  them  all,  and  said 
I  know  not  what  of  pity  and  sympathy  and  affec- 
tion. My  God !  to  think  of  such  a  fate  as  this 
awaiting  the  family  of  Kalph  Brandon.  Did  you 
know  this,  oh,  Teresina?  If  so,  why  did  you 
keep  it  secret?  But  no — you  could  not  have 
known  it.  If  you  had  this  woi\Jd  n9t  have  hap- 
]iened. 

They  took  my  room  in  the  cabin — the  dear 
ones — Mrs.  Brandon  and  the  sweet  Edith.  The 
son  Frank  and  I  stay  together  among  the  emi- 
grants. Here  I  am  now,  and  I  write  this  as*  the 
sun  is  getting  low,  and  the  uproar  of  all 'these 
hundreds  is  sounding  in  my  ears. 

June  30. — There  is  a  panic  in  the  ship.  The 
dread  pestilence  known  as  "ship-fever"  has  ap- 
peared. This  disease  is  the  terror  of  emigrant 
ships.  Surely  there  was  never  any  vessel  so 
well  adapted  to  be  the  prey  of  the  pestilence  as 
tBis  of  ours  I-  I  have  lived  for  ten  days  atnong 
the  steerage  passengers,  and  have  witnessed  their 
misery.  Is  God  just  ?  Can  he  look  down  un- 
moved upon  scenes-  like  these  ?  Now  that  the 
disease  has  come,  where  will  it  stop  ? 

July.S.  — The  disease  is  spreading.  Fifteen  are 
prostrate.    Three  have  died.         }    - 

July  10. — ^Thirty  •  deaths  have  occurred,  and 
fifty  are  sick.     I  am:assisting  to  durse  them. 

July  1.5. — Thirty-four  deaths  since  my  Ust. 
One  hundred  and  thirty  are  sick.  I  will  labor 
here  if  I  have  to  die  for  it. 

<Juhf  18. — If  this  is  my  last  entry  let  this 
dtory^be  sent  to  Mrs.  Thornton,  care  of  Will- 
iiim  Thornton,  Holby,  Pembroke,  England — 
(ihe  above  entry  was  written  in  English,  the  re- 
mainder was  ail  in  Italian,  as  before).  More 
tluin  two  hundred  are  sicL  Frank  Brandon  is 
down.  I  am  afraid  to  let  his  mother  know  it. 
I  am  working  night  and  day.  -  In  three  days 
there  have  been  forty-seven  deaths.  The  crew 
are  demoralized  and  panic-stricken. 

July2Z. — i;hall  I  survive  these  horrors  ?  More 
than  fifty  new  deaths  have  occurred.  The  dis- 
ease has  spread  omonjj;  the  sailors.  Two  are 
dead,  and  seven  are  tick.  Horror  prevail^ 
Frank  Brandon  is  recovering  slowly.  M^. 
Brandon  does  not  know  that  he  has  been  sick. 
We  send  word  that  we  are  ftfiraid  to  come  for 
fear  of  communicating  the  disease  to  her  and  to 
Edith. 

July  27. — More  than  half  of  the  sailors  are 
sick.  Eleven  dead.  Sixty-Seven  passengers 
dead  since  last  report.  Frank  Brandon  almost 
well,  and  helping  me  in  my  work. 

July  30. — Nearly  all  the  sailors  more  or  less 
sick — five  now  deaths  among  them.  Ship  almost 
unmanageable.  In  the  Gulf  of  St.  Lawrence. 
Talk  of  putting  into  some  port.  Seventy  passen- 
gers dead. 

Augutt  2. — Worse  yet.  Disease  has  spread 
into  Uie  cabin.  Three  cabin  passengers  dead. 
God  have  mercy  upon  poor  Mrs.  Brandon  and 
sweet  Edith !  All  the  steerage  passengers,  with 
a  few  excejhions,  prostrate.  Frank  Brandon  is 
vtulk  but  hdpa  m«.  I  worii  ftight  sttd  ihf. '-  The- 
ship  is  like  a  floating  pest-house.  Forty  new 
deaths  since  last  report. 

August  7. — Drifting  along,  I  know  not  how,  up 
the  St.  Lawrence.  The  weather  calm,  and  two  or 
three  sailors  able  to  manage  the  ship.  (Captain 
Hid  mote  both  dead.    Ten  cabin  paMcngen 


dead.  Three  more  sailors  dead.  Only  thirty- 
two  steerage  passengera  dead  since  Ipt  report, 
but  nearly  all  are  sick.  Hardly  an/^one  to  at- 
tend to  them. 

■  August  10. — Mrs.  Brandon  and  Edith  both 
sick.  Frank  prostrate  again.  God  in  heaven, 
have  mercy! 

August  15. — Mrs.  Brandon  and  Edith  very 
low.     Frank  better. 

August  16. — Quarantine  Station,  Gosse  Isl- 
and. I  feel  thor  fever  in  my  veins.  If  I  die, 
farewell,  sweetest:sister. 

December  28,  JEfaUjax,  Nova  Scotia. — More 
than  four  months  have  elapsed  since  my  last  en- 
try, and  during  the  interval  marvelous  tliiiijn 
have  occurred.  These  I  will  now  tiy  to  recall  as 
I  best  can. 

My  last  entry  was  made  on  the  day  of  the  ar- 
rival of  the  Tecumseh  at  the  Quarantmo  Station, 
Gosse  Island,  Quebec.  We  were  delayed  there  - 
for  two  days.  Every  thing  was  in  confusion,  A 
large  number  of  ships  had  arrived,  and  nil  wers 
filled  with  sick.  The  authorities  were  taken  by 
surprise ;  ond  as  no  arrangements  had  ever  been 
made  for  such  a  state  o(  things  the  sufi'ering  wns 
extreme.  The  aitiVal  df  the  Tecumseh  with  her 
frightful-  record  of  deaths,  and  with  sevenil  hun- 
dred sick  stjll  on  board,  completed  the  confusion. 
At  last  the  passengers  were  removed  somehow, 
I  know  not  how  or  when,  for  I  myself  on  the 
evening  of  our  arrival  was  struck  down  by  the 
fever.  I  suppose  that  Frank  Brandon  may  have 
nursed  me  at  first ;  but  of  that  I  am  not  sure. 
There  was  fearful  disorder.  There  wpre  few 
nurses  and  fewer  doctors ;  and  as  fast  as  the 
sick  died  they  were  hurried  hastily  into  sliollovr 
graves  in  the  sand.  I  was  sick  for  two  or  three 
weeks,  and  knew  nothing  of  what  was  going  on. 
Tlie  first:  thing  that  I  saw  on  coming  to  my  senses 
was  Edith  Brandon. 

She  was  fearfully  changed.  Unutterable  grief 
dwelt  upon  her  sweet  young  face,  which  also  was 
pale  and  wan  from  the  sickness  through  which 
she  bad  passed.  An  awful  feeling  shot  tiirough 
me.  My  first  question  was,  "Is  your  mother 
on  shore  ?"  .    .   ■ 

She  looked,  at  me  for  a  moment  in  solenftn  si- 
lence, and,  slowly  raising  her  hand,  pointed  up- 
ward. 

"  Your  brother  ?"  I  gasped. 

She  turned  her  head  away.  I  was  silent, 
Thev  were  dead,  then.  O  God !  and  this  child 
— what  had  she  not  been  suflTering  ?  My  mhid 
at  once,  in  its  agony  of  sympathy  with  her,  burst 
through  the  clcitids  which  sickness  hod  thrown 
around  it.  "  Poor  child  1"  I  said-  "And  why 
are  you  here  ?" 

"  Where  else  can  I  go  ?"  she  answersd,  monin- 
fuUy. 

"At  least,  yon  shonld  iiot  Vear  yourself  oat 
by  my  bedside." 

"Yon  are  the  only  one  left  whom  t  know,  I 
owe  yon  far  more  than  the  small  attendance 
which  I  have  given  yon." 

"  But  will  yon  not  take  some  rest  ?" 

Wair^ar  yon  weiaromw.    ¥«f^ 


are  too  weak  now  to  think  of  these  thmge." 

She  laid  her  thin  hand  oh  my  forehead  gently. 
I  turned  my  head  away,  and  burst  into  a  flood 
of  tears.  Why  was  it  that  this  child  was  caUed 
npon  to  endure  such  agony?  Why,  in  the  midii 
of  that  /tgony,  did  she  come  to  me  to  save  my  lift  ? 


oswerad,  mourn- 
ear  yourself  out 


bnt  the  next  day  I  was  stronger,  and  madeher 
go  and  repose  herself.  "^"^ 

For  two  successive  days  .she  cam*  back  On 
.he  third  day  she  did  not  appear.  Kou^ 
day  also  she  was  absent  Ru&^urses  attS 
to  me^  They  knew  nothing  of  her.  My  mSv 
inspired  me  with  such  eneixy  that  on  tLe^o^^ 

AH  W  «iU  confusion.     Thousands  of  sick 
were  on  the  .sknd.     The  mistake  of  the  first 
week  had  not  yet  been  repaired.     No  one  knew 
any  thmg  of  Edith.    I  sought  her  through  all  the 
wards.     I  went  to  the  superintendent,  and  forced 
.KyrnV"'''^'" ''•"•"''-•     Nooneil 
My  despair  *as  terrible.     I  forced  the  «i.n«r. 
mtendent  to  caU  up  aU  the  na^^  and  dS 
and  question  .them  aU,  one  by  one.     At  K 
old  Insh  woman,  with  an  awfil  look  at  me  hin? 
ed  that  she  could  teU  something^*    her  ^d 
»h«pered  I  word  or  t#o  in  the  superintendent's 

•.on.    J    iV     Tel^  »n  God's  name !" 
m  dead-house, "ihe"lnurmured. 
Where  is  it?    Take  me  there!"  I  cried  to 
J,e  woman.    I  clutched  her  arm  and  st^r^" 

•  -ri'i"*!  %^°'^'  '*"'  ^''ed,  open  on  all  side^ 
row  was  tdith.    She  waa.  more  beautiful  than 

When  I  revived  I  wasjying  in  one  of  the  sirk 
s  eds,  wKh  a  crowd  of  s^ff^^ers  &  '^e  f 
had  only  one  thought,  and  that  was  E<mh'  t 
n^ at  once,  weak  and  trembling,  b"  tSS'olve 
of  my  soul  gav,  strength  to  my  tody.  A^^wf^ 
feariad  taken  possession  of  Jje,  which  w.^  ac^l 
com,mn.ed  by  a  certain  wild  hopT^  I  hj^el'  ' 
«..h  staggering  feet,  to  the  dead-house  ^ 

._^A11  the  bodies  were  gone.    Kew  ones  had  come 

"  Where  is  she  ?"  I  cried  to  the  old  woman  who 

-Ba:'^:Liks?'"^^'""''-^-^ 

I  burst  out  into  a  torrent  of  iranrecation« 
wt«.'C^ni.tr«J'2'«-°r «"'«»  '0  the 


CORD  AND  CREESE, 


67 


,    —   — ..w,  uo  i  iiujiiF  fi  pieco  oi 

woman.  She  grasped  it  eagerly.   "  Brine  a  sDadT 

How  did  I  have  such  a  mad  fancy?    lwni;iM 
I  ,  rou.    This  ship-fever  of  enTeStes  K'«S 
of  .tapor,  in  which  death  genemUy  takw  d1«™ 
i;om.t,mes,  however,  the  patient  who  hw  Mhn 

Ihiii  I  IrnlJ,  'r^"«2"-     ^ "«»«  'WO  revived.    By 
0^  1     *"*  ""'^'"f  tho«>  who  were  throw^ 

«  jou  died  by  the  fever  or  by  the  s^r  j 

•■       .1 


But  when  I  saw  Edith  as  she  lay  tbere  mv  soul 
feibTeTny!^'  '"'%'"'*  »•«  '»««^  ^^iS- 
IWore  Tt^Ll '  ^:  overwtieimed  m^ 

aftertw^'''iri7.«=ri«l.  »«  I  hurried  on 
There!  m^?'  T^fh''"?^  "'V'l"^ '»  «°>«-" 
wasth;rerairhad'^^'^ftr'"'««'-'^-     '' 

I  r^^r^J^^'^l^J^;^  '''-*  •'o-  before 
'Twenty-four  hours." 
"And  when  did  I  feint?"         "      " 
"Yesterday." 

A  pnng  shot  through  me.  "  TeU  me  "  T  ..ri-^ 
hoarsely,  "when  she  was  buried"        '  ^ 

V    "Last  night."  ; 

"O  God!"  I  gntaned,  and  I  conld  mv  «« 

Cu-f^'tT^VrThrr---^^^^ 

£fi::pherwrron"^oi%S"?ythl 

IZ"     mZ  ""T.  l^  *  thousand  m7„n5^ 

asked^tSSgJ."'"'"'  ^"^  '^^  "^^  b«'?"  I 
"Yes,"  said  the  woman,  confidently. 
Hope  returned  faintly.     She  led  the  way. 

nver  m^irmured  solemnly  along  the  ^o^      ah 

.Kr  ^t-r  ""hei^*^  i«  s:  tXesslf 

tnat  hour.  -Ihe  moon  seemed  enlarged  to  thn 
dimensions  of  a  sky;  the  murmur  of  "he  river 
«,unded  hke  a  c^tamct,  and  in  the  y^t  mui^^ 
1  heard  voices  which  seemed  then  like  theS 
ofthed^A  But  the  lustre  of  that  4Zemt^ 
glow,  and  the  booming  concord  of  fanci^Sln^ 
voices  were  aU  contemned  as  trifles  I  car^fil 
nothing  either  natund  or  supernatural.  On^f  one 
bought  was  present-the^tece  where  SwL 

We  reached  it  at  last.  At  the  end  «f  a  row 
of  graves  we  stopped.  "Here,"  said  the  Von^Z 
"are  twelve  graves.  These  «^rem«leLtniX' 
These  are  those  twelve  which  you  saw  ''       ^ 

wh£;::thSS?t:zy^''"«-- 
i'^^^t^Twu/trip&sa 

Ia;i™!!:"'"'""'"'^*^«°»«-hoburiedher.    ^^ 
i.ii  "^'^  ""*  *P'"'«  ""^  "»">«»  np  the  soil      T 

ponoa.     1  had  thrown  out  much  pjirth  k„»  i,  j 
not  yet  reached  herf     I  fe  "^y  fi^  J»LM 


'|md  TBank  down  jiisti;^-- ^/--«^-^^ 
thing  which  gave  back  a  hollow  sound 
My  knees  gave  w^und  I  sank  down      Rii»  T 

rdSrsftoa-^^^^"^^ 

"Come,  Sir,"  «ud  th,  woman,  mddenly,  fa 


I: 


68 


CORD  AND  CREESE. 


I  TOQK  UEB  IN  MT  ABM8   AND  BBOUOUT^BB  FOBTH  FBOM  THE  a;tAV£,"  ETC. 


lier  strong  voice, -yet  pityingly.  '♦  Yori  can  do  no- 
thing.    I  will  dig  her  out  ina  minnte." 

"  God  forever  bless  you !"  I  cried,  leaping  out 
and  giving  place  to  her.  I  watched  her  as  she 
threw  out  the  earth.  Hungrily  I  gazed,  devour- 
ing that  durk  aperture  with  my  eyes  till  at  last  the 
rough  boards  appeared. 

Then  I  leaped  down.  I  put  my  fingers  at  the 
edge  "ind  tore  at  it  till  it  gave  way.  TIm  lid  was 
only  fastened  with  a  few  nails.  My  bleeding 
fingfts  clutched  it.  It  yielded  to  my  frantic  ex- 
eitions. 

O  my  God !  was  there  eve^  a  sight  on  earth 
like  that  tthicb  now  met  my  eyes  as  I  raised  the 
lid  and  loiiked  below  ?  The  moon,  which  was 
high  in  the  sky,  streamed  down  directly  into  the 
narrow  coll.  It  showed  me  the  one  frhom  I 
sought.  Its  bright  beams  threw  a  Instre  round 
that  face  which  was  upturned  toward  me.  Ah 
me !  how  white  was  that  fa«e ;  like  the  face  of 
nsomtNteepinginnidon  carved  in  alabaster.  Bathed 
in  the  nt^nbeams  it  lay  before  me,  all  softened 
and  r\;fi])ed  and  made  pure ;  a  face  of  unearthly 
beauty.  The  dyrk  hair  caught  the  moon's  rays, 
•n4  encircled  the  head  like  a  crown  of  immortal- 
ity/. Still  the  eyes  were  cloted  as  though  in 
■l^ber ;  still  the  lips  were  fixed  into  a  smile. 


She  lay  as  one  who  had  fallen  into  a  deep,  sweet 
sleep — as  one  who  in  that  sleep  has  dreams,  in 
which  are  visions  of  m«re  than  earthly  beautr, 
and  scenes  of  more  than  mortal  happiness. 

Now  it  was  with  me  as  though  at  that  uii- 
equaled  vision  I  had  drawn  into  my  inmost  being 
some  sudden  stimulus — a  certain  rapture  of  new- 
bom  strengjth ;  strength  no  longer  fitful  and  spas- 
modic, biit  firm,  well  fortified  and  well  sustained. 

I  took  her  in  my  arms  and  brought  her  fonh 
from  the  grave  into  the  life  of  earth. 

Ah  me  I  how  light  a  thing  was -that  frail  and 
slender  figure  which  had  been  worn  down  by  the 
nnparalleled  Buffering  through  which  she  bad 
passed.  TUs  thought  transfixed  me  «ith  a  pang 
of  angiiifliAven  awed  the  rapture  that  I  ^t  at 
clasping  her  in  my  arms. 

But  now  that  I  had  her,  where  was  I  to  seek 
for  a  place  of  shelter  ?  I  turned  to  the  woman 
and  asked :  "  Is 'there  any  secluded  place  where 
Bfie  may  sleep  undisturbed  till  she  wakes—" 

"  No :  there  is  none  but  Vhat  is  crowded  with 
the  sick  and  dying  in  all  this  island." 

"  I  must  have  some  place." 

"  There  is  only  one  spot  that  is  quiet" 

"What  oner 

"The  dead-house." 


■■7SSK' 

■  r 


CORD  AND  CKEESE. 


"^^^  i.*^  "J"^  y°"  *'"'''  ''»^e  still  more." 

Well,  she  said,  hesitatingly,  "I  have  the 
rbom  where  me  end  my  man  live,  l  suppose  we, 
could  give  up  that."  '       I'l'*"^  "«" 

"Take  me  there,  then." 

"Shall  I  help  you  carry  her?" 
r-)".?"/  '  ?"'"'«.'^.  drawing  back  i«y  pure 
Edith  from  her  outstretched  hands    '"No    I 
will  carry 'her."  ■    ■"">  ^ 

The  woman  went  on  without  a  word.  She  led 
.he  way  back  to  the  low  and  dismal  shedrf  wh  ch 
Uy  there  bke  a  vast  charnel-house,  and  thence  to 
a  low  hut  some  distance  away  from  aU,  where 
•be  opened  a  door.  She  spoke  a  few  wo;d8  to^ 
^  awn,  who  finally  withdrew.   A  light  was  buminR 

f  <Sed? . """  "*™  ^  ^'^ '''«  ""^  '*''>«"' 

•     J' Come  here,"  said  I,  "three  times  a  day.    I 
will  pay  you  well  for  this. "  ' 

The  woman  left  AU  night  long  I  watched, 
^he  lay  unmoved^nd  unchanged.  Where  wa^ 
herspmt  wandering?  Soared  it  among  theTplI^ 

,r,nlM„T  «V-«*»^".°'W  ?  Linger^  it  aiS idst 
^  smwhine  of  heavenly  glory  ?  Did  her  seraphic 

r^hT?'^'^'  t*""  P*^"  '"  »'«'  «*«embhig?  of 
Aeholy?  Was  she.  straying  amidst  the  track- 
less patlis  of  ether  with  those  whom  she  1^ 

'"'rf.  "••  Hf"'.""'*  "^'^  ^•^  8°"«  before  ? 

All  night  long  I  watched  her  as  she  lay  with 
her  marble  face  and  her  changeless  smUe.  There 
seemed  to  be  communicated  to  me  an  influence 
fim  her  which  opened  the  eyes  of  my  sSS 

ZVrZ  ™^  'P'"'  '^?8'''  ^  f°««  itself  upon 
hwfer-off  perceptions,  that  so  it  might  catch  her 
BOdw  and  bring  her  back  to  earth 

■n*moming  dawned.     There  was  no  change 
Mid-day  came,  and  stiU  there  was  no  chan.T'^i 

h^  ^^1^TK"  ***'  •"!*  '^«  ^-PerintendenTiiad 
heard  about  the  grave  being  opened,  and  found 

K  t5.  ""'•  "S  '""^  '»  induce'me  toTve 
the  h^r^r  ^Jif  !''•'  ""^  '^''"'»  I  had  rescu^. 
Ihe  horror  of  that  request  was  so  tremendous 

f^f  IST^  r  '"'"  passionless  calm,  men 
I  iBft^ed  he  threatened.  At  his  menace  I  re^ 
jomed  in  such  language  that  he  tumed^e 

'Murderer !"  saw  I,  sternly,  "  is  it  no?enough 
tl»t  you  have  senllto  the  g^ve  many  wretches 

.1&.r  ^^,  ^  Do  youseek  JZTh^ 
to  death  this  single  one  whom  I  tave  rosc.^? 
»»you  want  all  Canada  ^nd  all  the  worldS 
with  the  account  of  th«  horrore  done  here  where 
we  are  buried  alive?  i-ee,  she  is  n^J  dS 
^X^f  Sleeping.    And  yet  you  put  hefTn 

Mff^';  and  she  must  be  buried. "     -.  .    , 


"Back  again"— she  murmured,  in  a  scart* 
*^f;*'«7««-"  among  men,  iid 'to  earth  "^ 
fmm^/  AeRealm  of  Light,  must  I  be  severed 
from  your  lofty  ctoromunion !" 

felfVlt  "^^"-^^"^  the  anguish  which  I  had 
felt  at  the  grave  was  renewed.  "You  have 
brought  me  back,"  said  she,  moumfullj.  ^ 

JNo,   Iretumed,  sadlv— "noti     It  was  nnf 
Gods  wiU  that  you  shoiUd  leave  this  lifr  He 

^nd  H^"!'^^"'  "^  r"-  You  were  J^eping' 
and  I  brought  you  to  this  place."  ^' 

"  I  he^Il?'Ilf!;i!-l'''  """?'?'«<''  rfosing  her  eyd.  ^'i 

1  heard  all  while  my  spirit  was  away.    I  know 
where  you  found  me.''  ^     i  Know 

Jl '  ,«™r«*!y'"  «he  said,  after  a  silence.  Her 
h^«i"**ll*"?-  ^".' 'his  time  the  tmnce  wL 
broken.     She  slept  with  long,  deep  breathing 

uiS'^.'^r  '■■^T'  "«•"  ^  watcTeli  hf; 

Uirough  the  long  night.     At  flret  fever  came. 

raViS^Tr^  He-- «le«P  became  calm™ 
she  slumbered  like  a  weary  child  ■ 

fnlS'K  '•'•'  ^''^''^  ""^  superintendent  came, 
foUowwi  by  a  dozen  armed  men.     He  entered 

to  Iwsh  him,  and  led  him  gently  to  the  bedside 
h»v»  1^  ^  whispered—"  but  for  me  she  would 
have  been  bubied  alive  1" 

T^e  man  seemed  frozen  into  dumbness.  He 
stood  ghastly  white  with  horror,  thick  drops  stari^ 
ed  from  his  forehead,  his  teeth  chattered,  he  stajt- 
gered  away.  He  looked  «  me  with  a'haunt^ 
tace,  such  as  belongs  to  o^e  who  thinks  he  has 
seen  a  spirit. 

rJt'*"'  Ti"  •"*  *^"'"^5  "«'o  not  ruin  me. 
Ood  knows  I  have  tried  to  do  my  best !" 

tliinrtr?''^"*^    "Leave  me:     You  have  no-' 
riling  to  f«ir."    He  turned  away.with  his  white 
face  and  departed  in  silence  with  his  men. 

After  a  long  sleep  Edith  waked  again.     She 
said  nothing.     I  did  not  wish  her  to  s^k     Shi 

te„thf '•  ^^5  '"**  ''^'^^  «y<*>  *i"^ng  such 
thoughts  as  belong  to  one,  and  to  one  alone,  who 

had  known  what  she  had  known. 
I  dW  not  speak  to  her,  for  she  was  to  me  a        ^ 

aid  not  refuse  nounshment,  and  grew  stronirer 
ITlf  ^^  ""^  ""«  to  have  her  movTto 
if^^ff'  i.^®"^  ^  obtained  proper  accommoda- 
tions for  her  and  good  nurees. 
^1.^''^  told  you  what  she  was  before  this. 
Subsequently  there  canje  a  change.  The  nuraes 
and  the  doctors  caUed  it  a  stupor. 

There  was  something  in  her  face  which  in- 
«^l?ff'"^*  among  aU  who  saw  her.  If  it  is  the 
sottl  of  man  that  gives  expression  to  the  features, 
then  her  soul  must  have  been  familiar  with  thinm 
unknown  tn  no      ii„...  ^r. ■_         »  "uugo 


to  the  gi^ve  except  ove?  my  co^,tnS  o"?Z  ZZZ't  "'"t".  '•'""«''  «'"'  ^^w  notS, 
«)'pse  of  the  flmt  munieior  2«  ZL  to    avCalf  r?,^  «be  walked  in  a  dream,   with  eyS 

hinds  on  het,^' ™^  ^  '*?  I  na'f  closefl,  and  sometimes,  raiirmurinir  inandi 

words.     The  nursm.  h«lf  l«v»j  »„j  u.ir  ,. 


"4" '"  S  ^;j7h«^"ith<«e  Who  w«re  with 
TJl      ,Ane  nwn  is  mad,"  thei>  said. 

writa     M^""*.'"  P*"'*-     I  KTOW  excited  as  I 
m£,  .^^^•T' "^"l'"'*'-    I^tmebeealm 

Ef^     .  '??'*^  ••*"■  "y^*  suddenly  and 

looked  full  at  me  with  an  earnest  and  steiul&gt 


■  ''$»"■ 


Mk. 


.»*,.i,jt...' 


nor.  Yet  there^  were  some  little  children  in  the 
house  Wlio  felt^all  love  and  no  fear,  for  I  have 
seen  her  gm^ng  on  them  with  a  smile  so  swtet 

wh«,  1  "i;'^!""  '^K^'-  '^'"">8«.  «d  spirit, 
what  thonglus,  what  memories  are  these  which 

make  her  hfe  one  long  reverie,  and  haTe  taken 

.     1  -^f 


\ 


70 


■^■^1 


4^^ 


CORD  AND  6bEESE. 


from  her  all  pc^e^^  to  eiQoy  the  beautiful  that 
dwells  on  earth|^ 
She  fills  allftaydiou^hts  with  her  lon^pess^ 


her  tears,  iini 
marks-ofsc^ni 
lives  and  mo^' 
is  it  that  66  ovei 
face  of  hers 


to  her  seen 
it  is  a  pregnantVj 
is  no  time  then 
soul  has  illimitaf 


^Spiritual  fface,  bearing  the 
I  am  never  be  forgotten.  She 
iidst  her  recollection^.  What 
as  all  her  thoughts  ?  That 
Caa  though  it  had  bathed  it- 
self in  the  atmosphereHif  some  diviner  world  than 
this;  and  her  eyes  seto  as  if  they  may  have 
gazed  upon  the  Infinite  Mystery. 

Now  from  the  few  words  which  she  has  casual- 
ly dropped  I  gather  this  to  be  her  own  belief. 
That  when  she  fell  into  the  state  of  trance  her 
soul  w«^  parted  from  her  body,  though  ptiU  by  an 
inexplicable  sympathy  she  was  aware  of  what  was 
passing  around  her  lifeles^  form.  Yet  her  sonl 
had  gone  forth  into  that  Spiritual  world  toward 
which  we  look  from  this  earth  with  such  eager 
wonder.  It  hod  mingled  there  wi|h  the  souls  of 
others.  It  had  put  forth  new  powers,  and  learned 
the  use  of  new  faculties.  Then  th&t  soul  was 
called  back  to  its  body. 

This  maiden — this  wonder  among  mortals — is 
not  a  mortal,  she  is  an  exiled  soul.  I  have  seen 
her  sit  with  tears  streaming  down  her  face,  tears 
such  as  men  shed  in  exile.  For  she  is  like  a 
banished  man  who  has  otUy  one  feeling,  a  long- 
ing, yearning  homesickness.  She  has  been  once 
in  tlfat  radiant  world  for  a  time  which  we  call 
three  days  in  our  human  calculations,  but  which 
Inite;  for  as  she  once  said — and 
[lougfat,  full  of  meaning — there 
^all  is  infinite  duration.  The 
powers ;  in  an  instant  it  can 
live  years,  and  she  in  those  three  da^-s  had  the 
life  of  ages.  Her  former  life  on  earih  has  now 
but  a  fiiint  hold  upon  her  memory  in  comparison 
with 'that  life  among  the  stars.  The  sorrow  that 
her  loved  ones  endured  has  become  eclipsed  by 
the  knowledge  of  the  blessedness  in  which  she 
found  them.      '' 

Alas !  it  is  a  blessing  to  die,  and  it  is  only  a 
curse  to  rise  from  the  dead.  And  now  she  en- 
dures this  exile  with  an  aching  heart,  >vith  memo- 
ries that  are  irrepressible,  with  longings  unutter- 
able, and  yearnings  that  can  not  be  expressed  for 
that  starry  world  and  that  bright  companionship 
from  which  she  has  been  recaUed.  So  she  som^ 
times  speaks.  And  Uttle  els^  can  she  say  amidst 
her  tears.  Oh,  sublime  and  mysterious  exile, 
could  I  but  know  what  yon  know,  and  have  but 
a  small  part  of  that  secret  which  yon  can  not  ex- 
plain ! 

For  she  can  not  tell  what  she  witnessed  there. 
She  sometimes  wishes  to  do  so,  but  can  not. 
When  asked  directly,  she  sinks  into  herself  and 
is  lost  in  thought.  She  finds  no  words.  It  is 
as  when  we  try  to  explain  to  a  njan  who  has 
been  always  blind  theJwenes  before  our  eyes. 
We  can  not  explain  them  to  such  a  man.  And 
so  with  her.  She  finds  in  her  memoir  things 
which  no  human  language  has  been  made  to  ex- 
press. These  languages  were  made  for  the  earth, 
jiot£>r. heaven.  In  aider  ta^ell  me  what  she 
knows,  she  would  need  the  langimge  of  that 
world,  and  then  she  could  not  expi^  it,  for  I 
could  not  understand  it 

Only  once  I  saw  her  smile,  and  that  was  when 
one  of  the  nurses  casually  mentioned,  with  hor- 
ror, the  death  of  some  acquaintance.  '  *  Death ! " 
she  monnured,  and  her  eyes  lij^ted  iq>  with  a 


kind  of  ecstasy.  "  Oh,  that  I  might  die  1"  She 
knows  no  blessing  on  earth  except  that  which 
we  consider  a  curse,  and  to  her  the  object  of  all 
her  wishes  is  this  one  thing — Death.  I  shall 
not  soon  forgot  that  smile.  It  seemed  of  itself 
to  give  a  new  meaning  to  death. 

Do  I  believe  this,  so  wild  a  theory,  the  very 
mention  of  which  has  carried  me  beyond  myself? 
I  do  not  know.  All  my  reason  rebels.  It  scouts 
the  monstrous  idea.  But  here  she  stands  before 
me,  with  her  memories  and  thoughts,  and  her 
wonderful  wbrds,  few,  but  full  of  deepest  meaning 
— words  which  I  shall  never  fot;get — and  I  rec- 
ognize something  before  which  Keason  falters. 
Wl^ence  this  deep  longing  of  hers?  Why  when 
tehej  thinks  of  death  does  her  face  grow  thus  n- 
diaht,  and  her  eyes  kindle  with  hope?  AVhy 
does  she  so  pine  and  grow  sick  with  desire? 
Why  does  her  heart  thus  ache  as  ddy  succeeds  to 
day,  and  she  finds  hevself  still  under  the  sun- 
light, with  the  landscapes  and  the  music  of  this* 
fair  earth  still  arotmd  her  ? 

Once,  in  some  speculations  of  mine,  which  I 
think  I  mentioned  to  you,  Teresina,  I  thought 
that  if  a  man  could  reach  that  spiritual  world  he 
would  look  witfi  contempt  upon  the  highest 
charms  that  belong  to  this.  Here  is  one  who 
believes  that  she  has  gone  through  this  expe- 
rience, and  all  this  earth,  With  all  its  beauty,  is 
now  an  object  of  indifference  to  her.  Perhaps 
you  may  ask,  Is  she  sane  ?  Yes,  dear,  as  sane 
as  I  am,  but  with  a  profounder  experience  and  a 
diviner  knowledge. 

After  I  had  been  in  Quebec  about  a  month  I 
learned  that  one  of  the  regiments  stationed  here 
was  commanded  by  Colonel  Henry  Despard.  I  * 
called  on  him,  and  he  received  me  with  nn- 
bounded  delight.  He  'made  me  tell  him  all 
about  myself,  and  I  imparted  to  him  as  milch  of 
the  events  of  the  voyage  and  quarantine  as  n^ 
adnsable.  I  did  not  go  into  particulnrs  to  any< 
extent,  of  course.  I  mentioned  nothing  about 
the  grave.  That,  dearest  sister,  is  a  secret  be- 
tween you,  and^nie,  and  her.  For  if  it  should 
be  possible  that  1^  should  ever  be  restored  to 
ordinary  human'  sympathy  and  feeling,  it  n-ill 
not  be  well  that  all  the  world  should  know  what 
has  happened  to  her. 

His  regiment  was  ordered  to  Halifax,  and  I 
concluded  to  comply  with  his  urgent  solicitations 
and  accompany  him.  It  is  better  for  her  at  any 
rate  that  there  should  be  more  friends  than  one 
to  protect  her.  Despard,  like  the  doctors,  sup- 
poses that  she  is  In  a  stupor. 

-The  journey  here  exercised  a  favorable  influ- 
ence over  her.  Her  strength  increased  to  a 
marked  degree,  and  she  has  once  or  twice  spok- 
en about  the  past.  She  told  me  that  her  father 
wrote  to  his  son  Louis  in  Australia  some  weeb 
before  his  death,  and  urged  him  to  come  home. 
She  thinks  that  he  is  on  his  way  to  England. 
The  Colonel  and  I  at  once  thought  that  he  ought 
to  be  sought  after  without  delay,  and  he  promised 
to  write  to  his  nephew,  your  old  playmate,  who, 
he  tells  me,  is  toi>e  a  neighbor  of  yours. ^ 

If  he  is  still  the  one  whom  I  remember— in- 
tellectual yet  spiritual,  with  sound  reason,  yet  a 
strong  heart,  if  he  is  still  the  Courtenoy  Despard 
who,  when  a  boy,  seemed  to  me  to  look  out  upon 
the  world  before  him  with  such  lofty  poetic  en- 
thusiasm— then,  Teresella,  you  should  show  him 
this  diaiy,  for  it  will  came  him  to  undentind 


'^M^i^    '  ii^^^-tru  .!><.!.  /iJLs^--^^i.k^ 


iM^Aeis^XSi^ 


1  •;• 

i  '  /cord  and  crb^se. 

things  vitkh  }fe  ought  to  know.     I  gupDose  it- 
would  be  utilntelligible  to  Mr.  Thornton  wto  J, 

'  f^h.*."^  i'^'^','**'-  '^'h«'-nton  should  be  informed 
of  the  leading  facts,  so,  that  he  may  see  if  so^^ 
thiflg  can  be  done  to  alleviate  the  distress  n?t 

''T,'^'  -"»•««  of  one  whose  fatTe7wasth: 
eariitet  b^ne&ctor  of  his  fiunily. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

HITBBAND    AND    WIPE. 

''It  is  now  the  middle  of  February  "  said 
Despard,  after  a  long  pause,  in  .vhichTe  ifad 
given  himself  up  to  the  stren^  .  ellections  whkh 
the  diary  was  calculated  to  excite. ,   "  If  Lo^g  I  d„n  n»i7  "°i  "S"?  '^*°"' '''«'  «"»ndon  of  Bmn 

"You  are  cahn,"said  Mrs.  Thornton.    "Have   Shf  ^r""",'!""*^'  ""^  'ooked  at  her  eamestlv 


n 

"But  'no^'-h^^'r^"?"  P*"""^  ''^«'-  W"  face. 

«ut  now,   he  continued,  suddenly,  "I  sunno^ 

Thornton  fltust  see  my  uncle's  letter.     Hi^B 

00  in  this  cas&     Kdith  is  beyond  all  consokrinn 
f«.m  human  brings,  and  atiU  farther  teSal" 

In  this  resi^^hi"*  '^l  ^^'''■*  '''^^  i"  his  favor. 

of  ""^/'rong  sense  of  Justice."        ^™«'"V.  o»« 
When  Thornton  came  in  to  dinner  DesnarH 


_-  „„..  _  .j..»,^„„„  f  x[  ,g  a  story  so  full  of  an 
pish  that  the  heart  might  break  out  of  pW  C 
pahy,  but  what  words  could  be  found?  J  kZ 
"f  "K  *o  say.  I  am  speechless.  My  G^t 
what  horror  thou  dost  permit !"  ^         " 

"But  something  must  be  done."  said  Mrs 
Iliomton,  impetuouslv.  ' 

it  we  conJd  reach  our  hands  over  the  irrave  and 
bnne  back  thow.  who  !,.„„ j         «»  .  ^  and 


IT,"""  (s'cdujr.  I  our 
under  s hght  obligations  to  him.  T  thoirfTt  th^ 
things  Lke  these  constituted  a  faint  "kirn,  ifn 
one's  gratitude,  so  that  if  one  werTexpS  t^ 
oTfSenr-''  ""«*"  ""'  ^  "^'"^^'her  Sl^ 
Thornton  looked  uneasy  as  his  wife  spoke 

Un  "C^'ttu""'","'"'  "*"'^  over  the  grave  and  I      " ■r^,^^\         *'®'  "y°"  '*o not  understand." 

bang  back  those  who  have  passed  awav^«„  ^  ■'   ^''®  answered ;  "  for  this  thinir  is  «I 

soul  of  Edith  might  find  pei^^uS-nl^"   ?""''•  '"<='^'We.     If  my  father's  friend  Z^S 

we  can  give  her  no  peacT^  ^elw^wisC  to   do  r'."^?.  ™''*,?^  and  unwept,  forXnty  i^ 

die.    Yet  something  must  be  done  andTthe^I^   i    I "?'  «'«"«ihe  guilt  of  ingratitude  ?    H<^^  ™n 


^;.u  2.  Y  ,'"■"' "™  "se'ess  there.  If  we 
^^t^''  •"""  "i"  greatest  earthly  hanniness^t 
.ftS^*" '""  '"^"'  ""-^  "*"•  «he  ^uld  4h 

"  Then  you  believe  it. " 
"Don't  you?" 

j.«»™,i  ta.  I  did  „„,  ta,„  a„,  y„ 

"And  even  if  it  be  a  hallucination   it  is  a 
ilime  one.  and  ««  v,vi^  .i...  =.  '»uon,  it  ig  a 


ject. 
'.'  Then  you  knew  it !" 

I  eSfn'  if^^v*"*"  """  "nderstand  this  unless 
1  expiam  it.     lou  are  stating  bald  facts-   but 

m.XoTh'  P!''"'""'  "*  *«y  "'*.  ^-^  ve?  much 
modified  by  circumstances."  j-  mutn 

"  WeU,  then,  I  hope  yon  wiU  tell  me  all  with 
out  resene,  for  I  wish  t5  know  how  iHs  n^kr^Ss' 
.  iT  ^  ,»"'PP«n«J,  and  I  have  st(W  dlv  Md 
coldlv  aloof.     Mv  God!"  she  cried,  ta  uLZ 

thfnk  of  Z"^'?  '""^r '  '"  "-^'^  last  mint; 

^.-  ^.^..  .....  a  naiiucation   it  is  a   ^^f^V^:^^.^^.^^..^^^^  •-- 

stL^r^tiijst^i--;^^^^^ 

,;^°  ?>?«.»»>«  you  would  itiad  Paok,'8  Lrv  L«n^''    Bnu,don,»^ga„  Thornton,  "was  a 
'ont  thinking  him  insane."         "^^'"^  ^"^  ^ViT'l^\^^  •''"*""*''  ••"*  of  uliboZed 


■i.j.1.       T .  .         ■'""  would 
without  thinking  him  insane. 

thiSrl"^'^-     "^^™  *•"»'  '^onld  be  no- 
'Owat  wlU  are  snre  to  madnMi,  ne»r  nlHcd,' 


r-.™,  ^.«  uworiy  impracticable.    He  was  no 

^  «„^?  ^  .""^""'y  inexperienced  in  busi- 
*«8,  and  he  was  always  liable  Jo  be  led  astrav  bv 
^^TS«!i  ™P^:  .  .Somehow  o.  oihe^S^ 


.;„„  JTT^  "••puims.  oomenow  or  other  a  mair 
named  Potts  excited  his  interest  alxjut  Z^TJ^ 
t-JeTErn    "^"^'"e-vidgarS" 


onlv  a  hnr    '  1  I'     ""™  ^  ■■'^  "'m  'ast  I  was  tnrer-  W  n~nj      C      *   .'"®'^  ^"'«*'"  adven- 

r/hi  T'.*°*l  '•e  came  with  his  seraphic  face  «^  .V^   ii  ?"r ""  V^'"«  infatuated  with  him 

Mdhis  divine  music  to  give  me  an  SmZ!  f"^  «>.»««%  beheved  that  this  man  was  wor^^ 

wh^h  has  biased  my  lif?  eveTsfn^i    rhave  '     ^  ""™'"^  ^*"'  *«  man««,„,„r„7?5i5? 
f te'Z. •5""'  "P'"' "''"  ^  •"»«»«  those  whom 


7.r  kT^-TT''  '^"'"ea  tnat  tnis  man  was  worthv 
to  be  intrusted  with  the  management  of^k^ 

J^'^Hrfnv'!?"'-,.  ^'^  "»^«  went  on  r 
iT^rrio? J  "•**  "^  remonstrated  with  him. 
1,  m  perticukr,  went  there  to  expkin  to  himXi 


1 
I 

""•■"•....„,.„,„„„„  I 


72 


GORD  AND  CREESE. 


the  speculation  in  which  he  was  engaged  could  not  I 
result  in  any  thing  except  loss.     Hnt  he  renenlcd 
all  interference,  and  I  had  tu  leave  him  to  him- 
self. 

"His  son  Ix)Hi8  was  a  boy  full  of  energy  and 
fire.  The  ^imily  were  all  indigni)nt  at  the  conK- 
dence  which  Knlph  Brandon  put  in  this  I'otts — 
Louis  most  of  all.  One  day  he  met  I'otts., 
Words  paused  between  them,  and  Louis  struck 
the  scoundrel.  I'otts  complained.  Brandon  had 
his  son^ip  on  the  siK)t ;  and  after  listening  to  his 
explanations  gave  him  the  aliemative  either  to 
apologize  to  I'otts  or  to  leave  the  house  forever. 
J,,ouis  indigiumtly  denounced  Potts  to  his  father 
us  a  swindler.  Brandon  ordered  him  to  his  foom, 
ivnd  gave  him  a  week  to  decide. 

"The  servants  whispered  till  the  matter  was 
noised  abroad.  The  county  gentry  had  a  meet- 
ing about  it,  and  %lt  so  strongly  that  they  did 
an  unparalleled  thing.  They  actually  waited  on 
him  to  asisure  him  that  I'otts  was  unworthy  of 
trust,  and  to  urge  him  not  to  treat  his  son  so 
harshly.  All  Urandon's  pride  was  roused  at  this. 
He  said  words  to  the  deputation  which  cut  him 
off  forever  ft-om  their  sympathy,  and  they  left  in 
a  rage.  Mrs.  Brandon  wrote  to  me,  and  I  went 
there.  I  found  Brandon  inflexible.  I  urged  him 
to  give  his  son  a  longer  time,  to  send  him  to  the 
army  for  a  while,  to  do  any  thing  rather  than 
eject  himx  He  refused  to  change  his  sentence, 
llien  I  pointed  out  the  character  of-i'otts,  and 
told  him  many  things  that  I  had  h^rd.  At  (his 
he  hinted  that  I  wished  to  have  the  management 
of  his  business,  and  was  actuated  by  mercenarj' 
motives.  Of  course,  after  this  insult,  nothing 
more  was  to  be  said.  I  went  home  and  tried  to 
forget  all  almut  the  Brandons.  At  the  end  of 
the  week  Loui»  refused  to  apologize,  and  left  his 
father  forever. " 

"  Did  you  see  Louis  ?" 

"I  saw  him  before  that  insult  to  ask  it  he 
woidd  apologize. " 

" Did  you  try  to  make  him  apologize?"  asked 
Jlrs.  Thornton,  coldly. 

"Yes.  Bjut  he.  looked  at  me  with  such  an 
air  that  I  had  to  ajwlogize  myself  for  hinting  at 
such  a  thing.    He  was  as  inflexible  as  his  father. " 

"  How  else  could  he  have  l)een?" 

"  Well,  each  might  have  yielded  a  little.  It 
does  not  do  to  be  so  inflexible  if  one  would  suc- 
ceed in  life. " 

"No,"  said  Mrs.  Thornton.  "Success  must 
be  gained  by  flexibility.  The  martyrs  were  all 
infle;(ible,  and  they  were  all  unsuccessful." 

Thornton  looked  at  his  wi(e  hastily.  Des- 
pard's  hand  trembled,  and  his  face  grew  paler 
still  with  tt  more  livid  pallor. 

"  Did  you  try  to  do  any  thing  for  the  ruined 
son?" 

"  How  could  I,  after  that  insult^" 

"Could  you  not  have  got  him  a  government 
office,  or  purchased  a  commission  for  him  in  the 
army?" 

"  He  would  not  have  taken  it  from  me." 

"  You  could-  have  cp^|)erated  _witlL  hlaJjno^ 


ther,  and  done  it  in  her  name. " 

"  I  could  not  enter  the  house  after  being  in- 
sidted."  ' 

"  You  could  have  written.  From  what  I  have 
heard  of  Brandon,  he  was  just  the  man  who 
would  have  blessed  any  one  who  would  interpose 
to  save  his  son." 


"  His  son  did  not  wish  to  he  saved.  He  tuts 
all  his  father's  inflexibility,  but  an  intellu<'t  lu 
clear  as  that  of  the  nuist  practical  man.  He  has 
a  will  of  iron,  dauntless  resolution,  and  an  im- 
]ilucable  temper.  At  the  same  time  be  has  the 
open  generosity  and  the  tender  heart  of  his  father," 

"  Had  his  tather  a  tender  heart?" 

"  So  tender  and  att'ectionaie  that  this  sucritice 
of  his  son  must  have  overwhelmed  Irim  with  the 
deepest  sorrow." 

"Did  you  ever  after  make  any  advances  to  any 
of  them  ?" 

"  No,  never.     I  never  went  near  the  house,' 

"  Did'you  ever  visit  any  of  the  county  gentty 
to  see  if  something  could  be  done  ?" 

"  No.  It  woidd  have  been  useless.  Besides, 
the  very  metitiou  of  his  name  would  have  been 
resented.  I  should  have  had  to  fling  myself 
headlong  against  the  feelings  of  the  whole  public. 
And  no  man  has  any  right  to  do  that.^. 

"  No,"  saidVlrs.  Thomtbn.  "  No  man  has. 
That  was  another  mistake  that  the  maityrs  made. 
They  would  fling  themselves  against  public  cipin- 
ion." 

"All  men  can  not  be  martyrs.  Besides,  the 
cases  are  not  analogous." 

Thornton  spoke  calmly  and  dispassionately. 

"Tnie.  It  is  absurd  in  me;  but  1  admiie  one 
who  has  for  a  moment  forgotten  his  own  interests 
or  safety  in  thinking  of  others.," 

"That  does  very  well  for  poetry,  but  not  in 
real  life." 

"  In  real  life,  such  as  that  on  board  the  Ti- 
rnmse/i  f"  murmured  Mrs.  Thornton,  with  droop- 
ing eyelids. 

"You  are  getting  excited,  my  dear,"  said 
Tliomton,  patiently,  with  the  oir  of  a  wise  father 
who  overlooks  the  petulance  of  his  child.  '■{ 
will  go  on.  I  had  business  on  the  Continent 
when  ])oor  Brandon's  ruin  occurred.  You  were 
with  me,  my  dear,  at  Berlin  when  I  heard  nlK)iit 
it.  I  felt  shocked,  but  not  surprised.  I  feared 
that  it  woidd  come  to  that." 

"You  showed  no  emotion  in  particular." 

"  No ;  I  was  careful  not  to  trouble  you." 

"You  were  iay^erlin  three  months.  Was  it 
at  the  beginninpw  end  of  your  stay  ?"    . 

"At  the  beginning." 

"And  you  staid?" 

"  I  had  business  which  I  could  not  leave." 

"Would  you  have -been  ruined  if  you  had 
left?" 

"Well,  no — not  exactly  ruined,  but  it  would 
have  entailed  serious  consequences." 

"  Would  those  consequences  have  been  as  se- 
rious as  th6  Tecumseh  tragedy?" 

"  My  dear,  in  business  there  are  ndes  which  a 
man  is  not  permitted  %o  neglect.  There  are  du- 
ties and  obligations  which  are  imperative.  The 
code  of  honor  there  is  as  delicate,  yet  as  ligid,  as 
elsewhere." 

"And  yet  there  are  times  when  all  obligntioni 

of  this  sort  are  weakened.     When  friends  die, 

this  is  recognized.     Why  should  ifcnot  be  fo 

'Ilea  they  jire  in  danger  of  a  fate  worse  jhan 

death?" 

Thornton  elevated  his  eyebrows,  and  made  no 

"51'ly- 

"You  must  have  heard  about  it  in  March, 

then?"  . 

"  Yes,  at  the  end  of  January.     His  min  took 

place  in  December,  1846.     It  was  the  middle  of 


THEN,  COVE 


advances  to  i 


rs.     Besides,  the 


jetry,  but  not  in 


I                       1  *             *                                                  ,,fi''"'''*'" 
\,. -"• ' '••" '■•■' ■  ■    ■    • ' 

CORD  AND  CREESE. 


THKN,  COVERiMO  HKB  FACK  With   !..,„  .  ^^^^^^^^^^^^^HI^HHIJ^B 
WITH   HKK  HANI.8,  «HK  «„H8T  ,KTO  AN   iooK,  Jr  X.XHS  » 
'   Iwfnro    T    ~-»    I ,      .  y 


amily  to  parts  unknown  "  "P-nure  ot  tiM 


«,_.•!/         "'aiiuuii,  ana  tne 
amily  to  parts  unknown." 
u'l?''..''®  ""'''®  "°  particular 


inquiries?" 
''And  you  said  not  a  word  to  me !" 
"Amrthl:;^!-'*  of  agitating  you,  my  dear." 

nSl  s'iow-of '^  Lr "  '•""'"«  ^"'^•f 
rr.  .h^^n      J  J^'' ''"' '  <»n  not  help  it     It  is 

SSL"'iVCi7^\;Ts''tS^ 

«ni*relv  enoimh  .1.1.  »  "  '*  *"  *''"'  quality, 

»«eiy  enougn  that  I  owe  mv  father's  4iVo  ..;j 

ray  3Wn  comfort  for  many  vL™      p!.„i  '  T*^ 
owesM  much  an  I      m-  n   years,     faolo  also 

taen'Hon  of  eiteLT'  "!  ^'I?*"'*.  *ith  the 
TT"!*  WM "n  ms  fn?  ^  ""'r,"'  Agrigentnm. 
u»  »  Tu        "*'''  'onr  years  before  I  w««  h««. ' 
%  father  w«  .toppingjt  GitgentlTwirhU  We 


s»*-^ 


'  hIJh  ^'°'  "  ""^  "^"^  ♦''•'"  "''^  yean,  oH.  My  father 
T.ns^n,ade  him  Z^J^l  'Ae^M^^^^i 
Girir^mi""'  "^"^  ""?'  ""'^  Englishmen  visited 

ttr^rS-p  ^^4l«^-lf  onX^oo^a-i 

treason  and  was  now  in  nH»in      ij„       *^ 
.-ted  of  &ngi„,  e^  ILSnalVr  wZ 

were  showing  g«eirt  activity.      My  father  b^ 

feed  bt  liF^"^'  '^'^'  "'^  had  iC 
hi    5^  by  ^lilam  named  Cigole.     My  mi 
ther  did  n^  tell  them  all  this,  but  m^vT 
formed  tjfem  of  hi»  danger.       '  ""'  "ereiy  in- 


At/first  they  did  not  know  what  to  do  bnt 
the  pr.y«„  of  my  mother  moved  their  hemi 

found  out,  however,  where  my  father  was  c™ 
fined  and  resolved  upon  a  des^m,  "JJarCv" 

«d  7v  r*'"'  ""1  *'"°''^ ""  »>°'"-'>  of  the  yachT 
and  by  paymg  a  heavy  brib«  obtained  p^rmtal 


7^ 


CORD  AND  CREE8E. 


sion  to  visit  my  father  ir.  pHion.  Brandon's 
friend  wa«  about  the  same  height  lu  my  father. 
When  tliey  reached  his  Gell''they  urged  my  fa- 
ther to  exchange  clothes  with  him  and  escape. 
At  first  he  positively  refused,  hut  when  assured 
that  Brandon's  friend,  being  an  Englishman, 
would  be  sot  free  in  a  few  days,  h«  consented. 
Brandon  then  took  him  aiyay  unnoticed,  put  him 
on  board  of  the  yacht,  and  sailed  to  Marseilles, 
where  he  gave  him  money  enuugh  to  get  to  En- 
gland, and  told  him  to  stop  at  Brandon  Hall  till 
he  himself  arrived.  He  then  sailed  bock  to  see 
about  his  friend. 

"  He  fonnd  out  nothing  about  him  for  some 
time.  At  last  he  induced  the  British  embassa- 
dor to  take  the  matter  in  hand,  and  he  did  so 
with  such  effect  that  the  prisoner  was  liberated. 
He  had  been  treated  with  some  severity  at  first, 
but  he  was  young,  and  the  government  was 
persuaded  to  look  upon  it  as  a  vouthfui  freak. 
Brandon's  powerful  influence  with  the  British 
embassador  obtained  his  unconditional  release. 

"My  father  afterward  obtained  a  situation 
here  at  Holby,  where  he  was  organist  till  he 
died.  Through  all  his  We  he  never  ceased  to 
receive  kindness  and  delicate  atas  of  attention 
from  Brandon.  When  in  his  last  sickness  Bran- 
don came  and  staid  with  him  (ill  the  end.  He 
(hen  wished  to  do  something  for  Paolo,  but  Pa- 
olo preferred  seeking  bis  own  fortune  in  his  own 
way." 

Mi-8.  Thornton  ended  her  little  narrjitive,  to 
wliich  Despard  had  listened  with  the  deepest  at- 
tention. 

"Who  was  Brandon's  friend?"  asked  Des- 
pard. 

"  He  was  a  British  ofBcer,"  said  Mrs.  Thorn- 
ton. "  For  feur  of  dra^ng  in  his  government, 
and  perhaps  incurring  dismissal  from  the  army, 
he  gave  an  assumed  name— Mountjoy.  This 
was  the  reason  why  Brandon  was  so  long  in  find- 
ing him." 

"  Did  yonr  father  not  know  it?" 

"On  the  potisago  Brandon  kept  it  seeret,  Mid 
after  his  frien^^'s  deliverance  he  came  to  see  my 
father  undach|g_a8suine<l  name.  My  father  al- 
ways 8|)oke  othira  as  Mountjoy.  After  a  time 
he  heard  that  he  waa  dead." 

"I  can  teliyou  his  true  name,"  said  Mr. 
Thornton.  "There  is  no  reason  why  you  should 
uot  know  it." 

"What?" 

"Lionel  Dwpard— yonr  fother,  and  Ralph 
Brandon's  bosom  friend. " 

Despard  looked  transfixed.  Mrs.  Thornton 
gazed  at  her  husband,  and  gave  an  unutterable 
look  at  Despard,  then,  covering  her  face  with 
her  hands,  she  burst  into  an  agony  of  tears. 

"Mv  God,"  cried  I>e8|)ard,  p.issing  his  hand 
over  his. foreliead,  "my  father  died  when  I  was 
»  child,  and  nobody  was  ever  able  to  tell  me  any 
thing  about  him.  And  Brandon  was  his  friend. 
He  died  thus,  and  his  family  have  perished  thus, 
while  I  have  known  nothing  and  done  nothing." 

"  You  at  least  are  not  to  bhune,"  said  Thornton, 


.«.  j«u  uou  .»«.i.^yHflfti'U  of  JUwidonf 
n^une.  You  were  in  the  north  of  England  when 
jttis  happened,  and  knew  nothing  whatever  about 
It." 

TlMt  erening  Despard  went  home  with  a  deep- 
er traubie  in  his  heart.  He  was  not  seen  at  the 
GtHMjIi^  *  month.    At  the  ^d  of  that  time  he 


returned.  He  had  been  away  to  London  during 
the  whole  interval. 

As  Mrs.  Thornton  entered  to  greet  him  her 
whole  face  was  overspread  with  an  expression  nf 
radiant  joy.  He  took  both  her  hands  in  his  and 
prexsed  them  without  a  word.  "  Welcome  back,' 
she  murmured — "you  have  been  gone  a  luiij; 
time." 

"  Nothing  but  op  overpowering  sense  of  duty 
could  have  kept  me  away  so  long,"  said  he,  iu  ii 
deep,  low  voice. 

A  few  similar  commonplaces  followed ;  but 
^vith  these  two  the  tone  of  the  voice  invested  the 
feeblest  communplaces  with  some  hidden  mean- 
ing. 

At  lost  she  asked :  "  Tell  me  what  success  you 
had  ?"  He  made  no  reply ;  but  taking  a  paper 
from  his  pocket  opened  it,  and  pointed  tu  a 
marked  paragraiih.  This  was  the  month  uf 
Man^h.  The  paper  was  dated  January  14,  1847. 
The  paragraph  was  as  follows : 

"  DisTBEBBiKo  Cabua,ltt. — The  ship  Java, 
which  left  Sydney  on  the  nth  of  August  lost,  re- 
ports a  stormy  passage.  On  the  12th  of  iSeptem- 
ber  a  distressing  casualty  occurred.  They  were 
in  |S.  lat.  1 1°  r  22",  E.  long.  105°  C  8«",  when 
a  sbuall  suddenly  struck  the  ship.  A  passenger, 
lyOjuis  Brandon,  Esq.,  of  the  firm  of  Compton  &. 
Brjandon,  Sydney,  was  standing  by  th6  lee-<|iiar- 
tei|  as  the  squall  struck,  and,  distressing  to  nar- 
rate, he  was  hurled  violently  overboard.  It  wan 
ini|x>s8ible  to  do  any  thing,  as  a  monsoon  wan 
beginning,  wjiich  raged  for  twenty-four  hours. 
Mr.  Brandon  was  coming  to  England  on  bn»- 
iness. 

I"  The  captain  reports  a  sand-bank  in  the  lati- 
tude and  longitude  indicated  above,  which  he 
'Cottin  island,'  from  a  rock  of  peculiar 
at  the  eastern  extremity,  i^hips  will  do 
wtU  in  future  to  give  this  place  a  wide  benh." 

ip  despondency  came  over  Mrs.  Thornton's 
face  as  she  read  this.  "  We  can  do  nothing, " 
said  she,  mournfully.  "  He  is  gone.  It  is  bet- 
ter for  him.  We  must  now  wait  till  we  hear 
more  from  Paolo  1  will  write  to  him  at  once." 
"And  I  will  write  to'my  uncle." 
There  was  a  long  sitence.  "  Do  vou  know," 
said  Despard,  finiOly,  "that  I  have  heen  think- 
ing much  about  my  father  of  late.  It  seenu.  ve^ 
strange  to  me  that  my  tmcle  never  told  me  about 
that  Sicilian  affair  befoie.  Perhaps  he  did  not  wirii 
me  to  know  it,  for  fear  that  through  all  my  life  1 
should  brood  over  thoughts  of  that  noble  heart  lo«t 
to  me  forever.  But  I  intend  to  write  to  him,  and 
obtain  afresh  the  paniculars  of  his  death.  1  wish 
to  know  more  about  my  mother.  No  one  wa< 
ever  in  such  ignorance  of  his  parents  as  I  have 
been.  They  merely  told  me  that  my  father  and 
mother  died  suddenly  in  India,  and  left  me  an 
orphan  at  the  age  of  seven  tmder  the  care  of  Mr. 
Heniy  Thornton.  They  never  told  roe  that  Bran- 
don was  a  very  dear  friend  of  his.  I  have  thought  j 
also  of  the  circumstances  of  his  death,  and  the? 
bM  seem  confused,     tiome  say  he  tlied_m  Cat- 


ctmH,"OtfaeryTBy"nr Uliiiia,  and  Mi.  Thetn^ 
once  said  in  Masilla.     Hmtb  is  some  mjMi; 
about  it" 

"  When  Brandon  was  visiting  my  father,"  nii 
Mrs.  Thornton,  "  you  were  at  school,  and  h«  der- 
er  saw  you.  I  think  he  tfaoaght  you  were  Ueoi} 
Despard's  son." 


heJuuljust^ceived.     cC  wr«  f„C  ^''••^'' 


CORD  AND  CBKESK. 


that  on  the  mhjZ^^:,^,  .Tt"f  "^'  "^P""" 
l..ng,b,»jt  near  ih^^^^  [^^'[1^7  %:''''> 
HoBting  l)ottom  ituwanl     r^vl  "'*"''*■     't  was 

been  expected  fi,r  two  momh  '  i'""  •""  """^ 
tmm  (hlTthat  she  mavlmv«  ^  '"^^  "  "  '"'^"^ 
rhe/«/.o«wa«o„h"rUvfLr^"''r'^  *"  ■*»• 
Jon,  and  belonged  to  £„  Hi^^''"''^;^^""- 
man,  &  Co."  "*•  ^"nKwood,  Fkx- 


CIIAPTER  XVII 

THE  8HADOW  OK  THE  AP„,CAN  FOKE8T 


Lbt  08  return  to  the  castaways 

It  was  morning  on  the  coast  of  Africa-Afri„ 

-«?o;"sTu'^ite'r"wtir  ""'?''  "--•  "^ 
WKhhiik  ISfrontof  the  17  **"''  ^'^«  '«« 
which  cotjcealeJ  and  p'rc^J^teS f'  "■"  ''"  '«'«'"1 

Here  the  paJni-ti«es  erew  TKo  .-j 
«eeply,  the  slimmit  was  fofty'  and  th«  .  **  "^ 
|«lnu.  afforded  a  deep,  dens^^LlfJ^,  ^he,  owenng 
w?.  fine  and  short,  aid  b^S^ZjL.^'  ^'  K«Jf« 
withering  heat  was  as  fine  ^R^  twm  the 
Cwn.  Upthepabn^.SfJS^^'^^'lf^'' 
sand  parasitic  plants,  wnered  wH^I^  w  ^""" 
gorgeous,  golden,  nkh^yZiM  a  '^'^^ 
BinlsofstanyphiiMBeflS.??  description, 
"they leaped  ftimtaS^,„ J!!:      '^°"«''  ">«  »'^ 

d«  muniiuring  'r^eTaf 'X'fil"  W' 

ocean;  ro>md  the  shore  the  low  tones  onh«,i^  ' 

il.v-wash  ng  surf  were  hnmo  ""  «»nes  ot  the  gen- 

andulatioilf  from  the  o«Trs^"  "^^ '°  « '««" 

^X™r  s:  tfTo'st'^-^::  -^  •"«  ^-^^ 

^ned  his  eyes  and  tS^^^l  !^"»! 
Sgri*""*  sights  and  heanS  Z^r^^r- 

^t^^TiZt^r''^  ''-"'ing  with 
wtoene.Thirh^Syrl'rtt'^Tlar^^^^^ 

»««fcri3v^S^shlT  "°'.*™  *»''  '"oked 
~*™Hrf  np  mi,  knelt  down  by  hT  " ) 

'"•ft;.t^  Ib-^M'-  •  W  time 
•«-»«neticpo^erSrS„2.»'«if*- 


wtiiie,  as  she  removed  her  hand   h« 

eyes  again.     Ho  tcx.k  hnr  i,.!  i  '    ,  ."P®"*""  his 

vently  to  hislifH,!     -  I  1"2  •V''  ""^  ''eld  it  fer- 

,  dreamy  voice  "  wh„  „  '    "*'*'  ''«• '"  »  low. 

nothing  J^e-    I  knVj'rr'n'"'  ^J"'  ^  «m-bn; 

ory;  that  them  hLTen  " li       "  '"??'  *"  ««"'- 

-70- ;  but  I  c*r„,H  thirw",^^  "'  «^-' 

—I  know  that  thern  l.«-  1^  *"■'  «"tow  s 

but  I  can  not  remem.irwt''"""'  '""'""""«• 

Ueatnce  smiled  sadly      "it  „,:ii    ., 
you  \n  time  "  /•      n  wui  all  come  to 

"ooker™^:^^  its;  'i''th""'";:"7'''  """•> 

at  last  entered  the  sp  rk?worId  a  "f  ^,'  """  ^  '"'*' 

come  with  me;  and  I  felT  a  rf' """^  "'"f  •^■""  had 

never  express.     S"  1 1  ft^  a„d^^t  ^"^  """  ^  <=«" 

I  am  yet  on  the  elrth      i-S       k''"?*"  ""*>  ""at 

all  the  earth  thist  «;  h       ,"«''  '^'""  "^--e  of 
,,^^  „         in  tiiis  M,  or  how  I  got  here,  t  know 

;;  Jo"  must  sleep,"  "said  she,  gently 
■And  you — vou vr.1.  "  !,_  "      V- 

"tasy.     And  now  if  h-         *  *"*  °"«  '""K  ec- 

choly  smile.  *•  """  *  melan- 

an?shXt&herh''T  "''T'"'«'<'  "H 
ller  touch^lffht  XTol«''''"'''^*"^ 
W  song  of  surpassSmSe^^'u?^  '"  * 
yielded  to  the  snbTle  m^nt^T^'A  '  *"•" 
to  him  as  he  lay        ""="»»«•»».  and  sleep  came 

.Jw^'sXot?ilira:;^r*'^?"'"«- 1^»»-  ^ 

■10  tpiie  mm  some  cordial  to  drinW   o^j  .u 
draught  revived  him.     Now  h»  „      c   '    "^  *•" 


»w™.  1,    1     '^'  'eamng  against  a  tree  whifp  P^ 
'•t.^here.'^tiJte^^VL'**'-*  "''??•««'. "« to 

life'  ihivXtLfii£""vl''r"'"'-^n'* 

•tt^ggling  to  regain  kn^Vof  1^"''^^ 
Je  put  hts  hand  in  h|,.bo^.,  ^^f/Sg  fo, 

"  ^  "^^  wmething  .uspended  .bout  my  neck," 


«flX^<  <AlL- 


% 


> 


<# 


CORD  AND  CUEEbE. 


Perhaps  I  shall 


latrjce 
'How 


said  he,  "which  is  precious. 
know  what  it  is  after  a  time." 

Then,  after  a  pause, ' '  Was  there  not  a  \vreck  ? 
he  asked. 

"A'es;  and  you  saved  my  life." 
;     "Was  there  not  a  fight  with  pirates  ?" 

"Yes;  and  you  saved  my  life,"  said 
again. 

"  I  begin  to  remember,"  said  Brandon, 
long  is  it  since  the  wreck  took  place  ?" 

"  It  was  January  15." 

"  And  what  is  this  ?" 

"  February  6.     It  is  about  three  weeks." 

« '  How  did  I  get  away  ?" 

"  In  a  boat  with  mo  and  the  servant." 

"  Where  is  the  servant  ?" 

"Away  providing  for  us.  Yon  ha*  a  sun- 
itroke.     He  tarried  you  up  here." 

"  How  long  have  I  been  in  t^s  place?" 
'"  A  fortnight." 

Numerousquestionsfollowed.  Brandon  smem- 
ory  began  to  return.  Yet,  in  his  etforts  to  regain 
knowledge  of  himself,  Beatrice  was  still  the  most 
prominent  object  in  his  thoughts.  His  dream-life 
persisted  in  mingling  itself  with  his  real  life.     , 

"But  you,"  he  cried,  eameftly— " you,  how 
iiave  you  endured  all  this  ?  You  are  wearj- ;  you 
have  worn  yourself  out  for  me.  What  can  1  ever 
do  to  show  my  gratitude  ?  Yon  have  watched-tne 
night  and  day.  Will  you  not  have  more  Care  of 
your  own  life  ?"  '  *     . 

The  eyes  of  Beatrice  kindled  with  a  soft  hght. 
f  What  is  my  life?"  said  she.  "Do  I^iot  owe 
it  over  and  over  again  to  you  ?  Ait  Iraeny  that 
I  am  worn  out."  ,         VlSli 

Brandon  looked  at  he^  >«p^fflihest,  longing 

eyes.  ifej 

His  recovery  was  rapid.i  In  a  few  days  he  was 
able  to  go  about.  Catd^rocured  fish  from  the 
waters  and  game  fronVrhe  woods,  so  as  to  save 
the  provisions  of  theitoat,  and  they  looked  for- 
ward to  the  time  wiren  they  might  resume  their 
journey.  But  to  Brandon  this  thought  was  re- 
pugnant, and  »n--1iourly  struggle  now  went  on 
within  him.  Why  should  he  go  to  England? 
What  could,  Jie«do?  Why  should  he  ever  part 
ftpmher?  i^'^" 
,     "Oh,  to  burk  all  links  of  habit,  and  to  wander  On 

away, 
On  ftoih  Island  onto  Island  at  the  gateways  of  the 

dayl" 
In  her  presence  he  might  find  peace,  and  perpet- 
ual raptilire  in  her  smile. 

In  the  midst  of  such  meditations  as  these  her 
\-oice  once  arose  from  afar.  It  was  one  of  her 
own  songs,  such  as  she  could  improvise.  It  spoke 
of  summer  isles  amidst  the  sea;  of  soft  winds 
and  spicy  broeies ;  of  eternal  rest  beneath  over- 
shadowing palms.  It  was  a  soft,  meltmg  strain— 
a  strain  of  enchantment,  sung  by  one  who  felt  the 
intoxication  of  the  scene,  and  wh<Me  genius  im- 
parted it  tb  others.  He  was  like  iJlrsses  listen- 
ing to  the  song  of  the  sirens.  It  seemed  to  him 
as  though  all  nature  there  joined  in  that  marvel- 
ous strain.  It  was  to  hfm  as  though  the  very 
winds  were  lulled  into  calm,  and  a  delicious  lan- 
guor stole  upon  all  his  senses. 


"Sweet,  sweet,  sweet,  Bod  Pan, 
SiNet  In  the  flelda  by  the  river, 


Blinding  sweet,  oh  irreHt  gttd  Pan. 
The  sun  on  the  hills  foriiot  to  die, 
And  the  lllr  revived,  and  the  ingoa-Aj 


The  sun  on  the 

And  the  lllf  rev...-, 

Came  back  to  dream  by  the  river 


It  was  the  fuXiynpvv  omS,  the  oiro  koAXi/iov  of 
the  sirens. 

For  she  had  that  divine  voice  which  of  itself 
can  charm  the  soul ;  bet,  in  addition,  she  had  that 
poetic  genius  which  of  itself  could  give  words 
which  the  music  might  clothe. 

Now,  as  he  saw  her  at  a  distance  through  the 
trees  and  marked  the  statuesque  calm  of  her 
classic  face,  as  she  stood  there,  seeming  in  liet 
song  rather  to  soliloquize  than  to  sing,  breathing 
forth  her  music  "in  profuse  strains  of  unpremed- 
itated art,"  the  very  beauty  of  the  singer  and 
the  very  sweetness  of  the  song  put  an  end  to  all 
temptation. 

"  This  is  folly,"  he  thought.  "  Could  one  like 
that  assent  to  my  wild  fancy  ?  Would  she,  with 
her  genius,  give  up  her  life  to  me?  No;  that 
divine  music  must  be  heard  by  larger  numbers, 
'she  is  one  who  thinks  she  can  interpret  the  in- 
spiration of  Mozart  and  HandeL  And  who  an 
I?" 

Then  there  (Jame  amidst  this  music  a  still 
small  voice,  like  the  Voice  of  those  helpless  ones 
at  home ;  and  this  voice  seemed  one  of  entreaty 
and  of  despair.  So  the  temptation  passed.  Bui 
it  passed  only  to  be  renewed  again.  As  for  Bea- 
trice, she  seemed  conscious  of  no  such  etfect  as 
this.  Calmly  and  serenely  she  bore  herself,  sing- 
ing as  she  thought,  as  the  birds  sing,  because  she 
could  not  help  it.  Here  she  was  like  one  of  the 
classic  nymphs— like  the  genius  of  the  spot— like 
Calypso,  only  passionless. 

Now,  the  more  Branden  felt  the  power  of  her 
presence  the  more  he  took  refuge  within  himself, 
avoiding  all  dangerous  topics,  speaking  only  of 
external  things,  calling  upon  her  to  sing  of  loftier 
themes,  such  as  those  "cte/»  immensi"  of  whiih 
she  had  sung  when  he  first  heard  her.  Thus  he 
fought  down  the  struggles  of  his  own  heart,  and 
crushed  out  those  rising  impulses  which  threat- 
ened to  sweep  him  helplessly  away. 

As  for  Beatrice  hersejf  she  seemed  changeless, 
moved  by  no  passion  and  swpyed  by  no  impulse. 
Was  she  altogether  passionless,  or  was  this  her 
matchless  self-control  ?  Brandon  thought  that  it 
was  her  nature,  and  that  she,  like  her  master 
Langhetti,  found  in  music  that  which  satisfied 
all  jiassion  and  all  desire. 

In  about  a  fortnight  after  his  recovery  from 
his  stupor  they  were  ready  to  leave.  Ti.e  \iro- 
visions  in  the  boat  were  enough  for  two  weeb 
sail.  Water  was  put  on  board,  and  uiey  bade 
adieu  to  the  island  which  had  sheltered  them. 

This  time  Beatrice  would  not  let  Brandon  ro* 
while  the  sun  was  up.  They  rowed  at  night,  and 
by  day  tried  to  get  under  the  shadow  of  the  shore. 
At  last  a  wind  sprang  up ;  they  now  sailed  along 
swiftly  for  two  or  three  days.  At  the  end  oi 
that  time  they  saw  Euroi)ean  houses,  beyond 
which  arose  some  roofs  and  spires.  It  was 
Sierra  *Leone.  Brandon's  conjectures  had  been 
right.  On  landing  here  Brandon  simply  wd 
that  they  had  been  wrecked  in  the  Falfon,  m 
had  escaped  on  the  boat,  all  the  rest  having  per- 
ished.  He  gave  Hh  nnnie  as  Wheeler.  n»- 
authorities  received  these  unfortunate  ones  with , 
great  kindness,  and  Brandon  heard  that  a  ship 
would  leave  for  England  on  the  (ith  of  Mm^"' 

The  close  connection  which  had  existed  Be- 
tween them  for  so  many  weeks  was  now  lerefl 
ed,  and  Brandon  thought  that  this  miff't  pe^J 
haps  remove  that  extraordinary  power  which  Ml 


■'•, 


^ 


feh  that  she  exefteil.Over  him.  Not  so  Tn 
ber^bsence  he  found  Ifimself  constantly  Wkin" 
forwTB^towtu-d  a  meetine  with  her  nm.;!r     ufl^ 

4'Ji"S'„.-»''  ■»'' "'  » <«  .h. 

Now  theirlntercourse  was  like  f hnt  ««•  .k      . . 
days  on  board  the  Falcon  *^^  "''^ 

"It  is  like  the  Falcon  "  oniH  «„„»  ■ 

.» I  can  never  forget  that  I  owe  my  life  to  ton  " 
ud  Brandon,  vehement^  "■/  uw  to  yon, 


COKD  AND  CKEESE. 


^v^  uover  lorget  that  I  owe  i 
said  Brandon,  vehemently 

"And  I,"  rejoined  B^trice, 
eves,  wniph  vat  w<..«  __£. .  .  ^ 


your  own  sank  under  it."  ^         "^ 

iUumined  with  a  ^7onT.5crhS'j::,rbefo" 

rs-d'irrSLar-'^^^^^^^^ 


ffltumic^tTheThL"'''  ''^^  ^"^^  "P  the 
and,J.fi.omtett?;y5&;S^^  - 

«-^arnoXs-s-- 

Ao,    said  Brandon:  "therTJinhL 

''Do you  know  what  it  is?" 
yet  I  tte£3?  •">-•    I  ^0  not  ask ,  hut 
''  And  yet  i/ou  offer  to  go  ?" 
"  B^rjf^'  c  ^^T  "^  y"  '0  the  very  last  » 

thatoverpowr™d1v?;^7^  '^"*^  "'*  "'""Ifhts 
a  glancefof J I^  sIre^«^T°°  '^''""«-  ^^  «« 
that  of  someS  wWrh  h  """°P?««ioned,  like 
man  cares,  hmCl  JI  t^*^  ^'  ^'"^  '^y""^  "»- 
"  Louis  BranAm^"^'  °^ '"''''  P''"P''"  "f'^oe. 

abltVu'KS'otrT'' !."'^''"f  ""-^^ 
held  out  he?C      w^'Ik^""'^"'"'  face.     She 

cahnly,  "and  hold  it  so^h.?  f^ '"'?'''    '^^  ^^e, 
to  sp^."  "^  "  "^  ">**  I  "nay  have  strength 

on'th^:'l?rStLf\'^''  "the«^  .  Hme 

rnr^€Sirfr--^ 


n«_.,„i,  „  °^J^**°  '"th  a  sad,  measured 


mklf-  'j  V     "  "'  unutterable  sadness  "Im 
08  be  friends  here  at  least  on  th«  ^  r       v    * 

««J.h  England  we  mTs^CslSL^^tlt" 

"For  evermore  '"cried  Brandon,  in  agonv 
«J^.  evermore!"  repeated  Beatrice,  S^^„al 


JBecaul  I  know  that  there  is  sormw  for  me 

n-ce,;' would  you  htt'gl^aSr'  •"  '""""""« 
'•^^'C'bil'l'i^r-^A^.thlft.ture.    Oh 


Bmndon  answer^  not  a  word. 


..«.„?")•?*"/»  llHibilinmmrfiiii,,.       iMa  do™  mTS  ?^  ^"  ll»lt,and  Sun, 


.."W^"^dXt'rl^;^ar:"Vf •''',  •-''•  ^^  ^^ 

"..  a  reproach  to  me  f"Cd -nryo?" '  '""'^    SS  "^^     '  ''''^^"  «""  "er^^ic;',;;^ 
,^«Aatmoment  of  awaking  w»«  .^t  bo   'a  mi!!!''  ""'"-"n  emphasis-"  T  Hi..  iX,^ 


^^^^J^«moment  of  awaking  waajw^w^'^S^  '"  T""..' 
P"«t««Hfht,*  continued  Bmn<ion  ;„  =  '  ^      •*  "*"nK  that,  gfi 


•wept  yon. "'  '""  "^  memory 

OM^otheTii"  .•"''"'*^  "wmetim*.  looking  at 


i^*^-' 


.\ 


78 


CORD  AND  CREESE. 


^\ 


i  m 


-"Si^ili-.ij«ikv.',-A\^>iVAo 


'l  THOUUHT  TOU  DKAO,  AND  KNEW  THE  FULL  MEA8URK  OF  UESi'AIB. 


agony.  I  read  there  the  name  of  the  one  who 
had  driven  him  to  death.  The  shadows  of  the 
fbrext  grew  darker  around  me ;  m  the  full  mean- 
ing of  that  revelation  came  over  my  soul  they 
deepened  into  blacliness,  and  I  fell  sengeless  by 
vour  side. 

"  Better  had  Ca*o  left  ns  both  lying  there  to 
die,  and  gone  off  in  the  boat  himself.  But  he 
-tiavivwj  jua*  X  laid.you  uown  ^jfiutlyf  aim  proppoQ 
up  vour  hmd,  but  never,  again  darml  to  deiile  yon 
with  the  touch  of  one  wi  infninous  as  I. 

"There  still  remained  the  other  package,  which 
I  read  —  how  you  reached  that  inland,  and  how 
you  got  that  MS. ,  I  neither  know  nor  seek  to 
discover ;  I  onlv  know  that  all  my  Ipirit  awnked 
within  me  as  I  read  those  words.     A  strange, 


inexplicable  feeling  arose.  I  forgot  all  about  ynn 
and  your  griefs.  My  whole  soul  was  fixed  en 
the  figure  of  that  bereaved  and  solitary  man,  who 
thus  drifted  to  his  fate.  Ho  seemed  to  speak  to 
me.  A  fancy,  bom  out  of  fVeniy,  no  doubt,  for 
all  that  horror  well-nigh  drove  me  tnad— a  fiincr 
came  to  me  that  this  voice,  which  hnd  come  from 
%  distance  of  eighteen  years,  had  spoken  to  me; 
a-^lfl^  |a<icy,  bffl'flUBe  I  was  eighteen  vcarB  okl^ 
that  therefore  I  was  connected  with  these  elgliteeii 
years,  filled  my  whole  soul.  I  thought  that  lhi» 
M8.  was  mine,  and  the  other  one  wurs.  I  twd 
it  over  and  over,  and  over  yet  again,  till  f«ry 
word  fbrced  itself  into  my  memory— till  voo  "wl 
your  sorrows  sank  into  oblivion  beside  the  *»• 
of  this  man. 


"I  sat  nea^ 
sighed  in  the/su 
brain  whirled. 
sea,  and  figofe 
thought  r  saw  > 
Despardc  He  |i 
terablo/yet  with 
tended  his  hand 
der/foncies  than 
brain.  But  whc 
/itement  had  pae 
'lirifus. 

"When  that 

look  at  yon.      'J 

breathing.     Youi 

knelt  down  and  p 

dare  to  touch  yo 

and  toid  Cato  to 

neck.    Then  I  wi 

"Bat  on  that 

MSS.,  I  seemf 

of  being.     Ij 

mmld  not  I 

i<  given  me 

evermore. 

"  1  have  awakei 
famy  if  it  he  not  t 
tiomething  more  t 
the  foundation  of  i 
with  which  I  have 
have  now  died  to  r 
to  a  new  one. 

''Louis  Brandoi 
infl^red  by  those  wl 
eonjecture  but  I  w 
God  that  i  may  nev 
my  heart  to  learn, 
must  also  avenge  the 
»re  implacable.  VV 
be  crushing. 

"Bull  most  go  e 

jou  strike;  I  wiU  w 

tiieir  infamy  and  th 

Wb  I  will  not  turn  t 

Mar  ones  of  yours 

*eir  sakes  will  accer 

Brandon  had  held  I 

a  convulsive  pi-essun 

*•  stopijed  she  mad 

it    He  would  not  1< 

li|»  and  pressed  it  tht 

Three  times  he  mi 

«ach  time  failed.     At 

be  uttered,  in  a  hoars 

"Oh, Beatrice!  Ik 

"I  know  it,"  said 

»nich  she  had  used 

monmfulness — "I  ha 

»onld  say  also,  'Loui 

It  were  not  that  this  < 

fhat  you,  Brandon,  of 

J)»ed  by  one  who  bear 

">e  hours  of  the  n 

<oodwatchingtheKnB 

"""dottctmjg  to  her 

"ptheThames.    It^vas 

We  shall  soon  te 

««  for  the  last  time. 

"lau  that  we  must  par 

Inen,  in  a  low  voiw 

y*".  which  thrilled  thi 

•»•  being,  Beatrice  U 


ngnea  m  tnaair.     I  dai-ed  not  touch  you      Mv 

^aTZur.!  *'"''«'''  }  '■^'^  voic^out^^ 
.^:,1»  /^*^ /P'**'**'   '"    the  gloom.      T 

.ffir        ■  l^^'^  »'  me  with  sadness  nnut- 

rXKST"'?  "^"f 'y  ""'•  attectio„,1fn™ex^ 
t«d^  hw  hand  08  though  to  bless  me      Mad 

iMpftin.     But  when  mornine  camn  »t»i  »^„    ^ 
^£men.  had  passed  I  kne^  S  SbS^^n  Te-- 

look^i"'vou'"'''r"""«^  '^"'*'  ^  '^™*  °ver  to 
looK  at  yoo.  lo  mjr  amazement,  von  were 
brajtlung.     You,  life  ^a,  „„,^,j  of^^If"! 

dare  to  touch  you.     I  folded  up  the  tn.a«7,«. 

Si'^'iTSrr  '".P^L."'^™  aga^n  .rorS^"v^J; 

"  Rnf  „n  J  7"'^^  y°''  '^  y°»  recover^. 

l^:*^oth»?^1"-^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ 

Sen  mSHH^„"-i.^*:7'  ""^  «f*ngth 
eremore.  *iP^  •"  "'"  '*'^'''  *«  part  for 
"1  have  awakened  to  infamy;  for  what  ix  in 
ftmy  .f  it  he  not  thi.,  to  bear  the  name  I  K 
tjomethmg  more  than  pride  or  vanity  has  b^n 
^e  foundation  of  that  fSeling  of  shame  wd  Se 
with  which  I  have  always  regarded  it      And  I 

j^srJyfhrrmnoT^^ 

«nK«nu-e  but  I  wish  never  to  hear.    *?  p^ 

™  ^1^  ™r'.?°  '"''  '^'  ""y  1<«  among  those 
yon  strike;  I  will  wait  on  amorig  them  fharZ 

tl'Sr.fotTu™'"'''"  '"%  When  y A2 
C  ol  o?  v™,«  "T'u  '  **"  "''"''  °f  'hose 
u«r  ones  of  yours  who  have  suffered  ana  fi.r 
4«r  sakes  will  accept  th%  blow  of  AvengT" 

Bnwdon  had  held  her  hand  in  silence  f^d  with 
.convutove  p.-essun,  during  tl.es^^^rf"'*'"!^ 
*•  .U,pi«d  she  made  a  feint  effort  to^Sidmw 

t^dp^iTtht'^^-     ^^"-^-li'-h.^ 

Oh,  Bea  nee !  Beatrice !  how  I  love  vmf?" 
nioamfulne8s-"Ihav^  k^  ^  ?  ""^  '"'*''''" 

"P'heThamM     r.  ,^    1      ,  ^"^J'  '^e'^  "filing 

"  We  Hh^f  ■       ^  ?'^"'  '»"■•  *"  *e  morning 
»ve  sbaii  soon  ^le  there  "  mM  h. .  >.  :      *• 

"•«  for  the  last  time      Sng 'and  fo/^  f  ""*'  '" 
"■ent  that  we  must  pan  "  *'  ^' '°'"  *  "'^ 


CORD  AND  CREESE. 


79 


"f*7*  ro»de  ns  one;  onr  nnltv 
•fa  iDdiKBoIahle  by  ict  of  thme 
For  were  thU  mital  beinS  eSded 

Thee  from  the  eternal  bond 

the  m,ubles  which  had  afflicted^hero:  ^3 

CS  months    X^'i^Tn'tl.';  '""^^  '°-^ "*^ 
nals  a  notice  which  £d1&y'4,~«f -- 

"a T'l^cheJ'^e™  toTe""!?r  "'  '"^  ^''''^-' 

losi'irfrT  "''^^  ^^^"  ^^^p-^^^^'X 

f«/i!  1^''^  •!?  "''*  ^'"'^^  •'J'  rail  and  coach  as 
far  as  the  village  of  Brandon.     At  the  in„  he  pS^ 

weS"uS."'"it'E;£{«"e.     Words 
ion  for  them.     iHoSTei  tn^^^S" 


CHAPTER  XVriL 

INCJPlniES. 

So  many  years  had  elapsed  since  Brandon 

ered  the  lower  part  of  the  face  like  a  i^k 
His  nose  which,  «hen  he  left,  had  a  Z^sh 
roundness  of  outline,  had  since  Come  Si 
and  chjseled  into  the  straight,  thin  Gi^artZf 
"IS  eyes  alone  remained  the  same  vet  tlie^' 
prension  had  gmwn  ditferent,  m"^. ^f  ,/.''*' °f: 
ttsi  rooked  forth  thmugh  them  ladbMnchan^ 
by  experience  and  by  suffering  ^  '^""'"^Ked 
He  gave  himself  out  at  the  inn  as  nn  A^.^ 

nes.  leanng  two  buttons  off  his  coat  h.  «n 
terad  the  shop  of  the  village  ,«iir  '"*''  '"  ™- 

Good-moming,"  said  he,  civiUy. 

tJood-moniing,  Sir ;  line  mominir  Sir  "  « 
•wered  the  tailor,  volubly.     U™w«  .'uS 


-^ 


CORD  AND  CI^SE. 


rwith  a  cast  in  'his  eve,  and  on  looking  at 
Brd^don  he  had  to  put  his  head-on  one  side, 
which  be  did  with  a  quick,  odd  gesture. 

"There  are  two  buttons  oif  my  coat,  and  I 
want  to  know,  if  yon  can  repair  it  for  me  ?" 

"  Certainly,  Sir ;  certainly.  Take  off  your 
coat,  Sir,  and  sit  down. " 

"The  buttons,"  said  Brandon,  "are  a  little 
odd ;  but  if  you  have  not  got  any  exactly  like 
them,  any  thing  similar  will  do." 

"Oh,  I  think  well  (it  you  out,  Sir.  I  think 
we'll  fit  you  out,"  rejoined  the  tailor,  briskly. 

He  bustled  about  among  his  boxes  and  draw- 
ers, pulled  out  a  large  number  of  articles,  and 
finally  began  to  select  the  buttons  \vhich  were 
nearest  like  those  on  the  coat. 

"This  is  a  fine  little  village,"  said  Brandon, 
carelessly, 

" /es.  Sir;  that's  a  fact.  Sir;  that's  just 
what  every  body  says.  Sir." 

"  What  pld  Hall  is  that  which  I  saw  just  out- 
side the  village  f 

"  Ah,  Sir,  tliat  old  Hall  is  the  very  best  in  the 
whole  county.    It  is  Brandon  Hall,  Sir." 

"Brandon  HaU?" 

"Yes,  H>ir."  i 

"I  Bup^se  this  village  takes  the  name  from 
the  Hall — or  is  it  the  UaD  that  is  named  \|fter 
the  village  ?"  » 

"Well,  neiAer,  Sir.  Both  of  them  were 
named  after  the  Brandon  family." 

"  Is  it  an  old  family  ?  It  must  be,  of  course. " 
f  "The  oldest  in  the  county,  l?ir." 

"I  wonder  if  Mr.  Brandon  would  let  a  stran- 
ger go  through  his  grounds?  There  is  a  hill 
back  of  the  house  that  I  should  like  to  see." 

"  Mr.  Brandon !"  exclaimed  the  tailor,  shak- 
ing his  head ;  "^Ir.  Brandon!  There  ain't  no 
Mr.  Brandon  now !" 

"How  is  that?" 

"  Gone,  Sir — ruined — died  out." 

"Then  the  man  that  lives  there  now  is  not 
Mr.  Brandon?" 

"  Nothing  of  the  kind,  Sir !  He,  Sir !  Why 
he  isn't  fit  to  clean  the  shoes  of  any  qf  the  old 
Brandons  I" 

"Whoish*?" 

"His  name.  Sir,  is  Potts." 

"Potts !  That  doesn't  sound  like  one  of  your 
old  county  liames." 

"  I  should  think  not,  Sir.  Potts !  Why,  Sir, 
Ws  generally  believed  in  this  here  community 
to  be  a  villain,  Sir,"  said  the  little  tailor,  myste- 
riously, and  with  the  look  of  a  man  who  woidd 
like  very  well  to  be  questioned  further. 

Brandon  humored  him.     "  How  is  that?" 

"  It's  a  long  story.  Sir."  . 

"  Oh,  well — tell  it.  I  have  a  great  cifriosity 
to  hear  any  old  stories  current  in  your  English 
villages.  I'm  an  American,  and  English  life  is 
new  to  me." 

"  I'U  bet  yon  never  heard  any  thing  like  this 
in  allyonr  bom  days. " 

""Tell  it  then,  by  all  means." 
— The  tuilor  jumped  down  fFuiu  Iiih  mwi,  went^ 
mysteriously  to  the  door,  looked  cautiously  out, 
and  then  returned. 

"  It's  just  as  well  to  be  a  little  careful,"  said 
he,  "  for  if  that  man  knew  that  I  was  talking 
•bout  him  he'd  take  it  out  of  me  quick  enough, 
I  tell  you." 

"  You  seem  to  be  afhdd  of  him." 


"We're  all  afraid  of  him  in  thevijlsge,  and 
hate  him  ;  but  I  hope  to  God  he'll  cat«h  it  yet  I" 

"How  can  you  be  afraid  of  him?  You  at] 
say  that  this  is  a  free  country."  , 

"No  man.  Sir,  in  any  country,  is  free,  except 
he's  rich.  Poor  people  can  be  oppressed  in 
many  ways ;  and  most  of  ns  are  in  one  way  or 
other  dependent  on  him.  We  hatA  him  all  the 
worse,  though.     But  I'll  tell  you  about  him." 

".Yes,  go  on." 

"Well,  Sir,  old  Mr.  Brandon,  about  twenty 
years  ago,  was  one  of  the  richest  men  in  tlio 
county.  About  fifteen  years  ago  the  man  Potta 
turned  up,  and  however  the  old  man  took  cl  fun- 
cy  to  him  I  never  could  see,  but  he  did  take  a 
fancy  to  him,  put  all  his  monev  in  some  tin 
mines  that  Potts  had  started,  ancl  the  end  of  it 
was  Potts  turned  out  a  scoundrel,  as  every  one 
said  he  would,  swindled  the  old  man  oi^t  of  ev- 
ery penny,  and  i^uined  t(im  completely.  Bran- 
don had  to  sell  his  estate,  and  Potts  bought  it 
with  the  very  money  out  of  wbich  he  bad  cheat- 
ed the  old  man."  ' 

"Oh!  impossible!",  said  Brandon.  "Isn't 
that  some  village  gossip  ?" 

"  I  wish  it  was.  Sir — but  it  ain't.  G\>  ask  any 
malf  here,  and  he'll  tell  you  the  same." 

"And  what  became  of  the  family?"  asked 
Brandon,  calmly. 

"  Ah,  Sir !  that  is  the  worst  part  of  it. " 

"Wliy?" 

"  I'll  tell  you.  Sir.  He  was  ruined.  lie  gnve 
up  all.  He  hadn't  a  penny  left.  He  went  out 
of  the  Hall  and  lived  for  a  short  time  in  a  small 
house  at  the  other  end  of  the  village.  At  la<t 
he  spent  what  little  money  he  had  left,  and  they 
all  got  sick.  You  wouldn't  believe  what  bsp- 
pen»l  after  that. " 

"  What  was  it'?" 

"They  were  all  taken  to  the  alms-house." 

A  burst  of  thunder  seemed  to  sound  in  Bran- 
don's ears  as  ho  heard  this,  whKA  he  had  never 
even  remotely  imagined.  The  tailor  was  occu- 
pied with  his  own  thoughts,  and  did  not  notice 
the  wildness  that  for  an  instant  appeared  in 
Brandon's  eyes.  The  latter  for  a  moment  felt 
paralyzed  and  struck  down  into  nothingness  by 
the  shock  of  that  tremendous  intelligence. 

"The  people  felt  dreadfully  about  it,"  cortin- 
ued  the  tailor,  "  but  they  couldn't* do  any  thing. 
It  was  Potts  who  had  the  family  taken  to  the 
alms-house.     Nobody  dared  to  interfere." 

"Did  none  of  the  county  fafnilies  do  any 
thing  ?"  said  Brandon,  who  at  last,  by  a  violent 
eflbrt,  had  regained  his  composure. 

"No.  They  had  all  been  insulted  by  the  old 
man,  so  now  they  let  hift' suffer." 

"  Had  he  no  old  friends,  or  even  acquaint- 
ances ?" 

"Well,  that's  what  we  all  asked  ourselves, 
Sir ;  but  at  any  rate,  whether  he  had  or  not, 
they  didn't  turn  up— that  is,  not  in  time.  There 
was  a  young  man  here  when  it  was  too  lato." 

"  A  yonng  man  ?" 

^*¥eB,  Sir." 


Was  he  a  relative?" 

"Oh  no.  Sir,  only  a  lawyer's  clerk;  wanted 
to  see  about  business  I  dur*  say.  I'erhsiM  t(i 
colleict  a  bill.  Jjet  me  see ;  the  lawyer  who  sent 
him  was  named  Thornton." 

"  Thornton !"  said  Brandon,  aa  the  name  ttnk 
into  his  soul. 


r>-K 


\  . 


"Tm;  helivedatHolby." 
Braodon  drew  a  long  breauh 

h"L"or  weeki""^  """  ""  "«="  "^  '"«  ^J-- 

ii!l:!^t  f„'"'Pr'«'  *«y  «11  «lied  there?-  said 
..  M     t"  "  ^'^nge,  sweet  voice. 

..  wi!  ♦  "■■  xr  "^'''^^  "'^'^  "°t  80  happy." 
WhatTsnffenng  could  be  greater P 

.„^  ?^H^^  ''°  '^^  dreadfully  in  this  town,  Sir- 
r„  IL^"^  "'^ !''«  not  true,  but  if  it  is  it's  ei^ough 
to  make  »  man's  blood  run  cold  "  '^""S" 

"You  excite  my  curiosity.     Remember  I  am 
an  Amencan,  and  these  things  s«^  odd  to  m^ 

Jot  a^ed^  ^"^  ^^^^  f  """^  '^' 
"'So  onT  ''°^'  ^^'  "^'  Wanyhow." 
"WeU,  Sir,  the  old  man  diL  in  the  alms- 
house.   The  othe«  ^t  well/As^nas  Zy 
were  well  enough  they  went  a/ay  "  ^ 

"  How  did  they  get  away  ?/ 
"Potts  helped  them,"  re^ed  the  tailoik-in  « 
P^ar  tone.     «  They'we.^  away  f.^m  S  vil" 

"  Where  did  they  go  ?" 

knl^*^'t  '"^,'"  L^e'TooL  I  only^tell  what  I 
know  1  heard  young  Bill  Potts,  the  old  fellow's 
^n  boasting  one  night  at  the  inn  whe^  he  was 

He  Mid  hey  wanted  to  leave  the  viUnge.  w  Ws 
father  helped  them  away  to  America.'^' 

"To  America?" 

"Ym,  Sir."  ^  "       , 

Brandon  madd  no  rejoinder, 
.k    Tr  i"""?  **••*  *ey  %vent  to  Livwpool  and 

"  mi"""  t^'^T  '•^  ""^«  their  EeL.^^ 
diffe^lv  P*n,°'/°'«ri«'?" ""k^d  Brendon^  in^ 
ditreren  ly         I  „ever  saw  or  heard  of  them  " 
,     P't  t  yon.  Sir?"  asked  the  tailor  who  evi- 
dently thought  that  America  was  Kke  'sTme  Fn 

a  x"'^'4rr  T,'^^  ni«y  h^ore^S; 
rvoSfyouJS'*"^'''^-  ^-««o-«t^ 

«i,?;'°"der  what  ship  they  went  ont  in  ?" 
,hom^hJ  "Tj '  *"^,'  ^■'■-     Bill  Potts  kept  dark 
SLSg."""  ""'  ""'^  *'"«'  ^-Kh,  t'4t  set 

"What  was  ikat?" 


COkD  AND  CBEKSE. 


^redible;  and  yet  thai  passage  hai  tj 
twS.'Se'^w'"o.  T  t^  '?■"  *'"''«'  '«««"''«  he- 

sSrar  '^  ■»  «•»•»'  ■"■»*  «»« 
2««:sa±'Sxsf'Ss5 

S  '^'*''^''  «^«'Vith  griss  liklveh-et  ore?-, 

and  the  hare^uSTcov^^The  ht^^""'^'^ 

Sil  *"  't  H"^  -"'-P  th^ughTipToT 

wid^wran1^"o^'  "'h"'/"?  '''^"«''  «™'-  -J 
theHM?  fl  .?*'  "ndiJafng  ground.     Before 

J««.nntTr  "U^it  sloped  doSrf  t^wiS  »£ 

JSL"'  »r  out,  on  the  nearer  side  of  which 

*we  was  an  island  with  a  Kght-house-  on   h- 
right  w«  another  promontory,^ ^Md^   ' 
Se"n*'^  t?,  '""^  -"ole^eounty  Xlikft 
Brerfdon       '^"°^''^''°ve  was  the  village  of 

Bmndon  Hall  wasone  of  the  oldest  and  most 
magnificent  of  the  great  halls  of  Engla  "d     Z 

nmidst  the  grmes   of  six  hundred  years    its 


"Why,  that  they  went  out  in  an  emigrent  ship   TZ]!^^'^  T'  "T«  "'"  '«»"  """^dTa  J^ 
steprage  passengers. "  ""grant  snip    ol  foliage  speaking  of  wealth,  luxury  snlenar^ 

Bmndon  wa.  silf„.._  ^  ,  P=J"«l!«-A-d  «il  that  me'n  Wft 


M  8t9pr«ge  passengers 

Brandon  wim  silent. 

"Poor  [)eopJe !"  said  he  at  last. 
»n?{     1*  I'^t  "\®  '""'"■  hid  finished  his  coat 
h.  i„f"^  ^'  ''"'i' '"  '"«>•     fiaving  obtained  a" 
H„  '"'^?l??»«n  that  the  man  could  giv^  Bra„ 
don  paid  him  and  left.  ^  '^'"'  """>-   .  .- «„„,  „„«  wan 

Passing  by  the  inn  he  walked  on  till  >.«  „.™        ^  T""®  ""  he  reached  the  11^ 


•BlU^^e,  a  distance  almost  imme*.urbtert^ 
om  one  tn  thA  nth...  _i-i.>  i. """"w  >    m 


„„,  ^j„^.u>ai,^  oi  weaitn,  luxury,  solendnr 

power  influence,  and  aJl  that  men  To  J  foa  Ji 
s^niggle  for,  or  fight  for;  fh,m  all  of  wh  c?Z 
and  h.s  had  bee»>astout;  and  the  oneTho  had 

srjjt'Thistiiiir  7""^"^  r^"^ 

♦  Brandon  entered  the  gate,  and  /alfcpH  nn  fi,„ 

"I«Mr. 


I  oThe^fSr  iFr^^^^'^^^  r? 


■iii 


_-,™™,  „  „„,„„j;e  almost  immeasurahlB  •  »«  I     mL'  *•""*  t'™e  a  man  entered. 


.  f .i,At 


82 


CORD  AND  CREESE. 


ron  ABK,  UB.      JOHN  POTTS  Ol?   POTTS   HALL.' 


and  Btoat.     He  had  a  thoronghly  plebeian  air ; 
he  was  dressed  in  blacic,  and  had  a  bnnch  of 
large  seals  dangling  from  beneath  his  waistcoat. 
His  face  was  round  and  fleshy,  his  eyes  were 
small,  and  his  head  was  bald.     The  general  ex- 
pression of  his  lace  was  that  of  good-natnred 
simplicity.      As  he  caught  sight  of  Brandon  a 
ft-ank  smile  of  welcome  arose  on  his  broad,  fat 
face. 
Brandon  rose  and  bowed. 
"Am  I  addressing  Mr.  John  Potts?" 
"  You  are.  Sir.    John  Potts  of  Potts  Hall." 
"Potts    of  Potts  Hall!"  repeated  Brandon. 
Then,  drawing  a  card  from  his  pocket  he  handed 
it  to  Potts,     lie  had  procured  some  of  these  in 
tiondon.     The  card  read  as  follows : 

BEAMISH  &   HENDRICKS, 
FLOUR  MEROHAIITS  *  FROVmOH  SEALERB, 
8B  FiONT  STBiirr.  Cihoihkati,  _I 


OHIO. 

"  I,  Sir,"  said  Brandon,  "  am  Mr.  Hendricks, 
junior  partner  in  Beamish  &  Hendricks,  and  I 
nope  you  are  quite  well." 

"Very  well,  thank  yon,"  answered  PotU, 
smiling  sad  sitting  down.  "  I  am  happy  to  see 
you. 


"Do  you  keep  your  health.  Sir  ?" 

"Thank  you,  I  do,"  said  Potts.  "A  touch 
of  rheumatism  at  odd  times,  that's  all." 

Brandon's  manner  was  stiflT  and  foimal,  snd 
his  voice  bad  assumed  a  slight  nasal  intonation. 
Potts  had  evidently  looked  on  him  as  a  perfeit 
stranger. 

"I  hope.  Sir,  that  I  am  not  taking  up  your 
valuable  time.  You  British  noblemen  have  your 
valuable  time,  I  know,  as  well'  as  we  business 
men." 

"No,  Sir,  no,  Sir,  not  at  all,"  said  Potts,  evi- 
dently greatly  delighted  at  being  considered  a 
British  nobleman. 

"Well,  Sir  John— or  is  it  my  lord?"  said 
Brandon,  interrogatively,  correcting  himself,  and 
looking  inquiringly  at  Potts. 

"  Sir  Jolm'll  do,"  said  Potts. 

"  Well  Sir  John.  Being  in  England  on  busi- 
ness, I  came  to  ask  yon  a  few  questions  about  t 


matter  of  some  finporSnce-fo  nS 

"Proceed,  Sir!*'  said  Pqtts,  with  great  dig- 

'' '  There's  a  young  man  that  came  into  onr  em- 
ploy last  October  whom  we  took  a  fancy  to,  or 
rather  my  senior  did,  and  we  have  an  idea  of 

C noting  him.     My  senior  thinks  the  world  of 
,  has  the  young  man  at  his  house,  and  be  is 


COHD  AND  CBEESK. 
He  calls  him 


awn  nuking  up  to  hi«  daughter 
adf  Brandon— Franic  Brandon  " 

At  this  I'otte  started  from  kn  easy  loanginit 
itutude,  in  which  he  was  tryina  to  '"dn"  .h! 

.S  r"''!1  ""^  r'.'' ^'^^''S^nV.Tsity  of  gate 
looked  Brandon  fujl  in  the  iace. 

•  "I  think  the  young  man.is  fairish, " continues 
Brandon,  "but  nothing  extraordinary.  ™ 
mdnstnous  and  sober,  but  he  ain't  quick,  and  he 
never  had  any  real  business  -expe^ence  ^1  he 
came  to  OS.     Nnw  m.,  »„..,•„.  iiJ_  .t         ""  "e 


/ 


"  He  would  never  tell  " 

•'rtoSs^rsa?"""''""*''^  -""^  -^-?" 

.".All  I  know,"  said  Potts,  "is  this,  I  got  of- 


came  to  us.    "Now,  mj.  senior ^'^'  he ^ei^firn   ficialinV'  ""T'    ?»'''  P'"'^'  ""  this,  I  got  , 
was  infatuated  with  him,  gave  him  a  lIS  si  -  i     BrandTf  TJ'"''  ^Z^'  ""  <J'«>  «'  Q"eC  " 
«7.and,  ,n  spite  of  my  yamings  that  he^ught  gasWl     ^Jr^^  '"l^^l^^  "'  ""e  floor  and 
ta  be  cautious,  he  wants  to  make  him  hefd-   ^?ru«„  ?:"  ?T*'"'>  '^  recovered. 

year.    And  so  bent  on  thix  i.  ho  .ho*  t  i ^    I  .  ,^         m       'rl.    *'  """'  '"^®  escaped 


year     And  so  b^nt  on  tii?;  if  he  tha^rkno^r 

would  dissolve  partnership  with  me  if  I  refused 

take  the  young  man,  let  him  marry  his  da^S' 

«jd  leave  bim  aU  his  money  when  he  d  L' 

That  s  no  sinall  sum,  for  old  Mr.  Bearish  is 

worth  ^n  ;eal  estate  round  Cincinmitirer  two 

millions  of  dollars.     So.  you  sefe.  *,.,.«  ^  J  u. 

to  feel  anxious,  more^Swt,!  In'.     ^"^  I     ,.^"»*n«?- 

ten,  that  I  thought  I  had  a  very  good  chaise  mv        °  w  i?  °  '""  J°"  "•^"^  theta. "       ^       ' 

self  with  old  Beamish'g  daughtef-^  ^"  '        ^*"-  """  **''  ^"'- '  ■  ■• 

Bnrndon  spoke  all  this  very  rapidly,  and  with 
the  air  of  one  who  was  trying  to  conci.  I  his  feel 
ings  of  diHhke  to  the  clerk  of  whom  he  was  «> 
jealous.    Potts  looked  at  Mm  uith  an  enc^ur^ 
ging  smile,  and  asked,  ^1w  stopped, 

4^^°"",^'^"^  ''«'P«"  •«  hear  of  me  r 
ITiat  8  just  what  I  was  coming  to.  Sir  John  '" 
Brandon  drew  his  chair  tieaterf  apparently  in 
deep  excitement  and  in  a  more  naial  to„e  ih^ 
ever,  »vith  a  confidential  air,  he  went  ou? 

Kon  see,  I  mistrusted  thii  young  man  who 
wascanymg  everj-  thing  before  him  wiZ  hth 
hand,  nsht  in  mv  vat^  ,^tu    ._■    ,    ■  »  "igu 


It'sDo«iriMo""'ri.""''      °*  """'  ''»^«  escaped. 
^ JThen  his  name  may  reaflf  be'  Frank  Bran- 

othl^ariS."""  ''""'•  ■"^^''°'''*^« 
"Are  what?" 

((  -  — 

I  don't 

VVeU,  now,  iMr  John,  could  you  tell  me  what 

ah:!S%•'d^t^l.i«-^^rctS 

"  ol^Kr*'""^  ^^^""^  '='«'ring  his  throat! 
mac  ever  Uved.     He  was  very  weU  off  but  want 
ed  to  get  richer,  and  so  he  ^pecuhited  in  TSn 
«  "he'timr'^''-    I  "■"  "oS^whh  hS 


^jfj^^:}<i!^^  »!*-««  §re>TpHcT«Jet'c:k  i?r  "rl^ 

ays  told   property.     AfteVZ.  ff„.!!?  "-!?""  ''.P'<«"J»d 


f.ii„     - —  1 "  owui  iiimseit.     But  the 

fellow  was  always  on  his  guai^  a,id  always  told 
the^«me  story.    This  is  what  h& :  H^e  Ss 

i     n'n  '?!•""■  ^"''  "^Ph  Brandon  of  Bran- 
don Hall,  Dj^onshire,  »nd  that  he»got  yery  W 

uon,  hir  John,  but  he  says    t  wa?  you.  and 
thM  yon  drove  the  fiunily  away.     tD  then 

11)6  Old  man,  he  says,  died  before  they  left  but 

IT.i.^'Lir'V'*  ••«=«"«  »♦•  the  othei.  iC 
/m  I  believed  it  was  all  a  lie,  and  didn't  tMnk 
here  was  any  such  phice  as  Brandoh  Hall  S,"{ 

1  tr'T*  "^  *'"''  ""t-  »»tu.tdly  enS    Sk 
Mft,  when  two  millions  were  at  stake  ™' 
Potts  winked. 

.n'l'u^?"'  ^  ""'••'enly  found  my  health  rivinir  wav 

SeMrr/a^?^-'-'    ^o-eewraTa'ISI: 

fl'f^ 'aughed  with  intense  glee. 

in.  t„  «  \  **™«  here  after  wandering  about,  try- 


^S^K=  "'  --h^I'fo/^-K 


^Mn  himself  and  ask  him." 

You  did  right,  8ir,"  said  Potts,  who  had 

J*« an  intense  interest  in  this  narrative.    "I'm 

M  ^  n""  y""  °"«ht  to  have  come  to.     I  can 

tenlr""'-    ^'B-^'-isamir 


"  tt«  wt.       '^  ■""*  '?""''  himself  ruined, 
ever  kn«w  ..f- "'^I'^tf  ^  ™'"ed  than  any  .^an  I 
eyer  knew  of,  and  all  his  estates  were  sold     I 

haj  an?.4r'  "'T'l'"''  ""'e«  inThel^untJ 
h^lS?^i.  /  .''"h.  the  sale  was  forced,  and  I 
bought  the  whole  establishment  at  a  remirHly 

and  darwl  to  say  that  I  had  ruined  their  father 

that  w^r  ;^"'^  'r"  "*"  ^"-^'"k  the  ,^a4  ra 

mir^Z     uT"^,'"  "'•'  Brandy  rAther than 
an  inju^r.    U  .hows,  though,  what  human  natl« 


AlitA  Vk.  i  T  '  ™'7  considerate  y  sent  them 
aUto  the  alms-house,  where  they  had  good  S 
good  attendance,  and  plenty  to  eat  alTllr^i? 

,,„ \  ""*•  *?«°  and  visit  him  two  or  threa  ^im. 


m 


fel((ii^;:ri£i'.._*^.« 


.,..,», 


84 


CORD  AND  CREESE. 


z' 


was,  bis  infernal  pride.  Look  at  ma,  now !  I'm 
not  proud.  Put  me  in  the  alnu-honse,  and  would 
I  'curse  voD  ?    I  hope  not. 

"  At  iaat  old  Brandy  died,  and  of  course  I  had 
to  look  out  for  the  family.  They  seemed  thrown 
on  my  hands,  you  know,  and  I  was  too  good-na- 
tured to  let  them  suffer,^  although  they  treated  me 
BO  abominably.  The  best  thing  I  could  think  of 
was  to  ship  them  all  off  to  America,  where  they  '. 
could  all  get  rich.    So  I  took  them 'to  Liverpool  j  , 

"  Did  they  want  to  go  ?"  %         ', 

"  Tjtgr  didn't  seem  to  have  an  idea  In  their 
heads.  They  looked  and  acted  just  like  three 
bom  fools." 

"Strange!" 

"I  let  a  friend  of  mine  see  abo.nt  them,  as  I 
had  considerable  to  do,  and  he  got  them^  a  pas- 
sage." 

"  I  suppose  you  paid  their,  way  out. " 

"I  did.  Sir,"  said  Potts,  with  an  air  of  mu- 
nificence ;  "  but,  between  you  and  me,  it  didn't 
cost  much." 

"  I  should  think  it  must  have  cost  a  consider- 
able sum." 

"Oh  no!  Clark  saw  to  that  CUrk  got  them 
places  as  steerage  passengers." 

"  Young  Brandon'  told  me  once  that  he  came 
out  as  cabin  passenger." 

"  That's  his  cursed  pride.  He  went  o^t  in  the 
Steerage,  and  a  devilish  hard  time  be  had  too." 

"Why?" 

"  Oh,  he  was  a  little  crowded,  I  think !    There 
Were  six  hundred  emigrants  on  board  the  Tecum- 
aeh—"         "  '%. 
•"Thewhatr 

"■The  Tecumsfih.  Clark  did  that  business 
nea|ly.  E^h  passenger  had  to  take  bis  own 
provisions,  so  he  supplied  them  with  a  Jot.  Now 
what  do  yon. think  he  gave  them?"  ^7 

"I  can't  imagine." 

"  He  bought  them  some  damaged  bread  at  one 
quarter  the  usual  price.  It  w^all  mouldy,  you 
know,"  said  Potts,  trying  to  m'ake  Brandon  see 
the  joke.  "  I  declare  Clark  and'  I  roared  over 
iit,ft)T  a  couple  of  months,  thinking  how  surprised 
they  must  have  been  when  they  sat  down  to  eat 
their  first  dinner." 

"That  was  very  neat,"  rejoined  Brandon. 

"They  were  all  sick  when  they  left,"  said 
Potts;  "but  beforp  they  got  to  Quebec  they 
were  sicker,  I'll  bet." 

"Why  so?" 

"  Did  you  ever  hear  of  ship-fever  ?"  said  Potts, 
in  a  low  voice  which  sent  a  sharp  thrill  through 
every  fibre  of  Brandon's  being.  He  could  only 
nod  his  head. 

"Well,  the  Tecumaeh,  with  her  six  hundred 
passengers,  afforded  an  uncommon  fine  field  for 
the  ship-fever.  That's  what  I- was  g^ng  to  ob- 
■arve.  They  had  a  great  time  at  Quebec  last 
rammer ;  but  it  was  unanhnously  voted  that  the 
Tecamseh  was  the  worst  snip  of  the  lot.  I  sent 
oat  an  agent  to  see  whajmad  become  of  my  three 
friends,  and  he  came  hick  and  told  me  all.     He 

id  tluit  vfauut  fourjpiuidred  of  tlw  Tecunueh't 
passengers  died  dnnng  the  voyage,  and  ever  so 
manv  more  after  landing.  He  obtained  a  list  of 
the  dead  from  the  quarantine  records,  and  among 
them  were  those  of  these  three  youthful  Brandons. 
Yes,  they  joined  old  Cognac  pretty  soon — lovelpr 
and  plcasnnt  in  their  lives,  and  in  death  not  di- 
vided.   But  this  young  devil  that  you  speak  of 


mus^  have  escaped.     I  dare  say  lie  did,  for  tha 
confusion  was  awfuL" 

"  But  couldn't  there  have  been  another  son  ?" 

"  Oh  no.  There  was  another  son,  the  eldest, 
the  worst  of  the  whole  lot,  so  ii^emally  bad  that 
even  old  Brandy  himself  couldn't  .stand  it,  but 
packed  him  off  to  Botany  Bay.  It's  well  he  went 
of  his  own  accord,  for  if  he  hadn't  the  law  would 
have  sent  him  there  at  last  transported  for  life." 

"  Perhaps  this  man  is  the  same  one." 

"  Oh  no.     This  eldest  Brandy  is  dead." 

"Are  yon  sure?" 

"  Certain — best  authority.  A  business  friend 
of  mine  was  in  the  same  ship  with  him.  Brandy 
was  coming  home  to  see  his  friends.  Ho  fell 
overboard  and  my  friend  saw  him  drown.  It 
was  in  the  Indian  Ocean." 

"When  was  that?"      • 

"Last  September."        ^ 

"Oh,  then  this  one  must  be  the  other  of 
course!" 

"  No  doubt  of  that,  I  think,"  said  Potts,  cheer- 
ily. 

Brandon  rose..  "I  feel  much  obliged,  Sir 
John,"  said  he,  stifily,  and  with  his  usual  nasal 
tone,  "for  your  kindness.  This  is  just  what  I 
want.  Ill  put  a  stop  to  my  voung  man's  giime. 
It's  worth  coming  to  England  to  find  out  this." 

"Well;  when  you  waUc  him  out  of  your  office, 
give  him  my  respects  and  tell  him  I'd  be  very 
happy  to  see  Mm.  Por  I  would,  you  knofi,  I 
really  would."' 

"Ill  tell  him  so,"  said  Brandon,  "and  if  he 
is  alive  perhaps  he'll  come  here." 

"Ha!  ha!  hal"  roared  Potts. 

"Ha!  ha!"  laughed  Brandon,  and  pretend- 
ing not  to  see  Potts's  outstretched  hand,  he  bowed 
and  left.  He  walked  rapidly  down  the  ovenu*. 
He  felt  stifled.  The  horrors  that  had  been  re- 
vealed to  him  had  been  but  in  part  anticipated. 
Could  there  be  any  thing  worse  ? 

He  left  the  gates  and  walked  quickly  away,  he 
knew  not  where.  Turning  info  a  by-path  he  went 
up  a  hill  and  finally  sat  down.  Brandon  Hall 
lay  not  far  away.  In  front  was  the  village  and 
the  sea  beyond  it.  All  the  time  there  was  but 
one  train  of  thoughts  in  his  mind.  His  wrongt 
took  shape  and  framed  themselves  into  a  few 
sharply  defined  ideas.  He  muttered  to  himself 
over  and  over  the  things  that  were  in  his  mind: 
"Myself  disinherited  and  exiled!  My  father 
ruined  and  broken-hearted  I  My  father  killed! 
My  mother,  brother,  and  sister  banished,  staned, 
and  murdered !" 

He,  too,  as  far  as  Potts's  will  was  concerned, 
had  been  slain.  He  was  alone  and  had  no  hope 
that  any  of  his  family  could  survive.  Now,  as  he 
sat  there  alone,  he  needed  to  make  his  plans  for 
the  future.  One  thing  stood  put  prominently  be- 
fore him,  which  was  that  he  must  go  immediate- 
ly to  Quebec  to  find  out  finally  and  absolutely  the 
fate  of  the  family. 

Then  could  any  thing  else  be  done  in  En- 
gland? He  thought  over  the  names  of  those 
who4iad  been  tfae^mwt  intimate  friends  of  his  fo^ 
ther— ITiomton,  Langhetti,  Despard.  Thornton 
bad  neglected  his  &ther  in  his  hour  of  need.  He 
had  merely  sent  a  clerk  to  make  inquiries  after 
all  was  over.  The  elder  Langhetti,  Brandon 
knew,  waa  dead.  Where  were  the  others?  Nona 
of  thepi,  at  any  rate,  had  interfered. 
^    There  remained  the  family  of  Despard.   Biw 


*-*  >#-.5 


CORD  AND 


mo  ne  core.  If  he  chose  to  look  in  the  annv 
«g«ter  he  might  very  easily  find  out;  but^^ 
.hould  he  ?  He  had  n.iver  known  or  h^ml  muS 
of  him  in  any  way  "«uu  laucn 

not  even  whether  he  wa*  alive  or  dead  '"«' 

For  a  time  he  discussed  the  question  in  hig 
mmd  whether  it  might  not  be  well  to^L  him 
out  so-as  to  show  him  his  father's  fate  Td  i^ 
his  co-operation  But  after  a  few  mome^ 
wnsideration  he  dismissed  this  thought  Wly 
.hould  he  seek  his  help  ?     Courtenay  UespW 

WhJ  make"!.n;»H"'"'^"""'  "'*'""'  "^"'^n' 
wtiy  make  any  advances  to  one  whom  he  did 

not  know?    Afterward  it  might  be  w^  to  fiml 
him,  and  see  what  might  be  do^ne  wVor  thS 
'  5"' "  y«'  there  could  be  no  reason  what  i 
ever  why  he  should  take  up  his  timfl^JI^h    ' 

The  end  of  it  all  was  that  he  condnded  what 

under  any  circumstances,  of  betraying  him  And 
where  now  was  Beatrice  ?  In  tdw^'afthi. 
man  whom  Bnuidon  had  just  left  H^lhl^^ 
hUfcas  he  came  and  went  ?    Had  shrhea^dl^" 

KuL^Vrpe^th'rrnSts 

,te.;^e^So^r^^^^^ 

^n  thousand  pounds  which'^ComptrriS  ^" 
«3«irmSdrt  by  a  ^uS^^  «'»  N^Imed 


'SB 


than  be  Uken  alvve —lir  iM.U?  "  l'''''P*  ■■■">«■ 
seaman  Peter  LegBlt  wh^iTh^v    V,     ''^  ?y  '™»'y 

pu.hedupi![kJ"l^'^|edre7f?om>VanSr''''  ""'  ^ 
V      J  ^  '  Balphe  Brandon" 

i-ive  days  afterward  Brandon,  with  his  Hin^n 


4 


^        CHAPTER  XIX. 

'    *■       THE   DEAD  ALIVB. 

,      It  -was  early  in  the  month  of  Animst  vhm. 
i^r^h^r^-     A  1«^.  wooden  building Xd 

in„  ^^ly^"  ^e  superintendent?"  he  asked,  bow- 
ing courteously.  '"^oa,  <)ow- 

now.""'"  '*^'*"  ''**^     " H«  *«  i°  Quebec ^ust 

thit  I  wS.y°"  "^  «^^«  ">«  'he  infomation 
"What  is  it?" 

he  ledthe  way  to  an  imier  offici.'  ^  ^'"* 

clerk         ^^  '^•'^  '*'*^  •"""*  «"^  in  ?"  -^ked  the 
"Last  year." 

Brandon  bowed. 

SZtdS*'  rr^'*^  fn.m  th?sWpi 
oooks  and  thwe  who  died  on  shore.     It  is  « 

tSstr"""*"'^-    ^^•°"l«'y"'like.oloJw 


Brandmnwwed  and  advanced  to  the  desk. 

were  «!m!I!.  ■  °"  ^""^  '^P  *how  whether  they     ' 
were  seamen  or  passengers,  and  the  paasemtera 
are  marked  as  cabin  and  steerage.     B^S 
;S^..'»  ^  i^Po-^ihle  to  kee^  .SLf^ 

li-^l^  *■"''  ""^«-     Those  for  whichhS 
Woked  did  not  appear.    At  iMt  he  came T tU 


86 


CORD  AND  CREESK. 


list  of  those  who  hnd  died  on  Rhore.    After  read- 
ing a  fewniiiiieH  hiH  eye  was  arrested  by  one — 

" /irani/on,  EUzabetli." 

It  was  bis  mutber.  lie  read  on.  lie  soon 
came  to  another —  > 

"  Brandon,  J-'dillt."    It  was  his  MHter. 

"Do  you  find  any  of  the  names jr"  asked  the 
clerk,.jeeing  Hrandon  tuni  hit  head. 

"  Yes,"  said  Hranrlon ;  "  this  is  one,"  and  lie 
pointed  to  the  l|\Ht  name.  "  Uu^I  see  a  murk 
o]ii)o»ite  that  name.  Wiiatisiti'  'B^and'A.' 
What  is  the  meaning?" 

"  Is  that  party  a  relative  of  yours?" 

"No,"  said  Hnindoh. 

"  You  don't  mind  hearing  something  horrible, 
then  ?" 

"No." 

The  I'lerk  drew  a  long  breath. 

"  \\  ell,  Sir,  those  letters  were  written  by  the 
late  Kii])eriiitcndent.  The  poor  man  is  now  u 
lunatic.     He  was  here  last  year. 

"You  see  tliis  is  how  it  was:  The  ship-fever 
broke  out.  The  number  of  sick  was  awful,  and 
there  were  no  preparations  for  thfera  here.  The 
disease  in  some  res|)ect8  was  worse  than  cholera, 
and  there  was  nothing  but  confusion.  Very  many 
died  from  lack  of  nnrsiiig.  Hut  the  worst  feat- 
ure of  the  whole  thing  was  the  hurried  buiinls. 

"  I  was  not  here  last  year,  and  alhwho  were  here 
then  have  left.  Hut  I've  heard  enough  to  make 
me  sick  with  horror.  You  ])^rhap8  are  awai=e 
that  in  this  shi|)-fever  there  sometimes  occurs  a 
tot/1  loss  of  sense,  which  is  apt  to  be  mistaken  for 
ii&th  ?" 

The  clerk  paused.  Brandon  regarded  him 
steadily  for  a  moment.  Then  he  turned,  and 
looked  earnestly  at  the  book. 

"The  burials  were  very  hastily  made." 

"\Vell?' 

"  And  it  is  now  l)eli^<ed  that  some  were  bur- 
ied in  a  state  of  tra 

"  Hinied  aliv 

"  Buried  ali 

Tliere  was  a  long  silence.  Brandon's  eyes 
were  fi.xed  on  the  lxH)k.  At  last  he  pointed  to 
the  name  of  Kdith  Brandon. 

"Then,  I  sup])oSet"  he  said,  in  a  steady  voice, 
which,  however,  was  in  a  changed  key,  "these 
letters  '  B'  and  '  A'  are  intended  to  mean  some- 
thing of  that  description  ?" 

"  i^'omething  of  that  sort,"  replied  the  clerk. 
.Brandon  drew  a  long  breath. 

"  But  there  is  no  certainty  about  it  in  this 
particular  ca.se.  I  will  tell  you  how  these  marks 
happened  to  be  made.  The  clerk  that  was  here 
last  told  me. 

"One  jnoming,  according  to  him,  the  super- 
intendent came  in,  looking  very  much  excited 
and  altered.  He  went  to  this  l>ook,  where  the 
entries  of  burials  had  been  made  on  the  preced- 
ing evening.  This  name  was  third  from  the 
last.  Twelve  had  been  buried.  He  penciled 
these  letters  there  and  left.  People  did  not  no- 
tice  him ;  every  bo<ly  was  sick  or  busy.     At  last 


^n  the  cvEniTigToflfie  next  rtayi'^fien  they  were 
to  buiy  a  new  lot,  they  found  the  su|)erintendent 
digging  nt  the  grave  the  third  from  the  last. 
They  tried  to  stop  him,  but  ho  shouted  and  moan- 
ed alternately  'Buried  alive!'  'Buried  alive!' 
In  fact  they  saw  that  he  was  crazy,  and  had  to 
confine  him  at  once." 

"Did  they  e.\amine  the  grave?" 


"  Yes.     The  woman  told  my  predecessor  that 

she  and  her  husband — who  did  the'  burying 

had  examined  it,  and  foimd  the  body  mit  unly 
dead,  but  corrupt.  (So  there's  no  doubt  of  it. 
That  party  must  have  been  dead  at  any  rate." 

"  V\1io  was  the  woman  ?" 

"  An  old  woman  that  laid  them  out.  tfhe  and 
her  husband  burie<l  them." 

''  Where  is  she  now  ?'' 

"I  don't  know." 

"  Does  she  stay  here  yet  ?" 

"  No.     She  left  last  year." 

"What  became  of  the  superintendent?'' 

"  He  was  taken  home,  but  grew  no  better.  At 
last  he  had  to  be  sent  to  an  asylum.  Some  ex- 
ninination  was  made  by  the  authorities,  but  no- 
thing ever  came  of  it.  The  papers  made  no  mert"- 
tiun  of  the  atrair,''and  it  was  hushed  up." 

Brandon  read  on.  At  last  he  came  to  anoth- 
ername.  Itwassimply this:  "/ir(j/i</on."  There 
was  a  slight  movement  on  the  clerk's  part  m 
Brondon  came  to  this  name.  "  There  is  no 
Christian  name  here,"  said  Brandon.  '"I  sup- 
pose they  did  not  know  it." 

"Well,"  said  the  clerk,  ■"  there's   something 
peculiar  about  that.      The  former  clerk  never , 
mentioned  it  to  any  Ixxly  but  me.     That  nam' 
didn't  die  nt  all." 

"Whiit  do  you  mean?"  said  Brandon,  who 
could  scarcely  speak  for  the  tremend<^  struggle 
between  boiie  and  despair  that  was  ^oiug  on 
within  him.  ^,V 

"  It's  a  false  entry." 

"How?" 

"The  superintendent  wrote  that.  Fee,  the 
handwriting  is  difi'eront  from  the  others.  One  Is 
that  of  the  clerk  who  made  all  these  entries ;  the 
other  is  the  superintendent's." 

Brandon  looked  and  saw  that  this  was  thcca^e. 

"  What  was  the  cause  of  that  ?" 

"The  clerk  told  me  that  after  making  thcsie 
next  fifteen  entries  of  buried  ]>arties — bin  led  the 
e( ening  at\er  these  last  twelve — he  went  nwny  to 
see  al)out  something.  When  he  came  buck  the 
next  morning  this  name  was  written  in  the  su- 
perintendent's hand.  He  did  not  know  >'liat  to 
think  of  it,  so  he  concluded  to  ask  the  .Mijiirin- 
tendent ;  but  in  the  course  of  the  day  he  heard 
that  he  was  mad  and  in  confinement,  as  I  have 
told  you." 

"Then  you  mean  that  this  is  not  an  entrj'  of 
a  death  at  nil.'' 

"Yes.  The  fact  is,  the  superintendent  for 
some  reason  got  it  into  his  head  that  this  Bran- 
don"— and  he  pointed  to  Edith's  name — "had 
l)een  buried  alive.  He  brooded  over  the  name, 
and  among  other  things  wrote  it  down  here  at 
the  end  of  the  list  for  the  day.  That's  the  way 
in  which  my  predecessor  accounted  for  it." 

"  It  is  a  very  natural  one,"  said  Brandon. 

"Quite  so.  The  clerk  Jet  it  stand.  You  sec, 
if  he  had  erased  it,  he  might  have  been  over- 
hauled, and  there  would  have  been  a  committee. 
He  was  afi-aid  of  that ;  so  he  thought  it  belter 
to  ray  nothing  about TIT  He  wonldn  tfinvctnld  ' 
mo,  only  he  said  that  a  party  came  here  once  for 
a  list  o'f  all  the  dead  of  the  Tecummli,  and  he 
copied  all  out,  including  this  doubtful  one.  He 
thought  that  he  hnd  dpne  wrong,  and  therefoif 
told  me,  so  that  if  any  particular  inquiries  were 
ever  made  I  might  know  what  to  say,'' 

"Are  there  many  mistakes  in  thesenwords?" 


m  out.    iVhennJ 


COpD  AND  CREESE. 


87 


lore's  Romething 
mer  clerk  never, 
me.     Tlittt  miin' 


this  was  the  cafe. 
:?■' 

ter  mnking  these 
rties — hiiried  the 
-he  went  inviij-  to 
le  came  back  the 
vritten  in  the  su- 
lot  know  >'liat  to 
ask  the  .tii|iirin- 
;he  day  he  heard 
emeht,  as  I  have 

i  not  an  entr)-  of 

iperintendent  for 
il  that  this  Kran- 
li's  name — "had 
1  over  the  name, 

it  down  liere  at 
That's  the  way 
ited  for  it." 
lid  Brandon, 
stoiid.    You  see, 

have  h)een  over- 
een  ft  committee, 
thought  it  better 
onldnt  hnvolrtd"^ 
inie  here  once  for 
WuiHHeh,  and  he 
Hibtfnl  one.  He 
iig,  and  therefore 
ar  inquiries  were 
to  say." 
a  thesei records?" 


"A    STBANO..   FEEUNO    P.^g^D   OVER   BRANDOK. 


for'^r  tC  wr«:  si""*"^.  "i  '"^ ««' 

hadnotbeentkTpVlaX'siTr^troT'^  °^ 
there  was  imucuracy  "         ^  secretly,  of  course 


HK  STEPPED  FOl.WAHD." 


v?Sr  *  fii"' ^«P«-  •''en.  'hat  Fmnk  might 
^iJed  whLi\,  <^  A  ''"•'  "''  '"  Q"ebec'he  de- 
W«l  «n  „V^    '^■-     ^^  "*"  ""  '>e  arrived  he  in- 

Suo'inisr"' '" ""'  '^'"''^  p«p«-  "o 

INirrtP  NOTICK!  I 

"W.    "''>»caraeoutintheehip7Vcum«Alul4}l 


^  to  any  one  who  can'^.ve  the'al'.v'^TnXffl.^.e'X^^ 

'  HknBV  PETiitt8, 

8m.7»hL  "^  "'*."  "«"'  '»  ^f"""*"!  »nd  in- 
serted the  same  notice  in  the  pvers  there  at/d 

TOssfl.  After  waiting  Ave  or  six  weeks  in 
Montreal  he  went  to  Tor.>nto,  and  advertis^ 
agam,  givmg  his  new  address.     He  waited  h^ 

yJSrV""'^  '"1  "'  '«"«"'  'he  momh  of  C 
>emher  began  to  draw  to  n  close.     Not  vetX 
IK.ndent,  he  began  to  form  a  plan  for  Xrtt 
'"8J"  «*  <^y.  "<y  of  the  United  States. 

tinna*^ir  f  \^.''u'"^  '""*"«<»  many  commnnica, 
tions.  aU  of  which,  however,  were  made  wi°h  the 


^^^ 


68 


CORD  Aia>  CREESE. 


%'agne  bopa  of  ntttng  a  reward.  None  were  at 
all  rellabla.  M  length  he  thought  that  it  wag 
nseleu  to  wait  taif  lunger  in  Canada,  and  con- 
cluded to  go  to  New  York  as  a  centre  of  action. 

He  arrived  in  New  York  at  the  end  of  Decem- 
ber, and  immediately  began  to  insert  hiit  notices 
tn  all  parts  of  the  country,  giving  his  address  at 
the  Astor  House. 

One  day,  as  he  came  in  from  the  street,  he 
was  informed  that  there  was  some  one  in  his 
room  who  wished  to  see  him.  He  went  up  calm- 
ly, thinking  that  it  was  some  new  person  with 
intelligence. 

On  entering  the  roon^  he  saw  a  man  standing 
by  the  wiildowi  in  his  shirt-sleeves,  dressed  in 
coarse  clothes,  llid  man  mas  very  tall,  broad- 
shouldered,  with  large,  Roman  features,  and  heavy 
beard  and  mustache.  His  face  was  marked  by 
profound  dejection;  he  looked  like  one  whose 
whole  life  had  been  one  long  misfortune.  Louis 
Brandon  had  never  seen  any  &ce  which  bore  so 
deep  an  impress  of  sufiering. 

The  stranger  turned  .as  he  came  in  and  looked 
at  bim  with  his  sad  eyes  earnestly. 

"  Sir, "  said  he,  in  a  voice  which  thrilled  through 
Brandon,  "  are  yoa-ilwiry  Peters  ?" 

A  strange  feuing  passed  over  Brandon.  He 
stepped  forward. 

"  Frank !"  he  cried.  In  a  broken  voice. 

" Merciful  Heavens!"  cried  the  other.  "Have 
you  too  come  up  from  the  dead  ?    Louis!" 

In  this  meeting  lietween  the  two  brothers,  aft- 
er so  many  eventful  vears  of  separation,  each  had 
much  to  tell.  Each^ad  a  stoty  so  marvelous 
that  the  other  might  have  doubted  it,  had  not 
the  marvels  (^  his  own  experience  been  equally 
great.  JbYank's  story,  however,  is  the  only  one 
that  the  reader  will  care  to  hear,  and  that  must 
be  reserved  for  another  chapter. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

Frank's  stobt. 

"Arras  you  left,"  said  Frank,  "all  went  to 
confhsion.  Potts  lorded  it  with  a  higher  hand 
than  ever,  and  my  father  was  more  than  ever 
in^Mated,  and  seemed  to  feel  that  it  was  nec- 
essaiy  to  justify  liia  harshness  toward  yon  by 
pnUidy  exhibiting  a  greater  confidence  in  Potts, 
like  a  tliorougbly  vulgar  and  base  nature,  this 
man  could  not  be  content  with  having  the  power, 
but  iQved  to  exhibit  that  power  to  us.  Life  to 
me  for  years  became  one  long  death ;  a  hundred 
times  1  would  hare  turned  upon  the  scoundrel 
and  taken  vengeance  for  our  wrongs,  hot  the 
teare  of  my  mother  forced  me  to  use  self-control. 
Yoii  had  been  driven  off;  I  alone  was  left,  and 
she  imploi'ed  me  by  my  love  for  her  to  stand  by 
her.  I  wished  lier  to  take  her  dwn  little  property 
and  go  with  n^  and  Edith  where  we  might  m 
live  in  seclusion  together;  but  this  she  would 
not  do  for  fear  of  staining  the  proud  Brandon 
t"""" 


''Potts  grew  worse  and  worse  everjr  year. 
There  was  a  loathsome  son  of  his  whom  he  used 
to  bring  with  him,  and  my  father  was  in&tuated 
enough  to  treat  the  younger  devil  with  the  same 
civility  which  he  showed  to  the  elder  one.  Poor 
fiuher !  he  really  believed,  as  he  afterward  told 
me,  that  these  men  were  putting  millions  of 


money  into  his  hands,  and  that  he  would  be  the 
Beckford  of  his  generation. 

"After  a  while  another  scoundrel,  called 
Clark,  appeared,  who  was  simply  the  counterpart 
of  Potts.  Uf  this  man  somethino^  very  singular 
was  soon  made  known  to  me. 

"  One  day  I  was  strolling  through  the  grounda 
when  suddenly,  as  I  passed  through  a  gmve 
which  stood  by  a  fish-pond,  I  heard  voices  and 
saw  the  two  men  I  hated  most  of  all  on  earth 
standing  near  me.  They  were  both  naked. 
Thev  had  the  audacity  to  go  bathing  in' the  finh- 
pond.  Clark  had  his  back  turned  toward  me, 
and  I  saw  on  it,  below  the  neck,  three  marb, 
fiery  rod,  as  though  they  had  been  made  by  a 
brand.  They  were  these ;"  and  taking  a  pencil, 
Frank  made  the  following  marks : 


.•^■-■'  -^^ 

.  \^>4M^iiii0i\a  with  intense  excitement. 
^0i,^Mr4J^ien  in  New  bouth  Wales,"  said 
Frank^  j^^p^wrhuM  know  whether  it  is  true 
or  not  t^.tm^lk^yt^bfi^ds  on  convicts?" 

"  It  is  true,  a»P|d^fvicts  of  the  very  worst 
kind."  .^,,'. 

"  Do  you  know  wttuHpey  mean  ?"      " 

"Yes." 

"What?" 

"Only  the  worst  are  branded  with  a  single 
mark,  so  yon  m^  imagine  what  a  triple  m^ 
indicates.  But  I  will  tell  you  the  meaning  of 
each.  The  first  (  /|\  )  is  the  king!s  mark  put  on 
those  who  are  totally  irreclaimable  and  insubor- 
dinate. The  second  (  R.  )  means  runaway,  and 
is  put  on  those  who  have  attempted  to  escape. 
The  third  (-(-)  indicates  a  murderous  attack  on 
the  guards.  When  they  are  not  hung,  they  are 
branded  with  this  mark;  and  thotse  who  are 
branded  in  this  wav  are  condenmed  to  hard 
work,  in  chains,  for  fife." 

"That's  about  what  I  supposed,"  said  Frank, 
quietly,  "  only  of  course  you  are  more  particular. 
After  seeing  this  I  told  niy  father.  He  refused 
to  believe  me.  L  determined  to  bring  matters 
to  a  crisis,  and  charged  Potts,  in  my  father's 
presence,  with  associating  with  a  branded  felon. 
Potts  at  once  turned  upon  me  and  appealed  to 
my  father's  sense  of  justice.  He  accused  me  of 
being  so  far  carried  away  by  prejudice  as  not  to 
hesitate  to  invent  a^foul  slander  a^^ainst  an  hoii- 
est  man.  He  said  that  Clark  would  be  wDling 
to  be  put  to  any  test ;  he  could  not,  however,  ask 
him  to  expose  himself— it  was  too  outrageous, 
but  would  simply  assert  that  my  charge  wu 
false. 

"  My  father  as  usual  believed  every  word  and 
gave  me  a  stem  reprimand.    Louis,  in  the  pm- 


~ijii'. 


,;--«*^ 


CORD  AND  CHEESE. 


'W 


wse  of  my  mother  aiid  xinter  p^nriMl  m.  «..i. 
on  thiwday .    I'oor  man !  f  hi  m  ™ J .""'"" 

^».  In  1  u/r  .L       ■  '  *"*  Wow  goon  fell      U 

"im  in  184f.  that  the-cnwh  came     I  have     V  th 

Hall   couraged  ever.  'b^T'':^."  !LfI'.'^-^l"«'  «f: 


luw  lo  ume  nereafte 
erery  penny  waa  lost. 


Mn.h«.,     He  found  th:"S;e«":;tr.t 
n,  so  he  took  <h«i-™. -,<•  .1..    '     ""'P 


"All  pur  friends   and   acquainSnce.  stood '     ^'      "  "'"  "''''""'  ""   '  -"     •  "^'" 


Joof     Myfeth^^-rolZtS" 
near  him.     Old  Langhetti  was    " 
knew  nothmg  about  this.    I  will 
V  Um  presently. 

"Colonel  Lionel  Despard  wa 
Coartenay,  was  ignorant  of  all  t 
m  the  North  of  England.    'Iliergt 
and  I  can't  account  for  his  inactf 

ned  Langhetus  daughter  too.' 
t6ry. 

"They  are  ^1  false,  Prank." 

Jrank  drew  a  lonir  brraith      «'\«7  "Tougn. 

there,  and  Potts  hJi  Sio  th^J  '^u  "'''' 

There  we  all  p„.yed  forlTthTM  o^'nrmvT 

ther's  prayer  was  heard      Hr  di«^  «f  ^  /^^/"" 

.hejrt    lie  rest  of  us  ted "n  '  ^''^"' 

'fccarcely  had  my  father  b^n  h«^^     v 
Pbtts  came  to  take  us  awav     i?   ■  "^  ,''**" 
**  should  leaved  SuX^'an?  ff""".'"*^  t"' 

-"way  to  Am«S.^r;ere  an1:^«-'"-^^ 
we  were  panJyl^y  ^^-'^f^" 'f '«t"'"*i 

let  oan^lves'^rft;  rnftotTrSt^  "^^  '"" 
wherever  he  wished      We  did  „„,        ^^""^  ""' 

wbere  or  other  we  mijtht  all  ilt«     WK.ri 
could  we  do?    WlmtScoulSido?'T±! 
w«  DO  friend  to  whom  I  couWlook    and^ff 
erer  thought  of  any  thinK  it  wL^^  a       •  ^ 
might  possibly  afford  ^  f ' 'k' r^i*^' A™««» 


lid 


•lay.  In  the  midst  of  all  i  &n  •  u"  "  .~"~ 
n..n«rf  mo  back  to  life  Most  of  Af"  "• 
mspired  fortitude  by  the  howl,,  il"'  'i*'.  "l"" 
eyes,  and  by  the  n^i„„„vM'"'_^"'«di"  "• 


ought  po-;^ibly  afford  ™TchJ^ir^»^T.'"'   *»  •"  '"  «•«  4 
till  deathcame.  ^^  '"  «*'  *  ''™g  give  up  your  o 


eyA -d  by'r;src;rhKmt"''^i" '^ 

You  will  leave  S  u^t  nht'T     ^"f  ^^^  ^ 

I  recwered,  and  then  «ood  by  his'  .!#.. 

best  1  might    I  foiin<t  fi..»  k    u  s     '  "W'» 

I  my  mothrof  my  Sknesf     At  I."!^  "*"*'  •"" 

and  sister  In  the^S  fe  i  si5«^  't  h"^  T '^f 

guaremine,  I^griettr^totyt  Wm^^ 

t'A.'H''  •""  •=°»p'«'«'^  -d  Sits 

'•St^nrp'-a'"*"''^"''''"-^™'- 
senseless.  My  mmw'and  LT  ""^'^  '"''«"« 
and  were  akoSd  onlo^'iTrr  'T' 
-  able  to  nu«e  them^lS"^  MytttSi 

I .uSf  *"  "  '°"« ^■^-    At'last  Fmnk  m- 

time.     I  felt  it  comfng\l''^Csflr'^„''S 
me ;   for  a  time  T  th«„»k.  V       ?  ^'^"^  nursed 


till  death  came. 

pI.*^  r  *"°^*^  ourselves  to  be  sent  wherever 

PMte  chose,  since  it  could  not  iZibly  Cke 

tlungs  worse  than  they  were.     HiZZLl  T^ 

It  T  T^^  ^di&rence,  put  rSli^- 

gw»m  the  steerage  on  board  of  a  aiDwd^l^    .u  °;—"  "'"^  '"-^  "»9  wa 

provisions  some  mouldy  bi^    *^  "^^  P^"*  *"»  "o  attendance. 

We  simply  lived  and  suffered,  and  were  all    '"'!??&,,'"'*,•'«>"'• 

<*^.  U»  son  of  iZghetS^  •'''N^Loms,  w«i  Pa-  arat^  and  Edith  hadTiSS?'-'"'  '^"  '*'" 
You  look  ^e.      Zt^w.  „^W,^H.rLS/^^^^^  -edX^u.. 


at  last  I  revivedTh«  J         P"*****'  """l  when 
few  8ick  wr^ln'lft^d""''^^^''  -"-^  •"« 

no  attendant     All  was  confusioni 


m^  IM  ?!!"' ,'"  K*^"  •"  »»«  pity  a^d  hdpC 
w  necks,  kissed  ns,  and  wept  aloud. 

|«hev,  there  was^only  one  in  aU  that  ship 


^an  ^^t^  "  '•^  '^"'  •  &«»  »f  horror 
C^n  ^ou  bear  what  I  am  going  to  sa^r  * 

^"  Speak!" 

at  the  is£',S?rAi"'^*Ti"''Tf  "^'^'f 
this  8toirbn?C72S^l,  "  "*"*  ^''*  »« 
charge  of 'the  dS'^aSLf^T"  ''*"'  "^ 


/., 


i"y 


) 


---■■f- 


00 


"Alas!"  said  Frank,  in  a  voice  of  despair,  "I 
saw  that  woman — the  keeper  of  the  dead-house — 
the  grave-digger's  wife,  ^he  told  me  this  story, 
but  it  was  with  a  troubled  eye.  I  swore  venge- 
ance on  her  unless  she  told  me  the  truth.  She 
wap  alarmed,  and  said  she  would  reveal  all  she 
knew  if  I  swore  to  keep  it  to  myself.  I  swore  it. 
Can  you  bear  to  hear  it,  Louis  ?" 
"iSpeaf!" 

"She  said  only  this:  'When  the  grave  was 
opened  it  was  foUod  that  Edith  Brandon  had  not 
been  dead  when  she  was  buried."'   ^ 

Louis  groaned,  and,  falling  forward,  buried 
his  head  in  both  his  hands. 
•    It  was  a  long  time  before  either  of  them  spoke. 
At  last  Louis,  without  lifting  his  head,  said : 
"Goon." 

*'  When  I  left  the  island  I  went  to  Quebec,  but 
could  not  etay  there.  It  was  too  hear  the  place 
of  horror.  I'went  up  the  river,  working  my  way 
as  a  laborer,  to  Montreal.  I  then  sought  for 
work,  and  obtaiiled  employment  as  porter  in  a 
warehouse.  What  mattered  it  ?  What  was  rank 
or  station  to  me?  I  only  wanted  to  keep  myself 
from  starvation  and  get  a  bed  to  sleep  on  at  night. 

"  I  had  no  hope  or  thought  of  any  thing.  The 
horrors  through  which  I  had  passed  were  enough 
to  fill  my  mind.  Yet  above  them  aM  one  horror 
was  predominant,  and  never  through  the  days 
and  nights  that  have  since  elapsed  has  my  soul 
ceased  to  quiver  at  the  echo  of  two  terrible  words 
which  have  never  ceased  to  ring  ttfrough  my 
brain — ' Buried  alive!' 

"I  lived  on  jn  Montreal,  under  an  assumed 
name,  as  a  comnton  porter,  and  might  have  been 
living  there  yet ;  but  one  day  as  I  came  in  I  heard 
the  name  of '  Brandon. '  Two  of  the  clerks  who 
were  discussing  the  news  in  the  morning  paper 
hapjiened  to  speak  of  an  advertisement  which  had 
long  been  in  the  papers  in  all  parts  of  Canada. 
It  was  for  information  about  the  Brandon  fcmily. 

"  I  read  the  notice.  It^seemW  to  me  at  first 
,  that  Potu  was  still  trying  to  get  control  of  us, 
but  a  moment's  reflection-  il|pwed  that  to  be  im- 
probable. Then  the  mention  of  '  the  friends  of 
the  family'  made  me  think  of  Langhetti.  I  con- 
cluded that  he  had  escaped  death  and  was  trjing 
to  find  me  out 

"I  went  to  Toronto,  and  found  that  yon  had 
gone  ttf<i|ew  York.  I  had  saved  much  of  my 
wages,  and  was  able  to  come  here.  I  expected 
Langhetti,  but  found  you." 

"Why  did  yon  not  think  that  it  might  be 
me?"  Br 

"  BeStve  I  heard  a  threat  of  Potts  obout  you, 
and  took  it  for  granted  that  be  would  succeed  in 
carrying  It  out."  .Ya» 

"What  was  tHifhreat?'' 
^"He  found  out  somehow  that  my  father  had 
^tten  a  letter  to  you.  jpsuppose  they  t^d  him 
so  at  the  viikge  post-oBce.  One  day  when  ho 
was  in  the  room  he  said,  with  a  laugh,  alluding 
to  the  letter,  '  I'll  uncork  that  young  Brandy- 
flask  before  kmbV 

"  Well the  Twtice  of  n^kleath-  apppurwl  in 


CORD  AND  CREESE. 

"  I  do  not  tliink  so  now." 


the  English  paijers."  "^       i 

Frank  looked  earnestly  at  him. 

"And  I  accept  it,  and  go  und*r  an  assumed 
name." 

"SodoL     It  is  better."  . 

"  You  thought  Langhetti  alive.  Do  you  think 
he  is?" 


"Why  not?" 

"The  efforts  which  he  made  were  enough  to 
kill  any  man  without  tlie  plague.  He  must  hare 
died." 

After  hearing  Frank's  story  Lonis  gave  a  full 
account  of  his  OAvn  adventures,  omitting,  how- 
ever, all  mention  of  Beatrice.  That  was  some- 
thing for  his  own  heart,  and  not  for  another's  ear. 

"  Have  you  the  letter  and  MS.  ?" 

"Yes." 

"  Let  me  read  them." 

Louis  took  the  treasures  and  handed  them  to 
Frank.     He  read  them  in  silence. 

"  Is  Cato  with  you  yet  ?" 

"Yes." 

"It  is  well." 

"And  now,  Frank,"  said  Louis,  "you  have 
something  at  last  to  live  fur." 

"  What  is  that  ?" 

"  Vengeance !"  cried  Louis,  with  bnming  eyes. 

""Vengeance!"  repeated  Frank,  without  emo- 
tioji — "  Vengeance !  What  is  that  to  me  ?  >  Do 
you  hope  to  give  peace  to  your  ow-p  heart  by  in- 
flicting Buffering  on  our  enemies?  What  can 
they  possibly  suffer  that  can  atoiie  for  wh«|  they 
have  inflicted  ?  All  that  they  call  feel  is  as  no- 
thing compared  with  what  we  have  felt.  Venge- 
ance!" he  repeated,  musingly;  "and  what  sort 
of  vengeance?  Would  you  kill  them?  Wliat 
would  that  effect  ?  Would  he  be  more  misera- 
ble than  he  is  ?  Or  would  you  feel  any  greater 
happiness?  Or  do  you  mean  something  more 
far-reaching  than  death  ?" 

"Death,"  said  Louis,  "is  nothing  for  such 
crimes  as  his." 

"  You  want  to  inflict  suffering,  then,  and  yon 
ask  me.  •  Well,  after  all,  do  I  want  him  to  suf- 
fer? Do  I  care  for  this  man's  sufferings  ?  What 
are  they  or  what  cojjt  thoy  be  to  me  ?  He  stands 
on  his  own  plane,  far  beneath  me ;  he  is  a  coarse 
animal,  who  can,  perhaps,  suffer  from  nothing  but 
physical  pain.  Should  I  inflict  that  on  him,  what 
good  would  it  be  to  me  ?  And  yet  tliere  is  none 
other  that  I  can  inflict." 

■     "  Langhetti  musl'have  transformed  you,"  said  * 
Louis,  "  with  his  spiritual  ideas."     r- 

"  Langhetti ;  or  perhaps  the  fact  that  I  three 
times  gazed  upon  thp  face  of  death  and  stood 
ujwn  the  threshold  Of  thot  place  where  dwells 
the  Iiiflnite  Mysterv.  So  when  yon  speak  of 
mere  vengeance  my  heart  does  not  respond.  But 
there  is  still  something  which  may  make  a  pur- 
pose as  strong  as  vengeance."  * 

"Name  it." 

"The  senseof  intolerable  wrong!"  cried  Frank, 
in  vehement  lones ;  "  the  pnNcncj,of  that  foul 
pair  in  the  fane  of  our  ancestors,  SBr  own  exile, 
and  all  the  sufferings  of  the  past !    Do  you  think , 
that  I  can  endure  this  ?"    , 

"  No — you  rtiust  have  vengeance."   « 

"No;  not  vengeance."  * 

"What  then?" 

"Justice! "  cried  Frank,  starting  to  his  feet 
"■Timtipw — strict,  stem,  mercilcsa  ;  and  tlint  jn»- 
tice  means  to  me  all  that  you  moan  by  verfi^ni'i;, 
I,«t  us  make  war  nrfltinst  him  from  this  time  forth 
while  life  lasts ;  let  us  cast  him  out  and  get  lnuk 
our  own ;  let  us  put  him  into  the  power  of  llw 
law,  and  let  that  take  satisfaction  on  him  for  his 
crimes ;  let  ns  cast  him  out  and  fling  him  ftoin 
. ,  us  to  that  power  which  can  fittingly  condemn.  I 


nded  them  to 


ned  you,"  said  _' 


dMpue  h  m    and   despise  his  sufferingB.     His 
W  will  gne  me  no  gmtification.     The  ^. 
guish  that  a  base  nature  can  suffer  is  only  Z- 
goBUagto  me-he  suffers  only  out  of  his  b^i 
ness.     To  me,  and  with  a  thing  like  "hat,  ven^ 
anee  18  impossible,  and  justice  is  enough  "^ 
At  any  rate  you  will  have  a  purpose,  and 
yonr  purpose  points  to  the  same  resnltis  minT" 
"But  how  18  this  possible?"  said  Frank     "Ho 
IS  strong,  and  we  are  weak.    What  can  we  do  ?" 
We  can  try,"  said  Louis.     "  You  are  re^y 
0  undertake  any  thing.     You  do  not  value^^ 
life    There  is  one  thing  which  is  before  u^  ^  l[ 
«  desperate-u  is  almost  hopeless;  but  we  are 
both  ready  to  try  it  " 
"What  is  that?" 

"The  ^essage  from  the  dead,"  said  Louis 
spreaj^ing  before  Fmnk  that  letter  from  thel^I 
ure-ship  which  he  himself  had  so  often  reLi         I 
.<  y     ,  "^  J^""  8™"K  to  "y  this  ?"  I 

"How?" 

J!if°f '  '^"°'^-  „  '  ■""*'  fi"t  find  out  the  re- 
wnrees  of  science.  v»v  .^o  ic- 

i  ::«^7.-y»"Catoyet?" 

^"Canhedive?" 

'He  was  brought  up  on  the  Malabar  coast 
among  the  pearl-fishe«%nd  can  remain  uS 
water  for  an  inftredible  space  of  time  Rm  r 
,':^'S  «"'>  --r^  "^'«''  -'"  enaWe  m^nf;^,;  I 
^go  down  under  jth^«cean  depths.  This  wiU  ' 
be  our  object  now.  If  it  succeeds,  then  we  ^„  I 
g^n^our^purpose ;  if  not,  we  mast  think'of^^r  ' 


CORD  AND  CREESE. 


91' 


» 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

THE   DIVINO  BUSINESS. 

Is  a  little  street  that  runs  from  Broadwav  not 
»r  from  WaU  Street,  there  was  a  low  d^^Avay 

which  bore  the  foUowing  letten.,  somewhat  fadT 

BROCKET  Sc   C<X, 

CONTRACTORa 

About  a  month  after  his  arrival  at  New  York 

Bnuidon  entered  this  place  and  walked  up  tJ°he 

dMk,  where  a  stout,  thidt-set  man  was  sitHn^ 

Tefk  t'A^  '''  •-'^  -<»  ^  <^'-ws^"  "he 

'''£  '^S^"'"'"  "^-l  Brandon,  inquiringly. 
(W,».l^'  .    ?    answered  the  other,  descendini? 

nugi/slS  vtlff  ""'^'"^«  ---'«  f- 
*We  are  in  that  line  of  bngJness." 
.,  Y^  have  to  make  use  of  diving  apparatus  ?" 

';i  riSderstand  that  yon  have  gone  Into  th,-« 
^mess  to  a  Urger  exteL  than  J°e  in  l^^" 


^<**a 


-.  J^*^  *",''>"•*•*  Brocket,  modestly.     "I  think 
w.  do  the  leading  business  in  thaVline."  ^ 

rSe"-»^^^ 
t£:s:BXi.rSuL\r;"'t£ 

««  .here  they  still  cling  to  .he"o1d  ?Sor 


diving  which  was  begun  three  thousand  vean. 

^^  1  erfectly  so,"  said  Brocket. 
Do  you  work  with  the  divinir-hpll  Sn  „ 
j  business  or  with  armor?"       ""'"K-^e"  »n  your 

"  With  both.     We  use  the  diving-bell  fnr  «- 
.^onary  puT„,se8,  but  when  k  L^nSLS^t 
move  about  we  employ  armor."        °**?*«^  «« 

dom  of  mo^e™: nt"? '''^'  "■  ^^^^  "  ^^  ^^  «-«- 
"The  armor  is  far  better  than  the  bell     Th^ 

Zm      «         -^  ^.•°  *"d  »"t  Md  aU  throuch 

5i'^rbuir?"'^^'''«--p-fit«hrs 

"Why  so?" 

Sso^mfsKSn!^^^ 

»^ked  about  the  bed  oflhirerTli  they^S 

her,  and  m  her  cabin  they  obtained  a  sum  of 

"IV  oir.r^K^"'^"^^""-'^  «'d  eoi^"°' 

out  rJrTe^m^saiSrArlrir^  '-''- 
quite  communicative  .'Voi  j£  Zr7, 
«hips  always  carried  ready  cash-tteV  fc,  ,?  ^^ 
bank-notes  and  bills  of  e/chaZ,  ^  .v  "** 
only  find  one  you're  sure  of  mZey.^  "^''"  '^ 

min^riL-r^Se'jnW'^^^'-^^" 

«=t  bStrsiSeJ/iS  "r^"' 

'How  far  down  can  a  diver  go  in  annor?" 

o?Ari!rtrg;r'£v& 

^  «  felt  at  first  frem^the  comp^^  air  bn! 

far  J'fiT'^^'"^-     *'«"  «""  eaTir^down^'i 
far  as  fifteen  or«xteen  fathoms." 

«  r    .u TK.**"  'hey  stay  down ?" 
«r«  ,.  II   1    ^"*.'  y°"  ''"ow,  they  go  down  and 
are  puUed  up  only  in  the  middle  ofiheZ  ^ 
at  evening,  when  their  work  is  done."     ^ 
..How  with  the  men  in  armor?" 

Oh,  they  can  stand  it  ahnost  as  well  TT.— 
come  up  oftener,  though.  There"  ZadJSi'! 
age  m  the  annor :  a  man  can  fling  off  His  wekht 
and  come  up  whenever  he  likes  "  ** 

Haveyou^er  been  down  youraelf?' 


MCiu'S"^"'  "^"  ""wn  yourself?" 

"•*  y«*— onener  than  any  of  m v  men  r-. 
the  oldest  diver  in  the  country,  uLT  But? 
don  t  go  down  often  now.  d^  hm^  work  an.l 
I  ni  getting  old."  "'  *"'* 

."  vv'  'm  """^''  '""'*'■  'han  other  work  ?" 

andSten's^itr'Srr''"'^ 

healthy.     The  reaf^  ^'^.^ptd'J'; -«« 
cireumstance  that  happened  two  yHC.'' 


92 


COKD  AND  CREESE. 


,     "  What  HM  that?" 

Brocket  drew  a  long  breath,  looked  for  a  mo- 
ment meditatively  at  the  floor,  and  then  went  on : 

"Well,  there  happened  to  be  a  wreck  of  a 
steamer  called  the  Saladin  down  off  the  North 
Carolina  coast,  and  I  thought  I  would  try  her  as 
a  speculation,  for  I  supposed  that  there  might  be 
considerable  money  on  board  one  way  or  an- 
other. It  was  a  very  singular  affair.  Only  two 
mi^n  had  escaped ;  it  was  so  sudden.  They  said 
the  vessel  struck  a  rock  at  night  when  the  water 
was  perfectly  still,  and  went  down  in  a  few  min- 
utes, before  the  passengers  could  even  be  awak- 
ened. It  may  seem  horrid  to  you,  but  you  must 
know  that  a  ship-load  of  passengers  is  very  prof- 
itable, for  they  all  carry  money.  Besidas,  there 
are  their  trunks,  and  the  clerk's  desk,  and  so  on. 
So,  this  time,  I  went  down  myself  The  shjp 
lay  on  one  side  of  the  rock  which  had  pierced 
her,  having  floated  off  just  before  linking ;  and 
I  had  no  ditticulty  in  getting  on  board.  After 
walking  about  the  deck  I  went  at  once  into  the 
saloon.  ISir,"  said  Brocket,  with  an  awful  look 
at  Brandon,  "if  I  should  live  Tor  a  hundred 
years  I  should  never  forget  the  sigjit  that  I  saw. 
A  hundred  passengers  or  more  had  been  on 
board,  and  most  of  them  had  rushed  out  of  their 
state-rooms  as  the  vessel  begun  to  sink.  Very 
many,  of  them  lay  on  the  floor,  a  frightful  multi- 
tude of  dead. 

"But  there' were  others,"  continued  Brocket, 
in  a  lower  tone,  "  who  had  clutched  at  pieces  of 
furniture,  at  the  doors,  and  at  the  chairs,  and 
many  of  these  had  held  on  with  such  a  rigid 
clutch  that  death  itself  had  not  unlocked  it. 
Some  were  still  upright,  with  distorted  features, 
and  staring  eyes,  clinging,  with  frantic  faces,  to 
the  nearest  object  that  they  had  seen,  i^everal 
of  them  stood  around  the  table.  The  most  fright- 
fol  thing  was  this :  that  they  were  all  staring  at 
the  door. 

"  But  the  worst  one  of  all  was  a  corpse  that 
was  on  the  saloon  table.  The  wretch  had  leap- 
ed there  in  his  ftNt  mad  impulse,  and  his  hands 
had  clutched  a  brass  bar  that  ran  across.  He 
was  facing  the  door ;  his  hands  were  still  cling- 
ing, his  eyes  glared  at  me,  his  jaw  had  fallen. 
The  hideous  face  seemed  grimacing  at  and  threat- 
ening me.  As  I  entered  the  water  was  disturb- 
ed by  my  moti<t)i.  An  undulation  sot  in  move- 
ment by  my  entrance  passed  through  the  length 
of  the  saloon.  All  the  corpses  swayed  for  n  mo- 
ment. I .  ptopped  in  horror.  Scarcely  had  I 
stopped  viiiin  the  corpses,  agitated  by  the  motitm 
of  the  water  and  swaying,  lost  Ifieir  hold ;  tlieir 
fingers  slipped,  and  they  fell  forward  simultane- 
ously. Above  all,  that  hideous  flgure  on  the  ta- 
ble, as  its  fingers  were  loosened,  in  falling  for- 
ward, seemed  to  take  steps,  with  his  demon  face 
still  staring  at  me.  My  blood  ran  cold.  It 
seemed  to  me  as  though  these  devils  were  all 
rushing  at  me,  led  on  by  that  fiend  on  the  table. 
For  the  first  time  in  mv  life,  Sir,  I  fbit  fear  under 
the  sea.  I  started  back,  and  rushed  out  qiwking 
as  thounh  all  hell  was  liehind  me.     When  I  got 


municative.  He  described  to  him  the  exact 
depth  to  which  a  diver  in  armor  might  safely  go 
the  longest  time  that  he  could  safely  remain  un- 
der water,  the  rate  of  travel  in  walking  along  a 
smooth  bottom,  and  the  distance  whiph  one  could 
walk.  He  told  him  how  to  go  on  board  of  a 
wrecked  ship  with  the  least  risk  or  difficulty,  and 
the  best  mode  by  which  to  secure  any  valuables 
which  he  might  find.  At  last  he  became  so  ex- 
ceedingly friendly  that  Brandon  ask^  him  if  he 
would  be  willing  to  give  personal  instructions  to 
himself,  hinting  that  money  was  no  object,  and 
that  any  price  would  be  paid. 

At  this  Brocket  kughed.  "  My  dear  Sir,  yon 
take  my  fancy,  for  I  think  I  see  in  you  a  man 
of  the  right  sort.  I  should  be  very  glad  to 
show  any  one  like  you  how  to  go  to  work.  Don't 
mention  money ;  I  have  actually  got  more  now 
than  I  know  what  to  do  with,  and  I'm  thinking 
of  founding  an  asylum  for  the  poor.  I'll  sell  you 
any  number  of  suits  of  armor,  if  you  want  them, 
merely  in  the  way  of  business  ;  but  if  I  give  yon 
instructions  it  will  be  merely  because  I  like  to 
oblige  a  man  like  ypu." 

Brandon  of  course  expressed  all  the  gratitude 
that  so  generous  an  oft'er  could  excite. 

"But  there's  no  use  trying  just  yet;  wait  till 
the  month  of  May,  and  then  you  can  begin.  You 
have  nerve,  and  1  have  no  doubt  that  you'll  learn 
fast." 

After  this  interview  Brandon  had  many  others. 
To  give  credibility  to  his  pretended  plan  for  the 
pearl  fisheries,  he  bought  a  dozen  suits  of  diving 
armor  ahd  various  articles  which  Brocket  assured 
him  that  he  would  need.  He  also  brought  Cato 
with  him  one  day,  and  the  Hindu  described  the 
plan  which  the  pearl-divers  pursued  on  the  Mala- 
bar coast.  According  to  Cato  each  diver  hud  a 
stone  which  weighed  about  thirty  pounds  tied  to 
bis  foot,  and  »  sponge  filled  with  oil  fastened 
around  his  necL  On  plunging  into  the  water, 
the  weight  carried  him  down.  When  the  diver 
reached  the  bottom  the  oiled  sponge  was  used 
from  time  to  time  to  enable  him  to  breathe  hy 
inhaling  the  air  through  the  sponge  applied  to 
his  mouth.  All  this  was  new  to  Brocket.  It 
excited  his  ardor. 

The  month  of  May  at  last  came.  Brocket 
showed  them  a  place  in  the  Hudson,  about  twen- 
ty miles  above  the  city,  where  they  could  prac- 
tice. Under  his  direction  Brandon  put  un  the 
armor  and  went  down.  Frank  worked  the  [lumpii 
which  supplied  him  with  air,  and  Cato  managed 
the  boat.  The  two  Brandons  learned  their  purtu 
rapidly,  and  Louis,  who  had  the  hardest  ta^k, 
improved  so  quickly,  and  caught  the  idea  of  the 
work  so  readily,  that  Brocket  enthusiastically 
assured  him  that  ho  was  a  natural-bom  divef 

All  this  time  Brandon  was  quietly  making  sr- 
rangem^ts  for  a  voyage.  He  gradually  obtained 
every  thing  which  might  by  any  possibility  lie  re- 
wired, and  which  he  found  out  by  long  deiibeni- 
nons  with  Frank  and  by  hints  which  he  gained 
by  wett-miinaged  questions  to  Brocket. 

Thus  the  months  of  May  and  June  passed  un- 


lip  to  Che  8urfifl:e  I  could  not  speak.  I  instantly 
\»h  the  Sniadin,  came  home  with  my  men,  and 
have  never  been  down  myself  since." 

A  rong  conversation  followed  about  the  general 
condition  of  sunken  ships.  Brocket  had  no  fear 
of  rivals  in  business,  and  as  his  interlocutor  did 
not  pratend  to  be  one  he  was  exceedingly  com- 


tit  St  teuglli  they  were  WSS^lSSafC 


CORD  a!sD  creese. 


CHAITER  XXn. 


THE   IgLET  OP   BANTA   CRUZ. 

It  was  July  yhea  Brandon  left  New  York 
for  San  Salvador. 

He  had  purchased  a  beautiful  litti«  schooner, 
which  he  had  fitted  up  like  a  gentleman's  yacht, 
and  stored  with  all  the  articles  which  might  be 
needed.  In  cruising  about  the  Bahama  Isles 
he  intended  to  let  it  be  suppo-sed  that  he  was 
traveling  for  pleasure.  True,  the  month  of  July 
was  not  the  lime  of  the  year  which  pleasure-seek- 
ers would  choose  for  sailing  in  the  West  Indies, 
bat  of  this  he  did  not  take  much  thought 

The  way  to  the  Bahama  Isles  was  easy  They 
stopped  fo»a  while  at  Nassau,  and  then  went  to 
San  Salvador. 

The  first  part  of  the  New  World  ivhich  Co- 
hunbus  discovered  is  now  but  seldom  visited,  and 
few  inhabitants  are  found  tlfere.  Only  six  hun- 
dred people  dwell  upon  it,  and  these  have  in 
general  but  httle  intelligence.  On  reacting  this 
place  Brandon  sailed  to  the  harbor^ieh  Co- 
lumbus entered,  and  made  many  inquiries  abaiit 
that  immortal  landing.  Traditions  stiU  snrvfwa 
among  the  injople,  and  all  were  glad  to  show  the 
nuh  Englishman  the  lions  of  the  place. 

He  was  thus  enabled  to  make  inquiries  with- 
out exciting  suspicion  about  the  islands  lying  to 
the  north.     He  was  informed  that  about  four 
leagues  north  there  was  an  island  named  Guahi 
Mid  as  there  was  no  island  known  in  that  direc- 
tion nanied  Santa  Cruz,  Brandon  thought  that 
this  might  be  the  ona     He  asked  if  there  were 
any  smaU  islets  or  sand -banks  near  there   but 
no  one  could  tell  him.     Having  gained  aU  the 
mformabon  that  he  could  he  pnreued  his  voyage 
In  that  hot  season  there  was  but  little  wind' 
The  seas  were  visited  by  profound  calms  which 
continued  long  and  rendered  navigation  slo^;^  and    an 
^ous.    Sometimes,  to  prevent  themselves  from   ine 
being  swept  away  by  the  currents,  they  had  to  I      ''Not  very  near 
out  anchor.     At  other  times  they  were  forced ''     "  ""  •  •  ^  ^"• 
to  keep  m  close  by  the  shore.     They  Waited  till 
the  night  came  on,  and  then,  putting  out  the 
sweeps,  they  rowed  the  yacht  slowly  along 

It  was  the  middle  of  July  before  they  reached 
the  island  of  Guahi,  which  Brandon  thought 
might  be  Santo  Cruz.     If  so,  then  one  league 

I'II'tk"''  Zf  ^^l'  ^""^  ""K""  '«  ^  'he  islefof 
the  Three  Needles.     Upon  the  discovery  of  that 
would  depend  their  fate. 
It  was  evening  when  they  reached  the  south- 

Xh«r       9""^^  /°"  """  ""«  ''"-e  when  i 
aU  the  future  depended  upon  the  fact  of  the  ex- 
istence of  an  islet  to  the  north.     That  night  on 

Th  '"•"''J''"™  *•»  P«»««  in  deep  anlciety. 
Ihey  rowed  the  vessel  on  with  their  sweeps,  bfit 

nthJ'^M  T  *""  '"'■8°  »«  ^  J«««l  ^"  one 
night.    Morning  came,  and  still  they  rowed. 

H«^'  ""T"*  '**'*^'  ""''  'he  hot  sun  burned 
down  upon  them,  yet  thev  still  toiled  on,  seeking 
to  pass  beyond  a  point  which  lay  ahead,  so  as  t5 
•«the  open  water  to  the  north.  Gnidually  they 
neared  it,^nd  the  sea-view  JiLAont  opened  ^ 


93 

over  all  the  space  that  lay  one  league  to  the  north. 
They  sounded  as  they  went^ut  found  only  deep 
water.     Thev  looked  all  a^nd,  but  found  n^ 

«^ac?of"th'fVr  "'*"'"'  "'■'^"'^  •'^^  '^" 
Tha|  evening  they  cast  anchor  and  went  ashoro-. 
a  the  jsknd  of  Guahi  to  see  if  any  one  knTwT 
other  islands  among  which  might  I«  found  one 
named  Santa  Cruz.     Their  disappointmem  w^ 
profound.     Brandon  for  a  whiirthough"  th^ 
tC^er""Th°'''''  '^•".  S«l.^'«^°r  was  ^ant  in 
the  letter.     This  very  idea  had  occurred  to  him 
before,  and  h^ud  made  himself  acquainteSwi'th 
all  the  places  of  that  name  that  existed.     None 
of  them  seemed,  however,  to  answer  the  require- 
ments of  the  writing.     Some  must  have^a h,^ 
t  e  name  since ;  others  were  so  situated  that  no 
land  couW  be  mentioned  as  lying  to  (he  north? 
On  the  whole,  it  seemed  to  him  that  this  Saii 
Salvador  of  Columbus  .ould  alone  1«  men tbn^ 
It  was  aUuded  to  as  a  weU-known  place,  of  which 
particuar  description  was  urniecessarn  and  no 
other  place  at  that  day  had  this  character  excent 
!  the  one  on  which  he  had  decided  '^ 

hJ^"  ^TJ''^  remained,  a  faint  one,  but  stiU  a 
hope,  and  this  might  yet  be  realized.  It  was 
that  Guahi  was  not  Santa  Cruz;  but  that  some 
other  island  by  about  here,  which  might  be  con- 
sidered as  north  from  San  Salvador.  This  could 
be  ascertained  here  ift  Guahi  better  perhaps  than 
any  where  else.  With  this  faint  hoj^he  landei 
G»>ahi  IS  only  a  small  island,  and  there  are  but 

ZrlvhtfiT'*  "P^"  •!:.*'>"  *"PP""  themselves 
party  by  fishing.  I„  this  deUghtful  climate  their 
wartls  are  not  numerous,  and  the  rich  soU  pro- 
due^  almost  any  thing  which  they  desire.  The 
hsh  about  here  are  not  plentiful,  and  what  they 


w..,"*1?'^  ^I*'"'^-  '"'«'«  *"«  nothing'b^ 
water.  More  and  more  of  the  view  expos^  it- 
•Hf,  ontti  at  hut  the  whole  horizon  wasWsibte- 
of  d  nL'^^.tT"  "°  I""*  there-no  isUnd-no  sign 
to  £  ^^  "*""  *•''"'•  '^"y  '""«•<*  "o  ">"«h 
A  Ught  wnd  arose  which  enabled  them  to  sail 


catch  have"tobe"so'nghifo7rt'k"ongdi 

AreJh^any  other  islands  near  this  ?"  asked 
Brandon  oflBme  people  whom  he  met  on  land- 
ing.  -—•*** 

"Not  very  near." 

"  Which  is  the  nearest?" 

"San  Salvadoft*" 

.'.'  wr^.."*®!!^  "°y  °^^^^  '"  "hout  this  Utitude  ?" 

Well,   there   IS  a  small  one  nlwut  twelve 

leagues  eas.     I  here  are  no  people  On  it  thongh  " 

"Whatisitsgtaie?"  ^^ 

"  Santa  (,'ruz.*"' 

Brandons  heart  beat  fast  at  the  sound  of  that 
name  It  must  be  so.  It  must  be  the  island 
which  he  sought.  It  hiy  to  the  north  ofSan 
Salvador,  and  its  name  was  Santa  Cruz. 

"  It  is  not  down  on  the  charts  ?" 

"  No.     It  is  onlv  a  small  islet  " 

Another  confiwiation,  for  the  message  said 
plainly  an  islet,  whereas  Guahi  was  an  isLd. 
How  large  is  it  ?" 

"Oh,  perhaps  a  mile  or  a  mile  and  a  half 

"  I6  there  any  other  iyhmd  near  it  ?" 
"I  don't  know." 
"  Have  you  ever  been  there?" 
No." 


— PlainljtaofurtJiwinftmtaariontimiM  hemffi-" 
ered  here.  It  was  enough  to  have  hope  strength- 
ened and  an  additional  chan.o  for  success.  Bran- 
don obtained  as  near  as  iK)8gU.lo  the  ojfcct  direc- 
tion of  Santa  Cruz,  and,  going  back  to  the  yacht, 
took  advantage  of  the  light  breeze  wWch  stiU  wm^ 
blowing  and  set  sail. 
Night  came  on  very  dark,  but  the  breeze  still 


94 


CORI>  AND  CREESE. 


"an  island  cuveued  with  falm-tregr  lay  there." 


continued  to  send  its  light  brenth,  and  before  this 
the  vessel  gently  glided  on.  Not  a  thing  could 
be  seen  in  that  intense  darkness.  Toward  morn- 
ing Louis  Brandon,  who  had  remained  up  nil 
night  in  his  deep  anxiety,  tried  to  pierce  through 
the  gloom  as  he  strained  his  eyes,  and  seemed  as 
though  he  would  force  the  darkness  to  reveal  that 
which  he  sbught.  But  the  darkness  gave  no  to- 
ken. 

Not  Columbus  himself,  when  looking  out  over 
these  waters,  gazed  with  greater  eagerness,  nor 
did  his  heart  beat  with  greater  anxiety  of  sus- 
pense, than  that  which  Brandon  felt  as  his  vessel 
glided  slowly  through  the  dark  waters,  the  same 
Qver  which  Columbus  had  passed,  and  moved 
amidst  the  impenetrable  gloom.  But  the  long 
night  of  suspense  glided  by  at  last ;  the  darkness 
faded,  and  the  dawn  came. 

Frank  Brandon,  on  waking  about  sunrise, 
came  up  and  saw  his  brother  looking  with  fixed 
intensity  of  gaze  at  something  directly  in  front. 
He  turned  to  gee  what  it  Hiight  be 

An  island  covered  with '  palm-trees  lay  there. 
Its  extent  was  small,  but  it  was  filled  with  the 
rich  verdure  of  the  tropics.  The  gentle  breeze 
ruffled  the  waters,  but  did  not  altogether  efface 
the  reflection  of  that  beautiful  islet. 

Louia  pointed  toward  the  northeagt. 


j'rank  looked. 

It  seemed  to  be  aboiit  two  miles  away.  It  was 
a  low  sand  island  about  a  (piarter  of  a  mile  loni;. 
From  its  surface  projected  three  rocks  thin  j.\\ 
sharp.  They  were  at  unequal  distances  from 
each  other,  and  in  the  middle  of  the  islet.  Tlie 
tallest  one  might  have  been  aliout  twelve  feet  in 
height,  the  others  eight  and  ten  fbet  reHiiectively. 

Louis  and  Frank  exchanged  one  long  look,  but 
said  not  a  word.     That  look  was  an  eloquent  one. 

This  then  was  unmistakably  the  place  uf  their 
search. 

The  islet  with  the  three  roclw  like  needles  Ivini; 
north  of  (<anta  Cruz.  One  league  due  north  of 
this  was  the  spot  where  now  fasted  all  their  hope*. 

The  island  of  Santa  Cruz  was,  as  had  been 
told  them,  not  more  than  a  mile  and  a  half  in 
length,  the  sand  island  with  the  needles  lay  abogt 
two  miles  north  of  it.  On  the  side  of  Santa 
Cruz  which  lay  nearest  to  theitt  was  a  small  cove 
just  large  enough  for  tho'yacht.  Here,  after 
rn^  jeme  4ekw»  tl»ey^  w«re  «W«  ta«nt«r  andJaniL— , 

The  tall  trees  that  covered  the  island  rose  over 
beautiful  glades  and  grassy  slopes.  Too  smtll 
and  too  remote  to  give  Kup|M>rt  to  any  number 
of  inhabitants,  it  had  never  haen  touched,  by  the 
hand  of  man,  but  stood  l>eforo  them  in  all  thst 
pristine  beauty  with  which  nature  bod  flnt  en>' 


\ 


I-., -J. 
I 


^7^f  Af  ■  "!",""'?''  Brandon  in  some  degree 
of  thfttAfnean  ,slu„d  where  he  had  passed  sSme 
h^!  T^  Beatrice.  The  recolleclion  of  tWs 
bn^  over  him  an  intolerable  melancholy,  and 
.made  the  very  beauty  of  this  isknd  painM  to 

^■«  h!  i" ''^  T  '"'"'  '"^°K  within  his  heart, 
md  as  he  traversed  its  extent  his  eye  wandered 
•  ^rtout  in  search  of  places  where  he  might  be  able 
r  to  conceal  the  treasure  that  lay  under  the  sea,  if 
he  were  ever  able  to  recover  it  fromits  p« 
place.  Ihe  isUnd  afforded  many  spots  which 
were  weU  adapted  to  such  a  purple  " 

which  was  bald  and  flat  on  its  summit.  On  the 
ijestem  side  it  showed  a  precipice  of  some  forty 
or  fifty  feet  in  height,  and  on  the  eastern  side  U 
descended  to  the  water  ip  a  steep  slope.  The 
toll  trees  which  grew  all  areund  shroudJdit  from 

,^  J"I-M  "'""^  *'  "^  *""  "J'o^e'l  the^ 
.  to  be  visible  on  every  side.  Climbing  to  this 
place  they  saw  something  which  showed  them 
that  they  could  not  hope  to  carry  on  any  oper^ 
tions  for  that  day.  j    "  "uy  opera 

On  the  other  side  of  the  istand,  about  ten 
mies  from  the  shore,  there  lay  a  la^ge  brie  be^ 

Z  W^f  T  "r "  ^^^"^  "■«  L'»'t«l  States  and 
tZ  Jlu'^u  :^*.'""8  ^  '»>'"  vessel  was 
m  the  neighborhQod  it  would  not  do  even  to 

li*h!^^"rf'  ""'•''''  ^'*»'''"'  '^^  about 
tetuig  his  yiM^ht  le  seen.  Whatever  he  did  he 
wished  to  do  secretly. 

The  brig  continued  in  sight  all  day,  and  thev 
remained  on  the  island.  Toward  ev;ning  thev 
ri^-l?"?'^l'*'"'  and  rowed  out  toZMl 
banlh^Vhich  they  called  Needle  Islet.  -It  was 
mere  y  a  low  spit  of  sand,  with  these  tliree  si^ 
gularly-shaped  rocks  projecting  upward.  There 
wus  nothing  else  whatever  to^be  seen  upon  k 


CORD  AND  WlEESE. 


)  OTlEI 


96 


CILVPTER  XXIII. 

THE     OCEAN     DEPI^HS.  \ 

rfJ^fT"'  "^"""'nB  dawned  and  Brandon  bur- 
ned to  the  rock  ancT  looked  areund.  during  the 
mgh  a  shght  ,vind  had  sprung  up,  „nd  wm  still 
genUy  breath  ng.  Far  over  the  wide  sTthere 
was  not  a  sail  to  be  seen.  The  brig  hXpS 
.way.    They  were  finally  left  to  therasdlr 

Now  at  last  the  Ume  of  trial  had  come.  Thev 
fere  eager  to  make  the  attempt,  and  soon  the 
.  f«  t  was  unmoored,  and  raov^'^siowly  omo  S 
m  he  dir«;tion  of  Needle  Island,  A  Lhl  bree^ 
.UU  blew  fitfully,  but  promised  aVany  momem  to 
U^j  yet  while  it  lasted  they  passed'^o^ZZm ' 

Rpfni  r  -ri  "'^"'  °"  '"'»  'he  sei  beyond-. 
Before  they  h«l  come  to  the  spot  which  thev 

^cBm^aea-fofiS^torheoan^,    Altho^^ 
Wly  m  the  morning  the  sun  was  burning  hot, 

nl  J     u?  ?  !"'."""'»'•  ^M  heard,  nor  did  a 

rft  ?^  "  •  /•"«""  «"'«"•  'he  minds  of  any 
Of  them.  One  idea  only  was  DreH«nt--«n«  Z 
OTTwhelming  that  ^  lesL  ZuKaLTJo" 


dinwy  feelings  were  completely  obliterated.  Aft 
er  two  hours  of  steadvlabo'r  tLy  at  KachS 
a  place  which  seemed  to  them  to  be  exacToM 
eague  due  north  of  Needle  Islet  Loold^Kk 
hey  saw  that  the  rocks  on  the  ishind^eS  fi™ 
this  distance  fcloser  together,  and  Sw  «,^ 
sharper,  so  that  they  actually'  bore  a  Ser  re 
ZgZ^  to  needles  frem  th^s point  th'Tto  a^y" 

faf{?nma  'i**^  ''"'""'*'^     ^«  'vater  wa»  fifteen 

llfk  u  ?™  'hey  put  down  the  .anchor  for 
although  there  was  no  .vind,  yet  theffi^iht 
be  caught  in  some  cmrent,  Ld  d^iftSS 
away  from  the  right  position.  Kraaually 

astlirJth'^'"  '"*'*•  "'-'*'"'  "">«  heen  fioating 
astern  with  the  pumpme  apparatus  in  it  so  that 
the  adventurous  diver  might  readily  be  ^cTmpa 

"m'^ttr^''"''*'^ -»'»-"««''' 'he^- 
But  there  wa^the  prospect  that  this  seareh 
would  be  long  and  ardnous,';md  Brandon  w^So^ 
willing  to  exhaust  himself  too  soon.  He  IZT 
ready  resolved  that  the  first  exploret"„  s^dd' 

BreSn  i^  ^Il^'°-  ^«."'"^"  had  foS 
iJrandon  in  all  his  wanderings  with  that  silent 

submission  and  perfect  devotion  which  is  more 
hT"]"  t"'°"«  H'"*!"*  'h«n  any  other  l^pk" 
He  had  the  air  of  one  who  w  JsatisfiKth 
obeying  his  master,  and  did  not  ask  the  end  of 
any  conamands  which  might  be  given.  He  was 
aware  that  jhey  w*re  about  to  explore  th"^,^ 
depths  but  showed  no  curiosity  about  the  S 

send  hL^'^''-  «  ''  ^"^  »~"J™'«  P"i°e  To 
send  him  4own  first  at  different  iwints  7o  that 
he  might  see  if  th^re  was  any  thi^re  which 
looked  hke  what  they  sought  "«rewnicn 

Asgeelo-orCato,  as  Brandon  commonly  caUed 
him-had  made  those  simple  prtfeSK^Toni  S  • 

TiT'"""  """""K  his  claisOT^  apMraus 
whuA  the  ,«ari-divers  have  usedlwHi^^rp^ri! 
diving-first  commenced.  Twelve  or  fifteen  s^es 
were  in  the  boat,  a  flask  of  oil,  and  a "Se 
which  was  fastened  areund  his'Ck  ffio 
were  all  that  he  required.  Each  stone  weight 
about  th.rtv  pounds.  One  of  therfffitied  aS 
tf^w';  Tl™*^''  'J'"  "PongeTith  oil,  so  as 
W  ,  ?■  '"hale  air  t-jMath  the  water;  and 
hen  standing  on  the  ec»|^he  boat  and  fling- 

nfo  the'^^r?'""-?'"  "Pfrh"  head,  h'e  leapll 
into  the  jvarer  and  went  d^n  feet  foremost. 

Over  the  smooth  water  the  ripples  flowed  from 

he  spot  where  Asgeelo  had  disaTpearedr^tend 

ng  in  successive  concentric  ciretes,  and  mdiating 

VrlT  "?'^"'»."°";  far  and  wide.     Louis  and 

l-^ank  waited  in  deep  suspense.     Asgeelo  re- 

,  mained  long  beneath  the  water,  but  to  them  the 

time  seemed  frightful  in  its  duration.     Profound 

^f  e'y  »>^«»n  to  mingle  with  the  suspense,  for  fear 

Jtat  the  faithful  servant  in  his  devbtion  had  over-  . 

H,-3i  Pp^ers-lest  the  disuse  of  his  early 

pfcctuHf  had  weakened  his  sklll-lest  the  weight 

k%rhi;:?ti:eret[e;e'^  •'-^^^ "'-  '^»-  ^^ 

ki^.^'r*^*hew»5en»e  hadlieconilintoler-— 


'  ablT.nHTKlT  T  TT^'?  ""^  becoimUntoler- 

able  and  the  two  had  afready  begun  to  exchange 

I  glances  almost  ol  despair,  a  plashwas  heard.Zd 

,  Asgeelo  emerged  far  to  the  right.    He  struck  out 

Istrongytowardthe  boat,  which  was  at  onc™roC 
I  toward  him.    In  a  few  minutes  he  was  taken  in. 

'      u  1 "?'  "PP^'i '"  be  much  exhausted. 
ne  bad  seelMiothing. 


i? 


:  -:i  .-i^ihX 


00 


CORD  AND  CHI 


fe..^a= 


'a   dark,  sinewy  Xi^N   EMKReSD  FROM   BENEATH,'^ ARMED  WITH  A   LOIlV>,  KEEN  KNIFE." 


They  then  rowed  about  a  )iundred  yv^»  fur- 
.ther,  and  Asgeelo  prepared  to  descend'once  more. 
He  squeezed  the  oil  out  of  the  sponge  and  re- 
newed it  again.  But  thjb  time  he  took  a  knife 
in  his  hand.    ,  '  ■  ""vi 

'•'  What  is  that  for?"  asked  Frank  and  Louis. 
,  •"Sharks!"  answered  Cato,  in  a  terrible  tone. 

At  this  Louis  and  Frank  exchanged .  |;lances. 
Could  they  let  this  devoted  servant  thus  tempt  so 
terrible  a  death  ?    ' 

"Did  yon  see  any  sharks?"  asked  Loais. 

"No,  Sahib." 

"  Why  de  you  fear  them,  then  ?"  "       t 

"  I  don't  feAr  them,  Sahib. " 

"  Why  do  yon  take  this  knife  ?" 

"'One  may  eomp.  Sahib." 

After  some  hesitation  Asgeelo  was  allowed  to 
go.  As  before  he  plnttged  into  the  water,  and 
remained  underneath  quite  as  long ;  but  now  they 
had  become  £dlSkized  with  his  powers  and  the 
suspense  waal;  jBHfareadful.  At  the  expiration 
of  the  t>B<i4gHMP  reappeared,  and  on  b^g 
taken  intA  tnS9Nln>f  again  announced  that  he 
had  seen  nothing.  /, 

They  now  rowed  a  bundled  yards  farther  on 
in  the  same  direction,  toward  the  east,  and  As- 
geelo made  ^mother  descent.  He  came  back  With 
die  same  result. 

It  began  to  grow  discouraging,  but  Asgeelo 
was  not  yet  fatigued,  and  they  therefore  deterrn-- 
^ined^feTet  him  wortc  as  long  as  lie  was  able. 
He  went  down  seven  times  more.  They  still 
kept  the  boat  on  toward  the  east  till  the  line  of 
"  needles"  on  the  sand  island^ad  become  thrown 
farther  apart  and  'stood  at  long  distances.  As- 
geelo came  up  each  tihie  unsucc^fid. 

He  at  last  went  down  for  llMtleventb  time. 


They  were  talking  as  usual,  not  expecting  that  he 
wbMd  reappear  for  some  minutes,  when  saddenlv 
a  shout  was  heard,  and  Asgeelo's  head  emerged 
from  the  water  jio|  more  than  twenty  yards  from 
the  boat.  He  was  swimming  with  one  hand,  and 
in  the  other  he  hel<l  nn  uplifted  knife,  which  ht 
occasionally  brandished  in  the  air  and  splashed 
in  the  water. 

Immediately  the  cause  of  this  became  manifest] 
Just  biehind  tufa  n  sharp  block  fin  appeared  cdti 
ting  the  surface  of  the  water. 

It  was  a  shark !     But  the  monster,  a  cov-in] 
like  all  his  tribe,  deterred  by  the  ])laiibing  of  the 
water  made  by  Asgeelo,  circled  round  him  ai)di 
^'"  prey.  • 

\ightful.     Yet  Asgeelo  ap- 

alarmed.     Hekwain,tlow- 

hg  his  head  and  watching 

by  his  easy  dexterity  to  he 

native  element  as  his  pnr- 

eyes  fixed  on  hidl  and  holding 

cla«p.     The  knife  was  a  long, 

Asgieek)  had  carried  with  Jiini  , 


hesitated  to 
The  momi 

rred  not 
^ ,  occasion: 
the  monstei 
31, 

SU1 

his 

koei 

for 

I 
ball 
self 
before 
re^  a  bul 
'Hiey  had 
agony  of  horror: 

Asgeelo,  compelled  to  watch,  to  guard,  to 
splash  the  water,  and  to  turn  frequently,  made 
but  a  slow  passage  over  those  twenty  yards  which 
separated  him  from  the  boat.  At  last  it  seethed 
as  iCha-chose  to  stay  ttieie.  It  seemed  to  thnm 
whd^MlHd  him  with  such  awful  horror  tbuhe 


could,  do  nothing.    A  ] 

^'this  monster,  who  kept  hira- 

where  a  ball  would  be  spent 

'  indeed  any  aim  could  di- 

(hat  swiil  darting  figiue. 

do  but  to  look  on  in  an 


.■•■%, 

.i-:i*i'.*^«i 


:een  knife. 


^ght  have  escaped  had  he  chosen,  but  that  he 
l,«l  some  |dea  of  voluntarily  encounterinTthe 
moOBter.  Jhw  became  evident  at  kst,  af  the 
rf»rt  passed  before  him  when  they  saw  AsSelo's 
,  fooe  turned  toward  it ;  a  face  fuU  of  fiercfhSte 
fDd  vengeance ;  a  face  such  as  one  tun.s  toward 
some  mortal  enefliy.  i^wura 

lrn!l«  "Th"  "^"'t^'  ''*"^«  ^"^''e  ^'*  his  long 
Me.     rhe  shark  gave  a  leap  upward.     Thf 

H^I^7^"  ''5'.''"'  "'""K'''  «f  ""« '"Others 
Had he-BeSFdragged down?  Impossible!  And 
vet  It  seemed  equally  impossible  that  be  coidd 
have  gone  down  of  bfs  own  accord,       , 

.M^LTh"""'"*  "'?''■  '""I'«''««  ^'W  ended.  A 
white  flash  appeared  near  the  surface.  The  next 
imtiint  a  dark,  sinewy  ann  emerged  from  be- 
neath armed  with  a  long,  keen  knife  whd. 
jeem^.to  tear  down  with  one  t^endou^  sTmke 
that  white,  shining  surface. 

ti^^^^^^'^iT^  that  emerged  inaseaof 
oiooa  and  toam     Triumph  was  inhis  dark  face 

Tw  Hf  ''""'^  ''^^''"«''  •>»  knife  exultancy ' 
te  shark  floated  upward  to  the  Kuiface,  dveinL 
the  sea  with  the  blood  which  had  issued  from  hf 
stroke  dealt  by  Asgeclo.  Not  yet,  howevTwh^ 
the  vmdictive  fury  of  the  Hin^u  satiated  '  He 
iwam  up  to  it.  He  daslied  his  knife  ov«r  d^A 
over  the  white  belly  till  it  became  a  hW*u2 
™«  of  gapmg  entrails.     Therf  he  came  intoX 

He  sat  down,  a  hideous  figure.     Blood  covered 
Sr4Ss.'"""^«^-^»^'--«ehK 

The  strength  which  thisman  had  shewn  wn« 
tremendous,  yet  bis  <jttickrt^"a"d  aS^eve^ 

In^h'""  H  ""f  ^T  «°«"nensurate^h  w" 
ttrengfh.     Brandon  had  once  seen  prooft  of  Ws 

tW,v  ""'  '*«f'lHie«  of  the  MaUy  pis 
r.S^rh^  """"l*^  ^"^  •"  'he  cabin  of  tharHl! 

towSnoTtot"'  '"'  '1  """  »•«  J^  done 
men  was  not  to  be  compared  to  this. 


CORD  AND  CREESE, 


97 


I  r Sd^f  •'"^  "^i""*'  V"^  *«"  ^«nt  on  about 
a_  hundred  and  fifty  yards  to  the  Xvest     Fmm 

Jl^^t  "'  ^^^.•'^ked  toward  th^'ke?th" 

nt^  •  .^"''''*''  '^^  'he  three  sharp,  rieedl/ 
bi^*^  This^T"'^''  '°  '""T  5-°«V^^com.i 
St  fnr  ^^  "«=<mstance  baa  an  encouraging- 
fhif,'/      .  ^"^^  "J  'he  brotfiere  ai  though 

This  time  Brandon  himself  resolved  to  mi  , 
down;  partly  because  be  thought  tC  A  Lto 
had  worked  long  enough^^nd  ought  not  R 
exhausted.on  that  first  dV/andpartro^'',^ 
count  'fan  intolemble  impatience,  Wa„™«r-" 
ne^ss  to  see  for  hiiaself  rather  than  intCtTto. 

There  was  the  horror  of  the  shark  whi^h 
might  huve  deterred  any  other  ma>^  ft  wa^  J- 
danger  which  he  ha<j,ever,  takenTnto  a^co^nt 
But  the  resQlye  of  hlr'soul  was  stronmr  than 
any  fear,  and  he  ^determined  to  facTefen  tWs 
£?  k  ■«.."t'V'"'  ""''  "'«'  ""'  -aslndiffer^jL 
u^M^L  ^'^''T  "'^  «o  precious  to  him  as 
tV«a»S  others.     Fearless  by  nature  he  waTof 

anrkiiJ.  ^^^  ^  enpounter  peril  of 

aIZ'Tx^^u"'^'^'^^,  "^  ""^  f'^l  «'''«"'  of  this  new 

?n  afvlav  i^H-"*^  r'l.'i"«'  "•"•  ^^  he  attempt 
r«,?ir/?^  '"  dissuade  his  brother.    He  himself 

mo^,  but  as  he  was  not  able,  he  did  not  sun- 
pose  that  his  brother  would  hesitate  ^ 
ihe  apparatus  was  in  the  boat.  The  Dumn- 
S.?«^r  '"  ''•^*^™ '  »"'» this,  wi?hZ 
rg^l^ee^'?^'^— nS^^^^^  • 

wS^oSrH-utrSiS'^""-^^^^^ 


^  "^  "*  compared  to  this  li-i —  r     *'""""'  "'ver,. 

They  could  not  help  asking  him  why  he  ffllH  Th«  I"^  Brandon  put  on  his  diving  armor 

.tat  once  made  his  escape  t?  the  bLT EtSd  ^t,  '°P««  """l.  "V^^  «ere  aU  carefully  an^S 

staymg  to  fight  the  mq^ster.         *t«4^  .        "'?'  Ti^'"  ^"^  attached  to  his  bdt  ^d 

As««l„-«  .^  .„-  ._'^_.  i%ta  tewas  slowly  lowered  down  to  the  bottom  of  £ 


hich  Rrnnrinn   „. a  _^,i.  ..J^a'^'* 


m         ....,.«:„,«,  to 

Of  staymg  to  fight  the  mqpster. 
Asgeelo  s  lodk  #m^loomy j 

fc^  ti3r^  jjieces  my  son,  Sahit 
»on    whOT  he  first  went  down,  and?!  havn"fn]«i7.„V"'i~'u"'T,°"""™  "'  ""«  »«nd  and  gravel 
avenge^    I  kU,  d  ^  y,^^^  on  Ae  fibar   'SeLmW  ""  ^"u^"^  '^''"""  '"*^"  '5 

1^  I  -left  it  fon#er.-S  That  shwk  di"d   L^^  ^'^?'  **'  "«'  '•'^e'".  wlOph  on  knd 
-^         ,  „...„....  .,J ..  t"*'  "harked  I  "  ^vy  ben«ith  the  water  loi»  l^s  exTp^ve 

XS    4.^^„«f^^K  the  we*^r  assists  hto. 
5«  Ts  usna^  rr"'"'  ""^  ™?"«'«"«ly  transparent, ; 

n»;LTate^nirhSrt£so 
Set  siar  ^--<^'^»pe  tir^" 


not  attacfc  me ;  I  attacked  him."  ""ars^oia 

«Ssfj,n"co^trerb?r«i^i^^^^^^^ '-"'  -^Sit  siar. 

orele  which  18  comparatively  krge :  he  is  alan  «    hi  „i^^  "^^  ?°***  "»  •"  the  direction  which 


coward,  and  a  goo<fc 
ne  only  choos 
Mtly  thatJie^j, 
»venge  his  son. 
In  his  last  tHiinnwWHIiMlll    i  k- 

wtWMfuKthan  beforeiSBIrt«U^H  ""  ^""^ 

*  to  the  sniifhu,  J;        ilRw*^  Island  was  now 

(MrU^h^   and^^ndon  thought  that 


tfn  reputed  trimnph-   erTgSSvKM'J!  b"^"!"*'  '°'^  'hem wheth- 
aWed  hunAo  command,  and  them  to  obey,  with 

Down/in  the  depths  to  which  he  had  descend- 

^i^-H  fK'"'':^'  ""^"^^  «'"''  "fd  the  stoSi 
yet^xpiored.  fr24K"rrfH^P«,"r'«'dVhere""Bran" 


>,i 


I  ^npj 


...1,^ 


98 


(T 


CORD  AND  CREESE. 


lay  at  his  feet,  so  fragile  in  their  BtrntHure,  and 
so  delicately  poised  in  their  position,  that  tlwy 
must  have  formed  themselves  in  deep,  dead  still- 
ness and  absolute  raotionlessness  of  waters.  The 
very  movement  which  was  caiued  by  his  passage 
'Enlaced  them  ia  all  directions,  and  cast  them 
do^n  every  where  in  ruins.  Here,  in  such  depths 
as  these,  if  the  sounding  lead  is  cast  it  brings  up 
these/ragile  shells,  and  shows  to  the  observer  what 
profound  culm  must  exist  here,  far  away  beneath 
the  ordinary  visioiNrf  man.  I 

Practice  had  enabtfi^JUpdidon  to  move  with 
much  ease.  Hu  breathlngwas  without  difficulty. 
The  first  tmu'Jes  arising  from  breathing  this  con- 
tineu  Ja  ha<j  long  since  been  surmounted.  One 
tube  ran  down  from  the  lK)at,  through  which  the 
fresh  air  was  pushed,  and  another  tube  ran  up  a 
little  distance,  through>which  the  air  passed  and 
left  it  in  myriad  bt^bres'that  ascended  to  the  sur- 
face. ■*  -        ■ 

He  walked  on,  and  soon  came  to  a  place  where 
things  changed  their  appearance.  Hard  sand 
was  here,  and  on  every  side  there  arose  cuiious- 
ly-shaped  coral  st^ctures,  which  ^resembled  more 
than  any  thin^  else  a  leafless  forest.  These  coral 
tree-like  forms  twisted  their  branches  in  strange 
involutions,  and  in  some  phices  formed  a  perfect 
barrier  of  interlaced  arms,  so  that  he  was  forced 
to  make  a  detour  in  order  to  avoid  them.  The 
chief  fea^  hero  was  that  his  tube  might  get  en- 
tangled among  some  of  the  loftier  straggling 
branches,  and  impede  or  retard  his  progress.  To 
avoid  this  caused  much  delay.   ^ 

Now,  among  tHe  coral  rocks,  the  vegetation  of 
the  lower  sea  began  to  appear  of  more  vivid  col- 
ors and  of  far  greater  variety  than  any  which  he 
had  ev6r  seen.  Here  were  long  plants  which 
clung  to  the"  coral  like  ivy,  seeming  to  be  a  spe- 
cies of  marine  parasit^  aod'as  it  grew  it  throve 
■  moreliixur^ntly.  HereAere  some  which  threw 
put  long  aims,  terminatiflg  in  y^t,  broad,  palm- 
like lea/es,  the  arms  intertwined  among  the  coral 
branches  and  the  leaves  hanging  downward.  Here 
were  long  streamers  of  fine,  silk-like  strings,  that 
were  suspended  from  umny  a  projecting  branch, 
and  hillocks  of  sjiongy  substance  that  looked  like 
moss.  Here,  too,  we're  plants  which  threw  forth 
long,  ribbon-like  leaves  of  variegated  color. 

It  was  a  forest  undei;  the  sea,  and  it  grew 
de^r  at  every  step. 

At  last  his  progret^s  in  this  direction  was  term- 
iiiated  by  a  rock  which  came  from  a  southerjy 
direction,  likd  a  spur  from  the  islands.  It  arose 
to  a  height  of  about  thirty  jfeet  overhead,  and 
descended  gradually  as  it  ran  north.  Brandon 
turned  aside,  and  walked  by  its  base  along  its 
entire  extent. 

^t  its  'termination  there  arose  a  long  vista, 
where  thS  ground  ascended  and  an  opening  ap- 
peared through  ttlfs  marine  "forest,"  On  each 
side  the  involuted  corals  flung  their  twisted  arms 
in  more  curious  and  intricate  folds.  The  vege- 
tation was  denser,  more  luxuriant,  and  more 
varied.  Beneath  him  was  a  growth  of  tender 
substance,  hairy  in  textijre,  and  of  a  delicate 
nri^Feea  cokH-^  whkh^  looked  more  like  lawn  gnus 
of  the  upper  world  than  any  thing  else  in  nature. 

Brandon  walked  on,  and  even  in  the  intense 
desire  of  his  soul  to  find  whnt  he  sought  he  felt 
himself  overcoqie  by  the  sublime  influence  of  this 
submarine  world. '  He  seemed  to  have  intruded 
into  som^  other  sphere,  plandM  his  rash  foot- 


f 


■* 


steps  where  no  foot  of  man  had  trodden  beibre. 
and  using  the  resources  of  science  to  violate  the 
hallowed  secrecy  of  awful  nature  in  her  most 
hidden  retreats.  Here,  above  all  things,  his  soni 
Was  oppressed  by  the  universal  silence  around. 
Through  that  thick  helmet,  ind^,  no  sound 
under  a  clap  of  thunder  could  be  heard,  and  the 
ringing  of  his  ears  would  Of  itself  have  prevented 
consciousness  of  any  other  noise,  yet  none  the 
less  was  he  aware  of  the  awful  stillness ;  it  was 
silence  that  could  be  felt.  In  the  sublimity  of 
that  lonely  pathway  he  felt  what  Hercules  is 
imagined  to  have  felt  when  passing  to  the  under- 
world after  Cerberus, 

Stnpent  nbl  undae  segue  torpescit  ft«tnm, 

Vid  half  exptected  to  heai^some  voice  from  the 
dweller  in  this  place : 

"Quo  pergls  andazr  81«te  proserentem  gradam." 
.^  There  came  \i>  him  'only  such  dwellers  as  be- 
longed to  the  place.  He  saw  them  as  he  moved 
along.  He  saw  them  darting  out  from  the  hid- 
den penetralia  around,  moving  swiftly  across  and 
sometimes  darting  in  shoals  before  him.  Thev 
began  to  appear  in  such  vast  numbers  that  Bran- 
do^ thought 'of  that  monster  which  lay  a  mangled 
he4)  upon  the  surface  above,  and  fancied  that  per- 
haps his  kindred  were  here  waiting  to  auenge  his 
death.  As  this  fear  came  full  and. Wen  defined 
before  him  he  drew  from  his  belt  the  knife  whiih 
Asgeelo  had  given  him,  and  Frank  had  urged 
him  to  take,  feeling  himself  less  helpless  if  he 
hcTd  this  in  his  hand. 

The  fishes  movgd  about  him,  coming  on  in  new 
and  more  startl«i5?drowd8,  some  dashing  past, 
others  darting  upward,  and  others  moving  swift- 
ly ahead.  One  large  one  was  there  with  a  train  i 
of  followers,  which  moved  up  and  floated  for  a 
moment  directly  in  front  of  him,  its  large,  staring 
eyes  seeming  to  view  him  in  wonder,  ai^l  solemn- 
ly working  its  gills.  But  as  Brandon  came  close 
it  gave  a  sudden  turn  and  darted  off  with  all  its 
attendants.  "    '^ 

At  last,  amidst  all  these  wonders,  he  saw  far 
ahead  something  which  drove  all  other  thoughts 
away,  whether  of  fear,  or  of  danger,  or  of  horror, 
and  filled  all  his  soul  with  aii  overmastering  pa^ 
sion  of  desire  and  ho|ie. 

It  was  a  dark  object,  too  remote  as  yet  to  he 
distinctly  visible,  yet  as  it  rose  there  his  fancv 
seemed  to  trace  the  outline  of  a  ship,  or  what 
might  once  have  beeti  a  ship.  The  presentation 
of  his  hope  before  him  thus  in  wimt  seemed  like 
a  reality  was  too  mtich.  He  stood  still,  and  his 
heart  be^t  With  flercse  throki. 

The  hope  was  sa  precious  that  for  a  time  he 
hesitated  to  advance,  for  fear  lesr^he  hope  might 
be  dispelled  forever."    And  then  to  fail  at  this  * 
place,  after  so  long  a  search,"  when  he  seemed  ttr' 
have  reached  the  end,  wotdd  be  an  intolerable 
grief.  .V 

Tliere,  too,  was  that  strange  pathway  whith 
seemed  made  on  'purpose.  How  came  it  there? 
He  thought  that  perhaps  the  ol(ject  lying  befon 
Itim  might  have  caused  some  current  which  set 
in  -^ere  and  prevenred  ilie^pwrffi  ^  plnnw  is 
thatXplace.  These  and  manv  other  thoughts 
came  ^  him  as  he  stood,  iinwiUing  to  move. 

But  a\  last  he  conquered  his  feelings,  and  ad- 
vanced, ^ope  grew  strong  within  him.  He 
thought  of  the  time  on  Coffin  Island  when,  in  like 
manner,  he  hod  hesitated  before  a  like  object, 


CORD  AND  CREESE. 


wrentem  gradnm." 


-'■■-t~  "»»  Buoiig,  suspense  unen- 
Whatever  that  object  wj^  he  must 


durable, 
know. 

It  might  indeed  be  a  rock.     He  hod  passed 
one  shortly  before,  which  had  gradnally  deSd 
mto  the  lK.m,m  of, he  sea;  thrmigh/bo  „  tn 
moafon  of  .l.o  s*,„e,  which  after  an  inM 
had  ansen  again  from  the  bottom.     It  waslon J 

i  *  sl^'h""'  r*"'  ""'*  '^""''«'l  forward  at  thf 
other.  Such  a  shape  was  perfectly  natural  for  a 
■^k.  He  tned  to  cn.sh  d^n  ho^,  soTto  b^ 
prepared  for  disappointment.  He  tried  to  con! 
nnle  himself  that  it  must  be  a  rock,  and  couhl 
by  no  possibility  be  any  thing  else.  Yet  W«  of 
forts  were  totally  fruitless.  ^tiU  the  conv5  tion 
renuuned  that  it  was  a  ship,  and  if  so,  U  couW 
be  no  other  than  the  one  he  sought 

ewmi.     rhe  coral  rocks  continued  no  further 

a^d  cSe"d"wftift'^"°'"."r. "'« '^  --««'; 

fehes-had  departed.     ITie  sense  of  solernityTeft 


could  he  ho^to^^J^slfeT'^o^f'^''''^^"' 
slightest  movVmeijton  his^art  ciS«  T.  'k" 

will,  and  a  deteSaho'l"to''rk'^"t  tr'C 
hazard,  alike  impelled  him  on      Dan^m  '    i 

Hope  grew  stronger  as  he  drew  nearer  M'h^ 
dark  mass  gradually  formed  ks^fTTn;  M! 
d.stinct  outline.     ;/h,  TcerSif  Unt  "defS 


h:Z. 1  —i"*"^'^-     i'le  sense  ot  so  emnitv  left    Hi«Hn^ — .?  ^     y.  '"""^a  itsell  into  a  take, 

him;  only  one  thing,  was  perceptible,  aKarnf"  '    •"*:      ^'"  """certain   lines   deffi? 

was  the  object  toward  which  he  walked.  ITITI^  "''^"  '^^^  '^^  "'«  •fiance  to 

And  now  he  felt  within  him  such  an  uncon-  '  ^  "^"""^  """""  ""^ "  " 

tmUable  impulse  that  even  if  he  had  wished  he 
could  neither  have  paused  nor  gone  boLk  To 
go  forward  was  only  possible,     if  seemed  to  hS 

^^^r'      i  '""^^'^  '"">  'o  move.      Again    as 
once-before  he  recalled  the  kst  words  of  Z'fo 
ther,  so  weU  remembered:    ""' ^"'"'^  °"iis  fa- 

7jTi.'^V"  •''*' ""jef  world  to  which  I  am  eo- 
lUfthe  disembod  (><)  ....:«. .  .       ""•  go- 


a  ship  became  greater  and  greater.     He  conlH 
nol^nger  resist  the  convictiof  that  'thiimuTtt 

n.S?nV?ai^tirL^r^  t^  Sr'"- 
w  y  a  rock  should  be  fonned  he"  h.  thfs  sTa^ 

.S-Hfs=oseS:i;»^-- 


o™-  of  your  i^'i  ^iil^  n^r.^/tTs  orS 
communicate  to  your  spirit  what'y"u'oug"ll{  to 

It  was  Ralph  Brandon  who  had  said  this 
Here  in  this  object  which  ky  before  liTm    if  ii 

Se"  rlh''H  ''"■?'  '«'  •"'^'"'^  the  spi'ii  of 
another  Ralph  Brandon  present,  awaiting  him 

vrWchfo;^L^''•"*•''^'^°^P'«^dover  hU  hL, 
vrmen  forced  him  involuntarily  to  look  im  in 
^.te  of  his  excii«nent  a  shudder  paZd  "Luih 
t-^Jr  "''L^^'  «»'  'h^  «m-fice^?the°^'' 
the  boat  was  floating.     But  half-way  up  wlf^ 

S;s'^.iTs."°^™«^°'^'^-''''»Vaio;7 


1   Vl     '  """IKS. 

L^ohim,  inhislonel 
l'*Ter  8een^ed  so  m"*-* 
of  the  deep  as  he 
seen  him  ?  that  \ 
ed  his  knife  in-a 
how  utterly  helpl 
into  himself  fro 


»R  at  them.     Had  they 
lis  thought.    He  clutch- 
hold,  feeling  all  the  while 
was,  and  shrinking  away 

"e  ttici^  'hat  they  were  malignant- 


-Atfe 

He  waited'. 

^  irJ^liil     ""  T"'**  ""*^^«  seen  hinj,  for 
yP^ually  moved  away  «„,il  they,  were  out 


-  -  .      ...v,,^  u  ,  „Ro  a  lower,  alter  thp  f 
of  a  ship  of  the  days  of  Queen  EliMbeth      Th 

that  th  s  must  be  no  other,  by  any  concAL^ 

Her  sides  were  coverud  with  fine  dm^k  sMs" 

and  weakness,  nothing  iuii""  rhorTZl"?.'*"."  ''^P"'  ^^ •»"  inch,  mingTe^ 

w  these  three'  demon!       At  bisJ  1  e  Si°.  "  "'T'  ''^^  «^-«eed 

,>  „♦  .i,__      ....      I     ■»'  ui*-t  ne  could  delay  no  longer.     One  of  th* 

masts  lay  over  the  side,and  this  afforded  an  easv 

w.,y  by  which  he  could  clamber  upward  u,«„""Z 

deckoftt^t^r^''""'^""  '"^  •"-»  ^^ 

The  ship  which  iiad  thus  lain  here  thrnn»». 

centiines,  saturated  with  wateHhaUiad  S 

trated  to  itsJnmost  fibre,  still  held  together  ^n^ 


3  of  the  sea 
tiii^lK! 


Bnndon  did  not 


j£/yii» 


^gjn^i^i 


Ivance  for  some 


.      %HnAgiT( 
and  the  li||f  tTjat  came 
surface  of  the  sea  was 
fore,s.^j|gM 

%ir  Miffn^ptnd  j-flii'down 
as  befot*  stated,  hdi  topple, 
i-easo^yieldld^to  Ifceif  o 


mh 


m^ 


■om  above,  where  the 

~iuch  nearer  than  be- 

mt-pf  tiftjhip. 

■ed  th^m&  had  lost 

le  masts, 

the  some" 

which,  as 


CORD  AND  CREESE, 


• 


.■^' 


'the  masts  has  falliw  and  i^y,  encdiibkked  with  the  aiaoiNU,  over  thb  side." 


the  TMsel  was  slightly  on  one  Bide,1iad  gradually 
bome  them  dwvn ;  the  bowsprit  also  had  fallen. 
The  hatchways  had  )rielded,  and,  giving  way^i  had 
junk  down  within  the  hold.  The  doors  which 
led  into  the  cabin  in  the  lofty  poop  wera  lying 
prostrate  on  the  deck.  The  large  sky-light  which 
once  had  stood  there  had  also  followed  the  same 
fate. 


.  Ikfore  going-doam  Rntndon  had  juraBgedr^: 
signal  to  send  to  Frank  in  case  he  fi>nnd  the  ship. 
In  his  excitement  he  had  not  yet  given  i(.  Be- 
fore venturing  further  he  thought  of  this.  Bnt 
he  decided  not  to  make  the  signal.  The  idea 
came,  and  was  rejected  amidst  a  world  of  yary- 
ing  hopes  and  fears.    He  thought  that  if  he  was 


successful  he  himself  would  be  the  best  messen- 
ger of  success ;  and,  if  not,  he  would  be  the  best 
messenger  of  evil. 

He  advanced  toward  the  cabin.  Turning  awar 
from  the  door  he  clambered  upon  the  poop,  and, 
looking  down,  tried  to  see  what  depth  there  miglif 
be  beneath.  He  saw  something  which  looked  as 
though  it  had  once  been  a  table.     iSlowly  and 


cautiously  helot  hiawalf  down  tliruuglt  tfiaopen-- 
ing,  and  his  feet  touched  bottom.  He  mored 
downward,  and  let  his  feet  slide  till  they  toocbed 
the  floor. 

He  was  within  the  cabin. 

The  light  here  was  almost  eqnal'to  that  with- 
oat,  for  the  sky-light  was  very  wide.    The  floor 


J*- 


.■(>,^^^ii}  ■ 


■ 

=f^— 

■^ — 

-5^ 



_-._  1 

.- 

— -  : 

ijt 

£— -' 

■p 

^ 

THE  8I0B. 


w«i  ronken    n  like  the  deck  of  the  ghip.     He 

'  ^^  r""''  '"  ■*"  ^''«'*  »>«  rai*'"  first  search 
for  the  treasure.  Suddenly  his  eye  caught^ght 
of^.ometh.„g  which   drove  ajy  ,,Jy  Xr 

"■  3'  ?.1  *"''  m"^  *  ^^  ""«>  'here,  propped  up  I 
Wrin..  the  wall,  was  a  skeleton  in  i  8ittinVp<»- 
"*!-j  -^^u""^."  ""^  »  belt  with  a  sword  at- 
twhed.  The  figure  had  partly  twisted  'Llf 
n.nnd,but  its  hea<l  and  Bhoulden,U^"oprop£ 
np  against  the  wall  that  it  could  not  fall  -^^ 
Brandon  advanced,  filled  with  a  thousand  emo- 
^  ■  ^"S,^«'"J  "'M  'ying  down  in  ft^Ht     He 

in^     H-tT""^-  *.«"'''  ""K  onX-bony 
^Ff^dj'  ^^  "  "*•    1°  "'«  dim  light  he  saw 

Siy^'ptr  ""*  ^-""^'  '"--tTi  •; 

Here  he  had, calmly  taken  his  seat  when  the 
Aip  was  settling  slowly  d«*wn  into  the  embmce 
of  the  waters.  Heife  he  had  taken  his  sealS! 
ly  Md  sternly,  awaiting  his  death-perhaps  whh 
.  feeUng  of  grim  triumph  that  he  cou  d  thus  e  ude 
V^u  V^'"*  ^  "■«'">»"'  """1  this  the  hand 

BiSldLv^i"'."  "i;'^«^'""  "«"  P««^  through 

Bruidon  *,mind      He  put  the  ring  on  his  own 

.ger  and  turned  away.     His  ancestor  h«^sum 

^Ji^^ff • '"''  ''"'^'«'  ^'^-    Where  WM 
tteasure  that  was  promised  ? 

ftwP^inipatidnce  now  rose  to  a  fever 

S*2d  ^BTh  "^  I!""."?!  1?*°  «"^^h  of  which  he 
looked.  The  doom  Mall  faUen  away.  Yet  he 
MW  nothing  in  any  of  them.  '        *'  "^ 

Jd he"wk ? ** r^u^'u  '" '•'^P '^•'»»"-   Wher« 
H.A  !,„? .       •      ^°"''*  he  venture  down  into  the 
S?.n  '^Z?"'*  T^""'  ^    H°*  "»'ld  he  hope  to 
tod  any  tiling  there,  amidst  the  niins  of  thTin? 
totfor  where  guns  and  chains  lay,  perhaps  all  n.  n 
*d  together  where  they  had  ^hCPit^oi^d" 
mi  a  longer  time  to  find  it  than  he  h.^  at  first 
«PPo«d.     Yet  would  he  falter?    Nol-Slthe 
^  give  up  he  would  pass  years  here  till  h^h„d 
to««bered  the.whu^  s^  anS  sT^e^t^J 

S^Y«  h  hPrr"'^^  °^'"  'he  bottom  of  the 
toat  1  fi  h-id  hoped  to  solve  the  whole  my"! 
<2  «  ^  ^i  vi«,t ;  and  now,  since  he  saw  no 

ti"°''''»l««r»"^'«<'''horhim      ^^' 

the  r^nrn7  •"*  •"'°"«'"«-     ^'«'  these  thoughts 
™  result  of  excitement  that  was  now  a  fitn,^ 

^b'^Ja  '"^  »^  othe«  thatV^cXer.  ™"^' 

SwhS'irsrortc 

^eCitheZ^^!     Some  feeliW  which  mus 

SS?  The  one  vhTk  ..'".  • '*  ''•'^V  What  was 
,l"|-One  whjch  had  inspimi  the  awssBBF 
ire  to  secure  rHII  m^^T  .i.„.  ._-™^*?*' 


eOBD  AND  CREESE. 


iteTBBis.  ."'^  """^'^ flaa  inspired  theajossBBB- 
S^hLTr,""',"'"'^  'hat  treSSre 
»ucn  He  had  toiled  and  fought.     His  last  hZ 

MihMild ?     *  '"  •""  "••"'*  """^  '="™«' 

The  skeleton  was  at  one  end,  supported  by  the 
^     Iwo  posts  projej^«l  ,;„  S  sWe?  > 


101 

•"•y,  pm  It  on  on,  ,ii,  md  C„  t„  It     "' 

entpJ^^"?  '^  calm,"  he  said  to  himself     "This 
enterpnse  is  hopeless      Ypa  >ho  w„     •    j 
tm^    the    ship,    r^overed'  .h«  ^P""""'''''  <^P- 

SZnr  ~    "'  -  "oSe'^eiv-r 
aX  ISreTper^oiT'  "'"'  '^'  "^  -^'"-^ 

Suddenly  as  he  thought  ho  felt  the  floor  »«.  j 
Hlly  giving  way  benealhhim      He  st^5"K": 
before  he  could  move  or  eveJi     "■  '.'""^'hnt 
rection  to  go  the  floor  sank  ii 
sank  with  it  downward. 

Had  it  not  been  that  the  ti 
tent,  and  had  been  carefully 

hJ  hL"*""^"/.  "'*  """'h  flashed  upon  him     He 

Over  this  trap-door  old  hLi.  h   i,      ',''*  "'"P- 

scerZn/  anl^i,  •?'  ^^  "'^ht  await  his  de- 
scendant, and  thus  silent  y  indicate  to  him  t^ 
place  where  he  must  look  ?  ^"^  "'^ 

nejf  were  metaUic  bam  I 


jjjink  in  what  di- 
1  he  at  once 

npleex- 

M>  as  to 

"g  rocks  at 


Wrose  tip  ftgnin  overcome.  He  hardly  dared 
to  take  one  up  so  as  to  see  what  it  SiTb^ 
F..a.e  actual  sight  would  realize  ho^  StJ^y 

pace  more  he  stooped  down.  In  a  sort  of  fnr„ 
ffelSr"  "  '"'"*"^'' '""'»  and"„SrifH?S 
'Down  under  the  8ea  the  action  of  water  lud 


102 


CORD  AND  CREESE. 


not  de8troy«d  the  color  of  those  bars  which  he 
held  up  in  the  dim  light  that  came  through  the 
waters.  The  dull  VeUuw  of  thooe  rough  ingots 
seemed  to  gleam  with  dazzling  brightness  before 
his  bewildered  eyes,  and  tilled  his  whole  soul  with 
a  torrent  of  rapture  and  of  trhitnph. 

His  emotions  overcame  him.  Tbe  bars  of  gold 
fell  down  from  his  trembling  hands.  lie  sank 
back  and  leaned  against  the  wall. 

But  what  was  it  that  lay  under  his  feet?  What 
fere  all  these  bars  ?  Were  they  all  gold  ?  Was 
thjs  indeed  all  here-^the  plunderfof  the  Spanish 
t:eaHure-ships--the  weiiltll^faich''auglitp.iircha8e 
a  kingdom — the  treasure  equal  to  an  empire's 
revenue  —  tbe  gold  and  jewels  in  countless 
store? 

A  few  moments  of  respite  were  needed  in  or- 
der to  overcome-the  tremendous  conflict  of  feel- 
ing which  raged  within  his  breast.  Then  once 
more  he  stooped  down.  His  outstretched  hand 
felt  over  all  this  space  which  thns  was  piled  up 
vfith  treasure. 

It  was  about  four  leet  square.  The  ingots  lay 
in  the  centre.  Around  the  sidfs  were  boxes. 
One  of  these  he  took  out.  It  was  made  of  thick 
oaken  plank,  and  was  about  ten  inches  long  and 
eight  wide.  The  rusty  nails  gave  but  little  re- 
sistance, and  the  iron  bunds  which  once  bound 
them  peeled  off"  at  a  touch.  He  opened  the 
box. 

Inside  was  a  casket. 

He  tore  open  the  casket. 

It  wasjilled  with  jewels .' 

His  work  was  ended.  No  more  search,  no 
more  fear.  He  bound  the  casket  tightljr  ti^i  the 
end  of  the  signal-line,  added  to  it  a  bar  |of  ^Id, 
and  clambered  to  the  deck. 

He  cast  off  the  weight  that  was  at  his  waist, 
which  he  also  fastened  to  the  line,  iind  let  it  go. 

Freed  from  the  weight  he  rose  buoyantly  to 
the  top  of  the  water. 

The  boat  pulled  rapidly  toward  %im  and  took 
him  in.  As  he  removed  his  helmet  he  saw 
Frank's  eyes  fixed  on  his  in  mute  inquiry.  His 
face  was  ashen,  his  lips  bloodless.  / 

Louis  smiled. 

"Heavens!"  cried  Frank,  "can  it  be?" 

"  Pull  up  the  signal-line  and  see  for  yourself," 
was  the  answer. 

And,  as  Frank  pulled,  Louis  uttered  a  cry 
which' nude  him  look  up. 

Louis  pointed  to  .the  sun.  "  Good  God !  what 
a  time  I  must  have  been  down !" 

"Time I"  said  Frank.  "Don't  say  time — it 
wj^s  eternity  J" 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 
Beatrice's  jouknal. 

Bbandon  Hall, 
September  1,  1848. — Paolo  Langhetti  used  to 
say  that  it  was  useful  to  keep  a  diary;  not  000;^ 
from  day  to  day,  for  each  day's  events  are  (poti- 
cr^ly^  trivijy,^  and  therefore  not  worthy  of  record ; 
but  rather  a  statement  in  full  of  more  important 
events  in  one's  life,  o<vhich  may  be  turned  to  in 
later  years.     I  wish  I  had  begun  this  sixteen 
months  ago,  when  I  first  came  here.     How  full 
would  have  been  my  melancholy  record  by  this 
time! 
Where  shall  I  begin? 


Of  course,  with  my  arrival  here,  for  that  is  tht 
time  when  we  separated.  There  is  no  need  for 
me  to  put  down  m  writing  the  events  tliat  took 
place  when  he  was  with  me.  Not  a  word  that 
he  ever  spoke,  not  a  look,  that  he  ever  gave,  has 
escaped  my  memory.  This  much  I  may  set 
down  here. 

Alas !  the  shadow  of  the  African  forest  (e\\ 
deeply  and  darkly  upon  ma  Am  I  stronger 
than  other  women,  or  weaker?  I  know  not. 
Yet  I  can  be  calm  while  my  heart  is  breaking. 
Yes,  I  am  at  once  stronger  and  weaker ;  so  weak 
that  my  heart  breaks,  so  strong  that  I  can  liide 

llV !,. 

I  will  begin  from  the  time  of  my  arrival  here. 

I  came  knowing  well  who  the  man  was  and 
what  he  was  whom  I  had  for  my  father.  I  ' 
came  with  every  word  of  that  despairing  voyager 
ringing  in  my  ears — that  cry  from  the  drifting 
Vishnu,  where  Despard  laid  down  to  die.  How 
is  it  that  his  very  name  thrills  through  me?  I 
am  nothing  to  him.  I  am  one  of  the  Imteful 
brood  of  murderers. ,  A  Thug  was  my  father— 
and  my  mother  who  ?  And  who  am  I,  and 
what? 

At  least  my  soul  is  not  his,  though  I  am  his 
daughter.  My  soul  is  myself,  and  life  nn  earth 
can  not  last  forever.  Hereafter  I  may  stand 
where  that  man  may  never  approach. 

How  can  I  ever  forget  the  first  sight  which  I 
had  of  my  father,  who  before  I  saw  him  had 
become  to  me  as  abhorrent  as  a  dcmoti !  I  cane 
up  in  the  coach  to  the  door  of  the  Hall  and  l(X)ked 
out.  On  the  broad  piazza  there  were  two  men; 
one  was  fitting,  the  other  standing. 

The  <o^  who  was  standing  was  somewhat  eld- 
erly, with  n  broad,  fat  face,  which  expressed  ni>- 
thing  in  particular  but  vulgar  good-nature.  He 
was  dressed  in  block,  and  looked  like  a  serious 
butler,  or  perhaps  still  more  like  some  of  the 
Dissenting  ministers  whom  I  have  seen.  He 
stoo^  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  looking  at 
me  v^th  a  vacant  smile. 

The  other  man  was  younger,  not  over  thirty. 
He  was  thin,  and  looked  pale  from  dissipation. 
His  face  was  covered  with  spots,  his  eyes  were 
gray,  his  eyelashes  white.  He  was  smoking  r 
very  large  pipe,  and  a  tumbler  of  some  kind  of 
drink  stood  on  the  stone  paVement  at  his  feet. 
He  stared  at  me  betweert  the  pufis  of  his  pi|)e, 
and  neither  moved  nor  spoke. 

If  I  had  not  already  tasted  the  bitterness 
of  despair  I  should  have  tasted  it  as  I  saw  these 
men.  Something  told  me  that  they  were  my 
father  and  brother.  My  very  soul  sickened  at 
the  sight — the  memory  of  Despard's  words  came 
bade—and  if  it  had  been  possible  to  hare  felt 
any  te^er  natural  affection  for  them,  this  recol- 
lectioi  would  have  tlestroyed  it. 

"I  wish  to  see  Mr:  Potts,"  said  I,  coldly. 

My  father  stared  at  me. 

"I'm  Mr.  Potts,"  he  answered. 
,,;!^I  am,  Beatrice,"  said  I ;  "  1  have  just  arrived 
fronTdltmbJik-^., 

By  this  tii«the'aWfferiH>d^QBened  the  door, 


aftd  i  got  oiiltod  walked  u})  6n  the  plarnir" " 
"Johnnie,"  exclaimed  my  father,  "what  the 

devil  is  the  tneaning  of  this  ?" 

"  Gad,  I  don't  know,"  returned  John,  with  a 

pnfT  of  ^oke. 

"Didk't  yon  say  she  was  drowned  off  the 

ilKcanVstr 


ji^. 


"I  MW  io  in  the  newspapen." 

''Didn't  you  tell  mo  aiwut  tU Falcon  rescuing 

"'n^'hnr  "'^"  ""T T"* » «*''  """  escaped." 

"So  you're  the  girl,  are  you  ?"  said  ho  at  last. 
"^  am  your  daughter,"  I  answered. 
I  saw  him  look  at  John,  who  winked  in  return 
Ho  walked  Up  and  down  for  a  few  minutes 

"'^"^.^1   ''°''P*n  ,?"'•. '""ked  at  me  again 
"nior«i«HTefy«^l,"gajahefttia.,t,  "but  how 

i;f'o"fTh.S ''"  ™  *^  p*^^  ^y^  -y 

"No." 

I.'no""''"^  "*'*'"8  but  your  oAvn  statement?" 

"  And  you  may  be  an  impostor.     Mind  you— 
Im  a  magistrate— and  you'd  letter  be  careful  " 
You  can  do  what  you  clioose,"8uid  I,  coldlV 

dowSh'eXoIse,.'"'''^"'^'^'-"-"^' 
I  was  silent. 

"Johnnie,'' said  my  father,  "III  have  to  leave 
her  to  you.     You  arrange  it. " 

John  looked  at  me  lazily,  still  smoking,  and 
for  some  time  said  nothing.  *' 

"I  suppose,"  said  he  at  last. 


103 


CORD  AND  CREESE. 

''7  T""'^  ?  W  f-ce-     He  did  not  look  like 

"  I  have  ju4  come  from  (^hina,"  said  I    "and 

Ho  looked  at  me  f6r  soiro  time  without  4Mnk 
.ngaword.     I  began  to  think  tlmt^  was  ^Sl 

at  'IS  TaThi^-  ^'"i'"'*  .«»«"K'"er,"  saici  he 
at  last,  m  a  thm,  weak  voice.  "1— I  didn't 
know  that  you  ha<K*omo-I-I  knew  that  he 

r-'C'?^°"-*"'  heard  you  wore  fat 
pea—  ^ Mm.  (..ompton— yesf-^oh  yes— 111  show 
you  where  you  can  find  Mrs.  CotaK 

He  was  embarrassed,  yet  not  unkinf  ^'l^n 
was  wonder  in  his  face,  as  though  he  was  sw! 
pnsed  at  my  appearance.  Perhaps  i,  was  b^ 
cause  ho  found  me^  «nlike  my  fat  ,e7  ul 
walked  toward  the  great  stairs,  Vmft  me  S 
tnne  tun,mg  h,s  head  to  look  at  me,'a^  ascend 
ea  them.  I  foUowed,  and  after  going  to  the 
third  storv  we  came  to  a  room. 

"That  s  the  place, "  said  he. 

,h^l  ""^j  ,'"/"^'''  "''"■out    replving   to    my 
thanks,  and  left  me.     I  knocked  at  ?he  do7 
After  some  delay  it  was  opened,  and  I  went^n 
Atlnn  pale  woman  was  there.     Her  hair  wm 
I  !!!::!!"'■:  "''"'«■  .  "^r  face  was  marked  by  Z 


potitth/oVgh:  Yo"u'b;i;vryouTnLw^ 

"  it.  ••    sLetVs?wh»  I    [  !,"!:R'*'''"K  gentleness  and 

sweetness,     .she  l<K.ked  like  one  of  these  women 

!8  or  nRVntinn  <rti.  «*V.^ .__l_*       «. 


wuld  .send  for  her.     I  never  saw  the  use  of  it. 
."»!?'  ;•»/""  *'""^  'his  is  the  party?" 
Oh,  I  dare  say.     It  don't  make  any  differ- 

«ice  any  way.     Nobody  would  take  the\rouble 

to  come  to  yon  with  a  sham  storv  " 
''That's  a  fact,"  said  my  father.  ~ 
"wJi  ""'-f®  but  you've  tfot  to  take  her." 

whySght"       •""■•"•' ^°"''""'^°' 

"I  don't  think  any  thing  of  the  kind,"  returned 

Ji^%rse^r£..''^°"'^"''"^'''«'«he's"t^e 


who  liv»  li.,„o  f  ,  """'Y  "»o  one  or  inese  women 
wno  me  lives  of  devotion  for  others,  who  «uirer 
out  of  the  spirit  of  self-sacrifice,  and  count  thJr 

™ri  T  T  l"'^  '"'P'""^*''  ^  nothing  in  com- 
pamon  with  that  of  those  whom  they  love.  My 
heart  warmed  toward  her  at  the  fi™t  glance  I 
saw  that  this  place  could  not  be  altogi  her  cor- 
rupt since  she  was,  here.  ""'"Keinor  cor- 

"I  am  Mr.  Potts's  daughter,"  said  I-"ai^ 
youMrs.Compton?"  '      "* 

«4'ovSi^^-i=:;l^^S' 
L^Ji:^^Z"!l!!«:!-^.«™^:^"iv4Sg 


.,,,       ,      ,^ 6 loot  »hnr.i.»  "  *^™>"*"  ""«r  and  the 

"Ifyou're  the  girl,"  he  said.  "voi.  onn  ~u  •  '  "'"'  ^^e  me  was  such  a  lo^ik  as  one 


of  you. 

Oomptonl    At  the  mention 
!tadder  passed  through  me. 
lie  family  of  the  murdered  i, 
ance  Hved  with  his  murderer 
out • 


"••^  -s^wii  III 

ndl  Ipd  ever 
'^'ih^Hith 
1  expopt- 
i  companion 

"Where  is 

I«tood  quieUy.    Had  J  not  been  prepared  for 

bX  dL!.'"'"'."  *'•'/  '»'«'"  perhSrhave 
^  LHTt.-""^*""  f!?^'-  ^"'  I  had .rekd  the 

I«S|d  there^^neariyhalf  an  hoorr^ta. 

to  «3  "  ^'  """^-^^^  ^''"'  "J"^  'he  piazza 
?alf  l*^.*""^-  7''"^  •'"<*  «^ently  forgot 
S  dL;  w'  Ta  ^^  '•"'  "  "«°  camLtowai 
^e  dAor  who  did  not  look  Uke  a  senJlL  li 
««  *;essed  in  black.  He  was  a  ^W  v^ 
1«mbhng  man,  with  thin,  light  haiUKd'aft 


why  ?  Ami  then  sofrightful'?' 
ThU  nf '  r^  hand  and  co,v«red  it  with  kisses. 
This  new  outburst  surprised  i^B  as  much  as  hc^ 
former  fear.  I  did  not  know  what  to  do  ''Ah' 
aword,prepared"~fo"r7hewoAtrrd'™T  "^Z^ffi"""'  ""^  t'^"'''"  «he  murmured; 
fXeTairruS''''^^  woman,  VciSn  ea"h  r"'  '''  '=°'"^>'^^'  "^  "^  «"  P'--  on 

A  servant  was  passing  along.      "  Where  is   c.f^hH",*"""^^  ^^  the  tenderness  and  sympathy 
M«.  Corapton  ?"  I  Lked  *  ^""^  '"   ?L''^  '?','«•     I*  was  full  of  the  gentlest  love 

'"= "^  -  '     How  did  you  come  here?"  I  Asked 

She  started  and  turned  on  me  her  former  look 


of  fe^r; 

Comptdn.  You  are  timid.  Do  not  be  afraid  of 
me.    1  am  incapable  ot  inspiring  fear."  ,-* pressed 

>Sc!TfinH^ll'''  ***"?  *°  •'""^^  ^hat  it  is. 
Mnce  I  find  one  like  you  living,  here  it  wiU  not 
seem  altogether  a  place  of  desf&ir  " 

Oh,  dear  child,  what  wbrds  ai-e  these  ?    You 
speak  as  if  you  know  all. "  r^ 

J- 1  know  much,"  said  I,  "and  IhAve  gnffeixsd 

"Ah,  my  dearest  I  you  are  tooy^ung  and  too 


I 


i-., 


104 


CORD  AND  CREESE. 


beantifiil  to  suffer."    An  agony  of  sorrow  came  |  ated,  and  nothing  that  money  could  effect  would 
over  her  face.     Then  I  saw  upon  it  an  expression  '  (be  spared  to  render  it  the  most  splendid  festival 


which  I  have  often  marked  since,  a  strange  strug- 
gling desire  to  say  something,  which  that  excess- 
ive and  ever-present  terror  of  hers  made  her  in- 
capable of  uttering.  JSome  secret  thought  was 
in  her  whole  face,  but  her  faltering  tongue  was 
paralyzed  and  could  not  divulge  it. 
,  •  She  turned  away  with  a  deep  sigh.  I  looked 
at  her  with  much  interest.  She  was  not  the  wo- 
man I  expected  to  find.  Her  face  and  voice 
won  my  heart.  She  was  certainly  one  to  be  tnwt- 
ed.     But  still  there  was  thin  mystery  about  her. 

Nothing  could  exceed  her  kindness  and  tender- 
ness. She  arranged  my  room.  She  did  every 
thing  that  could  be  done  to  give  it  an  air  of  com- 
fort. It  was  a  very  luxuriously  furnished  cham- 
ber. All  the  house  was  lordly  in  its  style  and 
arrangements.  Tliat  first  night  1  slept  the  sleep 
of  the  wcflry.  % 

The  next  day  I  spent  in  my  room,  occupied 
with  my  own  sad  thoughts.  At  about  three  in 
the  afternoon  I  saw  him  come  up  the  avenue. 
My  heart  throbbed  violently.  My  eyes  were 
riveted  upon  that  well-known  face,  how  loved! 
how  dear !  In  vain  I  tried  to  conjecture  the  rea- 
son why  he  should  come.  Was  it  to  strike  the 
first  blow  in  his  ju^t,  bis  implacable  vengeance  ? 
I  longed  that  I  might  receive  that  blow.  Any 
thing  that  came  fiiom  him  would  l>e  sweet. 

He  stuid  a  long  time  and  then  left.  What 
passed  I  can  not  conjecture.  But  it  had  evident- 
ly been  an  agreeable  visit  to  my  father,  for  I 
heard  him  laughing  uproariously  on  the  piazza 
about  something  not  long  after  he  hud  gone. 

I  have  not  seen  him  since. 

For  several  weeks  I  scarcely  moved  from  my 
room.     1  ate  with  Mrs.  Compton.     Mer  reserve 


that  could  be  imoglined. 

I  did  as  he  said.  The  dress-maker^  leame,  and 
I  allowed  them  to  array  me  as  they'cHosei.  My 
father  informed  me  that  he  would  not  give  me 
the  jewels  till  the  time  came,  hinting  a  fear  that 
I  might  steal  them. 

At  last  tlie  evening  afl'ii^.  Invitations  had 
been  sent  every  where.  It  was  expected  that 
the  house  would  be  crowded.  My  father  even 
ventured  to  make  a  personal  request  that  1  would 
adorn  myself  as  well  as  possible.  I  did  the  "best 
I  could,  and  went  to  the  drawing-room  to  receive 
the  expected  crowds. 

The  l»Ui!  came  and  passed,  but  lio  one  ap- 
peared, My  father  looked  a  little  troubled,  bfit 
he  and  John  waited  in  the  drawing-room,  t-erv- 
ants  were  sent  down  to  see  if  any  ona  was  ap- 
proaching. An  hour  passed.  My  father  looked 
decjdy  enraged.  TVo  hours  passed.  Still  no 
one  came.  Thrpe  hours  paswed.  I  waited  calm- 
ly, but  my  father  and  J^n,  wjio  had  all  lh« 
time  been  drinking  freely,  became  furious.  It 
wos  now  midnight,  and  all  hope  had  left  them.  , 
Tliey  had  been  treaty  with  scorn  by  the  wh^e-  'I 
county.  \, 

The  servants  were  laughing  at  my  father's  dis- 
grace.    Tlie  proud  array  in  the  dttferent  rooffls  ■ 
was  all  a  mockery.-    The  elaborate  tire-Hwks 
could  not  bo  used.  „ 

My  father  turned  his  eyes,  Indamed  by  «nger 
and  8trong^drink,  toward  me. 

,  "She's  a  d< d  bad  investment,' 

him  sav. 


It,"  I'^rd 
lid  not  deiKifii 


!«igif< 


"  I  told  j'ou  so,"'  said  John,  who  did  ik>t  ( 
to  look  at  me ;   "  but  you  were  determined^; 
•They  then  sat  drinking  in  silence  fur  soia^l 
was  impenetrable.     It  was  with  painfTlT  fear  ancK  time.  • 

trertibling  that  she  touched  upon  anything  con$*  "Sold!"  said  my  father,  suddenly,  witli'  an 


nected  with  the  affairs  of  the  house  or  the  family, 

'  .1  saw  it  and  spared  her.     I'oor  thing,  she  has  ai- 
rways been  too  timid  for  such  a  life  as  this. 

'  1    At  the  end  of  a  month  I  began  to  think  that  I 

''"^oiild  live  here  in  a  state  of  obscurity  without 
being  molested.  Strange  that  a  daughter's  feel- 
ings toward  a  father  and  brother  should  l)o  those 
of  horror,  and  that  her  desire  with  reference  to 
them  shoidd  be  merely  to  keep  out  of  their  sight. 
I  had  no  occupation,  and  needed  none,  for  I  had 
my  thoughts  and  my  memories.  TheM  memo- 
ries were  bitter,  yet  sweet.  I  took  the  sy^eet, 
and  tried  to  solace  myself  with  them.  The  days 
aM  gone  forever ;  no  longer  does  the  sea  spread 

)    wide ;   no  longer  can  I  liear  his  voice ;    I  can  i 
hold  him  in  my  arms  no  more ;  yet  I  can  re- 
member*^ " 

"Das  siigse^te  Oliick  fiir  die  tranemde  Bmst, 
Nach  der  Bchonen  Llehe  vcrKcliwnndeher  Last, 
8lnil  il^r  Mebo  Schmerzen  uiid  KisKen." 

I  think  I  hi»d  liveil  'this  sort  of  life  for  three 
montlis  withovt  seeing  either  iqy  father  or 
brother.    «.- 

At  the  eili{of  that  time  myfather  Aentfor  me,       ^   ,  , 
i'  lN>  informed  mathat  he  intended  to  give  a  grand  >  you'll  !« 

me  to  do  the  Ifonors.  Ile^liad  ordered  dress- 1  "No,''i(iafd  my  father,  with  gome  aiii)e»nuice 
makers  for  me ;  he  wished  m^  to  wear  some  jew-,  of  vexation)  '*  nqf  thKt ;  vfeW  take  our  title  the 
els  which  he  had  in  the  house,  and  informed  rae    way  all  the  lorda  do,  from  tlje  estates,    li  ^ 


ofth. 

John  made  no  reply. 

"1  thought  the  county  would  take  to' her. 
She's  one  of  their  own  sort,"  my  father  muttered. 

"  If  it  weren't  for  you  they  might,"  said  John; 
"  but  they  aiin't  overfond  of  her  dear  father." 

'^  Br.t  1  sent  out  the  invita  in  her  nanci" 

"  Ko  go  anyhow." 

"  1  thought  I'd  get  in  with  them  all^ght  away, 
hobnob  with  lords  and  biA'onetb,  and  maybe  get 
knighted  on  the  spot." 
'  'John  gave  d  long  8ct«am  of  laughter. 

"■Vou  old  fool!'"  hi  cried;  "so  that's  what 
you're  up  to,  is  it  ?  Sir  John — hd,  ha,  ha !  Vou'll 
never  bi  made  SiiHlohn  by  parties,  I'm  afraid." 

"  Oh,  don't  yon  be  too  sure.  I'm  nut  put 
down.  I'll  try  again,"  he  continued,  nfier  i| 
pause.    <'*'Kext  year  I'll  do  it.    Why,  slie'H  ranr-  ■ 

~  ■     in- 


ry  a  lord,  find  then  won't  I  l)e  a  lord's  fl|(lier-ii 
iawL    What  da  you  say  to  that  ?"  •       ". 
"When  didl'^u  get  these  notions  in  y« 


blessed  1)1 

"Oh 
myself, 


taked  John.  . 

them —    It's  not  no  much  for  ■ 
but  for  you.    For  if  I'li}  a  lord 


lifchftl" 


fathi 


that  it  wpu)d  be  the  grandest  thing  of  the  kind    Lord  Brandon,  and  yben  I  die  you'll  get  the  tii 
that  had^ever  taken  place.    Ii'ire-woits  were  go^  !  tie. "  '  ' 

ing  to  be  let  oflf;  the  {(roundo  were  to  fe  iUumin- 1      '.'  And  that's-your  little  game.  ,  Well,  yoa're 


o 


pbyed  such  good  little  games  in  your  1 
got  nothing  to  say,  except—'  lio  it '' 


CORD  AND  CREESE, 
life  that  I've 


lOS 


"Where?" 
she  8  the  one  that'U  give  me  a  hft  "  a  ,         u     "•  ""^  """^  ^'^  "ot  a  word. 

^Well,  she  ought  to  be  able  to  do  something  "    th^MT       u""^  ^  ''*"''«  °f  "<-''•*''«.  and  hinted 
By  this  time  I  concluded  that  I  hXlone  mv   fiit'^a^"'"'  "''"  ^°°  ^'"'''  ^"^ething  abont^ 
duty  and  prepared  to  retire.     I  did  not  wNh  t^  '■  n.'         "  """"'""  "'"'  ^  «"*'!  ">»  I  repented 
overhear  any  of  their  conversation?^  As  I  hS^  '  w  h^.d^'''"""'  T  '*'"''"'"  f"""  »'eadTo  f^l 
oat  Of  the  room  I  still  heard  their  remarkr:  |  was  ^  ternble7w'T"  "'^''T  '^'''"  '^^""^^'''i^'' 

"'""'  ■*  "•"'  ' -  ' '  T.Z'Z'!^.'!'^^  "t.seemed  to  me  as  though 


«  ni    .  i  u     .        .  ^' "  "'""  remarks : 

jelfthe  Queen,"  suid  John. 
"  It's  the  diamonds,  Johnnie  " 

:l!!.t  .'L"L"'''_'i>  'l"?  «'^'  '■e'^lf-    r  don?f  like 


another  would  be  death.     I  tried  to'sornhp"  w" 
but^she  looked  tearfully  at  meloJVZg  tJ^e 

.^iSS'^^L^r'^1!"^':^^-''^  whether 


.he;.yshe  WVfWk  nlrtreTndth'J^^^^^^^^        ,   ^i  T"!f^  ^™«  ^  « 

" Why  that's  the  way  with  tha    k3     its  '  Z,^TIT'"^  **"  fl''     ^''^  '^""^J  «   m«  >Wt . 
what  the.  lords  like."  its,  deep  sadness  and  shook  her  bead      I  do  nnt 

.»*«  '00*  rfoicn.'"  •'       "ou^KeeiJer,  none  of  the  servants  pav  anv  at- 

This  was  the  last  I  heard.  Yet  one  thing  was  SZ^.nf '  T'"""'""-  '^'''^'^  '"  »»  '■ni'»J«nt 
evident  to  me  from  their  conversation.  MyT  Stheln  h°  T"*^"  "'^  '^«'-  ^  """^ed 
ther  had  some  wild  plan  of  effecting  an  enVr^n^  I  first  1^.."  l^""?l™*^ '"  ''«'•  room  when 
mtft  society  through  me.  He  thought  tha^^fter  0„™  orTl  ?  her  differently  from  the  rest. 
*^was  onoe  recognized  he  might  get  sufficient '  halls  Thl  «  "^'^  "''™  '""^"'«  "'  ""«  "f  the 
.nfluencft  to  gain  »  title  and  found  I  famnv  j  i  wt,  hJi  Tf  "^^P  ''^P'^'  "'  '"s  manner, 
also  miff ht  marrv  „  i^...i      1 1 .  .u  "  ".  ™™"y-,     1 1  «  hat  he  does  1  have  not  yet  found  out.     He  has 


also  might  marry  a  lord.     He  thu8"d;Mmed  of 

oS S'^  '  '^'^  °"';^^*'  K'^'''  "°Wes 
»  Amidst,  my  sadness  1  almjet  smiled  at  this 
Sd'T^'V'*'  ^"*/°'!"'''  ^^orO,  affected  „e 
\»i  !^il#  .■     ^.      "  ^  ''"®*''  """h  wl'om  tiiev 

x:'chirt=s^3^;^- 
..ri^aitrb-^r ''^'^'^'^^ --'"'•''-  '^^^^^^ 

j^unng  these  months  Mrs.  Compton  s  tender 

lewtioii  to  me  never  ceased.     I  resixjcte.!  her  ^  to  i^o  ,.,„      -n  '       i .   ° -•-"'  •  "'"««<^ 

,  fcrbm-e  to  axci.e  that  painful  fear  to  vhh.h  '  lift'"™  i-'lH^'^"  ^"""""''^  "«■•«  'here,  high 
lewas  subject  >()„ce  or  twice  I  forgot  myself  I"  ea  wS  1 .11  .       '*  'T  ""'  "^iWe^tha 

.ad  began  spenkmg  to  her  about  her  «1,ange  po-  ilH  .  1      ]'""  ''«  ««««"ated  witlt  his  memory 

mn  here,    she  stopped  me  with  her  l^k'of  !„  i ts'  .^f    '""«'"«  '^f  "■«  ""«'  ""^ '« J<«k 

!  J?"  '."';JP''  e-^Pa;ise,  and  feed  my  soul  with 


— ^  „„,o  „„j,  ^.,,^  jouna  out.       He  hna 

always  shown  great  respect  to  me,  though  why 
I  can  not  imagine.  He  has  the  ime  timidity 
of  manner  which  marks  MVs.  Comiton.  H  s 
name  is  Philips.  '  " 

^      I  once  asked  Mrs.  Compton  who  Philips  was 
;  «nd  what  ho  did.     .She  answered  .luickly'haTh; 

to  keep  hLs  accounts.  ' 

;;  Has  he  been  with  him  lonj; ?"  I  continued,    • 
Ves,  a  considerable  time,' she  said— but  t 
saw  that,  the  subject  distressed  her,  so  1  chiin^d 

For  more  than  three  months  I  remained  in  mv 


alarm. 

I V^*"®  'ooJted  at  nie  piteously. 

I     '''^*a  are  the  only  one  that  is  kind  to  me  "  I 

«.  dijtmo.  "'"•  "'   ^"^  ---"•-J.  ^y«u'  are 
Slje  siahed|ftd  was  ^Uent.    The  mys,e,j;abont 


old  and  dVF  memoriei.     There  it  would  lie 'ihe 
same  seaj'ixim  which  he  so  often  save    me  bver 

atm'f2^""f.'"'  '■t''*'^  -l-"  '-  n".;"^ 
at  my  feet,  and  I  gave  back  that  life  to  him  aKaT 
1  useil  to  itscend  a  hill  wlfich  was  half  a S 
hehind  the  Hall  withjn   the  grounds    and  na* 


!.''M"„'*i^-'"^".'«'«J:,'>8M  did,  at  leajt  r  ,ho;i^ht"so 
lliere  for  monthsCl  nsed  to  go. 


tne  blue  water. 
<^_  far  away  t9 


*m 


>«n.rm;s!;i;hZ4dTfi.r'g:^mT^^^^^^      ;■"  «rtenyard.  -ThereV;;:"^;;;^ 

.•Werlove,  and  her  evEr-presenS    WW       J    ''■""'''  '"  •"•*  'wl^fixedly  Aon  t 
fte™  in  her  past  that  so  iiCc  dter  SVl7'  SCLrf  ^""7""'''  ^  V  -  -«y  t* 

»fte  too  Iteen  mixed  up  with  thfi  rrim«  L  .i       "'«>outh,  to  that  island  on  the  African  shore 
^«*«..'^e!  impossible    Liu.XTomo^h^'f   h"^"*.*"  onc»^  recjinedjo  m/ armS?.,^  the  4ltL- 
«datka«  that  prist  havo  b«enrSZ  ttw    r?!'!^*'?^''"*'  "■"'  ""y  '""«»'  «as  polhrt  on*  V* 
w black  a  clouTover  ber  life.    TJT wha t-Sa^    t  h'il^r^J'T'Jt"''  '^''^'^  '  afterwa'rd  S       ^' 


iwor;  eirtuiaNW  feBt-^i(kJ( 
wjfb  them  \|iith  my  iHif,  bill 


nnconHciQus.     Me  never  knew  the  anguish 


longed  to  be  able  to 
d«red  not.  .  Ue  lav 


"Infamy,  my  blood  i.,  pollution.  iC'*'"""  (  V^^  "i""*!  with  tjie  e£,o  of  his  voice ;  .  ej„Id 


m'- 


f 


Milt.    ii„  I    1 B«"«"»i  way  aoout  t 

SSfc.'/^      *  ^'"^  '^"  out  of  agUnd? 
.i^<i^"Triie  answered,  dreamilv 

■•     ..    ■     .  <* 


One  day  th?  idea  ..a—, 
tend  in^  nmible  int<tt|je  i 
den  to  get  •  widei"  vit^' 

i      'I 

i 


he«d  to  M- 

'oiits<'de,.jn  ^jkU 
Pt  to  tht  gatS; 


.106  CORD  AND  CREESE, 

(        The  porter  came  out  and  asked  what  I  wanted. 
'         I  t()la  him. 

"  'i>Ki  can't  go  out,"  said  he,  rudely. 

"WhVnot?" 

"()h,  ihem's  Potts's  orders — that's  enough,  1 
tUink.-'    I 

"  He  riever  said  so  to  mo,"  I  replied,  mildly. 

"That's  no  wdds ;  he  said  so  to  nic,  and  he 
told  me  if  you  made  any  row  to  tell  you  that  you 
were  watclied,  and  might  just  us  «ell  give  up  at 
once. " 

"  Watched !"  said  I,  wonderingly. 

"  Ves — for  fear  you'd  get  skittish,  and  try  and 
do  something  foojish.  Old  Totts  is  bound  to 
keep  you  under  his  thumb." 

I  turned  away.  1  did  not  care  much.  I  felt 
more  sui-prise  than  any  tiling  else  to  tliink  that 
he  Woidd  take  the  trouble  to  watch  me.  Wheth- 
er lie  did  or  not  was  of  httle  conseipience.  If  I 
coiUd  only  be  where  1  had  the  sea  before  me  it 
wa;^  enough. 

That  day,  on  going  back  to  the  Ilall,  I  saw 
John  .<ittiiig  on  the  piazza.  A  huge  bull-dog 
« liich  he  used  to  ti\ke  with  him  evory  where  was 
l^ing  at  his  feet.  '  Just  Itefore  I  readied  the  steps 
a  .Malay  servant  came  out  of  the  lioiise. 

lie  was  about  the  same  age  as  John.  I  knew 
liiin  to  be  a  Malay  wlian  1  Hrst  saw  him,  and 
ciitu'lutled  that  my  father  had  picked  him  up  in 
the  luist.  He  was  slight  but  very  lithe  and 
muscular,  willi  dai  k  glittering  eyes  and  glisten- 
,  iiig  white  teeth.  He  never  looked  at  me  when 
I  met  him,  hut  always  at  tlie  groinid,  without 
seeming  to  I*  aware  of  my  existence. 

The  .Malay  was  passing  out  when  John  colled 
out  to  him,       .  v' 

"Hi,  there,  VijiA'" 

Vijal  looketl  careftisly  at  him. 

'■Here!"  rried  John,  in  the  tone  with  which 
he  would  have  addje.ssod  his  dog. 

Vijal  stop|)ed  carelessly. 

"  I'ick  up  my  hat,  and  hand  it  to  me." 

His  hat  had  fallen  down  behind  him.  Vijal 
stood  without  moving,  and  rcguritejl  him  with  an 
evil  smile  Tr" 

"  I)— n  you,  do  you  hear?"  cried  John. 
"Pick  up  my  hat." 

But  A'ijal  did  ndt  move. 

"  If  you  don't,  III  set  the  dog  on  you,"  cried 
John,  starting  to  his  feet  in  a  rage. 

t^till  V'ijul  remained  motionless. 

"Nero!  "  cried  John,  furiously,  pointing  to 
Vijal,  "seize  him,  Kir.", 

The  dog  sprui)g  up  and  at  once  leaped  upon 
Vijul.     \ijal  warded   oft"  the  assault  with    hi 
arm.     The  dog  seize<l  it,  aiA  held  on,  as  wii 
his  iMture.     Vijal  did  not  utter  a  cry,  biit  seizin 
the  dog,  he  threw  him  on  his  back,'  anil  Hingin,, 
•  himself  u|M>n  him,  fixed  his  own  teeth  in  the 
dog's  throat.  . 

John  burst  into  a  torrent  of  the  inosl  fiightful 

curs-OS.     He  ordered  Vyal  to  let  go  of  the  dog. 

•■      Vijii  did  not  move;  *iit  while  the  dog'o  teeth 

wc;-e  fixed  in  his  arm,  his  own  were  ijtill  fixed  as 

terncionsly  in'tlm  thront  of  the  dog. 

John  sprang  forwftrd  and   kicked    him  with 


jal  sat  down,  his  arm  nmning  hlood,  with  the 
knife  in  his  hand,  still  glaiing  at  John. 

During  this  fiiglitful  scene  I  stood  rtxitcd  to 
the  spot  in  horror.  At  last  the  sight  of  \jji,i , 
suffering  roused  me.  I  rushed  forward,  arul 
tearing  the  scarf  from  my  neck,  knelt  down  and 
reached  out  my  hand  ta  stanch  the  blood. 

Vijal  drew  back.  "Poor  Vijal,"  said  I,  "let 
me  stop  this  blood.  I  can  dress  woupds.  How 
you  suti'er!" 

He  looked  at  me  in  bewililerment.  Sunirise 
at  hearing  a  kind  word  in  this  house  of  Ikihoi 
se(!med  to  depri\  e  him  of  speech.  Passively  lig 
let  me  lake  his  arm,  and  1  bound  it  uj)  as  Htll 
a.s  I  could. 

All  this  time  John  stood  cursing,  first  me 
and  then  Vijal.  I  said  not  a  word,  and  Mjui 
did  not  seem,  to  hear  him,  but  sat  regarding  nie 
with  his  tiery  black  eyes.  When  at  last  I  hml 
finished,  he  rose  and  still  stood  staring  at  ine. 
I  walked  into  the  house. 

John  buried  a  torrent  of  imprecations  after 
me.  The  last  words  that  I  heard  were  the  same 
as  he  liifR  said  once  before.  "  You've  got  to  \v 
took  doWi ;  and  I'll  be  d— d  if  you  don  t  gci 
look  down  precious  soon  !" 

1  told  Mrs.  Compton  of  what  had  h.npjieneil. 
As  usual,  she  was  seized  with  terror.  Mic  lowkeil 
at  me  \Hth  a  ghmce  of  fearful  apprehension.  A: 
last  she  gaspcti  out  : 

"They'll  kill  you." 

"  Let  them,"  said  I,  carfelessly  ;  "  it  would  k 
better  than  living." 

"Oh  dear!"  groaned  the  poor  old  tliiii|;''* 
and  sank  sobbing  in  a  cli:uf.  I  did  what  1 
could  to  s(X)the  liar,  but  to  little  purpose,  .'-he 
afterward  told  me  that  Vijal  had  es.  apwl  I'lmher 
ptmishment  in  spiteof  John's  threat.-,  uiul  hinted 
that  they  weie  half  jifraid  of  him. 

The  next  day,  on  attempting  to  go  out,  rhili|is 
told  me  that  I  was  not  to  be  permitted  to  leave 
the  house.  I  coiisldeied  it  the  result  of  Joliii'^ 
threat,  and  yielded  without  a  word. 

After  this  I  had  to  seek  distraction  from  mv 
thoughts  within  the  house.  Xo\v  there  camu 
over  mc  a  great  longing  for  music.  Once,  wlicu 
in  the  drawing-room  on  that  famoin  evening  <if' 
the  aborti\e  Icie,  which  was  the  only  time  I  cvtr 
was  there,  1  had  noticed  a  magnificent  grand 
piano  of  most  costly  workmanship.  The  thimiik 
of  this  came  to  my  mind,  and  an  imcontpieralili' 
desire  to  try  it  arose.  So  I  went  down  and  be- 
gun to  play. 

't  was  a  little  out  of  tune,  hut  (he  tone  was 

elously  full  and  sweet.     I  threw  ni\  self » iili 

cribable  delight  into  the  chann  of  the  hour. 

[I  the  old  joy  which  music  once  ti.sed  to  briiiK 

lO  back.  Imagination,  stiiniikted  by  the 
'welling  harmonies,  trans|H)rtcd  mo  far"iiHi\v 
from  this  prison-house  ngd  its  hateful  asswia- 
tions  to  that  happier  time  of  youth  when  mil  a 
thought  of  sorrow  «inio  over  mo.  I  lost  mjsill 
tlmrein.  Then  that.passod,  that  life  vanished, niul 
(he  sea- voyage  iM'gan..  The  thoughts  of  mv 
mind  aiul  tbeeihotions  of  my  heart  passed  doHii 
to  the  ipii^vering  clinrds  anil  tremhlml  iiitn  liti' 


trighiiui  violence.    lie  Icniiedoniiim  and  stiunp 
od  on  hlin.     At  last,  Vijal  drew  a  knife  (Voiii  his 
girdle  and  made  a  dnsb  at  John.     This  fj  jght- 
elied  jlohn,  who  fojl  back  ciirsingr     \  iial  then 
raised  his  heiA|, 
The  dog  (Siy  rootionless.     He  was  dead.     Vi- 


aiiil  sound. 

1  do  not  know,^ow  long  I  find  been  plnjing 
when  suddenly  I  hoard  a  sob  l«hiiid  mo.  I 
slurted  and  tiimod.     It  was  Philips. 

He  wBi)  standing  with  tears  in  hjs  eyos'and  o 
rn])t  expression  on  his  emaciated  ta«o,  his'liandi 


cursing,  first  me, 
I  word,  ami  Mjai 
sat  regarding  iia 
hen  at  last  I  luul 
3d  staring  at  me. 

mprecations  after 
»rd  were  tlie  same 
'  You've  got  to  Iw 
I  if  vou  don  t  gei 


ily;   "it  would  le 


hut  the  tone  nns 
threw  imseltHitli 
harm  of  tli»  hour. 
ice  used  to  brinn 
iiniilated  li.v  ilie 
ed  mo  far  nwhy 
i  hateful  assM'Jii- 
Koutii  when  wit  a 
10.     I  lost  mvseir 

life  vanislie<l,  Rill! 

thoughts  uf  inv 
icart  passed  liiiw" 
riMiih|p{l    iriln  liti- 

lind  l)een  jilajing 
>  liiBhiiid  me.    I 


hj^g  listless,  and  hi.s  whole  air  that  of  one 
m  as  1  turned  and   stopiwa,*  the  suoll   that 

"Can  you  sing?"  . 

"  H'ouid  you  like  mo  to  do  so  ?" 

I  bo'^m'.^r''''  '"  "  *"'""'•  'mplorinK  voice. 
1  began  a  ow  song-a  strain  a.s,K-i«ed  with 

krif w'"^/'  "'"'^•'  '  had  imZn 


Wien /I  stopped!  turned  again.  Phflin; 
had  not  changed  his  attitude.  uTt  as  I  turS 
he^^uttered   a„   exclan^.iOn   and    tore   out  .1 

''•HeJ'kmr^r^;:^'''^"^^-'^''-'-'^^'- 

Uith  these  words  he  ruslied' out  of  the  room 
i  Kept  up  my  musir  f„r  about  ten  days  whp'n 

Tu  11*' /JT""  "'"PI**  ^'"^"''-     I  'v,i  in  the  . 
'     ^r,"  wl"^,"  t  heard  heavy  foo,s.r 


^1? 


-fl 


108 


CORD  AND  CREE3E. 


He  turned  and  left  me.  I  closed  the  piano 
forever,  and  went  to  my  room. 

The  year  ended,  and  a  new  year  began.  Jatiu- 
ary  passed  away.  My  melancholy  began  to  af- 
fect my  health.  I  scarcely  ever  slept  at  night, 
and  to'eat  was  difficult;  I  hoped  that  I  was  going 
to  die.  Alas !  death  wUf  not  come  when  one  calls; 

One  day  I  warf  in  my  room  lying  on  the  couch  | 
when  Mrs.  Compton  came.      On  entering  she  | 
looked  terrified  about  something,     bhe  spoke  in  { 
a  very  agitated  voice:  "They  want  you  down 
stairs." 

"Who?"  ^' 

"Mr.  Potts  M>4  John." 

"Well,"  said  I,  and  I  prepared -to  get  ready. 
*'  When  do  they  want  me  ?" 

"  Now,",  said  Mrs.  Compton,  who  by  this  time 
was  crying. 

"Why  are  you  s^^itated?"  I  asked. 

"  I  am  afraid  foryBu." 

"  Why  so  ?     Can  any  thing  be  worse  ?" 

"  Ah,  my  dearest!  you  don't  know — ^you  don't 
know." 

I  said  nothing  more,  but  *ent  drtwn.  On  en- 
tering the  room  I  saw  my  father  and  John  seated 
at  a  table  with  brandy  before,,  them.  A  t^iiyd 
man  w^  (here.  He  was  a  thick  -  set,  njun  of 
aboui  the  same  height  of  my  fiither,  buti)r»6re 
muscular,  with  a  strong,  square  jaw,  thick  neck, 
low  brow,  and  slem  face.  My  father  did  not 
show  any  actuid  ferocity  in  his  face  wliatev^r  he> 
felt ;  but  this  .man's  face  expressed  relentless  cru- 
elty. \    ''        ^ 

On  entering  the  room,  I  walked  up  a  little  dis- 
tance and  stood  looking  at  theih.    ' 

"Tliere,  Chirk  ;  what  do  you  think  of  that'" 
said  my  father.  ^  ^  j,, 

The  name,  Clark,  at  once,  made  known  to  me 
who  thin  man  was — that  old  associate  of  my  fa- 
ther— his  assistant  on  b<)ai;d  the  Vishnu.  Yet 
the  name  did  not  add.  (5ne  whit  to  the  abhor- 
rence which  I  felt— ray  father  was  worsei  even 
than  he.  .. , 

The  man  Clark  lookedT  Bt  .me  scrutinizingly 
for  some  time. 

"So  that's  the  gal,"  said  he,  at  last. 

"Tiint's  the  gal,"  said  my  father. 

Clark  waved  his  hand  at  me.  "Turn  round 
sideways,"  said  he. 

1  looked  at  him  quietly  without  moving.  He 
repeated  the  order,  bnt  I  took  no  notice  of  it. 

"  D— n  her !"  said  he.     "  Is  she  deaf?" 

"Not  a  bit  of  it,"  said  John;  "but  she's 
plucky.  .She^l^ust  as  soon  you'd  kill  her  as  not. 
There  isn't  any  way  of  moving  her."  « 

"  Turn  round  I"  cried  my  father,  angrily. 

I  turned  as  he  said.  "  You  see;"  said  ho,  with 
a  laugh,  "she's  been  piously  brought  up;  slie 
honors  hv  fiither." 

At  this  Clark  burst  into  a  loud  lai^;h. 
Some  conversation  foUqwed  aliout  me  as  I 
stood  there.  <Jlark  then  ordered  itte  to  turn 
round  and  fitco  him.  1  took  m\  notice;  btit  on 
my  father's  orderiiig1t».  I  ol>eyodjas  b^^..  T-his 
appeared  to  amuse  them  Kill  very  grB^tly.  jiw^'M 


"TOO" 

done.    Clark  gave  me  many  AttnmaiuW  on  pur- 
pose to  se^  my  .refni'tUand-hwepiy  fitther's^or- 
.  der  Wl^ich  followod"9bcye<I.       *   ■ 

"  Wdl,"  said  be,  at  bst,  leMiinit  back>  Hb 
chairy''Tihei»ftshov^y.pieceof  Airnitiire.*  Jfotft 
iim  Wt  4  iMd  oner«itl|iir. " 


He  rose  from  his  chair  and  came  toward  me. 
I  stood  looking  at  him  with  a  gaze  so  tixed  iinj 
intense  that  it  seemed  as  if  all  my  being  weu 
centred  in  my  eyes. 

He  cume  up  and  reached  out  to  take  hold  nf 
my  arm.  I  stepped  bock.  He  looked  up  an- 
grily.. But,  for  some  reason,  tiia  mnmuut  that 
he  caught  sight  of  my  face,  an  expression  of  fcui- 
passed  over  his. 

•"Heavens!"   he   groaned;     "look    at   tjiat 
face!"    '  . 

I  saw  my  father  look  at  mp.  The  samp  lior- 
ror  passed  over  his  countenance.  An  uwt'al 
thought  (<^me  tp  me.  As  these  men  turned  their 
faces  away  frcmi  me  in  fear  1  felt  my  strength 
going.  I  turned  and  rushed  from  the  room.  1 
do  not  remember  any  thing  more.  \ 

It  was  earjy  in  February  when  mis  occurred. 
Until  the  begiiming  of  August  I  lay  sensclcs.s, 
For  the  first  four  months  I  hovered  faintly  lie- 
tween  life  and  death.  "  .       V 

Why  djd'  they  not  let  me  die  ?  Why  did  I  not 
die  ?  Alas !  had  I  died  I  might  now  have  been, 
bcyond-this  sopow  :  1  have  iraked  to  meet  it  all 
again.  ^ 

Mrs;  Ojmpton  says  she  found  me  on  the  floor 
of  my  Own  roon),  and  that  I- was  in  a  kind  of 
stupor.  '  I  had  no  fever  or  delirium.     A  dcwtor , 
came,  who  said  it  was  a  congestion  of  the  br;jin. 
Thoughts  like  mine  might- well  destroy  the  brain' 
forever.  ,  '  y 

For  ,a  month  I  have  been  slowly  rew)vcring. 
I  can  ndW  walk  about  the  room.-  I  know  nu- 
thing  of  what  Is  ^ing  on  m  the  house,  and  wi^h 
to  know  nothing.  Mrs,  Compton  is  as  devoieil 
as  ever, 
■"tlliyielgot  thus  far,  and  will  stop  hi;r©;  I  liave 
beeti  several  days  writing  this.  Lt^iust  stop  till 
I  am  stronger.  / 


•f  .;.   CHAPTER -XXVi 

THE   BV2ANTINK   HYHNtSTS. 

More  than  a  year  had  passed  since  thnt  visit 
to  Thornton  Grange  which  bos  already  been  men- 
tioned.., ,Despard  had  n^t  forgotten  «r  negleetc) 
the  melancholy  case  of  the  Brandon  family.  He 
hud  written  in  all  directions,  and  had  gone  on 
frequent  visits.  ' 

On  his  rtjtum  from  one  of  these  he  wCnt  to  the 
Grange.  Mrs.  Thornton  wast'Sitting^in  the  draw- 
ing-room, looking  |)ensively  out  of  the  window, 
when  she  saw  his  well-kuown  figure  advancing 
up  the  ave^tie.  His  face  was  sad,  and  iiervadctl 
by  a  melancholy  expression,  Which  was  noticeable 
now  as  he  walked  along. 

But  when  he  came  into  the  roon}  that  hiclan- 
choly  fac»  suddenly  lighted  up  with  the  tnohl 
rauliant  joy.  Mrs.  Thonitpn  advanced  to  irteft 
him,  and  Iv^  took -her  hand  in  both  of  his.  , 

''I  ought  to  sat-,  welcome  back  again,"  laU 
she,  with  fnrced  liveliness,  "but  fou  may  have 
b£en 'in  Ilolby  a-it^k  foj"  i)U  I  knoyr.  When 
did  you  come'backl'    Confess  nhw  that  y'm  h»ve 


imjf  vourself  itr  yntir  stutty  insteajlw 
paying  your  resiiects  in  the  prttper  <iuartcr." 

•'•Despard  B(niled.     "I  arrivcKl  homo  at  eleven 
this  morning.    It  is  now -three  f.m.  by  my  wntchi',  | 
Hhiil  I  say  how  ImpatientlV.  I  have>  waited  ^iU" 
.  three  o'clock  should  cqm^         -  *.    " 

^',.0h  1^6 !  'dun'tttsay  lany  Uiing  of  ihe  aorL   I . 


CORD  AND  CKEKSE. 


can  imagine  all  that  you  would  say.    But  teU  me 
where  you  have  been  on  this  last  visit  ?" 

«>dfiXToL!"^''"^"' «'-'•-•'•"« -t 

•'Have  you  been  to  London  again?" 
"Where  have  I  not  been?" 
By  this   time   they' had  seated „ themselves 
My  hm  journey  "  said  Despard,  'Mike  my  fori 
njerones,  was,  ofcou.^,  about  the  Brandon  af- 

frnswMrTht^^s^xs 

that  nothing  whatever  can  b"  done  HnT"''  ^"""""^  ^'''  "«^  '^'="'  '°  ''»«  Hall 
know,  also  that  I  coulHot  sitXvn  ^  Z  '  '"  --'  ""'  '' ''  «""=«• 
calmly  under  this  conviction.  I  have  felt  most 
keenly  the  presence  of  intolerable  wrong.  Eve^ 
day  I  have  felt  as  if  I  had  shared  in  the  h.famT 
of  those  who  neglected  that  dying  man.  'Iha^ 
was  th«  reason  why  I  wrote  to  Australia  to  see 
If  the  Brandon  who  was  drowned  was  really  the 

ZL^^^'^-  i'r'"'''y"'''"''^.»hathewa8 
the  same  man,  and  there  is  no  doubt  about  that 

'fhere  was  one  who  said  that  if  I  were  rich 
r"i.>,  ^h""!^,''.*^^"  "  prosecution,  but  as  I  am 
not  rich  that  d.d  me  no  good.     That  man  w'ould 


L .  „        ,   ,   —  :"  »•<""•     A"uc  man  would 

Sa^"k5-     '  ""  ^°'""'  '^  '•"^^^  ""''^''"''en 

hJlt^!""  •"•  't?™  W^""  •'•*'  «"  hardens  the 
"TJ  l""1.i  ^?-..7'"'""°"'    "*■'«■■    a    pause 

"""rly  all  the  more  spiritual  qualities  ?" 
I  don  t  think  that  th«  law  does  th:s  neoes- 
«.nly.     It  depends  after  aU  on  the  man  him- 
self.    If  I  were  a  lawyer,  I   should  still  love 
iau«c  above  all  tilings."  '"»  io>e 

mtiS "•  '^''^  ^°"  *-*'*'■  ''"°"'  *  '""'>'"  ^'^'^  'o*'e<l 

th.'i.TC  ?f'.''"?'^,''"°"?^  of  them  to  answer 
tnat.  I  nut  m  England  music  is  not  loved  so  de- 

hS  "'  '?,  *!•'""■.  "'""*"?'•    ^«  *'  incpnceiva- 
ble  that  an  Ital.an  lawyer  s),o.,ld  love  music  ?" 

1  don  t  know.  I^w  is  abhorrent  to  me*  It 
Sti"  *  P"^*"^'"™  that  kills  the  finer  sen- 
.  "  Why  86,  ,inore  than  medicine  ?  'ITie  feet  is 
"wnere  ordinary  men  are  concerned  any  scien- 
Ufif  profession  renders  Art  distasteful.  At  least 
mu  IS  BO  in  Kngland.      '  " 


100 

l^m"2J"  ^  '"  *^.^"«g«  of  Bmndon.  I 
Tent  on  t.^'  »"^'"'«'°  «1"iries.  ^  Without  ex- 
ffnlt^  f„  T°P'?  ,«.''nP"'^ed  with  the  unfor- 
tunate family,  and  looked  with  detestation  uron 
the  man  who  ha.l  supplanted  them.  ^ 

1  heard  that  a  young  Indy  went  there  kst 
year  who  was  reputed  to  be  his  daughter     E^ 

She  has  ner- 

but  a  burly  John  BulT,  which  made  Jiis  storv  lu 

one  like  her  should  go  into  that  place  and"  never 
be  _seen  again,    I_do  not  know  what  to  think  of 


ftu  IS  so  in  Kngland.     After  all  most  denTn  u   n  .  i  •  °."^  *^°"''*  teUJiow.     T 

on  the  man  himself,  and  one  who  i.rdl!h  a       "  m.'^rr  h"^^'  P'-^f  "HTainst  him 
ke»n  sensibilitv  tn  .h«  ',.»,o™..  „r"  ^  ^  „    "^"'  .*   .       ""'  '  found  out  in  Brandon  il.n  «, 


Do  you  suppose  that  she  really  went  them 
and  never  aime  back  ?"  "^  ^^"^ 

"  That  is  Mgiat  they  say. " 

there/'*'"  ^^  "^'  '^"^'■^  '•"'  ^^^  >"*•'«?» 
"Yes,  so  they  do."  v 

matted?"  ''''  '''^^"'""  '"'"'  »ome  step&  in  the 

^^'^^V^u^^y  '^"^  ^^^  h  idsVughter 
Some  of  the  vdlagera  who  havea>oen  to  the  Ihi  i 
at  different  time^say  that  theyAeard  her  Dlav- 
mg  and  singing. 'V|^  jM|t«i™  ner  piay- 

"That  does  not  sognd  like  imjirisonment.'" 
^    1  he  caged  bird  sings." 

'  .!  /\^"  ^'°}'  "''"''  '*'•«  iM  Jlrisoner?" 

I  think  u  odd  that  sheC  never  cQme  out. 
not  even  to  go  to  church*'  ^ 

"It  is  odd." 

'"This  man  Potts  ex'cUed  sufficient  Interest  in 
my  mind  tolead  me  to  make  many  inquiri^  i 
found^  throughout  the  county,  that  e^very  body 
utterly  despised  him.  They  all  thoueht  th«{ 
poor  Ralph  Brandon  had  bee^  almost  S.  anl 
l^y  liLs  madnegs  had  ruined  his  family.     Every 

him,  but  no  one  could  teUJiow.     They  could 


i.«»_  •;  •,.  —  '.  ""  """  """  '"  oorn  wit  I  a 
Lew  sensibiUtytothe  charms  of  art  will  carry  it 
through  life,  whatever  his  profe*i6n.may  be  '' 

«ut  suppose  the  man  himself  has  neither. 
h^^Jfin  f  "''"^''"y'  "«'  *ny  appreclatioii  of  the 
bwutiflil,  nor  any  syjnpathy.whatewr  with,  those 
^who  16ve  such  things,  what  theh?"    " 


Well,  said  Despartl,  "that  question  an, 
«werg  itself,  As  a-man  is  born,  so  he  fs  and  if 
nature  denies  him  taste  or  sensibility  it  mrikes  no 
aifertnce  what  is  his  profession. " 
*' w   l'''0'7'too  Wjade  ,no  reply. 


,  , ^.^.t.llCIL    111111. 

I  A,  u  n.  **"' '"  l^rondon  the  sad  particn- 
Itirs  6f  the  final  fate  of  the  poor  wife^d  her 
unfortunate  children.  They  h'il  been  sentlwar 
or  assisted  away  by  this  Potts  to  Amerka,  and 
had  all  died-  either  on  the  way  out  or/shordy 


-. 6.,  ...i»..„«.r  y^f.V''«J'''«<J«rHved,  according  to  the  jfllagers^ 

Jrs.  Tliomton  si>oke  earnestly  ..she  -ked   t /[IZ 'S^Xt^T^fc 


Hn  have  .^H         J''™-  i  norntoo  njade  ,no  reply. 
sj«5^#=s«=======^-*»»t  journey, ''  *itd.bei<pimir**Trar 


JeBjandon^cas^-i-rS^nS^ 
tf  .omething  cmld  not  te  dow.     I  h^  been 
^  Aere  before  on  the  same  errand',  but  without  sue- 
em.    I  was  eouully  unsnccessfhl  this  time.  " 

I  tri9d  to  And  out  abo.lt  Pott»,'jhe  man  who 
had  purchased  th64*t«te,  but  .leanl^tbit  it  wa^ 


>i. .«  .i.  . — .r   '-" "■»»•.    M  Bceinea  lo  me 

that  they  must  ha*e  received  this  information 

«  M.  "'  Jir^""'  ^^°  ■■''"'•'  *"  'hat  poor  com- 
.mirtty  wouKfhavo  been  able  to  bace  thVfortnne. 
of  tho-unhai)py  emigrants."         ■ 

There  was  a  long  silence. 
"I  faav    ■  ^^        *  • 


,.\» 


ve  dnng  lUl  thfltliiMJ,'*  toi4 1)e!ji>ard.  — 


LC  ^m*'"'"'!'":"''  ""''  I  suppose  no^hin^ 
WW  renjafiw  to  be  d-.tje,  When  w^  hear  agaiS 
from  I  mf6  there  may  1h!  some  pew  informatton 
upon  \Wiich  \j;e  can  »^-" 

"A»^-yo 
poets. "     " 

VVes,  if.^i-vijjjlj^igtraa.' 


Jou,cai|  go  back  to  y«ur  BysandqB 


''-ill 


i'^ 

¥■■!' 


■'  f' 


.n 


■h  ' 


110 


CORD  AND  CREESE. 


cooling  draught  ?"  said  Despfird,  eagerly.     ' '  Yo» 
oi)eii  heuvuii  before  me,  and  ask  mjuf 'i  will  en- 


ter. 


HtUI 


His  voice  trembled,  and  he  patisti'd. 

"  You  never  forget  yourself,  said  Mrs.  Xhora- 
ton,  with  slight  agitation,  looking  away  as  she 
sj)oke.  "  ' 

"  I  will  be  back  at  any  hour  you  say." 

"  You  will  do  no  such  thing.  Since  you  are 
here  you  must  remain  anddine,^nd  then  "go  with 
me.  Do  you  sujjpose  I  would  trust  you  ?  W'in, 
if  I  let  you  go,  you  might  keep  me  waitiiiga 
jf  hole  houfri" 

'\Well,  Jfyour  will  is  not  law  to  me  what  is? 
'fo  stay  will  only 


"  Y«^  know  1  shall  onlWhe  too  happy.!' 
"  JtmS  I  «teU  be  etemaily'grateful.  Yon  see, 
M I  roM  yon  before,  there  is  a  field  of  labor  here 
for  the  lovar  srf music  which  is  like  a  new  world. 
I  wiil,^awe  ^m  the  grandest  musical  compositions 
thai  you  liave  ever  seen.  I  will  let  you  hrfve  the 
oH  hymns  of  the  saints  who  lived"  when  Con- 
stattinnple  was  the  only  civilized  8|)ot  iu.Kuroi)e, 
and  the  Christians  there  weie  hurling  back  the 
MfeiBunraedans.  You  shall  sing  the  noblest 
songs  that  you  have  ever  seen." 

••  How — in  tireek  ?     Y'ou  must  teach  me  the 
alpiasset  then. 

•  No;   I  wiU  translate  them  for  you.     The 
Greek  hymns  are  all  in  rhytlimical  "prose,  like  !  Si)eak,  and  your senniit  obfeys. 
the  Te  JJeimi  and  the  Glur'ui.     A  literal  trans-    add  to  rh*  happiness." 
lation  can  be  sung  as  well  as  the  originals.     You  i      "  ThenNjet  me  inafekjou  happy  by  forcing  vou 
wU  tlien  epter  into  the  mind  and  spirit  of  the    to  stay."  "^'^ 

ancient  Eastern  Church  .letbre  the  days  of  the  j      Despard's  face  showfed   hi?   feelings,  and  to 
'*'l'"I?'   ..  .  ji"ige  hy  its  expression  his  language  had  not 

'ies,  contmued  Desnard,  with  an  enthu-  been  extravagant. 
siasm  which  he  did  not  care  to  conceid,  "  we  \  The  iflernoon  passed  quietlv.  Dinner  was 
will  go  together  at  this  sweet  task,  and  we  will  served  lip.  'J'hornton  came  in,  and  greeted  Des- 
sing  the  kM'  iKdrrn)v  vfttpav,  which  holdii,  the  i  pard  with  his  usual  abstraction,  leaving  his  wife 
same  place  in  the  Greek  Church  that  the  7e  |  to  do  the  agreeable.  After  dinner,  as  usual,  lie 
JJnim  does  in  ours.  We  will  chant  «pgether'  the  prepared  for  a  nai).  and  Desjjard  and  Mrs.  Thorn- 
Golden  Canon   of  St.   .solin    Uainitscene  —  the    ton  started  for  the  fOte. 

Queen  of  Canons,  the  p-andest  song  of  '  Christ  I  It  was  to  be  i»i  some  gardens  at  the  other  ami 
IS  risen'  that  mortals  ^ver  composed.'  Your  of  Holbv,,  along  the  shore.  The  townsi)eoi)lc 
heart  and  mine  will  bear  together  with  one  feel- 1  had  rece"mly  formed  a  i)ark  there,  and  this  wn- 
ing  at  the  sublime  choiaj.  strain.  We  will  sing  one  of  the  i|>reliniinaries  to  its  formal  inaugtira- 
the  'Hymn  of  Victorj'.'  We  will  go  together  tion.  'J'he  trees  were  hung  with  inniiniernlile 
over  the  songs  ^  St.  Cosmas,  St.  'I'heophanes,  '  lamps  of  varied  colors.  There  were  bunds  ot 
and  St.  Theodore  f>t.  Gregory,  St.  Aiuilobus,  ;  music,  and  triumphal  arches,  and  gay  festoons. 
and  St.  Andrew  of  Crete  shall  inspire  us ;  and  and  wreaths  of  flowers,  and  every  thing  that  is 
the  thoughts  that  have  kindled  the  hearts  of  I  usual  at  such  a  time. 

martyrs  at  the  suike  shall  exalt  our  souls  to  On  arriving,  Despard  assisted  Mrs.  Thoiiiton 
heaven.  But  I  have  more  than  this.  1  have  from  the  carriage  and  ottered  his  arm.  She  Umk 
some  compositions  of  my  own ;  poor  ones,  in-  it,  but  her  hand  rest^ed  so  lightly  on  it  that  its 
deed,  yet  an  ettort  in  the  right  way.  They  are  j  touch  was  scarce  iwrceptible.  They  walkeit 
u  collection  of  those  hymns  of  the  Primitive    around  through  the  illuminated  paths.     Great 


t  'hurch  which  are  contained  in  the  New  Testa- 
ment. I  have  tried  to  set  them  to  music.  They 
are:  'Worthy  js  the  Lamb,'  'Unto  Him  tha't 
loved  us,'  'Great  and  marvelous  are  thy  works,' 
and  the  'Trisagion.'  Yes,  we  will  go  together 
at  this  lofty  and  heavenly  work,  and  1  shall  be 
able  to  gain  a  new  interpretation  from  vour  sym- 
pathy." 

Despard  sjwke  with  a  vehement  enthusiasm 


crowds  of  jKiople  were  there.  All  looked  with 
respectful  pleasui^  at  Mrs.  Thornton  aud  the 
Rector. 

"  You  ought  to  be  glad  that  yon  have  come,' 
said  she.  ".See  how  the.se  |MX)r  peojile  feel  it: 
We  are  Hot  [jersons  of  v^y  great  conseipienc*. 
yet  our  jireseiice  is  mni-keff  and  enjoyed.  " 

"All  places  are  alike  to  me,"  answered  Des- 
pard, "when  I  am  with  you.     Still,  there  are 


that  kindled  his  eyes  with  unusual  lustre  and  ;  circumstances  about  this  which  will  make  it  for- 
spread  a  glow  over  his  pale  faCe.     He  hxiked  like    ever  memorable  to  me. " 


some  devotee  under  a  sudden  inspiration.  Mrs. 
Thornton  caught  all  his  enthusiasm ;  her  eyes 
brightened,  and  her  face  also  flushed  with  ex- 
citement. 

"  Whenever  yon  are  ready  to  lead  rae  into  that 
new  world  of  music,"  said  she,  '■  1  am  ready  to 

'■     "  Are  ffc  willing  to  begin  next  Monday  ?  " 
-     "  Yes.     All  my  time  is  my  own." 

"Then  I  will  come  for  yon."  ^ 

"Then  I  will  be  waiting  for  yon.     By-the- 
way,  are  you  engaged  for  to-night  ?" 

••  No;  why?" 

"  There  is  going  t.    !ie  a  fete  champetre.     It 


but  1  have  to  go  to  ptay  the  pdltmlfertk,  Mr 
Thornton  does  not  want  to  go.  Would  you 
lacriflce  yourself  to  my  necessities,  and  allow  mo 
yvur  escort  ?" 

"  Would  a  thirsty  man  be  willing  to  accept  a 


"  Look  at  those  lights.'exclaimed  Mrs.  Thoni- 
ton,  suddenly  ;   "  w  hat  varied  colors  1" 

"  Let  us  walk  into  that  grotto, 'said  Despard, 
turning  toward  a  cool,  dark*'pluce  which  lav  be- 
fore them. 

Here,  at  the  end  of  the  grotto,  was  a  tree,  at 
the  foot  of  which  was  a  seat.  They  sat  donni 
and  staid  for  lioni-s.  In  the  distance  the  lightc 
fwinkle<l  and  music  arose.  They  said  little,  but 
listened  to  the  confused  miirmi'ir  which  in  the 
pauses  of  the  music  came  up  fii>m  afar. 

Then  they  rose  and  walked  \m'k.     Entering* 
the  principal  path  a  great  crowd  streamed  o.) 
which  they  had  to  fiice. 


ing  low  and  s|>eaking  in  a  sad  voice,  "are  coU' 
pelled  to  go  against  the  tide." 

"Shall  we  turn  back  and  go  with  it?" 

"  Wo  can  not." 

"  Do  you  wish  to  turn  aside  ?" 


'ltwMkeirPniir<n" 


M-. 


CORD  AND  CKEESE. 


I  Mrs.  Thorn- 


"We  can  not.    Ve  must  wnlk  against  the  i 
Ode  and  against  the  rusli,  of  men.     If  tve  turn 


III' 


rkness." 

iill  tliey  reached  the 

pme,"  said  Mrs. 


Yes,  I  am  thinking 


sjiide  there  is  nothing  but  u 

'ITiey  walked  on  in  silene 
gate.  * 

'"ITie  carriage  has  not 
Thomtcm. 

"  bo  vou  prefer  ridinc?" 

''  fl'"  ""*  <■"'■■     Will  you  walk  ?" 
"^ith  pleiism^i" 

,       They  walked  on  slowly.     About  half-way  thev ^ 
met  the  carnage.      Mrs,,yhornton  ordered   k 

.he  wa^'"^  ','  "■""'  "•"  "^'^  '°f 

"•  ;T!l/V"^r'.! ""  "'""''y'  ^y'^^s  so  httie  that 

at  last  Mrs  'Ihomton  began  to  ..^eak  about  "l?e 
■       ..5k^.  which  they  had  proposedVo  undertake 
espard  s  enthusla^  seemed  to  have  left  him 
lis  rei,lies  were  >  ague  and  general.     <Jn  reai^l 
mg   he  gate  he  stood  still  for  a  moment,  under 
the  trees  and  hnlf  turned  toward  her      "  Yni 
don  t  say  any  (hiiia  about  the  music  ?"  said  she    ! 
Ihat  s  because  I  am  so  stupid.     I- have  losf 
my^head.     I  am  no;  capable  of  a  smgle  coherent : 

"You  are  thinking  of  something  else  all  th? 

"  My  brain  is  in  a  whirl, 
of  something  else." 
"Of  what?" 
"I'm  iifiaid  to  say." 

Mrs.  Thornton  vtm  silent.     Thev  entered  th^ 
gate  and  walked  up  the  avenue,  slo^lv  an^„7 
lenee      Despard  made  one  or  two  effbrts  to  s"on 
nnd  then  continrted.     At  last  thev  reached  Th^ 
oor.        he  lights  were  streaming  "brightly  from 
the  window.     Despard  stood,  silently        ^ 
»V  ill  you  not  come  in  ?" 
"  No,  thank  you, "  .said  he,  drramily.     "  It  i  J 
mther  too  late,  and  I  must  go.     Good-night. "      I 
He  held  out  his  hand,     (ihe  offered  hprs   nn^  1 
he  took  it.     „e  held  it  long,  anSf  s!Lo;;d  "as  ' 
though  he  wished  to  say  something.      Nhe  felt ' 
the  throbbing  of  his  heart  in  his'^hand  as 
clasped  hers.     .She  said  nothing.     Nor  did  Des 
pard  seem  able  to  say  any  thing.     At  last  he 
let  go  her  hand  slowly  and  reluctantly 
..  Vou  will  not  forget  the  music  ?""said  he. 

"Good-night." 

,i,"rJ°*'u  ""*'■  '!""''  "««'"  '"  •'o'h  of  his.  As 
*BhghtHhone  through  the  windows  she  saw  his 
h^a  fi.ce  full  of  longing  beyond  words,  and 
sadness  unuttenible.  ' 

"Gootl-night,    she  faltered. 

He  let  go  her  hand,  and  turning  away  was 
bst  amjdst  the  gloom.     She  waited,  till  the^sJn^  ' 

On  the  following  moitaing  Despard  was  walk   ' 
■ng  «k,ng  when  he  met  her  suddenratTcoraer 
«     VT'-  u  ""  ^^PP*"!  ^'th  *  radiant  f^r 


hlH  IS 


too  much  happinuM 


'-- -="Tj-jniiBoO| — i^ij  "nUl  nil  TftMt 

»„..  K "^V  <>T  light  to  a  poor  captive  when 

yoa.bnrst  rpon  me  so  suddenly'^Where  are  you 

;;0h,  I'm  only  going  to  do  a  little  shopping." 


k: 


;;  Well,  %hy  not?"      ' 

n>y  £e"'Ld''tlfar^f^^'""''  """^  «''°PP'"«  ''^  "°' 
esfemiar-  '  ^-  P""*'*""^*  *"Wd  not  be 

He  turned,   however,  and  waIlf»H  «,i.i    u 

tr^te"''^.  ttar  p'"^."^'' ""-' 

««iJ  %,  on  parting  ''WiirT'"""  """''''" 
Monday?  Ifyou "fon 't  rV  r,"  ^"""^  "'''^' 
tortheconse.'uencJs  "  '  ^  """'  ^  responsible 

,  m^t^coraEr*"  "^'  ^''^'  ''"''  --"  «^P-% 
;;  I  did  not  hope  for  any  thing  else. "  V 

'you  l'lot1:Zr^'r  ™-'  -li  <-or  me.     If,  ^ 
I)e.spard's  eyes  brightened. 

'priviS;  'i'";,,''"*""  r"  """'^  me  so  sAv'eet  a 

"   ffn„  <•  •     ^' ."'"'  '"^'•ompanv  you. " 
laugliliig;;  '*"'  '^•^  '  """  »tay  a^ho,^e,"said  she, 

!  wW  u^^Hhe'c^iV^  V"'  "PP"'"'''''  '""e    ' 
there,  j:id  M.'  i^Sn  "^^  ^TXo^'Tr 
deep  disappointment.  \The  strangers  vireeW 

"'h.  w  '^  f  ""■  "'"■  '""•  «"1  Sv4  wTa  note 
his  handftm  r;^'"  ''°"]«'.!'°^'inX  not^hi 

I  was  so  anxious  to  go  with  vou  to  thf  church 
t  to-day  «bout  our  music.     I  know  my  own  i^w 
ers;    t«y  are  not  contemptible;    thev  are   not 
iSSv  ^  ""^  "'^  "i>''  -'1 -^o''y   and 

S?if^=-"cie-^uis 

b^icH  fi,r  .^^"^  ^''t  "P  y*"""  ""•""""ipts  !ad 

Suwy^it:.';^  T„"c''  '^"''  --'' 

**  TP    'p  '' 
On  Thursday  Despard  called,  and  IVfrs.  Thom- 
tor».was  able  to  ,accompaHy  him.     The  church 
w«8  an  old  one,  and  had  one  of  the  best  — 
Hi,  t.  f  v  ^^^^"^"^  ^'^  '»  P%  ""d  Bhe  tS 

c-reSa^diriM    '^'^'  ""''  '"«  "''««'«  -"^e 
XrlZv      '«K''''.V^"tten  out  from  tb^pnscions 

7ri.STo'highr  """^•"^  "^  '°^''''  •«•  ''^'^^     . 

ht.  John  Damascene,  who,  according  to  Desl 
pard  was  the  l«8t  of  the  I^tsJern  liymn^t^  M^ 
1  hornton  s  voice  was  rich  atid  fiiU.'  As  she  came 
n.  ?■■  °:'^°-yf  ^>'/'°-Iiesjirrfrtion  T)«v--!T  -— 
?««Ffir«pre  oflndescribalile  exultation  biend- 
>..g  with  the  triumph  peal  of  the. >,KarDes2d 

SJc^andTJTT.'^'^P'  ''^»'^-  «•««  ■ 
hasso— and  tbeir  blended  strains  bore  aloft  tha 

sublimest  of  ^t^^^ancea,  "Christ  is  JTwsn  !'"     "        ,' 

men  followed  a  more  mournful  chant,  full  of 

sadnos.  and  profounjJ^meUncholy,  the  rix/Zuv 


AND  THEIB   BLKNDKU  8THA1N8   BOKK   ALOFT  THK   SVBJLIMEST  OF   CTtEBANCBS,    '  CMniST 

»       18  ariskn!'"  .'    > 


dairattfuiv — the  Last  Kiss — the  hymn  of  thedlgcul, 
by  the  same  i>oet. 

Then  followed  a  suhlitner  strain,  the  hymn  of 
8t.  Theodore  on  tUe  Jiulgmcnt — n/c  I'mipav  Ttjv 
^■cnjv — where  all  tlhe  hon-ors  -of  the  day  of 
doom  are  set  forth.  ITie  cRnnt  was  commensu- 
rate with  the  dread  splehdors  of  the  theme.  ITie 
voices  of  the  two  singers  blended  in  jwrfect  con- 
cord.    The  sounds  wliich  were  thtis  wrought  out 


hflre  tfaemccives  throu^lt  tlwi  vuultMl  mkIw,  retum-^      'flw  <4>«ww  w^TTfinWeloniroiift     H  wwlw  fiP 

tnar  atrn'in  tn  iiyait- fwtrn  r^at^ti     irvmn  ..finn  fn  *lin.»  »■■.«.        ana_u^...    »....*       .,C   ^ :_<>^.. 1       -J*   * .         '     1 


n^spdrd  then  prodnc«!(l  some  compositions  of 
his  own,  made  after  the  manner  '"  the  Kastem 
chants,  which  he  insisted  were  the  primitive  nonp 
of  the  early  Church.  The  words  wore  those  frag- 
ments of  hymns  which  are  hnfteddetl  in  the  text 
of  the  New  Testament.  He  chose  first  ilie  song 
of  the  a|igels,  which  was  first  sung  hy  "*  lirait 
voice  out  oFhBaw.n"—  iVHii'iff;  aaivd  Toi'hm  -V»- 
hold,  the'lahernticle  of  ^o<i  is  wfth  men .' 


ing  again  to  their  own  ears,  imparting  to  their  own 
hearts  something  of  the  awe  with  which  imagina- 
tion has  enshrouded  the  Day  of  days,  and  giving 

to  their  voices  thot^addened  cadence  which  tRej  ing."    Th«f«  wm  a  gentle  ranrtmir  in  the  ftov'' 
«d  spirit  can  convey  to  its  material  utterailce.      j  of  tlfcit  solemn,  soothing  strait  wliich  waslik: 


sorrow  past,  of  ^ef  stayed,  of  mis.^  tt  «n  enil 
forever,  of  teanj  dried,  and  a'timp  when  "thers 
shall  be  no  n)ore  death,  uQithdr  sdrrow  nor  erf-. 


UE8,    'CHRIST 


CORD  AND  CREESE. 


bop^  al-holv  cato,  and  sZ/'S.      '^°"^'' 

As  Deapard  rose  from  the  or^n  Mm  Thorn 

ton  looked  at  him  with  moistened  m^     ^°™" 

rhat,    he  repheX  "it  is  ours  "to  aim  after 
liere  is  such  a  worl<l\    t.;  .i.„.  .......    ,."  ""^'^• 


tal  reach?    Yn,;"..""^''®"'  ^'^^  »nor- 

do  h„t^K  •  A.  "  ""^^  '^"''  '"  Joing  what  vou 
as  I  amf  ""  ""^^  ^'^^  '^''"«  "»«  '^  ««  «tuS 

take  me  toXch„;cht"4r  /!".■■  '"""/"^  *" 
as  well  Kive  vou  un  Tt  ^  ..L*"  'P*""^  '  may 
h«ro  o  %     ^        P"     "  "  «8  difflcu  t  to  tet  voii 

r.„1™l*'L!HL"!y  «'r<'"ie«  1  have   two  or 


-«..„  •         ■:    •^I'-'Tft     «  IS  ours  "to  am  aftpr         "  a_-  i        ,7       "™  "™nu  i^ama  of  Thilipt 
f«h.„h.l,|„„r„„";i,SZ'S~"i      ■^''.""*  '>"l»"'  "P"  l»  .  note  .Jfeh  h. 


We  sang  it  here. 


D  —   —   ...I.    ./Ill   uuys     [[ 

gotten  days  now  past  forever. 
We  stood  hand  in  hand  " 
His  voice  faltered. 
^    "  Sing, "  he  said,  after  a  time, 
lean  not." 

.  ^  Despard  sighed.     "  Perhaps  it  is  bettei*  not  • 
a  a^ ''"'"''' »' "-  --"'f'Jly.  Aud'sSd  no-t 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

CLA8PED   HANDS. 

.  TtoEiR  singing  went  on. 

The}'  used  to  meet  ince  a  w^lr  «„j    • 
,*e  chu.h  «  the  organ.  Vesjatf  aZt/s^it 


Krew  'to^  „     ""•""'  r":"P''  '=*""«  in'"  •"*«,  and 

"..^fSJWr  ^"^  V™'  Senerally  with  a  sweet 
w  ."elf  SIrrf*  *  tendern^Hs  of  greeting 
iM  W  U  .  ,  '*"''y  *"  '«"  on  hi«  knee! 
i>etoi^  hor.     Ho^  else  oould  he  feel  ?    Was  she 


presence 

"S%  ■'  "  "ndeV  oar  control 
To  love  or  not  ta  love  t" 


.iSrj.Z';  r?/ >,';r  "I""' ih*  «.* 


;j.aj.dto,w;i;h;i;;  e^irrr^/  i, 

'>.riw,.a.>,g|'S;y,::,g;js^ 

on  infi  Hiiliioj.*  .r^r -^ •     *        .     . 


.?rJ,»"  .'SfcT.r'  Si",  ';-""■  ^"W 


I     „  ■   r—'^"  mmr  an  i 

hS:^^i^;Wof^;^';":r^ 


C  f  "^'P«  meetings  ho  ,wis  bon- 
h&ta^r. ,  '!""K^-"  sweet  face  smiling  on 


,  objectlf  iiSffit^  Pt:.?  "P""  *Ws  gne 
-    minotaser-l     A  ha|,py  boy h.,^|:^,d.i„  ^he  society  ofthi. 


■  i^r 


lU 


CORD  AND  CREESK 


del 


/ 


■weet  playmate,  then  a  yontig  girlof  his  own 
age;  a  happy  boyhood,  here  in  Holby,  where 
they  had  always  been  -inseparable,  wandering 
band  in  hand  along  the  shore  or  over  the  hills ; 
a  happy  boyhood  where  she  was  the  one  and 
onfy  companion  whom  he  knew  or  cared  for — 
this  Wjis  the  sole  legacy  of  his  early  life.  Leav- 
ing Holby  he  had  left  her,  but  had  never  forgot- 
ten her.  He  had  carried  with  him  the  tender 
memory  of  this  bright  being,  and  cherished  his 
nndying  fot^dness,  not  knowing  what  that  fond- 
ness meant.  He  had  returned  to  find  her  mar- 
ried, and  severed  from  him  forever,  at  least  in 
this  life.  Wlien  he  found  that  he  had  lost  her 
be  began  to  understand  how  dear  she  was.  All 
life  stood  befyie  him  aimless,  pointless,  ahd 
meaningless  without  her.  He  came  back,  but 
the  old  intercourse  could  not  be  renewed;  she 
could  not  l)e  his,  and  he  could  ouly  live,  and 
love,  and  endure.  Perhaps  it  would  have  been 
wiser  if  he  hnd  at  once  left  Holby  and  sought  out 
some  other  nbotlc.  But  the  discovery  of  his  love 
WAS  gradual ;  ii  came  through  suffering  and  an- 
guish ;  and  whpn  he  knew  that  hi^  love  was  so 
intense  it  was  then  impossible  to  leave.  To  be 
to  breatlie  the  same  air,  to  see  her  face 
,  t^  nurse  his  old  memories,  to  hoard 
embranees  of  her  words  and  looks — 
became  the  chief  occupation  of  his 
iilitude,  and  the  only  happiness  left 
life. 
!iy  he  went  up  with  a  stronger  sense  of 
n;  in  his  heart- than  usui^l,  going  up  to 
see  her  in' order  to  get  consolation  from  the  sight 
of  her  fate  and  the  soimd  of  her  voice.  Their 
former  levity  had  given  place  to  a  seriousness  of 
manner;  which  was  very  different.  A  deep,  in- 
tense my  shone  in  the  eyes  of  each  at  meeting, 
but  that  quick  repartee  and  light  badinage  which 
tliey  had  used  of  old  had  been  dropped. 

M^usic  was  (he  one'thing  of  which  they  could 
specie  without  fear.  Despard  could  talk  of  bis 
liyliantino  poets,  rtnd  the  chants  of  the  'feastem 
Ohiirch,'withont  being  in  danger  of  reawakening 
jMiinfiil  memories.  The  piiitio  stood  close  by, 
'  and  always  aflljurded  a  convenient  mode  of  dis- 
tracting nrtention  when  it  became  too  absorbed  in 
one  another. 

For  Mrs.  Thornton  did  not  repel  him ;  she  did 
not  resent  his  longing;  she  did  not  seem  forget- 
ful/)f  what  he  so  well  remembered.  How  was  it 
with  her  who  had  given  her  hand  to  another  ? 

"What  she  fplt  the  while  ' 

Dure  be  think  f" 

'  Yet  there  were  times  when  he  thought  it  pos- 
sible that  sne  might  feel  as  he  did.  The  thought 
brought  joy^  but  it  also  broiigjit  fear.  For,  if 
the  stniggle  ag)lin«t  this  feelmg  needed  all  the 
strength  of  his  nature,  what  must  it  cost  her? 
If  she.  had  such  a  stWiggle  as  he,  h^w  could  she 
endure  it?  Then,  as  he  considered  this,  he 
thought  to  himself  that  he  would  rather  she  would 
not  love  him  thn^  love  him  at  such  a  cost.  He 
was  ivilluigit-fT^'n-riHfT  his  own  heart.  He  wish- 
=«l"«nly  {o^dore.hcf,  and  Was  coiifefif  fiiarsRe 
should  receive,  and  permit,  and  accept  his  adora- 
tion, herself  unmoved — a  paJ^sionless  divinity. 
^  In  t)icir  intercourse  it  was  strange  how  fre- 
quet^tly  there  were  long  pausOT  of  perfect  silence, 
during  which  neither  spoke  a  word.  Some- 
times each  sat  looking  at  the  floor ;  sometimes 


they  looked  at  one  another,  as  though  <hey  could 
read  each  other's  thoughts,  and  by  the  mere  gaze 
of  their  earnest  eyes  could  hold  ample  spiritual 
communion. 

On  one  such  occasion  they  stood  by  the  win- 
dow looking  out  upon  the  lawn,  but  seeing  no- 
thing in  that  abstracted  gaze.  Despard  stimd 
feeing  her,  close  to  her.  Her  hand  was  hanging 
by  her  side.  He  stooped  and  took  that  little 
slender  hand  in  his.  As  he  did  so  he  tiembled 
from  head  to  foot.  As  he  did  so  n  faint  Husli 
passed  over  her  face.  Her  head  fell  forwnid. 
Despard  held  her  hand  and  she  did  not  withdraw 
it.  ])es])ard  drew  her  slightly  toward  him.  She 
looked  up  into  his  face  wjjh  large,  eloquent 
eyes,  sad  beyond  all  description,  yet  speaking 
things  which  thrilled  his  soul.  Helooked  down 
upon  her  >«ith  eye»  that  told  her  all  that  was  in 
his  heart.     She  turned  her  head  eiixay. 

Despard  clung  to  her  hand  as  though  that  hand 
were  his  life,  his  hope,  his  joy — as  though  that 
alone  could  save  him  from  some  abyss  of  desjiair 
into  which  he  was  falling.  His  lips  moved.  In 
vain.  No  audible  sound  brokp  that  intense  still- 
ness in  wliich  the  beating  and  throbbing  of  thofie 
tycp  forlorn  hearts  could  be  heard.  His  lips 
moved,  but  all  soimd  died  away  upon  them. 

At  last  a  stronger  effort  broke  the  silence. 

"Teresa!" 

It  was  a  strange  tone,  a  tone  of  longing  nnnt- 
terable,  a  tone  like  that  which  a  dying  man  might 
use  in  calling  before  him  one  most  dear.  And 
all  the  pent-up  feeling  of  years  rushed  forth  in 
concentrated  energy,  and  was  borne  to  her  cars  in 
the  sound  of  that  one  word.  She  looked  up  with 
the  same  glance  as  before. 

"  Little  playmate,"  said  he,  in  a  tone  of  infr 
nite  sweetness,  "  have  you  ever  forgotten  the  old 
days?  Do  you  remember  when  you  and  I  last 
stood  hand  in  hand?" 

His  voice  sounded  like  the  utterance  of  tears, 
as  though,  if  he  could  have  wept,  he  would  then 
have  wept  as  no  man  wept  before ;  but  his  ,eye8 
were  dry  through  his  manhood,  and  all  that  tears 
can  express  were  shown  forth  in  his  tone. 

As  he  began  to  speak  her  head  fell  again.  As 
he  ended  she  looked  up  as  before.  Her  lips 
moved.     She  wlilspered  but  one  word :     < 

"Courtenay!" 

She  burst  into  a  floQd  of  tears  and  sank  into  a 
choir.  And  Despard  stood,  not  daring  even  to 
soothe  her,  for  fear  lest  in  that  vehement  ,conv^^ 
siop  of  his  soul  "all  his  ^f-command  should  give 
way  utterly. 

At  length  Mrsi  Thornton  rose.  "Lama." 
said  she,  at  last,  in  a  low,  sad  voice,  "  let  us  go 
to  the  piano." 

"Will  you  sing  the  Ave  Maria  f"  he  asked, 
moumftilly. 

"I  dare  not,"  said  she,  hastily.  "No,  any 
thing  but  that.  I  will  sing  Rossini's  CujusAni- 
mam." 

Then  followed  tboBe  words  which  tell  in  loft? 
strains  of  a  broken  heart : 

Calus  anfmam  gementcm_ 


ContrlBtiitam  et  flehentcm" 
Pertrausivlt  gladlusi 


iaf"  he  asked, 


lich  tell  in  loftj 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

JOUBNAL  OF  PAOLO  LANOHETTI. 

*„^!If  hi^'"'  2''«»""0"  Mw  Despard  next  she 
Aowed  him  a  short  note  which  she  had  hst  re 
cdved  fronr.  her  brother,  accompanying  h^^!!,'"" 

Hall/ttx,  A},ril  10,  1847.— I  exist  he™  h.,* 
■wthing  more.  Nothing  is  offerj^  ?  AmM 
.oionml  town  that  can  afford  interest  IJfeT.^8 
un^monotonously.  The  officers  and  their  fSs 
m  what  hey  are  every  where.  They  areZ  a 
He  and^pieasant,  and  try  to  get  the  best  ouTof 
hfe.  Ihe  to,vnspeople  are  hospitable,  and  there 
IS  mnch  refinement  among  them 

d,^?'!!f^^^'''"■"'^'"°''  1'^"  in  a  cottage  ont- 
Mde  of  the  town,  whjre  I  can  be  secludid  and 

.t  once  Ma  s™ageli.d:^  L  "   Frot'thelnr 
m,t  of  a  h.11  appropriately  named  MoTnt  Mi  "A^" 

Kht5rn.r  ''"*  ^''^ '''-"  ^"^-s 

The  winter  has  passed  since  my  last  entiT  an.I 

?tn?<;.rora"m^-     I  •■"•«  '-™<1  ?o  licat"' 
Jd     T .«  ,S      moose-hunt  with  Colonel  Des- 

"  HM  «^  f  ^^""'"  'l°'^«  "'^  "  'noose  which  I 
Uled  are  low  over  the  door  of  my  studio  I 
Iwvc  joined  in  some  festivities  ami  h„v«  i 
the  honors  of  my  house.  ItTs  an  old  fill  "? 
wooden  structure  which  tC  IZ^^^'^'^ 
(^  the  winter  has  passed,  and  April  is  now  here 
In  his  country  there  is  no  spring.     Snow  isvp; 

wen  ""illi'  ^T'  ^  ''*'''  «"''^«''  ^y  '"-easure 


CORD  AND  CREESE. 


-,  110 

wSh'so  d.«f ''%*'"'^  P'""^"  ''"••  '^hich  she  long, 
r^  h  if^P  *  fcnging.  There  is  sympathy  in 
a^l  those  hearts  with  one  another.     Sh^S  n 

nd  thettre'bir^T  ""*«  ""»-  «"•' -^? 
uiiu  inese  are  but  the  utterances  of  what  she  fepl« 

«mh^hes^W,«,o„,h„t  human  words  can 

ThevtelMR^.^   «•"''  ^•"'''«''  "♦  '■e''  bouI. 
iney  t61«|mat  the  first  time  they  sane  it  ^ 

thev  camelo  this  passage  slie  bu^t  int^  tl» 

ancf  sank  down  alm^  sensel^s :  '^ 


it  "na  St  peSis'llf '??«  collar JSSJSr'*: 
Cone.p,ent.b^^aSra*n>Zta™^''Shs. 


a^lovewS^S^'rSf^X^^ 

,      SSSr-^^etor.     • 

•"^1' lii^aciwT™"  '•""««'■  «oes  on  pleas- 
in  ind  h.Sw"fn'rf''  "  '°'"  ^"'-bree.effish- 

fiam^^Z^eirr""'"'^  -"-h  o„e  can 

'  finliie^ljWtV"'"  Tho^'f"^'^'^  oMWBrey 
™«!at  has  sZhtl  J''\'^««P  ^alm  of  that  holy 

H»cid.     She    s  in  ""^V'''- ?"'*  ••?'  8^"^»  '"»'•« 
'^ehasl.enexVdt;he^£i,!;T£rh2;2:| 


agiTr'    **  ^'•~''''"'  '^•'"'^^  "»•«'  «>o"Tie'  he,^ 

terE'""^;^"'  '"  ""'"  f  ""■•''^''  ''y  'he  Holy  Sis- 
a  sai^r    T^''-\"i[''''  '"^'"  ""'•  'ook  upon  her  w 

Wie  told  them  onc«  that  she  was  tiofa  Catho- 
I'c,  but  that  any  fotroof  worship  waL  sweet  ami 
precious  to  her-most  of  all,  thetofj  u«era„ces 
of   he  praye^  and  hymns  of  the  Church      She 

wlh  '■"I*"  *°  •^"8""^'  »>■"  «»vs  that  God 

wishes  only  love  and  ,,niise.  Yet  she  joins  in  aM 
their  ntes,  «„d  in  this  House,  w  ere  Jl  at 
offfirt""'  ^''^-n--  '^  in  tirde'r^fove 

td^'^T"  ^'  ^^^^—^  '"'^■<'  «een  her  for  the  firn 
time  in  many  months.     .She  smiled      I  never 
sjiwter  smile  before,  except  once  in  the  sh  n 
«heu  I  to  d  my  name  and  made  her  mo  her  t..ko 
my  place  in  the  cabin  momw.  take 

leayement,  i  told  her  all  about  the  sad  fate  of  her 
brotber  L„u,s,^yhich  your  old  friend  Co«i^„av 

i  Xened'wirT"'^"^''  '°  ""''  "-'«^«" 
"  He  in  not  dead^      ' 

knowirsay   '"*■"  ""^  """«^    ^  ''id  "<>« 
For  Loui,  Brandon  is  known  to  have  faUen 


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Sciences' 
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33  WIST  MAIN  STREfT 

WEBSTER,  N.Y,  MSSO 

(716)872-4503 


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116 


CORD  AND  CREESE. 


overboard  from  tho  ship  Java  daring  a  tremen- 
ious  monsoon,  several  hundred  miles  away  from 
any  land,.  How  could  He  possibly  have  escaped 
death  ?  ''  The  Captain,  whom  Courtenay  Despard 
found  out  and  questioned,  said  he  threw  over  a 
hen-coop  and  a  paiL  These  could  not  save  him. 
Despard  also  inquired  tor  months  from  every  ship 
that  arrived  from  those  parts,  but  could  learn 
nothing.  The  next  ship  that  came  from  New 
South  Wales  foundered  off  the  coast  of  AIMCa. 
Three  passengers  escaped  to  Sierra  Leone,  and 
thence  to  England.  I^espard  learned  their  names,* 
but  they  were  not  Brandon.  The  information 
which  one  of  them,  named  Wheeler,  gave  to  the 
ship-owners  afforded  no  hope  of  his  having  been 
found  by  this  ship,  even  if  it  had  been  possible. 
It  was  simply  impossible,  however,  for  the  Falcon 
did  not  pass  the  g]x>t  where  poor  Brandon  fell 
'^overboard  till  months  had  elapsed. 

All  these  things  I  knew,  and  they  came  to  my 
mind.  She  did  not  notice  my  emotion,  but  after 
a  pause  she  looked  at  me  again  with  the  same 
earnestness,  and  said, 

"My  brother  Frank  is  not  dead." 
This  surprised  me  as  much  as  the  other. 
"Are  you  sure?"  said  I,  revertntly. 
"lam." 

"How  did  you  learn  this?  All  who  have 
inquired  say  that  both  of  your  brothers  are 
dead." 

' '  They  told  me, "  said  she,  "  many  times.  TTiey 
said  that  my  brothers  had  not  come  among  them 
to  their  own  place,  as  they  would  have  had  to 
come  if  they  had  left  the  earth. "  • 

She  spoke  solemnly  and  with  mysterious  em- 
phasis. I  said  nothing,  for  I  knew  not  what  to 
say. 

On  going  home  and  thinking  over  this,  I  saw 
that  she  believed  herself  to  have  the  power  of 
communicating  with  the  departed.  I  did  not 
know  whether  this  intelligence,  \vhich  she  be- 
lieved she  had  received,  had  beeti  gained  in  her 
trance,  or  whether  she  thought,  that  she  had  re- 
cent interviews  with  those  on  high.  I  went  to 
see  her  again,  and  asked  this.  She  told  me  that 
once  since  her  recovery  she  had  fallen  into  that 
state,  and  had  been,  as  she  called  it,  "in  her 
home." 

I  ventured  to  ask  her  more  about  what  she 
considered  a  communion  with  the  departed.  She 
tried  to  speak,  but  looked  like  one  who  could  not 
find  words.  It  was  still  tho  same  as  before.  She 
has  in  her  mind  thoughts  which  can  not  be  ex- 
pressed by  any  human  langiiage.  She  will  not 
be  able  to  express  them  till  such  a  language 
is  obtained.  Yet  she  gave  me  one  idea,  which 
has  been  in  my  mind  ever  since. 

She  said  that  the  language  of  those  among 
whom  she  has  been  has  nothing  on  earth  which 
is  like  it  Except  music.  If  our  music  could  be 
developed  to  an  indefinite  extent  it  might  at  last 
l>egin  to  resemble  it.  Yet  she  said  that  she  some- 
times heard  strains  here  in  the  Holy  Mass  which 
reminded  her  of  that  language,  and  might  be  in- 
telligible to  an  immofldgy***' 

This  is ihfl idMHCoshe imparfavl  to mn^  »nH 
"T  have  thoi^tTWrever  since. 


Auffutt  2H. — Great  things  have  happened. 
.  ■  When  I  last  wrote  I  hiul  gained  the  idea  of 
transforming  music  into  a  language.  The  though]^ 
came  to  me  that  I,  who  thirst  for  music,  and  love' 
it  and  cherish  it  above  all  things — to  whom  it  is 


an  hourly  comfort  and  solace — that  I  might  rig« 
to  utter  forth  to  her  sounds  which  she  might  hear. 
I  had  already  seen  enough  of  her  spirirual  tone 
to  know  what  sympathies  and  emotions  might 
best  be  acted  upon.  I  saw  her  several  times  so 
as  to  stimulate  myself  to  a  higher  and  purer  ex- 
ercise of  whatever  genius  1  may  have. 

1  was  encouraged  by  the  thought  that  from  mr 
earUest  childhood,  as  I  began  to  learn  to  speak 
so  I  began  to  learn  to  sifig.  As  I  learned  to 
read  printed  type  sp  I  read  printed  music.  Tlie 
thoughts  of  composers  in  music  thus  became  as 
legible  to  me  as  those  of  composers  in  words. 
So  all  my  life  my  knowledge  has  widened,  and 
with  that  knowledge  my  love  has  incrfeised.  Tliis 
has  been  my  one  aim  in  life — my  joy  and  my  de- 
light. Thus  it  came  to  pass  that  at  last,  wheii 
alone  with  my  Cremona,  I  could  utter  all  my  ort) 
thoughts,  and  pour  forth  eveiy  feeling  that  was 
in  my  heart.  This  was  a  language  with  me.  I 
spoke  it,  yet  there  was  no  one  who  could  under- 
stand it  fully.  Only  one  had  1  ever  met  witli  to 
whom  I  told  this  brides  yourself—she  could  ac- 
company pje — she  could  understand  and  follow 
me  wherever  I  led.  I  cotdd  speak  this  language 
to  her,  and  she  coold  hear  and  comprehend. 
This  one  was  my  Bice. 

Now  that  $hejftLd  told  me  this  I  grasped  at  the 
thought.  Never  before  had  the  idea  eStered  mr 
mind  of  trying  upon  her  the  effect  of  my  music. 
I  had  given  it  up  for  her  sake  while  she  was  with 
m^  not  Kking  to  cause  any  sound  to  disturb  her 
rapt  and  melancholy  mood. 

But  now  r  began  to  understand  l|ow  it  was 
with  her.  She  had  learned  the  language  of  the 
highest  places  and  had  heard  the  New  t^ong.  She 
stood  far  above  me,  and  if  she  Could  not  under- 
stand my  music  it  would  be  from  the  same  reason 
that  a  grown  man  can  not  comprehend  the  words 
of  a  lisping,  stammering  child.  She  had  that 
language  in  its  fullness.  I  had  it  only  in  its  cru- 
dest rudiments. 

Now  Bice  learned  my  words  and  followed  me. 
She  knew  my  utterance.  I  was  the  mastei^-she 
the  disciple.  But  here  was  one  who  could  lead 
me.  I  would  be  the  follower  and  disciple.  From 
her  I  could  learn  more  than  in  all  my  life  I  could 
ever  discover  by  my  own  unassisted  efforts. 

It  was  mine,  therefore,  to  struggle  to  o'.  ercome 
the  lisping,  stammering  utterance  of-my  purely 
earthly  music ;  to  gain  from  her  some  knowledge 
of  the  mood  of  that  holier,  heavenly  expression, 
so  that  at  last  I  might  be  able  in  some  degree  to 
speak  to  this  exile  the  language  of  the  hone 
which  she  loved  ;r  that  we,  by  holding  commune 
in  this  language,  might  rise  together  to  a  higher 
spiritual  ittnim,  and  that  she  in  heimjlitude  might 
receive  at  least  some  associate. 

So  I  proposed  to  her  to  come  hack  and  staj 
with  me  again.     She  consented  at  once. 

Before  that  memorable  evening  I  purified  mj 
heart  by  fasting  and  prayer.  I  was  like  one  who 
was  seeking  to  ascend' into  heaven  to  take  part  in 
that  cel&stial  communion,  to  join  in  the  Ne* 
Song,  the  music  of  the  angels. 

Hy  fnafHig  nnH  pntyer  T  sought  HO  to  Mflend, 
and  to  find  thoughts  and  fit  utterance  for  tfiiie 
thoughts.  I  looked  upon  my  office  as  similar  to 
that  of  the  holy  prophets  of  old.  I  felt  that  I 
jiad  a  power  of  utterance  if  the  Divine  One  iroolil 
only  inspire. 

I  faited  and  prayed  that  lo  I  might  rednn 


tUi  grosser  mat 
^akken  evety  nei 
ufthe  brain.  So 
protch  to  the  aoi 

ae  saints  and  p 
entered  upon 
ion,  and  they  had  : 
visitation  of  angeb 
A  prophet — ^yes- 
fgr  the  prophet  to 
DO  other  way  than 
So  I  fasted  and  | 
from  the  holy  prii 
sty: 

Mnoda  cor  menm, 

fid  labia  Isaiae  propi 

For  so  Isaiah  ha 

the  Unguage  of  he 

pUm. 

She,  my  divinity, 

in  iBy  house,  bore 

me  and  gentle  beyi 

thoughts  of  her  ov 

golf  as  wide  as  that 

from  the  immortal. 

On  that  evening  s 

which  looks  out  upoi 

mqpn  shone  down  th 

the  opposite  side  ro 

■arrants  were  away  i 

Ah,  my  Cremona 

were  ever  able  to  uttt 

mortals  might  listen, 

thou  canst  utter  then 

"You  are  palel"  s 

kindly  and  affectionai 

as  a  guardian  angel 

p«l«.    You  always  foi 

now  yon  suffer  anxiel 

I  have  my  consolatioi 

I  did  not  make  an 

mona,  and  aought'to  I 

with  hers,  to  that  lol 

tret  wandered,  that  8< 

less.    She  started  at  i 

fbrth,  and  looked  at  t 

eyes.    I  found  my  ow 

id  entranced.    Now 

spirstion  so  longed  for 

from  where  her  very  sc 

wt  of  the  glory  of  he 

l^y  grew  brighter  w 

"Ounce,  and  all  my  h( 

fwdy  to  burst  in  the  ft 

ment. 

Now  I  felt  the  spiri 
"Mtosof  the  inspired! 
of  music  which  for  a 
[liter  forth  now  at  hut 
>t  should  sound. 

I  exulted  in  that  soni 

lud  caught  the  tone,  an 

ra«nmg  and  exulted,  as 

must  always  exult  when 

My  which  he  has  ever  1 

"^ed  spiritual  gaze. 

hhe  shared  my  exult* 

It  face  swiftly,  like  th« 

l^wion  of  surprise  and 

Wte  lightens  up  at  the" 

»■«•>,  in  some  foreign  la 

"Pwtedly  hears  the  sou 


tto  grosser  material  frame,  and  sharpen  and 
«u^en  every  nerve,  and  stimulate  ev^  Tre 
ofthe  brain  So  alone  could  I  most  n^lyaT 
pro«:h  to  the  .ommune  of  spirits.     Thus  had 

?T  T!S  ■""*  ''?P''«'«  of  °»d  done  when  thS 
haJ  entered  unon  the  seareh  after  this  commuS^ 
wo, and  they  tad  received  their  reward  e^nZ 

A  prophet— yes— now,  in  these  days  it  is  left 
for  Uje  prophet  to  utter  forth  his  iiSri™  ion  bv  ' 
DO  Other  way  than  that  of  music     ^'"™"°°  ">' 

,-!?V*'tf^""'^.P™>'«'*-     I  took  up  the  words 
fjm  the  holy  priesthood,  and  I  said,  JZy 

For  so  Isaiah  had  been  exalted  till  he  heard 
the^guage  of  heaven,  the  music  of  theS 

■n^  r  ^"^u^^'  ?^  "^"""^  enshrined  again 
m  ay  house  bore  herself  as  before- Idnd^o 
me  and  gentie  beyond  all  expression,  hue  with 
thfl«ght8  of  her  own  that  ph.^ed  be^^^n  Ta 

SLrirrS^'-^^^^-p-'-'h-oAai 

mqpn  shone  down  there,  the  dark,  rockylliUs'on 
the  opposite  side  rose  in  heavy  massif      The 

Ah,  my  Cremona!   if  a  material  instrument 
were  ever  able  to  utter  forth  somids  to  wl  S- 
mortals  might  listen,  thou,  best  gift  of  my  fatC 
tboo  canst  utter  them !  «     "'  "ly  latner,  | 

"You  are  pale;-  said  she,  for  she  was  alwavs 
kmdly  and  affectionate  as  a  mother  wXacMd 
« a guardmn  angel  with  his  ward.     "You  are 
!±.J°"5^""'^''  C""^' yourself  for  othe^a'd 
Em^tn^sotS^'""'-     ^--«^' 

with  hers,  to  that  lofty  rSilm  where  her  spirit 

^  hhe  started  at  the  first  tone  that  I  struck 
fon*,  and  looked  at  mo  with  her  hi^e  el™^t 
r-  l^°"°i''  ">^  *"^  l^«>  fixed  oS^'er^X 
«rf  entranced.  Now  there  came  at  hwt  th'e"n  I 
2^n«.on  so  longed  for,  so  sought  for  It  ^e 
from  where  her  very  soul  looked  forth  into  S 
««  of  the  gloiy  of  her  lustrous,  spirituS^ 

wuance,  and  all  my  heart  rpse  np  tiU  it  seemnd 
IJy  to  bun.t  in  the  frenzyTthSt  insp'ii^^^J 

of  music  which  for  a  lifet  meT^^.      k°"* 

owning  and  exu  ted.  as  the  noef  nr  »i..         •  • 
"iMt  always  nxnh  ^^        ^.       '"®  """sican 
«J  whi^h  he  h«  *'"'"'""''  «1««  ""Wiraer  than 

wt^'r^Siriik^l^'r;.    There  came  over 

^t^rjri^^^^^^^^ 

^Ughtens  up  at  the  throbbing  of  his  heart! 


CORD  AND  CREESE. 


117 


I  So  his  eyes  light  np,  and  his  heart  beats  fast«r 

h^irtLTi'^' '  ^'i?  ^•"^  'ongingof  h^uUfteJ 
nome,  the  desire  after  that  home  is  aDoeased  Kv 

TnT.rf,^"^'^  associations.    ^^^  ^^ 

thJ/"!^*^  ^\^  *"*  comprehended.    Now  all 
the  feebngs  of  the  mehmcholy  months  came  n,»h 

.  ' Oh  thou,"  I  said,  in  tliat  lanirawre  whi<h  mv 
.flL?!,.^''*  commune  with  them.     I  y^^ 

thriilh  ;  ?•"»»  hast  learned  the  mystery  of 
*at  tiou  hast  learned  I  wiU  coZ^^'te  i 
bo^'^hL"/  ?"^'  "1°  »>W«e/n.d  to  hi- 

g?rw'^rrffiTt^r„?Ti3£ 

Heaven  means  nothing  more  than  love      ofth^ 

"lutSToft;  ilS'  --  the  labor^and  the 

Now  all  this,  and  much  more-far  mom-w«. 

'  expressed  in  the  tones  that  A^ToTZ^Z 

UZJLT'^'UI'"^'"^''-     ItcamTfortt 
It  was  apprehended  by  her.     I  saw  it.  I  knew  k 

"t/r"^^-     "«'  «J<»  dilated  more  wi^;S 
-my  words  were  not  unworthy  of  her  heanW 

T1^«L        "'  P"^?'  """•  •"«"  o^e"-  the  soul ! 
There  came  over  her  face  an  expression  which        "^ 

JeS^'thrJ^'^t'  "".*  °f  P«"'e1„effablJ!!hJ 
peace  that  passeth  understanding.     Ah  me    r 

S'^'"'^''''"^'"^'^''-     Porshe^l^d 
walked  toward  me.    And  «-^w»t-e»i»  J™     - 

^r.rt""id  "^^-^wi^r 

d^ethT  h!      •^rPJ-'t^P"'""""'!  I-^^-^e  th« 

tion      Th«  ♦^  "^^i  "•"."''  *^  't*  ho^  in  fnii- 

^e»t^.r„T  n***'"'^  '""»  "''«"  moduUtion 
— *w«et  beyond  all  expression. 

bhe  was  so  close  that  she  almost  tourhMl  m. 

Her  eyes  were  still  fixed  on  minSTw^ 

there,  but  not  t««  of  wrrow.    Herfc^",!!;^ 


<M 


118 


COED  AND  CREESE. 


I   DID   MOT   MAKB  ANV   HBPLY,   BDT  TOOK   MY  CREMONA,   AND  80UUHT  TO  LIFT   UP  ALL 
MY  80DI.  TO  A  LBVEL  WITH   UER8." 


cloM  to  mine  that  my  strength  left  me.  My 
arms  dropped  downward.     The  music  was  over. 

She  held  out  her  hand  to  me.  I  caught  it  in 
both  of  mine,  and  wet  it  with  my  tears. 

"  Paolo,"  gfttd  she,  in  a  voice  of  musical  tone ; 
"  Paolo,  you  are  already  one  of  us.  You  speak 
our  language. 

"You  have^aught  me  something  which  flows 
from  love— duty.  Yes,  we  will  labor  together ; 
asd  they  -wlHr  liro  on  hi^h  wtft  tearn  even  in 
their  radiant  home  to  envy  us  poor  mortals." 

I  said  not  a  word,  but  knelt ;  and  holding  her 
Hand  still,  I  looked  up  at  her  in  grateful  adoration. 

November  28. — For  the  last  three  months  I 
nave  lived  in  heaven.  She  is  changed.  Music 
DM  reconciled  her  to  exile. ,   She  has  found  one 


who  speaks,  though  weakly,  the  language  of  thai 
home. 

We  hold  together  through  this  divine  meaiam 
a  lofty  spiritual  intercourse.  I  learn  from  her  of 
that  starry  world  in  which  feu-  a  brief  time  slie 
was  permitted  to  dwell.  IJer  seraphic  thoughts 
have  become  commnnica^  to  me.  I  have  made 
them  my  own,  and  all  my  spirit  has  risen  to  > 
higher  cdtitude. 

Ho  I  have  at  teif  recetred  that  revelation.^^ 
which  I  longed,  and  the  divine  thoughts  wWf 
which  she  has  inspired  me  I  will  make  known  to 
the  world.  How?  Description  is  inadequate. 
but  it  is  enough  toJiay  that  I  have  decided  upon 
an  Opera  as  the  best  mode  of  making  known 
these  ideas. 


I  have  resortei 

■Uch,  though  a 

«m,  because  the 

My  Opera  is  o 

rsfers  to  Promet 

ihed  from  her. 

IdJve — since  he  i 

•Me  agonies  thr 

r^resents  the  ol( 

.weeds -^  the  glo 

Mem — the  inexoi 

Love  endures 

triomphs.     The 

Athene.    Sh6  re) 

life  and  increase, 

Vengeance  and  ei 

For  so  the  worli 

that  Human  Und 

Koified  under  Atl 

Love  over  all,  and 

of  Divine  Vengeai 

I  am  trying  to 

rimplicity  of  the  c 

time  to  pervade  it  i 

of  love  in  its  wid 

chorus  of  seraphim 

the  chief  part  is  thj 

tzbausted  myself. 

Bat  where  can  I , 

ly  render  mv  thouj 

isBice?    She  alor 

Iw  the  power  of  cai 

own  mmd  the  ideas 

ill,  she  alone  could  < 

i»t  over  the  earth 

•lie  is  in  a  laxuriouf 

wonld  not  listen  to  e 

Patience!  perhapi 

mrveloos  voice  to  r 

December  15. — Ri 

grown  more  edited. 

•toosphere  of  that 

will  with  rapture. 

Mm.    We  hold  intei 

We  stand  upon  a  hig 

■on  men.    She  hae 

■»Je  me  to  Ije  a  pan 

Now  I  begin  to  un 

nmat  world  to  whi( 

time  borne.     I  know 

her  longings.     In  me 

nnqiienchable  thirst  « 

Cot  there.    All  h 
laterial  pleasure  ( 

I  Ijve  in  a  frenzy. 
"«i«  my  sole  though 
Oitfaid  thinks  that  I 
P«yme.  Ishiilewitli 
1*9;  being  given  by  th 
«>ul*|hey  but  have  , 
S*«ablejoy8to  whici 

My  Cremona  ft  mj 
'hings  for  me.  Ah 
•ool's  flight!  my  Gui: 
■aylnspirer!  had  ever 
W  earth  a  lot  like  oui 
«>  this  life  ever  learned 
«>inmunion?  We  ris* 
•""U"  are  home  up  in  c( 
"»piiuie  we  cease  to  b 

My  Opera  is  flnishet 
iWne  Love  which  has 


Ihave  resorted  to  one  of  those  classical  themps 
which  though  as  old  as  civmzatior^  vet  Z^ 
WW,  because  they  are  truth  '        ^     ^'^^ 

My  Opera  is  on  the  theme  of  Prometheus      Tt 
refers  to  Prometheus  Delivered.  ,Twr-„  ji' 
med  from  her.    l-rometheuTrepresints  I  h?„t 
Lave-smce  he  is  the  god  who^u^Sir^endir 
able  agonies  through  his  love  fi.r  r^„„    "^ 

VMgeance  and  enthrones  the  God  of  Lov^ 
jonified  under  Athene^viU^at'S  eiJt  Div^'; 

--V^ty^TrclScI?  fZ^yTatler -^ 
toe  to  pervade  it  aU  with  ZIZ  t^^^S^e 
of  love  in  us  widest  sense.  It  opens  wUh! 
Aorns  of  seraphim.     Prometheus  Ent^    but 

i^i'irrys':.^'-"''^*--  o-hatii 


CORD  AND  eREESE: 


119 


Bat  where  can  I  get  a  voice  that  can  ^equate- 
ly  render  my  thoughts-our  thoughts  "  Where 
isB^?    She  alone  has  this  voi?e;  she  aE 

5!^  ™n!:?Tr  °^  '^"=''L"K  "««>  absorb  ng'.toW 
<wn  mmd  the  ideas  which  I  form;  and"  "uh  it 
JB,  die  alone  could  express  theiT  I  would  wan 
to  over  the  earth  to  find  her.  But  ^rhans" 
Ae  «  m  a  luxurious  home,  where  her  asS^TaX 
wold  not  listen  to  such  a  proposal.  '^°*'"''^' 
i^ence!  perhaps  Bice  may  at  last  brinir  her  I 
iMrvelous  voice  to  my  aid.  ^      •  I 

2i    W„T  r-     I  "^«  in  a  sublime  en  thu^- 
tm.    We  hold  intercourse  by  means  of  intsfc 

2.'S  "The*  S!^'^^p';i"«  'h- Vt  orom: 

«A.  m«  ;    K   *  ^^  '^^  "»«  there,  and  has 
Mde  me  to  be  a  partaker  in  her  thoughto 
Now  I  begin  to  undei-stand  something  of  thn 

present  tnere.     All  here  seems  poor  and  mean 
Jifll     1  ^"fu'y-.  ^y  ^"^  «  on  fire.     Mu- 

ycSa",r^^tTix£l"; 


uL^iffi  ^,'^°  imputed  to  me  in  some  meas- 
urti  sufficient  to  enable  me  to  breathe  fortht 

have  made^t^anae'irdSiX^Jo^en.^ 

I  have  had  one  performance  of  my  worT^r 

rather  our  work,  for  it  is  all  hen..     Hers  are 'tL 

thoughts,  mine  is  only  the  expi^ion        ^  '^ 

mi„h.  "*^'  "'"  *  P**^  «<■  «"Mtude  in  which  r 
might  perform  undisturbed  and  with™7  inL 

th^ace  as  the  spot  where  I  might  l^ve  my  ^ 

wet^oirtnf  ^""^^  '^^  ^«  -•'-'-- 

Mount  Misery  is  one  barren  rock  without  a    '     • 
blMe  of  gross  on  aU  its  dark  iron-like  surface./  ^V^ 
Around  It  is  a  vast  accumulation  of  granit^^d  ^ 

ed   the  ve?^'r''^'^''«««-    '^«  trel^are  sS  I         .  ■ 
ed,  Ae  very  ferns  can  scarcely  find  a  nkce  to 

sKy      1  he  mooii  shone  with  marlelouslustrfi 

riX  WnJ.  K  '*°"^  ""  ""«  "  Wilderness ;  on  the 
nght,  close  by,  was  a  smaU  lake,  which  ^m«? 
^kp  a  sheet  of  silver  in  the  moon's' rayTCrS 
on  hxy  the  ocean,  stretching  in  its  biundleL  if 

en^^old-unmffled-undisturbed  in  that  dead 
My  Opera  begins  with  an  Alleluia  Choms      T    . 

tones  that  accompany  them  * 

Kho  was  with  me,  exulting  where  I  was  ex 

bh^s  my  Inspiring  Muse.     I  invoke  hertten    . 

thoth^ex^L^'^^^^r^s.  ^ir 

on  eartl^  and  to  all  m  heaven,  and  that  is  music 
I  exulted  then  on  that  baii,  bhisted  rock      r 
triumphed      She  joined  me  i,^  it  aL,  We* ex 
ulted  together.     We  triumphed.     We  mou?n^ 

we  rejoiced,  we  despaired^  we  hooel^^^^    - 

Sn      Th^veT*"*^-     The  ve^in'S:  ^         " 

She  stood  before  me,  white,  slender   aerial 
hke  a  spirit  from  on  high,  as  pare  as  h^t. I 

one  common  motive.  •     "  o  uo^ea 


120 


CORD  AND  CREESE. 


What  is  this?  Is  it  love?  Yesi  bat  not  as 
men  call  love.  Ours  is  heavenly  love,  ardent, 
but  yet  spiritual ;  intense,  but  without  passion ; 
a  banting  love  like  that  of  the  cherubim ;  all- 
consuming,  all-engrossing,  and  enduring  for  ev- 
ermore. 

Have  I  ever  told  her  my  admiration  ?  Yes ; 
but  not  in  words.  I  have  told  her  so  in  music, 
in  every  tone,  in  every  strain.  She  knows  that 
I  am  hers.  She  is  my  divinity,  my  muse,  my 
better  genius — the  nobler  half  of  my  souL 

I  have  laid  all  my  spirit  at  her  feet,  as  one 
prostrates  himxelf  before  a  divinity.  She  has  ac- 
cepted that  adoration  and  has  been  pleased. 

We  are  blended.  We  are  one,  bat  not  aft- 
er an  earthly  fiitshion,  for  never  yet  have  I  even 
touched  her  hand  in  love.  It  is  our  spirits,  our 
real  selves — not  'our  merely  visible  selves — that 
love ;  yet  that  love  is  so  intense  that  I  would  die 
'  for  evermore  if  my  death  could  make  her  life 
more  sweet. 

She  has  heard  all  this  from  my  Cremona. 

Here,  as  we  stood  under  the  moon,  I  thought 
her  a  spirit  with  a  mortal  lover.  I  recognized 
the  full  meaning  of  the  sublime  legend  of  Muma 
and  Egeria.  The  mortal  aspires  in  purity  of 
heart,  and  the  immortal  comes  down  and  assists 
and  responds  to  his  aspirations. 

Our  souls  vibrated  in  unison  to  the  expression 
of  heavenly  thoughts.  We  threw  ourselves  into 
the  rapture  of  the  hour.  We  trembled,  we 
thrilled,  till  at  last  frail  mortal  nature  could 
scarcely  endure  the  intensity  of  that  perfect  joy. 

So  we  came  to  the  .end.  The  end  is  la  chorus 
of  angels.  They  sing  the  divinest  of  songs  thaf 
is  written  in  Holy  Revelation.  All  the  glory  of 
that  song  reaches  its  climax  in  th«  last  strain : 

"  And  Qod  shall  wipe  awajMll  tears' from  their  eyes !" 

We  wept  together.  But  we  dried  our  team 
and  went  home,  musing  on  that  "  tearless  eter- 
nity" which  lies  before  us. 

Morning  is  dawning  as  I  write,  and  all  the 
feeling  of  my  soul  can  bo  expressed  in  one  word, 
the  sublimcst  of  all  words,  which  is  intelligible  to 
many  of  different  languages  and  different  ractts. 
I  will  end  with  this : 

"Alleluia!" 


\       CHAPTER  XXVra. 

THIS   HC8T   KND. 

The  note  which  accompanied  Langhetti's  jour- 
nal was  as  follows : 

"Halivaz,  J9M«m6er  18,  1S48. 

"TBRKspoLA  iciA  DOLCI88IMA, — I  Bend  yoo 
my  journal,  sorelfa  carissima.  I  have  been  si- 
lent for  a  long  time.  Forgive  me.  I  have  been 
sad  and  in  affliction.  Hut  affliction  has  turned 
to  joy,  and  I  have  learned  things  unknown  be- 
fore. 

"  Terenina  mia,  I  am  coming  back  to  En- 
gland immediatdy.  You  may  expect  to  see  me 
Jtt  anv  time  during  the  next  thnfi  months.  §J)^ 
will  be  with  me;  but  so  sensitive  is  she — so 
strange  would  she  be  to  yon — that  I  do  not 
know  whether  it  will  be  well  for  you  to  see  her 
or  not.  I  dare  not  let  her  be  exposed  to  the 
gaw  of  any  one  unknown  to  her.  Yet,  sweetest 
ttreilina,  perhaps  I  may  be  able  to  tell  her  that 


I  have  a  dearest  sister,  whose  heart  is  love 
whose  nature  is  noble,  and  who  could  treat  her 
with  tenderest  care. 

.  "  I  intend  to  offer  my  Opera  to  the  vrorld  at 
London.  I  wjll  be  my  own  impresario.  Yet 
I  want  one  thing,  and  that  is  a  Voice.  Oh  for 
a  Voice  like  that  of  Bice !  But  it  is  idle  to  wish 
for  her.  ' 

"Never  have  I  heard  any  voice  like  here,  mv 
Teresina.     God  grant  that  1  may  find  her ! 

"  Expect  soon  and  suddenly  to  see  your  most 
loving  brother,  PAOto." 

Mrs.  Thornton  showed  this  note  to  Despani 
the  next  time  they  met.  He  had  read  the  jour- 
nal in  the  mean  time. 

"  So  he  is  coming  back  ?"  said  he, 

"Yes.". 

"  And  with  this  marvelous  girl  ?" 

"Yes." 

"  She  seems  to  me  like  a  spirit" 

"And  to  me." 

"Paolo's  own  nature  is  so  lofty  and  so  spirit 
ual  that  one  like  her  is  intelligible  to  him.  Hap- 
py is  it  for  her  that  he  found  her." 

"Paolo  is  more  spiritual  than  human.  He 
has  no  mateiiolism.  He  is  spiritual.  I  ant  uf 
the  earth,  earthy ;  but  my  brother  is  a  spirit  im- 
prisoned, who  chafes  at  his  bonds  and  longs  to 
be  free.  And  think  whot  Paolo  has  done  for 
her  in  his  sublime  devotion !" 

"  I  know  others  who  would  do  as  much,"  said 
Despard,  in  a  voice  that  seemed  full  of  tears; 
"  I  khow  others  who,  like  him,  would  go  to  the 
grave  to  rescue  the  one  they  loved,  and  make 
all  life  oqe  long  devotion.  I  know  others,"  he 
continued,  "who  would  gladly  die,  if  by  dying 
they  could  gain  what  he  has  won— the  pos.session 
of  the  one  they  love.  Ah  me !  Paolo  is  happy 
and  blessed  beyond  all  men.  Between  him  anj 
her  there  is  no  insuperable  barrier,  no  gulf  as 
deep  as  death. " 

Despard  spoke  impetuously,  but  suddenly 
checked  him,'<elf. 

"I  received,"  said  he,  "by  the  last  mail  a 
letter  from  my  uncle  in  Halifax.  He  is  ordered 
off  to  the  Cape  of  Good  Hope.  1  wrote  liim  a 
very  long  time  ago,  as  I  told  you,  asking  hun 
to  tell  me  without  resen-e  all  that  he  knew  about 
my  father's  death.  I  told  him  plainly  that  there 
wjm  a  mystery  about  it  which  I  was  determined 
t»iolve.  I  reproached  him  for  keeping  it  secret , 
from  me,  and  reminded  him  that  I  was  now  a 
matiu«  man,  and  that  he  had  no  right  nor  any 
reason  to  maintain  any  further  secrecy.  I  in- 
sisted on  knowing  all,  no  matter  what  it  might  be. 

"  I  received  his  letter  by  the  last  mail.    Here 
it  is ;"  and  he  handed  it  to  her.    ' '  Read  it  when  \ 
yott  get  home.     I  have  written  a  few  words  to^ 
yon,  little  playmate,  also.     He  has  told  me  alL 
Did  you  know  this  before  ?" 

' '  Yes,  Lama, "  said  Mrs.  Thornton,  with  a  look 
of  sorrowful  sympathy. 

"  You  knew  all  my  father's  fate?" 

"Yes,  Lama." 

"And  yo«  kept  it  seepet^?'- ^^^^^—  - 

"Yes,  Lama.  How  could  I  bear  to  teD yoo 
and  give  you  pain  ?" 

Her  voice  trembled  as  she  spoke.  Despani 
looked  at  her  with  an  indescribable  expressioa 

"One  thought,"  said  he,  slowly,  "and  OM 
feeling  engrosaea  all  my  nature,  and  even  thif 


news  that  I  havi 
Even  the<tbought 
M>  mysterious,  ca 
have  all  my  life  I 
little  playmate,  w 
She  was  sileni 
over  the  keys.  'J 
which  were  almo 
inaudible  except  tc 
ton  had  to  bow  hei 
he  said. 

"I  must  go," 
"and  visit  Brando 
I  can  dp,  but  my  i 
examination.     U'h 
with  it.     My  unci 

make  an  exuminat; 
"And  you  are  g 

Thornton,"  sadly. 
Despard  sighed. 
"  Would  it  not  h 

her  hand  in  his — "> 

littleplaymote,  ifl, 
She  gave  him  on 

I^en  tears  filled  ha 
"  This  can  not  gt 

"It  must  come  to  ti 


CHAI 

BEATRIC 

October  30,  1848.- 
and  1  am  still  for  fro 
ataost  altogether.  \ 
Itay  succeeds  day,  ai 
My  window  looks 
there  and  feed  my  he 
that  sea  ^Is  up.  it 
solitude.  It  is  music 
iflice.  Oh,  how  I  gh 
down  by  its  margin  a 
how  I  should  rejoice 
over  me  forever  I 

November  15, — Wh 

now  I  do  not  know. 

iiotUng  to  record.     J 

us  gentle,  and  as  affe( 

poor,  timorous,  kindly 

iier.    Poor  wretch,  h< 

liow  did  Mrs.  Compto 

December  28. — In  st 

constant  seclusion  I  fet 

surveillance,  not  from 

others,    i  have  been  t 

fortnight  and  perceived 

walks  .^mho  were  at  work 

lieir  eyes:— i,8ee  that  i 

MowthatI  wasofsuffl 

Vesterday  a  strange  i 

Compton  was  with  me 

other  my  thoughts  turn 

huve  often  tried  to  form  I 

How  could  she  ever  hav( 

fc^r?    WhatcoaMsh 

4^rtnrnedtoMr8.  t 

'Did  you  ever  see  mi 

What  there  could  hav" 

•M  not  tell,  but  she  treii 

wft  greater  fear  in  her  ft 

fflwfcofoie.    This  time 

il 


\-'^'rfi<.,  .'t  , 


■m 


CORD  AND  CKKESE. 
Bww  that  I  have  heard  can  not  driv«  !»  ■  ^^^ 

little  playmate,  what  those  thouKhto  are?"         'L     .*^/' ''="«*  Mw- ComDtoii  3rl«nl„    .<   u 
She  wa.  silent      l^pards  &  "Lered  f""  I '7'. "  T  "^ '•  ^onXk  at  SS-    "''' 
orer  the  keys      They  always  s,K,ke  in  low  t»^       Shi  h"/ .""''?"'^'l  y°"> "  said  I   kCIv 

1        '"''' ^'>^  i  aomq  litre  t     ll'l,„t  .i„  .i 
peopk  want  with  me  f     wZL  /A  <^° ''>«^« 

1  can  write  no  more.        ^  ^  '^'-^  ^""'"'^ '"«' 


—    ._.   „„„  „j5„,„_     J  jjg        know  whnt 

^.hit.     MynnclePVa^^^irTm^S 
make  an  examinatioif "  *' 

no^o^Z^T.  ^'"«  """^  '^«-'»  ?"  «id  Mrs. 
Desjiard  sighed. 

linleplaymate,  if  I  ..ZV^^^lTrlZ^P' 

i>r,atdc;°e"f '""" "'  «"^-^™-^- 
'•;;iSt':^r^r^s>^'-"--^- 


CHAPTER  XXIX, 

BEATRICE'S    JOURNAL. 

ahnost  altogether.    ^^/LmTLl^l^Z 

I  """T^^"  '^y-  "'"^  ««•=»'  day  is  a  blank   ^^ 

My  wtedow  looks  on  the  s^,  and  I  «;„  sit 
there  and  feed  mv  heart  nn  tho  ™„  J    •        .  . 
that  sea  calU  im      i,  •  ^  memones  which 

Musea  Wis  up.     |t  is  company  f*  me  in  mv 

S    Oh^h'"  ""."t^'  """"KV  can-noTh^rTt^ 
>T)ice.    Oh,  how  1  should  reji/ce  if -I  pouU  m 

SiffoSe7r«'^'^°--«--o^^flS 

^r,  timorous,  kindly  souL  sends  me  flowera  hv 

meillance,  not  fromM™  (im^  ^^  «>nie  me!  its  tones 
others.  I  have  b^oJt  twlel  rin  ."h  V"  "'«'''  «''<»  ''"y- 
fortmghtandpe,x:eivedls;WnIy    ^^^  ^r*  ''•"My  "'solution  is  formed      Thi. 

^mr  ejes.   ..4,8ee  that  I  am  watched     I  did  n,.f   .i!  •  '"  "^™*'  ">  him  and  flv      At  i.;„i.. 


t4Te?hiK;L-J''^«''™«-     No- 
stnuige  thoughts     T«!«\J  "?' .  »?™«nted  by 

-Ji^WhSinsi^l^att^-f 

thS  alflSe?/t'me  i.T'h""'"^rr'>^  -«»■  -^en 
of  .hem     Now  M«  C^T'}  ''«^ «"«''""'"'« 

to  that      Ti.„  I      "^"a"-  ,  '  et  It  need  not  come 
He  .f;J,T'  "^  ""'  ^  dependent.  * 

loved  me  because  he  lovS  my  'voice  lil'Vf 
my  voice  better  than  me.  And  ?h^"  i  "'*" 
Ah  me will  i,o  I  "d  that  other  one 

night  and  day.   ^       ^     "  """^  ""  "^  heart 


k»o..Wi;^VfTufflcre^J-^^^ 
yesterday  a  strange  incident  occurred      Mra 

hJ      ij^         """^  conjectures— mv  mothpr 

te'^wttST  r"f  "  -«"  Smy 
TTt,,lIiT.  ■Sl^*'^^'«'«ei»lik«?    Sod 
/rtumetJ  to  Mrs.  Compton,  »nd  said: 
i>id  you  ever  see  my  m„,hor  ?'• 


nil,      -'■-'""'  °"°  ueiiiuieu  ana  looked  at  mn        ai     i i  ""■'.>«■■•     -woiyetl 


farpAG.-.trotyetl     Not  yet  I 


/■ 


\ 


-■■. ,  ■>  :-"-^- 


CORD  AND  CREESE. 


"oh!"  ckiku 


COMPTON,  8UDDBi(LT,    "  <»H,   DON't  LOOK  AT  MK  80 ;    UOn't  LOOK 
,,  AT  ME  8o!" 


I  waited  long.     Tbey  were  lon- 


them  to  retire, 
ger  than  uaiuil. 

At  about  ten  o'clock  MrH.  Comptp)™  eiflie  into 
my  room,  with  ns  frightened  a  fafce  a»  usual. 
"  They  want  yon,"  paid  ghe. 

I  knew  whom  she  meant.  "Must  I  go?" 
said  I. 

"Alas,  dear  child,  what  can  you  do?    Trnst 
in  God.     Ho  can  save  yon." 
-     -4Iealoiie  can  navome."  said  I,  "if  He  will. 
It  has  come  to  this  that  I  have  none  but  Him  in 
whom  I  can  trust. " 

She  began  to  weep.  I  snid  no  more,  but 
•bcyed  the  commnnd  and  went  down. 

bince  I  was  last  there  months  had  passed — 


months  of  nnffering  and  angnifh  in  body  and 
mind.'  •  The  remembrance  of  my  lust  visit  theie 
came  oyer  me  as  I  entered.  Yet  1  did  not  trem- 
ble or  falter.  I  crossed  the  threshold  and  enter- 
ed the  room,  and  stood  before  them  in  silence. 

I  saw  the  three  men  who  had  been  there  be- 
fore. He  9Jt(\  his  son;  and  the  man  Clark. 
They  hid  alt  been  drinking.  Their  voices  were 
loud  and  ciieir  Liughter  boisterous  as  I  Approach- 
ed; -  When  i  entered  they  beoHiie  qniei,  itnd  «il 
three  stared  at  me.     At  last  A«  said  to.h$r«fln, 

"She  don't  look  any  fatter,  does  she,  John- 
nie?" 

"  ^ho  gets  enough  to  eat,  any  how," answered 
John. 


"She's  one  c 

"that  don't  fai 

needn't  talk— y 

"Uard   wor 

others,  thi^kinj 

hoarse  laughter 

humor  with  the 

their  attention 

said'Tor  some  tii 

"Can  you  dt 

to  me  abruptly. 

"Ye8,"Ians 

"Ah!    Ithoi 

education,  any  I 

hadn't  learned  i 

and  banging  on  i 

I  said  nothing 

"Why  do  you 

looking  savagely 

I  looked  at  the 

"Come  now," 

we  if  you  can  dai 

I  stood  still. 

oath.     "  Do  you 

"I  can  not,"  81 

^'jPerhaps  you 

*itfi  a  sneer.     " 

her." 

"I'd  rather  not 

"Clark,  you  ti 

»nd  he  gave  a  hoa 

"Yes,   Clark," 

chance." 

Clark  hesitated 
toward  me.  I  sto 
k»ked  at  him  fixec 
thought  in  that  hou 
what  they  were, 
hat  I  held  life  chea 
the  moment,  and  fe 
Clark  came  up  to 
move. 

"Curse  her!"  sfl 

»»th  a  ghost.     She 

Be.  laughed  boistc 

"He's  afraid.    H 

cried.     "  What  do  i 

"WeU,"  drawled 

ever  heard  of  Clark  1 

These  words  seei 

qnick. 

"Willygu  dance? 
I  made  no  answer. 
"Curse  her!  mak 

stwtingupfromhisc 
."00,  you  fool!" 

Clark  stepped  towi 

h«id  on  mine,  while 

other  round  my  waist 

loHng  touch  all  my  nal 

started  back.  Ther«ci 

over  me.     I  neither  k 

Jet  I  spoke  slowly,  i 

All  that  I  had  read  in 

"««'*,  the  very  spirit 

•eemed  to  inspire  me. 

"Touch  me  not,"  I 

•  1  am  near  enough  to  E 

1  cned,  stretching  out  i 

jew  again  will  I  obei 

KiU  me  if  yoa  choose,  I 


,v.ii:-„.,w-ii-'.KV.i;\' 


1 


M> 


said  for  some  time 
"  Yes, "  I  answered.  | 

I  said  nothing. 

"Why  do  you  stare  so,  d— n  you ?"  hA  ^ri^^ 
looking  savagely  at  me.*  ^joaf   be  cried, 

I  looked  at  the  floor. 

«e"if;oTrd:nS''Sane;7.""^*''^-'" 

Jh^'^ryou'£7-'"''«-P-'«''wi'ha„ 

"I  can  not,"  said  I.  | 

mui  a  sneer.        Here,  Jojinnie,  go  ai^d  help 
"I'd  rather  not,"  said  John.  I 

»-!  K  "^  ^""J  ""-^  "-y""  »ere  always  mv  " 
»nd  he  gnve  a  hoarse  laugh  """"js  gay,    | 

^Yes,   Clark,"  cried  jJhn.      "Now-syour| 
toS  m'r''"/'1  '"T  "."J^'ne"',  and  then  came 

botl  holH  Ufi.  oK      ^  .     wn^in  their  hands, 

^  Ckrk  came  up  to  me  and  ^topped.*^  i  ^^  „„t 

"Curse  her!"  said  ho      "Va  ..  .  "* 

with  a  ghost.     She  ooks  like  n„l       ^t"  '^T" 
He  laughed  bois'eSy       ""''  ""^  *'°*-        I 

^VeU  ^d™»,1  r,\"''".''r  ""*'-  Johnnie?" 
everheird  of  n    t  k"'"''"'  1  *''^  "'^  «"'  «™e  I 
%,p!^  1     .   "'''  •**'"«  "^'■«''^  of  any  thing  " 
^These  words  seemed  to  sting  Ckrk  to^he 

Sratw^^'^''^'-'^'^---- 

-;.?gTpS;;SLi*'1?j^y;££«.d,! 

.foo,  you  fool !"  7       ®'  °^^  ■'""7  , 

V    ,       ■  "^"''6'^  knew  nor  cared  what  T  b.;/ 
gthat  1  had  read  in  that  manuscript  wK  my  ' 

"Touch  me  not,"  I  said     '<Tv,s.,i,i 
•    «.  near  enough  ^o  dS'.!  Jw  "iryo"  •• 

Kill  m!^  u    ""^^  ""«  command  of  yours 

J^.f  you  choose,  and  send  me  after  cS 


CORD  AND  CHEESE. 


123 

,  Cla?k'^:nfba^"?y;^"-'  «•"'  ^'^^^  ""«- 

edthea^ofKaifESin^tf/'^''- 
one  to  th«  »>ho. I   .      ""  '"OKea  m  tear  from 

'  4e  kno«r^?r**  T^^"^  ^"h  an  oath : 
"  M  s.  <"nm. .  ^"'-  ^^-orapton  told  her. " 
Tlmg  "  sa  d^r°  T'f'  •'"«"*  *'-  about  the 
at  me.  ^ity  '^inli'  T  ''"''^  "P  '-^"% 
that  fear  whid,  I  had  «!f  «"^\'nore.  Agaii'i 
shown  upon  thdr  fici  '*"  ^  ''"='"  ^'^"^  -" 
I      I  looked  upon  these  wretches  as  thn..„l,  t  i,    i 

tout^rword^JlS^ri^Stithlnr'^ 

deadfitld^S-tidf^'ir  -  '--  *« 
to  avenge  him"        '  '     ^  am  appointed 

I  he^rd  j1S7o- :.°"'  "'  "•^  ■--    ^»  I  'ef' 

«^nt  .t,  and  give  me  safe  deilvi^'^^i^a 


"     CI^PTERXXX 

SMITUBRS  «  CO. 

Bnnfp^"-!'  '"'1  '^"  detestable,  buffiliu,  a 
possessing  the  ringV  S''  '''  "^  ""doubtedly 

They  go,  „!,„  ,1,     „|,^  I.„h3  ,  kS  „t 
•         •  way  tow^  ,Hf  ?"^!^*"y'^«rOf    - 


IS4 


CORD  AND  CREESE. 


one  of  the  directors,  \ns  regarded  as  bluff,  and 
shrewd,  and  cautious,  but  full  of  the  milk  of  hu- 
Ain  kindness ;  and  Philips,  the  cashier,  was  uni- 
versally Uked  on  account  of  his  gentle,  obseq^uious 
^  manner. 

So  wide-spread  and  so  active  were  the  opera- 
tions of  this  bank  that  people  stood  astonished 
and  had  nothing  to  say.  'ffae  amount  of  their 
accommodations  was  enormous.  Those  who  at 
first  considered  it  a  mush^-oom  concern  soon  dis- 
covered their  mistake;  for  theBrandon  Bank  had 
connections  in  London  which  seemed  to  give  the 
command  of  unlimited  means,  and  any  sum  what- 
ever that  mights  be  needed  was  at  once  advanced 
where  the  security  was  at  all  reliable.  Nor  was 
the  bank^artfcular  about  security.  John  Pbtts 
profes.sed  to  trust  much  to  people's  facei  and  to 
their  character,  and  there  were  tijrnes  when  be 
would  take  the  etecurity  without  looking  at  it,  or 
even  decline  it  and  be  satisfied  with  the  name. 

In  less  tj^an  a  year  the  bank  had  succeeded  in 
j^ning  the  fullest  confidence  eveti  j>f  those  who 
had  at  first/been  most  skeptical,  aM  John  Potts 
had  grown  to  be'considered  without^oubt  one  of 
th»  most  considerable  men  in  the  toonty. 

dne  day  in  March  John  Potts  was  sitting  in 
the  parlor  of  the  bank  when  a  gentleman  walked 
in  who  seemed  to  be  about  sixty  years  of  age. 
He  had  a  slight  stoop,  and  carried  a  gold-headed 
'  cane.  He  was  dressed  in  black,  had  gray  hair, 
and  a  very  heavv  gray  beard  and  mustache. 

"  Have  I  the  honor  of  addressing  Mr.  Potts  ?" 
said  the  stranger,  in  a  peculiarly  high,  shrill  voice. 
"I'm  Mr.  Potts,"  said  the  other. 
The  stranger  thereupon  drew  a  letter  from  his 
pocket-book  and  handed  it  to  Potts.  The  letter 
was  a  short  one,  and  the  moment  Potts  had  read 
it  he  sprang  up  and  held  out  his  hand  eagerly. 

"Mr.  Smilhers,  Sir! — you're  welcome, 'Sir, 
I'm  sure,  Sir!  Proud  and  happy,  Sir,  to  see 
you,  I'm  sure!"  said  Potts,  with  great  volubility. 
Mr.  Smithers,  however,  did  not  seem  to  see  his 
hand,  but  sealed  himself  leisurely  on  a  chair,  and 
look^  for  a  moment  at  the  opposite  wall  like  one 
in  thought. 

He  was  a  singular-looking  old  man.  His  skin 
was  fresh ;  thet-e  was  a  grand,  stem  air  upon  his 
brow  when  it  was  in  repose.  The  lower  part  of 
his  fiu-e  was  hidden  by  his  beard,  and  its  expres- 
sion was  therefore  lost.  His  eyes,  however, 
were  singularly  large  and  luminous,  aJlthough-he 
wore  spectacles  and  generally  looked  at  the  floor ' 
"I  have  but  recently  retuhied  from  a  tour," 
•aid  he,  in  the  same  voice;  "and  my  junior  part- 
ner has  managed  all  the  business  in  my  absence, 
which  has  lasted  more  than  a  year.  I  had  not 
the  honor  of  being  acquainted  with  your  banking- 
house  when  I  left,  and  as  I  had  business  up  this 
way  I  thoulght  I  would  call  on  you." 

"Proud,  Sir,  and  most  happy  to  welcome  you 
to  our  modest  parlor,"  said  Potts,  obsequious- 
ly. "  This  is  a  pleasure — indeed  I  may  say.  Sir, 
a  privilege — which  I  have  long  wished  to  have. 
In  fact,  I  have  never  seen  your  junior  partner. 
Sir,  any  more  than  yourself.  I  have  only  seen 
your  agents,  Sir,  and  have  gone  on  and  done  my 
-iaige  biisiness' with  yon  by  writing.**       ^  " 

Mr.  Smithers  bowed. 

"Quite  so,"  said  he.  "We  have  so  many 
connections  in  all  parts  of  the  world  that  it  is  im- 
possible to  have  the  pleasure  of  a  personal  ac- 
quaintance with  them  alL    There  are  some  with 


whom  we  have, much  larger  transactions  than 
yourself  whom  I  have  never  seen. " 

"Indeed,  Sir!"  exclaioied  Potts,  with  (tr^t 
surprise.  "  Then  you  must  do  a  larger  husinass 
than  I  thought." 

"  We  do  a  large  business,"  said  Mr.  Snjithcrg 
thoughtfiiUy.  ' 

' '  And  all  over  the  world,  you  said.  Then  yon 
must  be  worth  millions." 

"  Oh,  of  courso,  one  ran  not  do  a  business  like 
ours,  that  commands  money,  without  a  largo  tun 
ital."  ' 

"Are  there  many  who  do  a  larger  business 
than  I  do  ?" 

"  Oh  yes.  In  New  York  the  honse  ^f  Peyton 
Brothers  do  a  business  of  ten  times  the  araouiit— 
ves,  twenty  times.  In  San  Francisco  a  ne» 
house,  just  started  since  the  gold  discoveries,  hiis 
done  a  business  with  us  almost  as  large.  In 
Bombay  Messrs.  Nickerson,  Bolton,  &  Co.  are 
our  correspondents ;  in  Calcutta  Messrs.  Hoster- 
mann,  Jennings,  &  Bkck ;  in  Hong  Kong  Messra. 
Naylor-A  Tibbetts;  in  Sydney  Messrs.  Sandford 
&  Perley.  Besides  these,  we  have  correspond- 
ents through  Kurojie  and  in  all  parts  of  Knglnnd 
who  do  a  much  larger  business  than  yours.  But 
I  thought  yon  were  aware  of  this,"  said  Mr. 
Smithers,  looking  with  a  swift  glance  at  I'otts. 

"Of  course,  of  course,"  said  Potts,  hnstilv; 
"I  knew  your  business  was  enormous,  W  I 
thought<%ur  doings  with  you  were  consider- 
able." ■;,»-  ■  ^ 

"Oh,  you  are  doing  a  snng  business,"  said 
Smithers,  in  a  patnpnizing  tone,  "  It  is  our  cus- 
tom whenever  we  Ji&ve  correiipondents  who  are 
sound  men  to  encourage  them  to  the  utmost. 
This  is  the  reason  why  you  have  always  found  us 
liberal  and  prompt" 

"You  have  ddne  great  service,  Sir,"  said 
Potts.  "In  fact,  you  have  made  the  Brandon 
Bank  whatltis  to-day.'' 

"  Well,"8aid  Smithers,  "  we  hive  agents  every 
where ;  we  heard  that  this  bank  was  talked  alwut, 
and  knowing  the  concern  to  be  in  sure  hands  we 
took  it  up.  My  Junior  has  mdde  arrangtHnents 
with  you  which  he  says  have  been  satisfactory." 
"  Very  much  so  to  me,"  replied. Potts.  "Yon 
have  always  found  the  money." 

"  And  you,  I  suppose,  Ijave  furnished  die  se- 
curities." 

"  Yes,  and  a  precious  good  lot  of  them  you  are 
npw  holding." 

"  I  dare  say,"  said  Smithers ;  "  for  my  part  I 
have  nothing  to  do  with  the  books.  I  merely  at- 
tend to  the  general  affairs,  and  trust  to  my  jun- 
ior for  particulars." 

"  And  you  don't  know  the  exact  state  of  our 
business  ?  said  Potts,  in  a  tone  of  disappoint- 
ment. 

"Nql  Hoy  should  I?  The  only  ones  wiih 
which  I  am  faihiUar  are  our  American,  European, 
aiid  Eastern  agencies.  Our  English  correspond- 
ents are  managed  by  my  Junior." 

"  You  must  be  one  of  the  largest  houses  in 
London,"  said  Potts,  in  a  tone  of  deep  admira- 
tion. 

"Oh  yes.'t  _ -- 

"  Strange  I  iiever  heard  of  yon  till  two  years 
ago  or  so." 
"Veiy  likely." 

"  There  was  a  firiend  of  mine  who  was  telling 
me  something  about  some  Sydney  merchants  who 


^CORD  AND  CREESE. 


~A 


were  sending  consignments   of  wrv^i   .„ 
Co^n,PU.n  &  Hrandon^  Do  'ofknr'.hlr' 
I  have  lieurd  n.y  Junior  spealc  of  them  •' 
Vou  were  u,  Sydney,  ^6™  not?" 

Do  you  know  Con.pton  &  Brandon  r 
I  looked  in  to  see  them.     I  think  H~„  i 
is  dead    isn't  hn  ?     ii-         ■        '""«  Urandon 
IS  aeau,  isnt  he?    Drowned  at  sea-or  some- 


what you  want  as  before.      If  I  -ere  v«,.   i 
jvcn.ld_ embark  all  my  available  L^nT  1^1 


yon   I  ^ 


Baid  Pot*  "  ^''•^'J' c^'ninK  to  that,  I  think, " 
mMt^*,'ir''i" /""„««?  '"'■8«  ''"Po-i".  as  you 

*' Are  vnii  fnmilini.  nn*i.  al.  1^      ■•       .      .  *  Yes.  hut  fifkt  mi£k  "  • 


'Yes,"  said  Potts. 

"  Are  you  familiar  with  the  banking  business  ?' 
asked  Smithers,  suddenly.  "uiuness  r 

.,lir^"'  ""J:  "?f  '■^'y-     I  haven't  had  much 
experience;  but  I'm  growing  into  it."  ^ 

bosintVmeSr ''^""'  ^""^  "••^'o"  «">  good 

d^li'^r/ctliier'''^  ""^  ^"'='  iB,  I  tn,st  a  good 
"Who  is  he?" 

JmS  roran?^'"^'  "  ^""^  ^'--  ""-  =  » 
an^ihie"?"'-  ''^"^  '»'«=•'  ""^-^  «Jepends 
."  W  nril."^!.'^' «•">  '-'-ble  man." 


..v'    -. »tyet?" 

^   les,  but  not  miich. " 

will  Jo^°for*'you '"^  """«  °'  """'  '''"'•  '^»"«  - 

men^."'  '  '^•"•''  '"''*'^  ^'  ,««  the  best  invest- 

"Oh    that  is  very  easily  foUd  out      n.,t  if 

J-ou  ain't  learn,  we  will  let  you  know     ihe  M«  • 

oHhe^  r-T"  ?""  '"  "'" '"'""  PrZ/^ing'   Some" 
and  1h-     """*  ''°'"P''"ieH  are  working  qnieX 
and  gettmg  enormous  dividends  "  '        ^' 

^^  California?"  said   Potts;    "that  ought   to 

Iv  h^h  ""-.r '*  1°""'"K''ika  it.     I  cleared  near- 
ly half  a  million  in  a  few  months. " 

A  few  months!"  cried  Potts,  opening  his 


''Yn..r  h.   •  """  '^"ao'e  man." 

whatYh"ve'"h~""'r "  *"  •"  «"*'"«'  '-»   «^- 
"  Very  fast  indeed.  Sir.     Why,  Sir,  in  ano.hpr    .n^'  ^*'  ''*  .'""'®  ««^t*  wh"  keep  us  well  un  • 

X  ^^.c'-iT-rieSn^isrh'"??  ''^  ^'  -^-S"^^  "^ "" "  ^'^""'^  '^ 

^'"?hT-  "'T  ""'J;^  "  snccessiLl  "     °"''*" ''  eholldl,-!"'^ '"  T'^  ^•"'»'  tbcightfuUy.     "  I 

rhatis  nght.     The  true- mode  Of  success  in  a^^  ^^  f  ^  """  »»^^«  'd'  things.     It  has 
JTT  '•^''  ^°""  *"  ho'dness.     iCt ,?  the       ^?^„  ""v '*•     ^'  'i'"'^  '^e  chink  ofcash" 

secret  5  my  success.      Perhaps.you  .^  £  There'ri^Jig^U  h/""  «°'^  "•"  "^ '^^^ 
mithers,  m  a  confiden-        ••  i^„  "..^  ""^  "»^ 


.wa;;""cp;;2nued  Mr.  sSr  inTo*"«H"°' 

thouj««ds  of  pounds  formed  my  capital      n»t 
ny' -iotto  was  boldness,  and  now  I  H  wnr,^  f 
J«tf  not  say  h0w  many  Millions      If  Zw^^t 
make  money  fast  you  must  be  bold."'^      |P** 

«ied''potr«:2:S;/°"«'°-xh3^bani 
■i2-enS;£^^i;':ra"r':r'^''"' 

foreign  Moans,   railway  icrb   In/  «'"'!Tri««! 

stock  of  all  ::orts.  ^'ha^rtriiuToiTut'; 

have  made  ten  times  more  than  evribst      If 
y^  want  to  make  money,  y.,  ^u^^/^  Z 

'  Well,  I'm   sure,"  said  Potta    "  t'™  i,  u 
"That's  right." 


"Oh,  it  wiU  not  hurt  it  at  all      Pi,iu„ 
WMage  it  all  under  rn^  a-    \-         ^"'Mps  can 


ibe're  r  '''°  '°°"  *'''  *''«•■  '"  ■P«"lalioii 

"^M.  one  or  two." 
know  r  "'**  ^°"  '"''"'  "^y  *'*'J**''°''  to  'et  me 

IiJs^"!  w'ill  ^I'l  ''*"'r'.  *•"  «"'«'"''  your  husi- 
SlarsV:'"may  S"'!"'  "^  ""'^  ^^  «">•  P"" 

.he7it'v^s;Ti;'rSr?. ""«'  •-  '•■« »-' 

''You  haven't  heard  the  real  truth." 
"Ith^ZVJ       e-^claimed  Potts,  in  wonder. 

I  thought  K  was  e-xaggerated." 
.»,.„    *'""  u.  **"  -y""  stories  far  more  wonderful 
-''"l?-;?",n'''"K  y""  have  heard."  '"»'«'"»fi»l 

" W„  1  "**  ■'■',  «"«^,l'°tts,  breathlessly. 
m.-nH.  ir    **"'  ^n»'thers,  confidentialhs  "I  don't 
mind  telhng  you  something  which  is  known Tm 

^Sr^^ma^'l-".'?^    One-halfofourVie 
<rv      ?**^®  '"  California  operations." 
loudont  say  so!" 

«sJ'.K°"  *^  .'''■*  ■'"'"ys  heen  bold,"  continned 
^'mithe;^,  with  nn  air  ot  still  greate^  co^fiS 
I  read  some  time  since  in  one  of  HumboW^a 
books  abo„^  g„,j  ^i„^  ^^^_^  ^^  the  n  news 
of  the  discovery  I  chartered  a  ship  and  3 

thWwen,^!  *'?""«  "^  ^'"'  Fnincisco,  where      ^ 
tnere  were  already  very  many  people.  I  ^W  A« 

^wfreronrr^p'-''''' »"^^^'^^^ 

as  a  warehonse  at  enormous  prices.     I  then  or- 

man'l^theTJ."/  T**"^'  "»''  P"'  *  ««  "«^      " 
man  at  the  head  of  it.     ^hey  found  a  nhjce  on 


r 


m  enlarge  your  business,  and  <£aw  on  us  fo!   I  S^  ™°"""'""'""."""''"KtoLondon.  TTiea 
^  ^  ""  I  * '•"••nd  my  company  is  8tm  working."      0 


#^' 


I2(> 


CORD  AND  CHEESE. 


"Wliy  did  you  leave?"  asked  I'otts,  hrenlh-  glad  if  y»ii  woiilcf^onnent  to  give  me  a  clmnce. 
lossly.  I  Have  yon  any  (il)je<>ti<>n  ?" 

"  jJccaiise  I  rould  make  more  money  by  iKsiiig  j  "()li  no.  I  wiW^nieiilion  your  cano  the  rie*t 
ill  Loiulom  My  ninn  there  in  reliable.  I  litiviy  time  I  write,  if  you  wish  it.  Mill  I  can  not  c,,!). 
Unind  liini  to  i\>t  hy  ^iviiiK  l>><n  u  share  in  the''trul  tlje  imrtirnlar  operationH  of^ie  ollirc.  Mt 
business.  I'lMiple  soon  foinul  ont  that  ."^niilliors-  control  is  Hiiproinc  in  geneiid  iimttel|;  niid  vmi 
it  Co.  hnd  iimdc  cnornmus  sums  of  money  in  see  it  would  not  i>o  jKisslble  for  nic  to  I'fcieiicii' 
( 'aliforniii,   but  they  don't   know  cxitclly  bow.  i  with  the  sinaUer  details. "  '    ' 

The  iiiiineiise  ex|mii>ion  of  our  business  during  i       "Mill  vcMuiutuht  mention  me."  ^ 

the  last  year  has  tilled  them  with  wonder.     I-'or '       "  I  will  do  lift."  .siiid  t^inilliers,  and  takinjr  out 
you  know  every  iiiece  of  gold  tlwl  1  i^eiit  home    his  |iiHket-bo<ik  he  j)ie|iaicd  to  write, 
"has  been  utilized  by  my  .Iiiiiior."^,  '  "  I.er  me  xoet,  " 

I'otts  was  .'^ileiit,  himI  siil  l(K)kiiJjjr^'l>n'ulhleKS  .  name  i< — what?' 
ndnjiraiion  at  this  millionaire.     Allfiis  thoughts  ,       "  tlohn — John  I'otts.!' 

were  iii;en  in  his  face       1  lis  whole  heart  was  laid  |       "  John  L'ottB,  "  reiJ<iined  the  other,  as  he  wrote 
bare,  and  the  ofie  thing  xisilile  was  an  iiiteiiHO  |  it  down. 

milhcrs  rose.      "You  may  rontiniie  to  dinw 


Kaid   he,    "your   fliiistian 


desire  to  share  in  that  golden  entorjjrise. 

"  I  hiive  orgi\ni/.ed  two  comiianies  on  the  sumo 

,  |iriiui|ile  as  flie  lust.     'IheiViharcs  are  seljiiig  at  a 

large  iireniiuiu  In  the  London  market.      I  take  a 

leading  part  in  each,  and  my  name  gives  stability 


on  us  as  Iwfore,  and  any  |)incltrt)*e8  of  stock  which 
you  wish  will  be  made  " 

I'otts  thanked  him  profusely. 

"  I  wish  to  see  your  cashier,  to  learn  his  mwlc 


<o  tli^;  enterprise.-  if  I  (iud  the  thing  likely  to  of  managing  the  accounts.  Much  depends  Sjn 
succeed  I  coiitiiiup;  if  not,  why,  lean  easily  sell  that,  and  n>liort  conversation  will  satisfv  me.", 
out.      I  am  on  the  poiijt  of  orga»iziiig  a  ihinti       "Ceriai^y,  ."^ir,  certainly."  saift  i'otts,  obse- 


cried  I'ott.s,  ea- 


company. 

■■'Are  the  shares  taken  up? 
gerly. 

'■  \o,  not  yet."  -. 

"Well,  could  I  obtain  some?"  • 

'■  I  really  can't  say,"  replied  Smithers.    "  You 

^  might  make  an  np]ilicatiou  to  my  Junior.     I  do 

notl'iing  whatever  with  the  details.     I  don't  know 

what    plans  or  agreements  ho  may  have  been 

making.  ' 

■'  I  slioidd  like  exceedingly  to  take  stock.    IIow 
doihe  shares  sell  ?"  ' 

" 'I'lic  price  is  high,  as  we  wish  to  confine  our 
shareholders  to  the  richer  classes. 
it  at  less  than  X'10(i()  a  sliare.' 

"„I  woidj}  tak'e  any  ipunititv.  " 


quiously.     J^Thilips  !^' he  called.     -  •  „ 

I'liilips  cathe  in  as  timid  and  a.s  sltii;ik:ng  a.- 
usual. 

"This  is  Mr.  Smithers,  the  great  Sn)iik;'rs  of 
Smithers  &  Co.,  Hankers;  he  w i.shcs  to  lihYe  ii 
talk  with  you." 

riiilips  looked  at  the  great  man  with  deep  ro- 
jspeet  and  made  nn  awkward  bow.  '' 

"  Yon  may  come  with  me  to  my  hotej,"  wiiJ 
Smithers  ;  and  with  n  slight  bow  to  I'otts  he  left 
the  bank,  follo^ved  by  I'hilips. 

lie  went  up  stairs  and  into  a  lat^go  fmrlor  on 
the  second  story,  which  hMiketl  into  ilic  street. 
Wc  never  put  ;  lie  motioned  riiiii]i5  to  a  chittr  near  the  window, 
I  and  seated  himself  in  nn  ann-cliair  opp(jsiie 

"f^iitliers  l(H)ked  at  the  other  w  ith  a  seaichiiig 


'J  dare  say  some  may  be  in  the  market  yet,"  '  glance,  and  said  nothing  for<^ome  time, 
said  Smithei-s,  calmly.      "They  probably  sell  at    large,  full  eyes,  as  they  fixed  themselves  on  the 
a  higlf  premium  though."  i  face  of  the  other,  seemed   to  read  I'is  inmost 

"  I'd  |iay  it,"  said  I'otts.  *'  I  thoughts  and  study  every  jiart  of  his  weak  uricl 

"Well,  yon  may  write  and  see;  I  know  no-  .irresolute  chai'acter. 
thing  abo'tit  it. "      '  ,  |      At  length  he  .said,  abruptly,  in  a  slow,  mcas- 

"And  if  they're  nil  taken  up,  what  then?"  urcil  voice,  "  Kdgar  I.awt<ai!" 

"Oh-— then — I  really  don't  know.     Why  can't  i      At  the  sound  of  this  name  I'liilijis  stinted  from 
you  organize  a  company  yourself?"  his  chair,  and  stood  on  his  feet  trembling.     Ili> 

"  Well,  you  tee,  I  don't  know  rfhy  thiiig  about    face,  always  pale,  now  became  ashtn,  his  lijis 
the  place."  |  turned  white,  his  jaw  fell,  his  eyes  seemed  to 

"Tree;    that   is  a  disadvantage.      But  j-ou    start  from  their  sockets.     He  stood  lur  a  fe» 
might  find  some  people  who  do  know."  j  seconds,  then  sank  hack  into  a  chaii^ 

"That  would  Ih)  ven*  diftienlt.     I  do  not  see        Smithers  eyed  him  steadfastly.     "You  see  I 


know  you,"  said  he,  after  a  time. 

I'hilips  cast  on  him  nn  imploring  look. 

"The  fact  that  I  know  your  name,"  contin- 
ued Smithein,   "shows  also  that  I  must  know- 

Ho   not   forget 


howjye  could  begin.    And  if  1  did  find  anyone, 
how  could  I  trust  him?" 

"  Ybu'd  have  to  do  as  I^did — give  him  a  share 

of  the  bnsirw.ss." _..,      

■    "It  woiml  be  much  better  if  I  could  get  some  i  something    of   your    history. 

stock  in  one  of  your  companies.    Your  exjierience    that !" 

and  credit  would  make  it  a  success."  ,     «  I      "My — my  history-?"  Ciltered  Philips. 

"Yes,  there  is  no  dou))t  that  our  companies  I  "Yes,  your  history.  I  know  it  all,  wretchetl 
would  all  l)e^successful  since  we  have  a  man  on  man !  I  knew  your  father  jvliom  you  ruined,  and 
the  spot."      /  j  whose  heiTrt  yon  broke." 

"And  thilrs  another  reason. why  T  should  pre-  !      I'hilips  said  not  A  word,  but  again  turned  nn 

fer  buying  stock  from  you.   Y(Hfegee  I  thight  forin  '  imploring  face  to  this  muTi,.>i.  ^__ 

'a  company,  l)ut>  what  could  I  dor'  j      "  I  have  bronglit  you  here  to  let  you  know  tliat 

,  "  Could  not  your  cashier  help  you  ?"  there  is  one  who  holds  you  in  hi.t  power,  and  that 

"No,  not  in  any  thing  of  that  sort."  |  one  is  my.self.     You  think  I'otts  or  Clark  haie 

"  Well,  I  can  say  nothing  alxjut  it.  My  Junior  you  at  their  mercy.  Not  so.  I  alone  hold  your 
will  tell  you  what  chances  there  are."'  :  fate  in  my  hands.     They  dare  not  do  any  thing 

"  liut  while  1  see  you  |>ers6nally  I  should  be  ',  against  you  f(}r  fear  of  tliiir  own  necks." 


J.: 


Philips  looked  I 

grejiter  than  lys  fe 

"Why,"  h,i  fait 

'  w  got  him  to  sta 

vanced  him«ionov 

"  You  arf  the  ca 

'Can  yon  tell  me 

o'ves  Smithei-s  &  V, 

I'liilips  looked  ot 

"Speak:' 

"Two   hundred 

pwmdfc  " 

"AndifSmithen 
fflent  to-marrow,  do 
would  te  proihpt  ah 

Pl'ilips  shook  his 
.  Then  you  see  t 
•»  not  so  i»owerful  ai 


mo  a  cliance. 

ciiHO  the  Tie?ft 
I  ran  not  n,n. 

Iteljj  niul  y(){i 
10  to  hkieiti'ii' 


ind  takin);.()iit 

iie. 

i>ur   ^hiistiiin 


2r,  ns  lie  wrote 

tiniie  to  <lra\v 
uf  stuck  which 


pnm  liis  mwlL' 
h  (h'|ipml»  ^n 
sntisty  me.", 
J  i'otis,  (ib>e- 

I  slii  talking  a.> 

t  !-'u|ilk;'rs  of 
he»  ty-hhye  ii 

with  deep  rc- 

ly  hotel,"  said 
J  Potts  he  left 

^fio  parlor  on 
ltd  llie  siroet. 
r  iIm!  window, 
■  opposite 
ih  a  seari  liing 
e  time.  Mis 
Iselves  on  llic 
i(J  his  inmost 
his  weak  ami 

a  slow,  meas- 

is  started  from 
tnlilin);.  Hi" 
shtn,  his  lijis 
e»  sncmed  tn 
)od  ibr  a  fo« 

' '  You  sec  I 

; look. 

nine,"  contin- 
,1  must  know. 
o   not   forget 

lilips. 

all,  wretched 
III  ruined,  and 

ain  turned  nn 

■oil  know  that 
)wer,  and  thnt 
ir  Clark  haic 
one  hold  your 
do  any  thing 
jcks." 


Philip,,  looked  np  now  in  wonder 
greiiter  than  lys  fear  ' 

I'hdips  shook  hig  head. 
Then  yoi,  see  that  the  man  whom  vou  fear 
«  not  80  powerful  as  some  others."         ^ 


.'!  f '''on«l"2""'  «CJ¥  his  fiwnd  ?" 

I.)o  you  irmiw  w  ho  I  am^*^' 
"  S'mithers  &  Co   "  sniil  l>l,;i;.  „  ■■ 

'nVelUetme,ellV;'\1.i    tof^m-:;;e.& 
Co.  are-,l)«yond  your  eomprehension      vV  h  .7 
they  are  friends  to  Potts  ol  not  t  eems  tLt^^*:: 

|;l.fflcult  for  him  to  pay  if  they,  ^hoil  t^demand 

sSdTrer  ''"'  ^"'^  ^--«<^  "Pon'fr  ""IS 

something  el.-e?"      "  ""  ^  '*"  -'''"» 

Philips  looked  up  fenrfullv. 
1  ha^re^n  i„  Vork.  itiCalcutta; and  in  M«- 


».\ 


198 


CORD  AND  CREESE, 


nilla  ;  and  I  know  what  Potts  did  in  each  place. 
Yow  look  frightened.  You  have  eveiy  reason  to 
be  so.  I  know  what'W«ft.i)pne  at  York.  I  know 
that  you  were  sent  to  Botany  Bay.  I  know  that 
yon  ran  Away  from  yoar  father  to  India.  I  know 
your  life  there.  1  know  how  narrowly  you  es- 
caped going  on  bottrd  the  Vi»hnu,  and  being  im- 
plicated in  the  Manilla  murder.  Madman  that 
you  were,  why  did  you  not  take  your  poor  mo- 
,  ther  and  fly  from  these  wretches  forever?" 

Philips  trembled  from  head  to  foot.  He  said 
not  a  word,  but  bowed  his  head  upon  his  knees 
and  wept. 

"Where  is  she  tiow?"  said  Smithers,  sternly. 
Philips  mechanically  raised  his  head,  and  point- 
ed over  towalrd  Brandon  Hall. 

"  Is  she  confined  against  her  will  ?" 

Philips  shook  his  head. 

"She  stays,  then,  through  love  of  yoa?" 

Philips  nodded. 

"  Is  any  one 'else 'there?"  said  Smithers,  after 
a  pause,  and.  in  a  jStrange,  sad  voice,  in  which 
there  was  a  felterinig  tone  which  Philips,  in  his 
fright,  did  not  notice. 

"Miss  Potts," he  said. 

"  She  is  treated  cruelly, "  said  Smithers.  "They 
say  she  is  a  prisoner  ?" ' 

Philips  noidded. 

"Has  she  been  sick?" 

"  Yes." 

"  How  long?" 

"  Eight  months,  last  year." 

"  Is  she  well  now  ?" 

"Yes." 

Smithers  bowed  hi*  head  in  silence,  and  pnt 
his  hand  on  his  heart.  Philips  watched  him  in 
an  agony  of  fright,  as  though  every  instant  he 


voice.  "  I  see  that  in  spite  of  your  follies  and 
crimes  there  is  something  g(K)d  in  you  yet^  You 
love  your  mother,  do  you  not  ?" 

Tears  came  into  Philips's  eyes.  He  siehed 
"Yes,"  he  said,  humbly.  " 

"  And  you  are  kind  to  her — that  other  one?" 

"  I  love  her  as  my  mother,"  said  Philips,  earn- 
estly. • 

S"mithers  again  relapsed  into  silence  for  a  long 
time.  At  last  he  looked  up.  Philiiis  saw  his 
eyes  this  tinker  no  longer  stem  and  wmthful,  but 
benignant  and  indulgent. 

"  You  have  been  all  your  life' under  the  power 
of  merciless-men,"  said  he.  "You  have  been 
led  by  them  into  folljir  and  crime  and  suffering. 
Often  you  have  been  forced  to  act  against  vour 
will.  Poor  wretch  1  I  can  save  you,  and  I  in- 
tend to  do  so  in  spite  of  yourself.  You  fear 
these  masters  of  yourst  You  must  know  now 
that  I,, not  they,  am  to  be  feared.  They  know 
your  secret  but  dare  not  use  it  against  yon.  I 
know  it,  and  can  use  it  if  I  choose.  You  have 
been  afraid  of  them  all  your  life.  Fear  them  no 
longer,  but  fear  me.  These  men  whom  you  fear 
are  in  my  power  as  well  as  you  are.  I  know  all  • 
their  secrets^there  is  not  a  crime  of  theirs  of 
which  yoiyknow  that  I  do  not  know  also,  and  I 
know  fikr  more. 

"  You  must  fn)m  this  time  forth  be  my  agent. 
Smithers  A  Co.  have  agents  in  all  parts- of  the 
world.  You  shall  be  their  agent  in  Brandon 
Hall.  You  shall  say  nothing  of  this  interview  to 
any  one,  not  even  to  your  mother-^^n  shall  not 
dare  to  communicate  with  me  unless  you  are  re- 
quested, except  abont  such  thiilgs  as  I  shall 
specify.  If  you  dare  to  shrink  in  any  one  point 
-.       .-    ,  -., ,       .  from  your  duty,  at  that  instant  I  will  come  down 

was  apprehensive  of  some  terrible  calamity.  upon  you  with  a  heavy  hand.     You,  too   are 

"How  is  she?    continued  Nmithers,  after  a  !  watched.     '*  "  ' 


time.     "  Has  she  ever  been  happy  since  she  went 
tliere?" 

Philipe  shook  his  head  slowly  and  mournfully. 

"Does  her  father  ever  show  her  any  aifec- 
tion?"  ,,!     ■ 

"Never."     ""■      > 

"Does  her  bipthtf?" 

♦'Never."  ;\^ 

"  Is  there  iny'one  who  does  ?" 

"Yes." 

"Who?" 

"Mm.  Compton." 

"Your  mother?" 

"Yes," 

"  I  will  not  forget  that.  No,  I  will  never  for 
get  that.  Do  you  think  that  she  is  exposed  to 
any  danger?" 

"MUa  Potts?" 
.    SAiMliers  bowed, 

"  I  don't  ki^ow.    I  sometimes  fear  so," 

" Of  what  kind?" 

"I  don't  know.  Almost  any  horrible  thing 
may  happen  in  that  horrible  phuse."    * 

A  pang  of  agony  shot  across  the  sombre  brow 
of  Smithers.     He  was  silent  for  a  long  time. 
>"H«VB  yoa  ever  ■Ughte4  her?"  ha  asked  M 


"Nevof,'  cHed  Philipt,  "I  conld  worship 
her — " 

Smithers  smiled  nppn  him  with  a  smile  so 
sweet  that  it  chased  all  Philips's  fears  away. 
He  took- coange  and  began  to  snow  more  cahn. 


I  have  other  agents  here  in  Brandon 
besides  yourself.  Many  of  those  who  go  to  the 
l)ank  as  customers  are  my  agents.  You  can  not 
be  felse  without  my  knowing  it ;  and  when  von 
are  false,  that  moment  you  sha]l  be  handed  over 
to  the  authorities.     Do  yon  hear  ?" 

The  face  of  Smithers  was  mild,  but  his  tone 

was  stem.     It  was  the  warning  of  a  just  vet 

.  merciful  masj^r.    All  the  timid  nature  of  Philips 

bent  in  deep^subjectioh  before  the  powerful  spirit 

of  this  man,.   He  bowed  his  head  in  silence. 

"Whenever  an  order  comes  to  yoi|  ftem 
Smithers  &  Co.  yoa  must  obey ;  if  you  do  not 
obey  instantly  whatever  it  is,  it  will  be  at  tiM 
risk  of  your  life.     Do  yoij  hear  K* 

Philips  bowed.      { 

"  There  is  only  oiie  thing  now  in  which  I  wiih 
you  to  do  any  thing.  You  mnst  send  every  month 
a  notice  directed  to  Mr.  Smithers,  Senior,  abont 
the  health  of  Ai«  daui/hter.  Should  any  sudden 
danger  impend  yon  must  at  once  communicate 
it.     Yoa  nndersund?" 

Philips  bowed, 

"  Once  more  I  warn  yon  always  to  remember 
that  I  am  your  master.  Fail  in  one  single  thing, 
and  vou  perish.  Obey  me,  and  you  shall  be  re- 
warded.    Now  go !" 

<Titti|sr  TOse,  ana^  iiioi^aescl  than  anrefi 
tered  fVom  the  room.  ' 

When  he  lefV  Smithers  locked  the  door,  i  He 
then  went  to  the  window  and  stood  lookii^  st 
Brandon  Halli  with  his  stem  fece  softened  tnto^ 
sadness.     He  hammed  loy  ^nk  as'  he  stood 


low  1 


'fear  nothing,"  s«id  Smithen,  in  if  gentle  itbere--wonb  whfehdkM  bid  beM^uogferCMy. 


'Atnong  them  w 
ended: 

"And  the  gi 
Bball  bat  c 
No  act  of  I 
Thee  fi'om 
Nor  shall  i 
To  disunite 

With  a  sigh  h 
in  his  hands.  I 
off  as  be  sat  thei 
sod  revealed  the  1 
iisir  showed  ttie  ( 

Yet  when  he  t 
bnt  a  most  intima 
ny  could  recogni; 
Brandon, 


CH. 

PAOl 

Many  weeks  pai 

the  chief  occupatio 

Thornton,     liis  jo 

heen  without  resul 

The  inquiries  whicl 

ont  useless.    Finall 

it  was  utterly  hope 

the  event,  to  attem 

Enough  had  been  d 

more  could  possibly 

Baffled,  but  not 

for  the  present  froc 

uhed  it  and  wrote 

fMmation.     Meanti 

life  St  Holby,  and  A 

to  sssist  him. 

So  the  time  went 

tin  one  day  in  Marcl 

-W  entering  the  ) 

"^  stranger.     Mi 

"w*!  and  sat  down  s 

•nd  he  and  Despard 

He  was  of  mediur 

His  brow  was  veiy 

"M  black,  and  clu8t< 

His  eyes  were  largo, 

on&thomable  depth, 

nndefinable  and  mysti 

lustrous,  where  all  th 

show  itself— beiiignan 

uketheeyesofaheiug 

Hii  face  was  thin  and 

*we  thin,  with  a  per 

J"**"***  and  gentleii 

«  was  such  a  face  as 

^tle  John— the  su 

"*  the  inspired. 

"You do  not  know  1 

It  is  Paolo!" 

De.jpard  at  once  ad 

ijh  the  wannest  oordi 

I  »W8  only  a  Utth 

"«,  and  you  hAva-« 

•S'lBd  DeepaixL 

"'*f   1  knew  thai  yo 

«^,  hot  m»  not  sni 

"What  I     2>r««oi, 
««•  a  fond  smile  at  I, 


jMiii, 


"id^f  "«™  '^''"»  *'«'«'.  with  which  the  strain 


CORD  AND  CREESE. 


/ 


129 


and  he  shook  his 


CHAPTER  XXXL 


PAOLO    LANOHETTI 

lifeatHolby  am?M™  Th      .  ^  '*'"™  '^  h" 

Mi»  brow  was  very  broad  nnH  hi^  ,,.  »r  -  • 
«.  black,  and  clu^teS„''"„1,Jter  bL\Lt 
■muthoniable  d«iith   urh:»i.        ""  •"  {Jussess  an 

Ai"e  fin-^  ^ubC.'h"'*,'*^*""^  'he 

''fcli"So"r  ''°°"''*^'''**'»M«.TT,prnton.  | 

-iS*!!?^  "'  ""'*  advanced  and  neetml  hi.„ 
""Ih  the  wannest  cordiality  *^  *^  '"•" 

I  WM  only  .  Uttle  fellow  when  I  mw  von 
y,  «nd  you  h*va  chaneea  ^^.v'  ■. "r  7°" 
*«,  lild  DB«n«rf  <.S*?^  •omewhsfr  mice 
™   ^ui^eapMd.     "But  when  did  you  ar- 


see  you  first  of  all?    Infidel! 
head  at  her,  playfully. 

ph«linlJn5r?orhi'o^'4ir''  ."|.«"8«««  » 
secure  a  sinKer      Oh    ifT    '  ^"'  "'"'****  «"»  ^ 

Ta^^rvim,  in  ^'"*',  "'?""'  "'  ^"'"don  Hair.     She 
was  living  in  a  seclusion  so  stripf  »h»f ;.  , 

confinement,  and  there  w^  «  „!  !    '  ",  ^""^ 

..y  ih«  vo„  li„  te.rib.™ "         """l"  J"" 
Yes. 

'' J?'tl,>on  go  to  the  HaU?" 

No. 

"Why  not?" 

de^ISr-  '"°"  '"•'  ""»'»'>«*  -11-in  in- 

^r™*!! 'hi"^""! !"u'"°'' "  "«"°«'".  ond  then  said 
youiS^V:«"  'hat,  and  perhaps  more  fi 

said  D^rd'""'  *'  "*"""  'hat.can  be  donel" 

hi^^dTlioiSf  rl-r^to"  '!?  t^ 

to  thi'nk  of  ClwLTi-     "h,  B.c„a  cam! 


to  thTnk  "o^  Cl^itTnd'  «,?,'  ''"'""  '^'•"^ 

gecttosuchto=ts"^c;x:rci:s 

Vei^Semnir  .^Sr,!!"''  "  «*"'  «id  he  at  last, 

Sn'oiTKr3r>=- 
iS'""h;r??'n"«^p^^^^^^ 

tonisiinr  ""''''"''-^y^  De^paol.  in  .^ 

"No,  no,"muhnured  l^nirhetti      "v~   j 
not;   nor  dare  I  explain  Xf  I  mean      It  h**" 
been  in  my  thoughts  for  v^«      r»         u  *'  ^m 


/ 


P'ain ;  only  one.  ^ 

.'.'  Y^^  ^"  «ried  DespaM,  eagerly. 
A  woman  named  Compton.'* 
t^omptonl 

land  5^-,  ifVi^TJ^t^''^.  Aks-andriaa, 

woman,  'l  wollV  L'^^"heTrti4i:'  T  ^ 
perished  in  the  attempt'"     '""^ '**«'  h^  'f  I 

'•^.^f  r^^-SnXn^imi™*  ""*  *"  ^ 
,..,  ^hink,  Teresuola/^  said  he.  aAnr  .  .•.:■ 
"if  you  were  in  captiVify  wh^wonL  kI^"**- 
ofmyopem?  Coufd  I  h^avrSK.J^"k 
about  operas  even  if  I  believed  tW.K  ™"^ 
^- .™-  ..u..e  «  ni.  Sister.  "  Were  vou  I  f"'""*^  *"  ""e  welfare  of  thr^rld  '  f  S  ^" 
«|«H  ««.  Wf.-..  that  I  woul]'^^/-    -- a-.jje?    Now^^ 

A   t  **•    *  """'  tiy  *nd  Mve  her—l 


"»•'    Iknw  S«rv„    ""'  "hen  did  you  ar- 


130 


CORD  AND  CREESE. 


muBt  give  np  all.     MV>  opera  mart  stand  aside       "Yes." 

till  it  be  God's  will  thal^)  give  it  forth.     No,  the        "  Is  she  what  you  anticipated  ?" 

one  object  of  my  life  now  must  be  to  find  Bice,        "  More.     She  is  indescribable.     She  is  almusi 

to  see  her  or  to  see  Mrs.  Compton,  if  she  is  alive."    unearthly.     I  feel  awe  of  lier,  but  not  fear,    tslie 

"  Is  the  secret  of  so  much  importance  ?"  asked   is  too  sweet  to  inspire  fear." 
Despard. 

Langhetti  looked  at  him  with  mournful  mean- 
ing. 

"  If  you  but  suspected  it,"  said  he,  "your 
peace  of  mind  would  be  lost.  I  will  therefore  on 
no  account  tell  it. "  • 

Despard  looked  at  him  wonderingly.     What 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 

FLIGHT. 


The  Jast  entry  in  Beatrice's  journal  was  made 
could  he  mean  ?  How  could  any  one  affect  him?  by  her  in  the  hope  that  it  might  be  the  last. 
His  peace  of  mind!  That  hud  been  lost  long  In  her  life  at  Brandon  Hall  her  soul  had 
ago.  And  if  this  secret  was  so  terrible  it  would  crown  stronger  and  more  resolute.  Besides,  it 
distract  his  mind  from  its  grief,  its  care,  and  its  had  now  come  to  this,  that  henceforth  she  must 
hinging.  Peace  would  be  restored  rather  than  eitiier  stay  and  accept  the  punishment  which  they 
destroyed.  i  might  contrive  or  Hy  instantly. 


'I  must  find  her.     I  must  find  her,"  said 

Langhetti,  speaking  half  to  himself.     "  I  am 

weak ;  hut  much  can  be  done  by  a  resolute  will." 

"Perhaps  Mr.  Thornton  can  assist  you,"  said 

^^^Bespard, 

Langhetti 'shook  his  head. 
"No;  lie  is  a  man  of  law,  and  does  not  un- 
derstand the  man  -who  acts  fiom  feeling.     I  can 


For  she  had  dared  them  to  their  faces ;  she 
had  told  them  of  their  crimes ;  she  had  tlireat- 
ened  punishment,  bhe  had  said  that  she  wns 
the  avenger  of  Despard.  If  she  had  desired  in- 
stant death  she  coidd  have  said  no  more  tlmii 
that.  Would  they  pass  it  by  ?  She  knew-their 
secret — the  selret  of  secrets ;  she  had  proclaimed 
it  to  their  faces.      She  had  called  Potts  a  Thug 


be  as  logical  as  he,  but  I  obey  impulses  which  are   and  disowned  him  as  her  father ;  what  now  re- 
imintelligible  to  him.     He  would  simply  advise   maine<l? 


me  to  give  up  the  matter,  adding,  perhaps,  tliat 
I  would  do  myself  no  good.  Whereas  he  can 
not  understand  that  it  makes  no  ditterence  to  me 
whether  I  do  myself  good  or  not;  and  again, 
that  the  highest  good  that  I  can  do  myself  is  to 
seek  after  her." 

Mrs.  Thornton  looked  at  Despard,  but  he 
avoided  her  glance. 

"  No,"  said  Langhetti,  "I  will  ask  assistance 
fiom  another — from  you,  Despard.  You  are  one 
wlio  acts  as  I  act.     Come  with  me." 

"  When  ?" 

"To-morrow  morning." 

"I  will." 


But  one  thing — flight.  And  this  she  was  fiillv 
resolved  to  try.  She  prepared  nothing.  To  giiin 
the  outside  world  was  all  she  wished.  The  need 
of  money  was  not  thought  of;  nor  if  it  had  been 
would  it  have  made  any  difference.  She  coukl 
not  have  obtained  it. 

The  one  idea  in  her  mind  was  therefore  flight. 
She  had,  concealed  her  journal  under  a  louse 
piece  of  the  flooring  in  one  of  the  closets  of  her 
room,  being  unwilling  to  encumber  herself  wiih 
it,  and  dreading  the  result  of  a  search  in  ca^e  she 
was  captured. 

She  made  no  other  preparations  whatever.  A 
light  hat  and  a  thin  jacket  were  all  that  she  tnuk 
to  r&Hist  the  chill  air  of  Mai-ch.     There  wot  a 


"Of  course  you  will.     Yon  would  not  be  a 
Despard  if  you  did  not.     You  would  not  be  the  .  fever  in  her  veins  which  was  heightened  by  ex- 
son  of  your  Cither — your  father!"  he  repeated,  in    citement  and  suspense. 

tlirilling  tones,  as  his  eyes  flashed  with  enthu-  I  Mrs.  Compton  was  in  her  room  during  the 
siasiDh  "Despard!"  he  cried,  after  a  pause,  |  evening.  Beatrice  said  but  little.  Mrs.  Coinp- 
"yonr  father  waa  a  man  whom  you  might  pray  •  ton  talked  drearily  about  the  few  topics  or.  which 
to  now.  I  saw  him  once.  Shall  I  ever  forget  she  Jinerally  spoke.  She  never  dared  talk  about 
the  day  when  he  calndy  went  to  lay  down  his     '       ~  ' 


the  aflTairs  of  the  house. 

Beatrice  was  not  inpatient,  for  she  had  no 
idea  of  trying  to  escape  before  midnight.  Ii'he 
sat  silently  while  Mrs.  Compton  talked  or  prosed, 
absorbed  in  her  own  thoughts  and  plans,  'ihe 
hours  seemed  to  her  iqterminable.  Slowly  and 
heavily  they  dragged  bn.  Beatrice's  suspenee 
and  excitement  grew  stronger  every  moment, 
yet  by  a  violent  effort  she  preserved  so  )ierfect 
an  outward  calm  that  a  closer  observer  than  Mrs. 
Compton  would  hare  foiled  to  detect  any  emo- 
tion. „ 

At  last,  abont  ten  o'clock,  Mrs.  Compton  re- 
tired, with  many  kind  wishes  to  Beatrice,  tiiid 
many  anxious  counsels  as  to  her  health.  B«i- 
"  But  I  must  go  ont.  J  must  think,"  he  trice  listene<l  patiently,  and  made  some  (wei*! 
continued.      "  I  will  go  and  walk  about  the   remarks,  after  which  Mrs.  Coidipton  withi 


life  for  my  father  ?  Despard-,  I  worship  your  fa- 
ther's memory.  Come  with  me.  Let  us  emu- 
late those  two  nobis  'nen  who  once  before  res- 
cued a  captive.  We  can  not  risk  our  lives  as 
they  did.     Let  us  at  least  do  what  we  can." 

"  I  will  do  exactly  what  you  say.  You  can 
think  and  I  will  act.lT'* 

"  No,  you  must  tliink  too.  Neither  of  us  be- 
long to  the  class  of  practical  men  whom  the 
world  now  delights  to  honor ;  but  no  practical 
man  would  go  on  our  errand.  No  practical  man 
would  have  rescued  my  father.  Generous  and 
lofty  acts  must  always  be  done  by  those  who  are 
not  practical  men. 


grounds." 

Saying  this  he  left  the  room. 

"  Where  is  Edith  Brandon  ?"  asked  Despard, 
after  he  had  gone. 

"  She  is  here,"  said  Mrs.  Thornton. 

"  Have  you  seen  her?" 


She  was  now  left  to  herself,  and  two  houn 
still  remained  before  she  could  dare  to  ventura 
She  pace<l  the  room  f  etfully  and  anxiously,  won- 
dering why  it  was  that  the  time  seemed  so  long, 
and  looking  from  time  to  time  at  her  watch  in 
the  hope  of  finding  that  half  on  hour  had  paiMd, 


bat  leeing  16  her  disappointment  that  only  two 
or  three  minutes  hati  gone.  ^ 

At  last  eleven  o'cloclc  came.     She  stole  a„t 
quietly  mto  the  hall  and  went  to  the  toTof  Z 

^™  T  K  °'^^°"^«'  '^"'ne  up  from  the  dinine- 
room,  which  was  near  the  hall-duor.  hhe  knel 
to  whom  those  voices  belonged.  Evidendvk 
was  not  yet  the  time  for  her  vinture  ^ 

J^he  went  back,  continuing  her  excitement  as 
best  she  might.  At  kst,  after  a  long,  long  su^ 
[lense,  midnight  sounded  ** 

Not  yet     The  suspense  became  agonizinir 
How  could  she  wait  ?    But  she  wc.it  b^k  Zfn 

l^k'^'e^'^  ^""''•'^-'  ^^^  ^-«"««  -tC 

«h«f '^'''*...^®"' '"  "»«  ''««J  of  the  stainvav 
Sheheard  nothing.  She  could  see  a  light  s^rJiml 
.ng  from  the  door  of  the  dining -haUbeW 

h*,  "^•''  '"''••""  """^-'S  '"  the  hall  itself  bui 
she  heard  no  voices.  ' 

Softiv  and  quietly  she  went  down  stairs      The 
lights  dashed  out  through  the  door  of  thTdinint 
r«om  into  the  hall;  and  as  she  arrived  at  the  f^ 
of  the  staors  she  heard  subdued  voices  in  conv^ 

tliere!  Whatif  they  now  discovered  her '  Whut 
merey  would  they  show  her,  even  if  they  were 
capable  of  merey?  "ley  were 

Fear  lent  wings  to  her  feet.     She  was  almn-t 
.faud  to  breathe  for  fear  that  the?  mTghira 
her.    hhe  stole  on  quietly  and  noiseless  tm.fhl 
•^.Jat  led  to^theUth  eut3aT£ 

?5.e  ir''ofi7rni:i?°t7i';r 

pemlly  u^d  by  the  serv^  and  ui  bVZ 
.n|D«tes  of  the  house  for  convenience  ^ 

Tie  key  was  in  it.     There  was  no  light  in  the 
immeJwte  vicinity.     Around  it  all  was  Vloom 

m'&r  *  ''"'"^»^'  '^''''-•"  '«''  "'''«-" 

nSnlTwith*'  •'''^*"  ''''•'>"«'«'''•  ^»'!«=''  trembled 
gutly  with  excitement,  and  turned  it  ft  the 

Scarcely  had  she  done  so  when  she  heard  foot 
nent  was  her  only  plan  conceal- 

wSiuXsiS'^  t;?Sk""shrr"  ??''*''•'"• 

of  the  nich^^^fi-rmli  k     u   ®  '"Pf*<J  '"to  one 

^C&L^  ^otflSTnot  hope  to  b.^ 

J^nese  servants  were  the  two  who  had  been 

»e  could  do  nothing,  therefore,   but  wait 


COED  AND  CREESE. 


131 
;;ithain't  been  locked  yet,"  said  the  other. 

a«o.;^Wh'^c5dhUlSi,\'e"^^^^^^ 

Any  one,"  said  the  other,  ouietlv      "0.,r 
ble..d^young  master  has,  no' d'ou?  i,^^^ 

''Anv  1.         t.      '*""'■ """'  ^"me  along." 

".«S""i  r""'  "'^  ""I « '^»  *■ 

i.oveiea.     Hut  what  was  to  li«  «loi.o  9     ci     i     . 
not  been,  prepared  forX  '^    '''"'  '"''^ 

^^he  stood  for  some  tfine  in  desnair      Sho 
hought  of  otfmr  ways  of  escaje      Kre  Ss 
hP  t  '  nT'  '"''"■''  ^h«  ''i'l  ""t  <lare  to  ti^  f" 
£i.iro2"%;°  f-T  '*"^"'>'  '"  front?f  ,J 

uum  Huea.     ^he  knew  of  no  others      vho  .i„ 
teimmed  to  try  the  south  door.  ^  ''*"  ^ 

Qmetly  and  swiftly  she  stole  away,  and  glided 

>ke  a  ghost,  along  the  entire  length  of  tie  build' 

h„H  hi'  """  ?"""  "^'^  «  "'«  «""'h  end  as  it 

Si-ac^ldS  ""'■'^-     «— '.edthlr 

c.S'brtir^i^iJLr'-''^^  ^- 

t>  le  stood  des|,aiiiiig.     Only  one  way  was  now 
let.,  and  that  Liy  through  thehall-d.mH  K^?f 
stets     '^«^'  "^  '^'  •"J'^  '»'•"«.  "he  he  ,^  Lt- 

of  conctenTiere'^^r'  "'"  ''"«'"«^'  ^''aL 

Ah,  Philips,"  said  she,  quietly,  "  I  am  walk 
mg  about  for  exercise  and  amu^'mcnt  Tou, 
not  sleep.     l>on  t  In,  stanled.     It's  on^y  me '^ 

Philips  stood  like  one  paralyzed. 
f«.™Kr    '  *"'■  '''*"  ''°*"'"  ho  said  at  last  in  a 

fS^^rwi^i^Vo:^''^-'^''--^^^^^ 

^^'What  do  you  „,««„?■.  ^k^d  Beatrice,  in     ' 
'"??..**«««*■    ioareihrt^ir    Hut  cBeer  ripT* " 


"wiTr.j «••■'' irot  reii.    m 

..  V     u    "  y""  "•*""  hy  f, lends?" 
If  on  have  friends  who  are  more  tjowerfnl  th.n 

Beatrice  wondered.    A  vague  thought  of  Bnui 

once.     1  et  the  thought  gave  her  •  ddici^,  iov 
and  .t  one  disHted  .he  extreme  ,J^a^„^^ 


182 


CORD  AND  CBEE9E. 


hod  thns  far  disturbed  her.  Could  Philips  be  con- 
nected with  hitn  t  Was  Ae  in  reality  considerate 
about  her  while  shaping  the  coursb  of  his  gloomy 
vengeance  ?  'i'hese  were  the  thoughts  which 
flashed  across  her  mind  as  she  stood. 

"  I  don't  understand,"  said  she,  at  last  x" "  but 
I  hope  it  may  be  as  you  say.  God  knows,  I 
need  friends!' 

She  walked  away,  and  Philips  also  went  on- 
ward. She  walked  slowly,  until  at  last  his  steps 
died  out  in  the  distance.  Then  a  door  banged. 
Evidently  she  had  nothing  to  fear  from  him.  At 
last  she  reached  the  main  hall,  and  stopped  for 
a  moment.  The  Ughts  from  the  dining-room 
were  still  flashing  out  through  the  door.  The 
grand  entrance  lay  before  her.  There  was  the 
door  of  the  hall,  the  oidy  way  of  escape  that  now 
remained.     Dare  she  try  it  ? 

She  deliberated  long.  Two  alternatives  lay 
before  her — to  go  back  to  her  own  room,  oc  to 
try  to  pass  that  door.  To  go  back  was  as  re- 
pulsive as  death,  in  fact  more  so.  If  the  choice 
had  been  placed  full  before  her  then,  to  die  on  the 
spot  or  to  go  back  to  her  room,  sIm  would  have 
deliberately  chosen  death.  The  thought  of  re- 
turning, therefore,  was  the  last  upon  which  she 
could  dwell,  and  that  of  going  forward  was  the 
only  one  left.     To  this  she  gave  her  attention! 

At  last  she  made  up  her  mind,  and  advanced 
cautiously,  close  by  the  wall,  toward  the  hall- 
door.  After  a  time  she  reached  the  door  of  the 
dining-room.  Could  she  venture  to  pass  it,  and 
how  ?  She  paused.  She  listened.  There  were 
low  voices  in  the  room.  Then  they  were  still 
awake,  still  able  to  detect  her  if  she  passed  the 
door. 

She  looked  all  around.  The  hall  was  wide. 
On  the  op|>osite  side  the  wall  was  but  feebly 
lighted.  The  hall  lights  had  been  put  out,  and 
those  which  shone  from  the  room  extended  for- 
ward but  a  short  distance.  It  was  just  possible 
therefore  to  escape  observation  by  crossing  the 
doorway  along  the  wall  that  was  most  distant 
(W)m  it. 

Yet  before  she  tried  this  she  ventured  to  "jjut 
forward  her  head  so  ^a  to  peep  into  the  .room. 
She  stooped  low, and  looked  cautiously  and  slow- 
ly- 

The  three  were  there  at  the  farthest  end  of 
the  room.  Bottles  £nd  glasses  stood  before  them, 
and  the^  were  conversing  in  low  tones.  Those 
tones,  *ol^ever,  were  not  so  low  but  that  they 
reached  her  ears.    They  were  speaking  about  her. 

"How  could  she  have  found  it  out?"  said 
Clark. 

"Mrs.  Compton  only  knows  on«  thing,"  said, 
Potts,  "and  that  is  the  secret  about  her.  She^ 
knows  nothing  more.    How  could  she  ?  ' 

"Then  how  could  that  cursed  girl  have  found 
out  about  the  Thug  busioess  ?"  exckimed  John. 

There  was  no  reply. 

"She's  a  deep  one,"  said  John,  "d— d  daep 
— deeper  than  I  ever  thought.  1  always  said  flie 
was  plucky — cursed  plucky — but  now  I  see  site's 
deep  too-:7:and  1  be^n  to  have  my  doubts  about 


the  way  Ae  ought  to  be  took  down 

"I  never  could  make  her  out,"  said  Potts. 
"  And  now  I  don't  even  begin  to  understand  how 
she  could  know  that  which  oidy  we  have  known. 
Do  you  thiilk,  CUrk,  that  the  devil  could  have 
told  her  of  it  ?" 

"  Yes,"  laid  Clark.    "  Nobody  bat  the  devil 


conld  have,  told  her  that,  and  my  belief  is  that 
she's  the  devil  himself.  She's  the  only  person  I 
ever  felt  afraid  of.  D — n  it,  I  can't  look  her  in 
the  face." 

Beatrice  retreated  and  passed  across  to  the 
opposite  wall.     She  did  not  wish  to  see  or  hear 
more.     She  glided  by.     She  was  not  noticed.' 
She  heard  John's  voice — sharp  and  cleai-T— 

"  We'll  have  to  begin  to-morrow  and  take  her 
down— that's  a  fact."  This  was  followed  by 
silencf). 

Beatrice  reached  the  door.  She  turned  the 
knob.     Oh,  joy !  it  was  not  locked.     It  o|iened. 

Noiselessly  she  passed  through ;  noiselessly  she 
shut  it  behind  her.  She  was  outside.  She  was 
free. 

The  moon  shone  brightly.  It  illumined  the 
lawn  in  front  and  the  tops  of  the  clumps  of  trees 
whose  dark  foliage  rose  before  her^  She  saw  all 
this ;  yet,  in  her  eagerness  to  escape,  she  saw 
nothing  more,  but  sped  away  swiftly  down  the 
steps,  across  the  lawn,  and  under  the  shade  of 
the  trees. 

Which  way  shoidd  she  go  ?  There  was  the 
main  avenue  which  led  in  a  winding  direction 
toward  the  gate  and  the  porter's  lodge.  There 
was  also  another  path  which  the  servants  geneN 
ally  took.  This  led  to  the  gate  also.  Beatrice 
thought  that  by  going  down  this  path  she  might 
come  near  the  gate  and  then  turn  ofl'  to  the  wall 
and  try  and  climb  over. 

A  few  moments  of  thought  were  suflicient  for 
her  decision.  She  took  the  path  and  went  hur- 
riedly along,  keeping  on  the  side  where  the 
shadow  was  thickest. 

She  walked  s^viftly,  nntil  at  length  she  came 
to  a  place  where  the  path  ended.  It  was  close 
by  the  porter's  lodge.  Here  she  paused  to  con- 
sider. 

Late  as  it  was  there  were  lights  in  the  lodge 
and  voices  kt  the  door.  Some  one  was  talking 
with  the  porter.  Suddenly  the  voices  ceased  and 
a  man  came  walking  toward  the  place  where  she 
stood. 

To  dart  into  the  thick  trees  whei«  the  shadow 
lay  deepest  was  the  work  of  a  moment.  8he 
stood  and  watched.  But  the  nnderbrush  was 
dense,  and  the  crackling  which  she  made  attract- 
ed the  man's  attention.  He  stopped  for  a  mo- 
ment, and  then  rushed  straight  toward  the  pkce 
where  she  was. 

Beatrice  gave  herself  up  for  lost.  She  rushed 
on  wildly,  not  knowing  where  she  went.  Behinil 
her  was  the  sound  of  her  pursuer.  He  followed 
resolutely  and  relentlessly.  There  wa^  no  refuge 
for  her  but  continued  flight. 

Onward  she  sped,  and  still  onward,  through  the 
dense  underbnish,  il^ch  at  every  step  gave  no- 
tice of  the  direction  which jshe  had  takeiL  Per- 
haps if  she  had  been  wi^r  she  would  have 
plunged  into  some  thick  |;rowth  of  trees  into 
the  midst' of  absolute  di^kness  and  there  re- 
mained still.  As  it  was  she  did  not  think  of 
th|B.    Escape  was  her  onlir  thought,  and  theonir 

way  to  this  deemed  ta  bejby  flight. 

^6  she  fled ;  and  after  })er  come  tier  remorK- 
less,  her  unpitying  pursuer.  Fear  lent  wings  to 
her  feet.  She  fled  on  4»x>ugh  the  underbniih 
th^t  crackled  as  she  pasted  and  gave  notice  of 
her^  track  through  the  dark,  dense  groves;  TO 
still  fimidst  darkness  and  gloom  her  pursuer  fol- 
loweiL 


•ONW.\KD  81 


It,  through  utter  w««kn»..  ._j  ^      .     .  »"«ush. 


ler  ounaer  i 


ShTeouId  do  no  m^«    "^P*""  <="««  "^^  her. 

i.Sl?rcrgSrthSVfS*'*'"''''r'«t»'egloom 
not  find  her.^^triol  h    Tt  *'"«'  '"«  «»»'d 

«*<Jetemined  to  wniTri  i  k^  ^ ''"*"«'»> 
»«kea  movemem"  Si„ii      '  J**  ventured  to 


£f  me  "gain,     It  i^.»  Xbq  by      [j.  i^i"°if;t 
for  many  niinntes         ^^^^^'^J^    **«  ««>«»  "Ur 

for^l'l?'"'/;:!'?  ''"""'^'^/•P.  «"<«  ™n  «,  one  runs 
R^ir„     "5 '""K  "-esf  had  refreshed  her      De- 

4teXL  jp-Sn-d-ti!"  Trwr  Sniii 

on  her.     Still  she  rushed  on        ""  *■»  Kai"'"* 
At  liut  .  ,tr«,g  hMd  seized  her  by  the  ahoul. 


■J 


134 


CORD  AND  CREESE. 


0 


der,  nnd  she  tank  down  upon  the  mosB  that  lay 
under  the  forest  trees. 

"  Who  are  you  ?'*  cried  a  familiar  voice. 

"  Vljal !"  cried  Beatrice. 

The  other  let  go  his  hold. 

"  Will  you  betray  me  ?"  cried  Beatrice,  in  a 
mournful  and  de!«pairing  voice. 

Vijal  was  silent. 

"  What  do  you  want  ?"  said  he.  at  last.  ' '  What- 
ever you  want  to  do  I  will  help  you.  I  will  be 
your  slave." 

"1  wish  to  escape." 
,   "Come  then — you  shall  escape,"  said  Vijnl. 

Without  uttering  another  word  he  walked  on 
and  Beatrice  followed.  Hope  rose  once  more 
within  her.  Hope  gave  strength.  Despair  and 
its  weakness  had  left;  her.  After  about  half  an 
hour's  walk  they  reached  the  jiork  wall. 

"  I  thought  it  was  a  poacher,"  said  Vijal,  sad- 
ly; "yet.  I  am  glad  it  was  you,  for  I  con  help 
you.     I  will  help  you  over  the  wall." 

He  raised  her  up.  She  clambered  to  the  top, 
where  she  rested  for  a  njoment. 

"God  bless  you,  Vijal,  and  gpod-by!"  said 
she. 

Vijal  said  nothing,  ' 
■.^he  next  moment  she  was  on  the  other  side. 
Thf  road  lay  there.    It  ran  north  away  from  the 
viUiige.    Aloug  this  road  Beatrice  walked  swiftly. 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

"PICKBirnP    AWBIFT." 

.  Os  the  morning  following  two  travelers  left  a 

tmnll  inn  which  lay  on  the  road-side,  about  ten 

miles  north  of  Brandon.     It  was  about  eight 

o'clock  when  they  took  their  departure,  driving 

•         in  their  own  carriage  at  a  moderate  pace  along 

A  the  road. 

\j  "Look,   Langhetti,"  said  the  one  who  was 

driving,  pointing  with  his  whip  to  an  object  in 

'         the  road  directly  in  front  of  them. 

Q,  Langhetti  raised  his  head,  which  had  been 

,         bowed  down  in  deep  abstraction,  to  look  in  the 

'K    -..    direction  indicated.     A  flgnre  was  approaching 

'    them.     It  looked  like  a  Woman.     I^he  walked 

very  slowly,  and  appeared  rather  to  stagger  than 

to  walk. 

"t*e  appears  to  be  dnmk,  Despard,"  said 
J^Anghetti.  "  Poor  wretch,  and  on  this  bleak 
March  morning  too !  Let  us  stop  and  see  if  we 
can  do  any  tiling  for  her." 

They  drove  on,  and  as  they  met  the  womajn 

Despard  stopped; 

I  hhe  was  young  and  extraordinarily  beautiful. 

I  Her  lace  was  thin  and  white.     Her  clothing  was 

of  fine  materials  but  scanty  and  torn  to  shreds. 

\  j  ■,      As  they  stopited  she  turned  her  large  eyes  up 

\     dei^ringly  and  stood  still,  with  a  face  which 

\     ""■    seiaimed  to  express  every  conceivalle  emotion  of 

IS  ,-,         anguixh  and  of  hope.     Yet  as  her  eyes  rested  on 

^  i      I.anghetti  a  change  came  over  her.     The  deep 

and  nnuttei-able  nadness  of  her  face  passed  away, 

— and  was  succecdeu  by  a  radiant  flash  of  joy.   Sha 

threw  out  her  arms  toward  him  with  a  cry  of 

wild  entreaty. 

The  moment  that  Langhetti  saw  her  he  started 
up  and  stood  for  an  instant  as  if  paralyzed.  Her 
PVy  came  to  his  ears.  He  leaped  from  the  car- 
■rioge  toward  her,  and  caaght  her  in  his  arms. 


■^^ 


"  Oh,  Bice ! '  Alas,  my  Bicina !"  he  cried,  and 
a  thousrtnd  fond  words  canje  to  his  li|is. 

Beatrice  looked  up  with  eyes  tilled  with  grpte- 
ful  tears ;  her  lips  murmured  some  inaudible  sen- 
tences ;  and  then,  in  this  full  assurance  of  sufetv 
the  resolution  that  had  sustained  her  xo  long 
gave  way  altogether.  Her  eyes  closed,  she  gave 
a  low  moan,  and  sank  senseless  upon  his  breiist. 

Langhetti  supported'  her  for  a  moment,  then 
gently  laid  her  down  to  try  and  restore  her.  He 
chafed  her  hands,  and  did  all  that  is  usually  done 
in  such  emergencies.  But  here  the  case  was  dif- 
ferent— it  was  more  than  a  common  faint,  and 
the  animation  now  suspended  was  not  to  be  re. 
stored  by  ordinarj'  efforts. 

I.4inghetti  boWed  over  her  as  he  chafed  her 
hands.  "Ah,  my  Bicina,"  he  cried;  "is  it 
thus  1  find  you !  Ah,  poor  thin  hand !  Alas, 
white  wan  face !  A^hat  suffering  has  been  youre, 
pure  angel,  among  those  fiends  of  hell !" 

He  paused,  and  turned  a  face  of  agony  toward 
Despard.  But  as  he  looked  at  him  he  saw  a 
grief  in  his  countenance  that  was  only  second  to 
his  own.  Something  in  Beatrice's  appearance 
had  struck  him  with  a  deeper  feeling  than  that 
merely  human  interest  which  the  generous  heart 
feels  in  the  sufferings  of  others. 

"  Langhetti,"  said  he,  "  let  ns  not  leave  this 
sweet  angel  exposed  to  this  bleak  wind.  We 
must  take  her  back  to  the  inn.  We  have  gained 
our  object.  Alas !  the  gain  is  worse  than  a  fail- 
ure." 

"What  can  we  do?" 

"  I.«t  us  put  her  in  the  carriage  between  os, 
aitd  drive  back  instantly." 

Despard  stooped  as  he  spoke,  raided  her  rev- 
erently in  his  arms,  and  lifted  her  upon  the  seat  .^ 
He  sprang  in  and  put  his  arms  around  her  sense- 
less form-,  so  as  to  support  her  against  himself. 
Langhetti  looked  on  with  eyes  that  were  moist 
with  a  sad  yet  mysterious  feeling. 

Then  he  resumed  his  place  in  the  carriage. 

"Oh,  Langhetti {"  said  Despard^  "what  ii  it 
that  I  saw  in  the  face  of  this  (joor  child  that  w 
wrings  my  heart  ?  What  is  this  mystery  of  yoiin 
that  you  will  not  tell  ? " 

"I  can  not  solve  it,"  said  Langhetti,  "and 
therefore  I  will  not  tell  it." 

"Tell  it,  whatever  it  is. "  * 

"No,  it  is  only  conjecture  as  yet,  and  I  mil 
not  utter  it." 

"And  it  affects  me?" 

"Deeply." 

"Therefore  tell  it." 

"  Therefore  I  must  not  tell  it ;  for  if  it  prove 
baseless  1  shall  only  excite  your  feeling  in  vain.' 

"At  any  rate  let  me  know.  For  i  have  the 
wildest  fancies,  and  I  wish  to  know  if  it  is  possi- 
ble that  they  are  like  your  own." 

" No,  Despard,"  said  Langhetti.  "Not  now. 
The  time  may  come,  but  it  has  not  yet." 

Beatrice's  head  leaned  against  Despard's  shoul- 
der as  she  reclined  against  him,  sustained  bv  his 
arm.  Her  face  was  upturned ;  a  face  as  white 
as  marble,  her  pure  Grecian  features  showing 
now  tlieir  iiuiUless  lines  Uk«  the  sc-ulpturei  fiice 
of  some  goddess...  Her  beauty  was  perfect  In  its 
classic  outline.  But  her  eyes  were  closed,  and 
her  wan,  white  lips  parted  ;  and  there  was  sor- 
row on  her  face  which  did  not  seem  appropriate 
to  one  so  young. 

"Look,"  said  Langhetti,  in  a  mournful  voice. 


'  ^v  you  ever  in  a/i 

fectly  and  so  faiiltj^ 

lonld  but  have  seen  1 

moods  of  inspiration, 

•'*[ '•""e  imagiiifed  si 

Oh,  Despard!"  h 

ra  which  (he  Q^her  ht 

<m  without  a  word- 

raetoteilpyonthissec 

-  sidMpread;     Jfmyf 

'ife  mnst  at  once  l>e  m 

lamed  to  one  dark  pi, 

.™» to  that  purpose  (il 

'•■'^possibility  of  «  doH 

"J  ..T.  ""*'  "'   h 
Fluch  I  hardly  dare 


hiiv^i^ii 


.'"  he  cried,  and 
lilt  li]i8, 

lied  with  grate- , 
e  inaudible  sen- 
irance  of  safety, 
ed  her  no  long 
losed,  niie  gave 
ipon  his  liieiist, 
moment,  then 
sstore  her.  He 
t  is  usually  done 
he  case  was  dif 
mon  faint,  and 
18  not  to  be  re- 


CORD  AND  <!:5EESE. 


.<*' 


rai^d  her  rev- 
'  upon  the  seat . 
ound  her  sente- 
igainst  himself, 
hat  were  moist 


loumful  voice. 


•       iJi 


W  Vnn  pvar  in    aII «•« 


fonld  but  have  spftiThar  !^t  u         ,    "'  "  J "" 

«^of  i„7;r:s.the*;f  s L^ra^^nruiJ^ 

in  wUch  Wer  had  7^1^'  "''"  %  """•^'^ 
I'im  without  .  wori-.'Oh  n  '  IT  '^^■^  '" 
^^^od  thi"l«,'"'i  JaTnl'  T- "'' 


Format""' S"":'*"'^  '■''  ">«"'  I  ™Plon>  yon. 

andro;\,i'rtS'''aorw™°?h!!:2' "'' 
of  it  even  to  yourself/"  "     ^^ij^  »"' 

il"!''!'.'!  fP"'"'  '^i'h  a  wild  and  vehement 


m„J     ^'*"  ""^  ^*'"  *«'•!  I>espard,  "that 
rou  e  mv  cunosity  to  an  intolerable  deg,S- 


you 


"  R«  u  •*      ""  intolerable  degiee?" 

It  u.  evident."  said  he  to  Langhetri,  "that 


18« 


CORD  AND  CREESE. 


/I 


■be  haa  escaped  from  Brandon  Hall  during  the  | 
paat  night,     bhe  will,  no  doubt,  be  pursued. 
Whaf  shall  we  do  f   If  we  go  back  to  tbia  inn^ 
they  will  wonder  at  onr  bringing  her.     There  is 
another  inn.a  mile  further  on.", 

"  I  ha^Q^ieen  thinking  of  that,"  replied  Lan- 
ghetti.  "It  will  be  better  to  go  to  the  other  inn. 
But  what  shall  we  say  about  her?  Let  na  say 
^e  is  an  invalid  going  home." 

"And  am  I  her  medical  attendant?"  asked 
Despard.  „ 

"No;  that  is  not  fiecessary.  Yon  are  her 
guardian — the  Rector  of  Holby,  of  course — your 
name  is  sufficient  guarantee." 

"Oh,"  said  Despard,  after  a  pause,  "  I'll  tell 
i  yon.  something  better  yet.  I  am  her  brother  and 
.<  abe  is  my  sister — Miss  Despard." 

'  Aaihe  spoke^e  looked  down  upon  her  marble 
fiuw.  He  did  not  see  Langbetti's  countenance. 
Had  he  done  so  he  would  have  wondered.  For 
Langbetti's  eyes  seemed  to  seek  to  pierce  the  verv 
soml  of  Despwd.  His  face  became  transformed. 
■•K  Its  usual  serenity  vanished,  and  there  was  eager 
wonder,  intense  and  anxious  cuhosity — An  en- 
deavor to  see  if  there  was  not  some  deep 
meaning  underlying  Despard's  words.  But  Des- 
pard showed  no  emotion.  He  wm  conscious'of 
no  deep  meaning.  He  merely  munnnted  to  him- 
self as  he  looked  down  upon  the  dnsonscidua 
fiice:" 

"My  sick  sister— my  sister^ Beatrice." 

Langhetti  said  not  a  word,  but  sat  in  silence, 
absorbed  in  one  intense  and  wondering  gaze. 
De<)pard  seemed  to  dwell  upon  this  idea,  fondly 
•nd  tenderly. 

"  Khe  is  not  one  of  that  brood,"  said  he,  after 
*  pause.  "It  is  in  name  only  that  she  belongs 
to  them." 

"  Tliey  are  fiends  and  she  is  an  angel,"  said 
Lanriietd. 

'  'ileayen  has  sent  her  to  ns ;  we  must  preserve 
her  forever." 

"If  she  lives,"  said  Langhetti,  "she  must 
never  gft  back." 

"  Go  baxk  1"  cried  Despard.    "  Better  &r  for 
-her  to  die." 

"  I  myself  wouTd  die  rather  than  give  her  up." 

"And  I,  too.  But  we  will  not.  I  will  adopt 
her.  Yes,  she  shall  cast  away  the  link  that  binds 
her  to  these  accursed  ones— her  vile  name.  I 
will  adopt  her.  She  shall  have  my  name — she 
shall  be  my  sister.  She  shall  be  Beatrice  De^ 
pard. 

"And  surely,"  continued  Despard,  looking 
tenderly  down,  "  surely,  of  all  the  Despard  race 
there  was  never  one  so  beautiful  and  so  pure  as 
■he." 

Langhetti  did  not  say  a  word,  but  looked  at  Des- 
pard and  the  one  whom  he  thus  called  his  adopt- 
ed sister  wi^  an  emotion  which  he  could  not 
control.  Tears  started  to  his  eyes ;  yet  over  his 
brow  there  came  something  which  is  not  gen- 
erally astociated  with  tears — a  lofty,  exultant 
expression,  an  air  of  joy  and  peace. 

''  Your  sister^"  said  Despand, ' '  shall  nnrse  her 
— "haek -tyJaMih     8lte  wIlIdoTO  fljr 


Langhetti — or  rather  trom  her  own  noble 
generous  instincts.  In  Thornton  Grangti  she 
will,  perhaps,  find  some  alleviation  for  the  sor- 
rows which  she  may  have  endured.  Onr  care 
shall  be  around  her,  and  w«  can  all  kbnr  togeth- 
■r  for  her  future  wet&re." 


They  at  length  reached  the  inn  of  which  they 
had  spoken,  and  Beatrice  was  tenderly  lifted  ont 
and  carried  up  stairs.  Sl^e  was  mentioned  u 
the  sister  of  the  Kev.  Mr.  Despard,  of  Holby, 
who  was  bringing  her  back  fh>m  the  sea-Bide| 
whither  she  ha^jone  for  her  health.  Unform- 
nately,  she  had  been  too  weak  for  the  journey.     , 

The  people  of  the  inn  showed  the  kindest  at- 
tention and  warmest  sympathy.  A  doctor  wa( 
sent  for,  who  lived  at  a  village' two  miles  farther 
on. 

Beatrice  recovered  from  her  foint,  but  remained 
unconscious.  The  doctor  considered  that  her 
brain  was  affected.  He  shook  his  head  solemnly 
over  it,  as  doctors  always  do  when  theydiave 
nothing  in  particular  to- say.  Both  Langhetti 
and  Drapard  knew  more  about  her  case  than  he 
did. 

They  saw  that  rest  was  the  one  thing  needed. 
But  rest  could  be  better  attained  in  Uolhy  than 
here ;  and  besides,  there  was  the  danger  uf  pur- 
suit. It  was  necessaiy  to  remove  her ;  and  that, 
too,  without  delay.  A  close  carriage  was  pro- 
cured without  much  difficulty,  and  the  patient 
was  deposited  therein.   .  \     \ 

«A  slow  journey  broughMhem  by  easy  stages 
to  Holby.  Beatrice  remained  unconsciuus,  A 
nurse  was  procured,  who  tra^^ed  with  her.  The 
condition  of  Beatrice  wa^the  same  which  she  de- 
scribed in  her  diary.  Great  grief  and  extraordi- 
nary suffering  and  excitement\bad  overtasked 
the  brain,  and  it  had  given  way.  V  So  Despard 
and  Langhetti  conjectured.    "' 

At  last  they  reached  Holby.  They  drove  tt 
once  to  Thornton  Grange. 

• '  What  is  this  ?"  cried  Mrs.  Thornton,  who  had 
heard  nothing  from  them,  and , ran  oiit  upon  the 
piazsa  to  meet' them  tys  she  saW  them  comitg. 

"I  have  found  Bi^"  said  Langhetti,  "and 
have  brought  her  bere.\' 

"Where  is  she?"     \ 

"'l'here,"saidLanghi^.  "Igiveher&yoat 
care — It  is  for  yon  to  gi^e  her  back  to  me."  . , 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

OS  TBK  tBACK. 

Bkatbicb'b  disappearance  was  ki^wn  at  Bnui- 
don  Hall  on  the  following  day.  The  servants 
first  made  the  discovery.  They  ^nnd  her  ab- 
sent from  her  room,  and  no  one  had  seen  her 
about  the  house.  It  was  an  tmusual  thing  for 
her  to  be  ont  of  the  house  early  in  the  day,  and 
of  late  for  many  months  she  had  scarcely  erer 
left  her  room,  so  that  now  her  absence  at  once 
excited  suspicion.  The  news  was  communicated 
trom  one  to  another  among  the  servants.  Afraid 
of  Potts,  they  did  not  dare  to  tell  him,  but  flnt 
sought  to  find  her  by  themselves.  They  called 
Mrs.  Compton,  and  the  fear  which  perpetnally 
possessed  the  mind  of  this  poor,  timid  cnsstore 
now  rose  to  a  positive  firenzy  of  anxiety  and 
dread.  She  told  all  that  she  knew,  and  that  was 
uiai  sne  mKi  eeen  nor^Tue  evening  ueioiu  ■b'i*^  i 
al,  and  had  left  her  at  ten  o'clock. 

No  sati8fiH:ti,on  therefore  could  be  gained  from 
her.  The  servants  tried  to  find  traces  of  her, 
but  were  niuble.  At  length  toward  evening,  on 
Potts's  return  from  the  buk,  the  news  was  ood- 
muoicated  to  him. 


■-f:'-i 


CORD  AND  CKEESR 


tod  Btarts.        ^         ''®'  ""'^  conversing  by  fits 
"I don't  think  she's  kiUed  herself  "g-idp  „ 


;;  Of  course  she  ranst" 
^^Jnclud.„g   „„  B„„,„„   ^^       I       „  ^,^ 

''t^^:'??S!rs^/'''Hch.rk; 

thlB.^ny^low'^''  ^•'''^  "^-'  W-  ,..k  of 
irflh"  TO  (^'id  fi.^'"^"i'^  "  ?*P*""  8«n'e.     I'oniy  I      »^i!/,''*^  '*!''P««'l !»»»  silence 


>-:?sj.rh'2,i'£,^.'^ "-.  don.. 

"..  .nd  th.  ^t;,J3  ;x  !:"*  ■»  ««»'• 

Potts  shook  his  head. 

"After  what  she  toid  me  it*.  ™„  k  i-  *    . 

«  «o  any  .|,i„„      whv.'^KH '.    ^^  ^'^'^  "he 


•  I  ?.».   '  V:  ""  i"-">orrow  ?"         /  '  "^ 

a«ely?""  "•"  '"^  ^  «»"  l^er^'reM  Po.ts,  sav- 
" But  where?"  / 

«>«  to^S.l'SZ.f^  '''""/*''''^''  «^'-'  to 
"What?"      """""K-  .1, 

Joh„t?^„tfc><'rotts.   ^Yonrpnp, 

^ Joh^n^pounded  k  fist  on  the  table  with  «vage 

"My  blood-honnd !    Good   oM  n  j      .^ 

TfieTdpTtr*""''"^^''" 

we'll  arrive  at  tlTe  sDot  J.f^.  "i""*  "^"^^  'hat 
It'B.thebest  wrthrTTll°".h« '»  «>'«  her. 


-  --•-  """"IV  Ills  neau  mc 
nope.iii  feeling  about  thin     h«  '    ""  """  ""  'ery 

wives  went  fonh  toTAT^'w  '■'«*"»  lliem- 
!»«.  «.d.  Ttt, 'nfl.'?.:;!?  """'ion  l«d 


toldherany  thing?"  aS  J  i  "*  '"^   °"'^"'  '-    ■*''"*°"'  ""is.    He  wa»«),.w«„  .„  ...-! 

;;M.e  didn't  know  any  thihg  to  teU." 
Mrs.  Compton  must  have  blown    hen  " 

•Jl^nStTn^SS'te  7-ftuthat 
»h«  she  told  us  S^oiTpf  l>v.ng  that  knows 
d»^*.W,sher^^^^^^^^^  How 


"Jou're  not  going  to  give  unTho  ^    u  he  was  required  to  sLt   „^J\      "'  "  "^"^  'h«i 

jwr  asked  Cl^k.  «*"«•*«  "P  the  search,  are  trail  oat^Srongh  the  ftn;..  h    ''*  J""' """ "»  her 
:;G^»eitup!    Not  I."  and  nptoTeT.tl   '"'«''' down  the  stefl., 

We  most  get  her  back."  L  '"'«  "thers  followed  after     Th-  j     i  ^  . 

^'allh -5^/^^-  ^-^--^^^k^^^^ 
TWe  was  a  long  silence.  ^"^  of  h^  dres,  ,t  {"^bfu^  tZ^^-'}!- 

/:P^fnJT^X^rL^<^  moodily,    S^riea^^tar^^TT*-^-^^^ 

«f  the  trial  no  onel,-.  2^'    ?''  ""*'«  the  time   fromJuLl      T*»  h8d-w?n'lered  in  her  flight 

I  ««girl  did.""  ""•  ••"•  """>'«'n«l  it  to  me  till   Z5i|'„d  £lS  S^^A^j^'^'he^J  ^A 

I  j^And  she  is  only  twenty  yea„  old,"  rejoined 

J  "'W^tf'rf.e^is'tSlfTP'"  ™™«*«d  ChrkT 
I  •"dcruA  h^"  '^  •'""»  ''«  "'Mt  fight  it  oni 


ff^  ■ 


romJ^al. 
ert^Kn 
'■/^■Ple 


,  (?^«n«>  I  w^^ttyj'T'  y«»"  have 
I  S;;^  h*.  ,i.5^^£^h  n^  fo«owe«^ 


,^meJs^tJi^«l;T£llCrK^ 

- »  do  Then  he  W  th!m  ti    "'"i  *^  «w  I»5l  Wii: 

^marked  Clark ,    he  .ILli^hS*  A^'pST^SI""'!**' I*^  ^"^1 

»  ^.r*?'^?  '  '°"« <leep  howl.  "^  op  !«•  . 

;;  What's  thi«?"saiaPotU. 
^  -™...... ,  wall  r^ihow  *  53?  Z'w.^"'''  «°»  «^  *« 


,-f;.-,- 


:i>K*.rKs.!s..--*-,a!Ff./;-v.-;i  ip- :, 


,        188 


CORD  AND  CREESE. 


r,iu 


=^^. 


'war,  Do^T  TOO  bbk?^  shb'b  got  ovkb  tuh  wall  somehow." 


The  others  at  once  understood  tbaMbiB  mnst 
be  the  case.  '  In  a  short  time  they  Were  on  th^ 
other  side  of  the  wall,  where  the  dog  found  the 
trail  again,  and  led  on  while  they  followed  as 
before. 

They  did  not,  however,  wish  to  seem  like  pur- 
suers. That  would  hardly  be  the  thing  in  a  coun- 
try of  law  and  order.  They  chose  to  walk  rather 
slowly,  and  .John  held  the  dog  by^  strfip  which 
he  had  brought  with  him.  They  soon  found  the 
walk  much  longer  than  they  had  anticipated,  and 
began  to  regret  that  they  had  not  come  in  a  car- 
ri^.  They  had  gone  too  far,  however,  to  rem- 
edy this  now,  so  they  resolved  to  conflue  on 
their  way  as  they  were. 

"Gad!"  said  John,  who  felt  &tigued  first, 
"  what  a  walker  she  is  I" 

"  She's  the  devil !"  growled  Clark,  savagely. 

At  last,  after  about  three  hours'  walk,  the  dog 

stopped  at  a  place  by  the  road-side,  and  snuiFed 

in  aU  directions.     The  others  watched  him  anx- 

-iously  for  kJong.-timA.    The  Aog  ran  all  around 

,glu£B'ng  at  the  ground,  but  to  no  purpose. 

He  bad  lost  the  trail.  Again  and  again  he 
triad  to  recover  it.    But  his  blood-thirsty  instinct 

a  completely  at  tugik     The  trail  had  gone, 
i^last  the  animah>aiii|i9  up  to  his  master  and 
erooMed  down  at  his  feet  With  •  low  mowL 


■/ 


"  Sold  1"  cried  John,  with  a  curse. 

"What  con  have  become  of  her  ?"  said  Pofti. 

"I  don't  know,"*. said  John.  "I  dire  sar 
she's  got  took  up  in  some  wagon.  Yes,  thats 
it.  That's  the  reason  why  the  tr^il  has  gone.""  ^ 
.  "  What  shall  we  do.i^w  ?  We  can't  follow. 
I^  may  have  been  the  ooacA,  and  she  may  ha^e 
got  a  lift  to  the  nearest  railway  station." 

"Well,"  said  John,  "111  tell,  you  what  wean 
do.  Let  one  of  us  go  to  the  inns  that  are  near- 
est, and  ask  if  there  was  a  girl  in  the  coach  that 
looked  like  her,  or  make  any  inquiri||tlmt  mar 
be  needed.  We  could  find  out  that  Wnh  at  an; 
rate." 

The  others  assented.  John  swore  he  was  too 
tired.'  At  length,  after  some  conversation,  iber 
all  determined  to  go  on,  and  to  hire  a  carriage 
iMick.  Accordingly  on  they  went,  and  soon  reach- 
ed an  inn.  -f 

Here  they  made  inquiries,  but  could  learn  no-^ 
thing  whatever  about  any  girl  that  had  stoppeii 
there^  Pofta  then  hired  a  carriage  and  drove  off 
to  the  next  inn,  leaving  the  others  behind.    He  j 
returned  in  about  two  hours.     His  face  bore  an 
expression  of  deep  perplexi^.  *• 

*'  Well,, what  luck,  dad  ?''  asked  Joha      »> 

"There's  the  devil  to  pay,"  growled" Pot* 

"Did,>ott  find  her'/" 


^B& 


AND  CH?;E8K. 


180 


Ilia  wilTtoUl  1  °"  '""^  ''^'-  f^nd,  till  it  L 


ii  her  brother. " 

"Who?"^ 

"  His  name  is  Courtena 
ood  Lionel  J>e8|)ard,"  saic!  I'ott^ 

The  others  returned  his  look 'in 
dennent.  ^ 

"IVe  been  thinking «n<l  thinking,"  said  Potts 


I,  son  of  Col- 
utter  bewil- 


II  is  will  to  call  us 


CHAI*TER  XXXV. 
bbatkick's  becovbrt. 


— .  ^~°/'  '""^  "JO  overt! 

of  the  world  aJind  C  l^ZjZTT'' 
rfm  «,„k  down  by  the  nJ^Z  K  Jun2 
when  she  began  to  lecovar  ftr.™  »i.  wag  june 
J«.n.ble  e^eiten,rZ>„'S™whlV£\2 

i'^^reS'^^hra^rirs^v^^^^^^^^ 

H*^  Jove  anil  cS,  °eo3d  do'^^t^^J^ 
mittmjrfy  exerted  for  her  benefit.  "^ 


"  v«-  ••       J    l!:      ""  "'"""'  before. 
"And  have >ou  nursed  me?" 

,No,    replied  the  stranger;  "it  was  not  per- 


mit! 


1  me. 


"  «.  tSL""^*^ -"  °""™<"«*fieatrice,  ferventlv 
lie  na»  one  sorrow  Imu  ima  i  '  ""^'""'v- 
' '  He. "  said  VVh  *"ve  you  ?" 

)a  must  not  soeaic     v^ ...:/i- "?.^.'-    ^^^ 


ss-  I  now 

onJself 

Bn  f-you. 

Be  Ihp 
.e    i,ri 


■■I»!__l ,  """  "»™    TOW 

"litoigly  exerted  for  her  benefit 

f«te  in  their  lovelines.,.  were  ^S-,!^ "?" 
Ae  expn^ion  that  dweU  nZ  ^^1^1^  ''^ 
P«N  «  was  spiritual,  it  w^Toly    "li  XT^ 

In  WeoiJuSmSnTSL'"  ^'•"™«  ^"'W* 
Wnt  fancy  that^w.^        '"i"*  "  ""'  ''"d  * 
«e,Sithefol    •?  '"?''■«'  stateof  exist- 

«fcon»  h^X«     piltn^K  appointed  to 


^I^ghetU."  said  Beatri^.    ..Qh,  God  be 
home^'ifhtsiTter  ' "  "'"'"  ^•"'  *°  •-  »>-«  -^ 


so  lovinjflv ?    Ah  ^T-Za  •" ""•'" j""  "**"  'o  *Pe"'' 

irtS^  pi2S'"    ■°°*" "™ '»  -  •* 

idlf°Tlnl^'  ^*^*«  '^g**  to  «<=over  rap- 
idly.    I^nghetti's  sister  seemed  to  her  alnm^ 

iuh'soS'r*'*  '""''  1''«  "»'*  CnZAZ. 
with  some  of  her  most  pleasant  memories  i^ 
atmosphere  of  love  was  around  her  t^e  n^r 
Hufferet  inhaled  <he  pure  and  life-g^Wng^  '^d 
strength  came  with  every  breath  ^  '  ^ 
At  length  she  was  able  to  sit  un  and  thon 
frtetti  saw  her.,  He  gi^t^l  h6r  wSh^ 
the  ardent  and  impassioned  warmth  which  W_ 
so  sinking  «t*M»«»T,Hc  of  hJK  i^^^H^t^ 


-=  ».uo...  nna  impassioned  warmth  which  waa 
so  sinking  «t*«ni«ertsHc  of  his  impuki^^ 
«flfectk,na.e  nature.  Then  she  sawX^rd."^ 
fiiifjK  ^  fomething  about  this  man  which 
fiUed  her  with  indefinable  emotions.  TtTk^owt 
«Ige  which  she  had  of  the  mysterious  fate  of  S 
father  did  not  repel  her  from  him.  A  wondl  "" 
and  subtle  sympathy  seemed  aiWto  iClS 
tweenthetwd.    lie  stem  fccerflSSSd 


0. 


-'^^ 


m 


CORD  AND  CKKKSE. 


/^^ 


1 ' 

•>! 

11 

^^:iM 

^                        -2"-        "   ~^=5    a-—          .-.js 

r-  ^^^^H.              sfl^i^ 

/iiJ^^E.^^^JBH 

^\     i''"''''^'^'%^' 

II 
'.     ',      '1' 

I 

1  > 

j 

'    I' 

1 

'iff'  ''^  • 

■I  ,  ni. 

ii,'  *'■"■■«: "f^J 

IIATRICli  AFB^IEt)  HEB  STE8   AFTER   HER  LONG   nNCOS80IOD8NB88,  8HB  LOOKCD 
"  AHOCND   IN  WOKDBB." 


f  n  softer  nndMBM^ial  exprcission  wiien 
h«r.     His  tlimwas  gentle  and  aflection- 
at^'  almost  paternal. ' 

What  W»  the  feeling  that  arose  within  her 
heart  tovylrd  this  nmn  ?  With  the  one  fof  her 
father  who  had  inflicted  on  his  father  so  terrihle 
a  fotd,  how  did  she  dure  to  look  him  in  the  faiie 
or  exchange  words  with  Irim?  Should  she  not 
^rather  shrink  away  as  onee"  dte  sii»Bk  from 
Brandon  ? 

Yet  she  did  not  shrink.  His  presence  bronght 
a  8tra<igo  peace  and  calm  over  her  soul.  His  in- 
fluence was  more  potent  over?  her  than  that  of 
Langhetti.  In  this  strange  cf>mpany  he  seemed 
to  her  to  be  the  centre  and  the  chief. 


Te  Beatrice  Edith  was  an  iippenetntUe  mjs- 
tery.     Hei"  Whole  "mamier  excited  her  dee|»< 
reverence  and  at  the  saine  time  her  strongeat  en- 1 
riosity.      'Hie  fact  that  she  was  hit  sister  wonU  I 
of  itself  have  won  her  heart ;  but  there  were  ott- 
er things  about  her  which  aflFected  her  strangely. 

Edith  moved  among  the  others  with  s  straiift  I 
far-off  air,  Vn  air  at  once  full  of  gentle  ntfectiofti  j 
jret  tftaeccupieda  Her  manner  indicated  I^J 
yet  tni  love  pf  one  who  was  far  abpve  thepi.  ™| 
was  like  some  grown  person  associating  "ii''| 

Soung  children  whom  ho  loved.     "  Her  ioal  *«I 
ke  a  star  and  dwelt  apart"  . 

Paolo  seemed  igiore  like  an  equal;  bat  P«jJ| 
hims^f  approached  equali^  only  beouiBe  hec 


fvk, 

During  these  week 
MiDlans.     She  embi 
_      "Yoa  have  a  miss 
I,  for  nothing  that  youi 
.joo.    I  have  written 
tttwordiuary  cireum 
it  ii.    Never  hav6  I 
AwM  be  representc 
Vdce.    At  my  time  < 
■r  way.    My  Bice,  ( 
war  together." 

Jtattrice  grasped  ea 

»  Alger,  to  iiiterpret 

i,  netml  delightful  ti 

«|i«ndent  on  no  frienc 

■ifiwsg.    She  would  i 

^leness,  with  her  I 

c.would  come  to 

«J»  the  purpose,' the 

mot  her  lifa     If  tl 

,  "Ueh  could  alleviate  » 

I  wltant  joy  which  was 

Mraw  Art— that  Art  i 

Wh  and  heaven.    An 

•Mjoy,  that  she  had  oi 

»w  so  sensitive  to  mu 

wran  itself  appeared  t 

I  ^jtlwse  were  lovere 

W  Mights  to  which  CO 

■tn.    To  the  »onl  whi 

"Pwity  for  understand 

nmarejoys  peculiar,  at 

»luch  nothing  else  that  tl 

,   .Ifnghettiwasthehia 

I  "»*>.    Edith  was  the  p 

I  "Wty.    Be,itrice  was  th 

J  ■^•VoJeethatbrough 

1.  *"•  Thomton'and  D 

T  StTT  ^^0  TOhlfmi 

I  ^..^'"h  the  others  wi 

«•*  was  like  the  son 

J«gtietti  like  the  min 

I    .7**'ce  l«8embled  th 

"w*  the  spiritual  is  o 

"••wasthe  Voice  whici 


A*^ 


,CORD  AND  CREESE. 


141 


— -V  t.i«»t.  7*  men  ft 

tt  tnoiher,  yet  more  delic&te  and 

f onipiWJenl„:'"  '""^  """'*''•'••  """  »'«^""1 

le  once  qucHtioned  Mm.  Thom-ton,  Uit  re-" 

led  no  MtiHfaction.     Mn,.  Thornton  V,^k7d 

Interio;!.,  but  Hhook  her  head         ^ 

;  Your  brother  treads  her  tike  a  divinity  "t 
.    ^.uppone  he  think.  «he  i.  Home.hin^^re 

"it^'Tnl'r''  '.*""  ""''  "'  '"'^  *»"'^''  I  feel  ?". 
res ,  and  HO  does  every  one.     I  feel  tow.ir./ 

jer  a,  thongh  .he  belonged  to  anotk^r  Zrl± 
bfae  take*  no  interent  in  this." 
t'_    "She  minted  me. '^ " 

"Oh  yen !     Every'  act  of  love>,V  kindness 
wUch  .he  can  perfo,™  .he  seeks  out  and  d^s 
taj^now  as  you  glow  better  she  ftfHi  bac^  uS 

^Sdr^iinded  by  such  friends  as  }hese  Beatrice 
.'iff'i'^  ,^!e.'."'i '■7  ""^"K'h-     Weeks  went  on! 


«i«  length  sh/liegLrirmovea^^^^ 
■  gt^ides  and  /rives,  and  to  stroU  .h^ugh'S  Z:i'^lX>SJl^^-  .-'  H 


in  his  hiu. .  «  ■"  ""»"■«.  indeed  that  he 

l^mesS.h'^'""'""! *""'""'"■«**'  "''""W  have 
JZj  wi,i   i"r'* ""  **  "!•*"'  ""•!  """"W  '"Ok  rot 

ducetl  the  most  powerful  ettects.     '^"«'"'"*  P"'-^- 
Ihomio.  f„„„J  ,h„,.t|,i,  b„n„  .,,„  r„  S 


During  these  weeks  Paolo  made  known  to  her 
to^htns.     She  embniced  them  cfgerly 
I   /     ^'^oa.'^ve  a  mission, "said  he.     "It  was  not 
I,  for  Bothmg  that  your  divine  voice  Was  J^nTo 

SLnii;         '^•'^"*"  "^  "J*™  ""Jo--  'he  most, 
tttt.ori.naryc.rcurast.moes.     You  know  what' 
kk    Never  hav«  I  been  able  to  decide  hov^^t 
*aM  be  represented.,    I  have  pmyed  for  a 
ISr..  "^  W"'';^J^  ^°"  we^e^own  in 
KgetlS-P'"'^"'''"*'*'"^-     ^'u" 

.  £!!™!  ^^P**^  ^K^'"'-''  »'  this  idea.     To  be 
tJnger  to  interpret  the  thoughts  of  LanirheV 

»Wi  could  alleviate  sorrow  and  imef  it  w««  fh« 
«to.t  joy  which  was  created  wiSierT  the 
2rJW"""  ^«  '^'"•■'»  «'»"«  »  common  t^ 
i  Strihirsrh  i^""  '"fJBeatricp  tC  w^ 
™»J<>jr,  that  she  had  one  of  thoM  HatunM  whfch 
J«  »  sensitive  to  music  Ihat  «nder  iS^  Iwer 
i^jnitself  appeared  to  open  before  he?  ^     ' 


aaw  her  and  s^^'^ZJ^T^^iSTr^ 

I^.«h,t.i  had  .uit^^ed^d^i^it^XuttS 
M!  k'?*""'  ""I'  *■«•  K  ""e  Relieved  him^lf "hi 
H.gh-1'nest  and  Beatrice  the  Pythian  Tw  that 

more'sr;. '''  ^-  --  <^--  -J 

"  We  will  not  Bdt  up  «  new  Delki,"  said  he 
Our  revelations  are  not  new.     ^e  bTiv^ 

In  preparing  for  the  great  work  bef<ira  tJiBm  i» 
was  necessary  to  get  alJame  for  ^Te'''S  ' 
own  name  won  rf„..M.,  .i.u .  ^^"^'i''-    "^r 


Bd  the  de-  I  take  his  namLhnTTw  ^r«r«"i  *i-hed  h^  to  5C>i; 
ing  to  her  diS?  S^jJ^' Pf^?*'-''  ."''""ed  an  exnio^J  ^:^ 
it  was  the.      "  No  "riH-    "  r'* '*"'"'•  ^^'-W? 

her  by  the    in  ,hfs"'  lliopt^her'"".^'^"""''.  ''"""""^^     Ff 
ommon  to    name  is  Desoa^      ifV  '  ''2  "'"•''  *'««''-     ««•• 
there  waa   I  shil  L^^^lll    "l'^!"  tokes«ny  other  i«me  ,         k 


inthis.     ladoptiheV    ^he  U mvsister   H«. 

Tshf ll'"  ^r"!-    "  ■"«>  '«k«^S  other  Jt 

I  shall  consider  it  as  an  intolerable  slight  ">- 

He  expressed  himself  so  strongly  that  Beatrim 

Afl.these  were  lovers  of  music,  and  therefon, '  ^„i  i  '"*"  '.'  *"  ^"fcmous  for  her  to  take  that 
Mdll^ghts  to  which  common  mo^  are  ^^^ '  fnd  f.  "'^'-  k"  "n  "^  'de»  had  become  w3^ 
J*.  To  the  »onl  which  i.  endZd^tHhe  '  «ft^  tr^-'^»fi^«^"J'*'»«nthatreS 
«PMi^  for  understanding  the  deliirhts  of  ton«  I      i       u  *»  'citations\df  Despai^.  '   ■ 

Aware  JOJ.S  p«mliar. at  oSce pure  «*d  enSunW    J^'l'^^'^^*^  foed'at  onca     m  fece ^ 

ridrt     W^^     ®  P'-esiding  or  inspiring  di-  ter  for  a  iife^JTy    n^^^*  •"^^'^*"  """>«  het- 

-S.1V  f*"nce  was  the  medium  of  uttetance  »nH   Ik  HP    •  '^^P«fd  wm  an  English  nama 

Hhe  Voice  that  brought  down  heaven  to  ™rth  ^,'/'^''"«''  anstocrati?,  was  not  o^wU^ 

^iJhorntoit-and  IJespapd  Xd  .^"i  «^*/'"«r. ."3^'  have-.  ^         "'"'-''  * 

I  ^'^^tfie  irabUme  effect*  and  iffimo!  „,m  i   ""  i"*'"*^?  "^"^^^^KisW^^^ 

!  <»«  which  the  other,  wrought  ourvvitWn  thZT  Zd  ^f "«''«"  '  "ho  had  never  ^en  up  hh  dd 

Edift  was  like  the  sonl.  "  *^*"°-  >  '^'*''  f'?'«™«>  manner  toward  her.      "it  L  „I 

I     ^~  '^     "  ■  I        What  other  things  f  _        - 


'■■^ 


>'  KV*--^^ 


r  -w^^ 


142 


CORD  AND  CREESE. 


"  Not  connected  with  Art,''continnedLangh9t- 
tl,  evasively.  "  1  will  tell  you  some  day  wWbn  the 
time  comeii. "  / 

"  Now  you  are  exditing  my  cnrioMty,"  said 
Beatrice,  in  a  low  and  eahiest  tone.  '  "You  do 
not  Isnow  what  thoughts  you  excite  ^thin  me. 
Either  you  ought  not  to  excite  such'  ideas,  or  if 
you  do,  it  is  your  dutyito  satisfy  them." 

"It  is  not  time  yet; 

"  What  do  you  mean  bv  that  ?" 

"That  is  a  secret." 

"  Of  course ;  you  make  it  one ;  but  if  it  is  one 
connected  with  me,  then  surely  I  ought  to  know." 

"  It  is  not  time  yet  fot\you  to  know." 

"  When  will  it  be  time?" 

"I  can  not  telL" 

"  And  you  will  therefore  keep^t  a  secret  top- 
ever?" 

"I  hope,  my  Bicina,  that  the  time  will  come 
before  long." 

"  Yet  why  do  yon  wait,  if  you  know  or  even 
suspect  any  thing  in  which  I  am  concerned  'i" 

"  I  wish  to  spare  you." 

''That  is  not  necessary.  Am  I  so  wea^  that 
I  can  not  \ieai  to  hear  any  thing  which  you  miiy 
have  to  tell?  You  forget  what  a  life  I  have  had 
for  two  years.  Such  a  life  might  well  prepare 
me  for  any  thing." 

"If  h  were  merely  something  which  might 
create  sorrow  I  would  teH  It.  I  believe  that 
you  have  a  self-reliant  naturq,  which  has  grown 
,^  stronger  through  affliction.  But  that  which.  I 
0  Iwve  to  ten  is  different.  It  is  of  such  a  charac- 
ter that  it  would  of  necessity  destroy  any  peace 
of  mind  which  you  have,  and  fill  you  with  hopes 
and  feelings  that  could  never  be  satisfied." 

"  Yet  even  that  I  could  betfr.  Do  you  not 
see  that  by  your  very  vagueness  you,  are  exciting 
my  thoughts  and  hopes  7  You  do  not  know  what 
I  know." 

"What  do  yoa  know?''  asked  Langhetti,  ea- 
gerly. 

Beatrice  hesitated.     No;  she  could  not  tell. 
That  would  be  to  tell  all  the  holiest  secrete  of 
her  heart.     For  she  must  then  tell  almut  Bran- 
.  don,  and  the  African  island,  and  the  manuscript 
which  he  carried  and  which  had  been  taken  from 
his  bosom.     Of  this  she  dai-ed  not  speak. 
She  was  silent. 
,  "You  can  not  knoto  any  thing,"  said  Lan. 

ghetti.  "  You  may  suspect  much.  I  only  have 
suspicions.  Yet  it  would  not  be  wise  to  com- 
municate these  to  you,  since  they  would  prove 
idle  and  without  result." 

So  the  conversation  ended,  and  Langhetti  still 
maintained  his  secret,  though  Beatrice  hoped  to  ' 
find  it  out, 

,  At  length  she  was  sufficiently  recoverM  to  be 
able  to  begin  the  work  to  which  langhetti  wished 
to  lead  her.  It  was  August,  aild  langhetti  was 
impatient  to  be  gone.  So  wherhAugust  began  he 
made  preparations  to  depart,  and  in  a  few  days 
tliey  were  in  London.  Edith  was  left  with'^Mrs. 
Thornton.  Beatrice  had  an  attendant  who  went 
Mtb  hw,  half  chaper&a^hatf  kdyVguBd.     r— 


CHAPTER  XXXVI. 


THE  AFFAIRS  OF  SMITHERS   *  CO. 

For  more  than  a  year  the  vast  operations  of 
Smithers  &  Co.  had  astonished  business  circles 
in  London.  Foqnerly  they  bad  been  consid- 
ered  as  an  eminently  respectable  house,  and  as 
doing  a  safe  busiiiess ;  but  of  late  all  this  had 
been  changed  in  so  sudden  and  wonderful  a  man- 
ner that  no  one  could  account  for  it.  Leavini! 
aside  their  old,  cautious  policy,  they  undertook 
without  hesitation  the  largest  enterprises.  For- 
eign railroads,  national  loans,  vast  joint-stocli 
companies — these  were  the  things  that  now  ocm- 
pied  Hmith^s  &  Co.  The  Barings  themselves 
were  outrivaled,  and  Smitl&rs  &  Co.  reached  the 
acme  of  their  sudden  glory  on  one  occasion,  wlien 
they  took  the  new  Spanish  loan  out  of  the  grasu 
of  even  the  Rothschilds  themselves. 

How  to  account  for  it  became  the  probleia 
For,  allowing  the  largest  possible  success  in  theit 
former  business  to  Smithers  &  Co.,  that  business 
had  never  been  of  sufficient  dimensions  to  allow 
of  this.  Some  said  that  a  rich  Indian  had  bfr 
come  a  sleeping  partner,, others  declared  that  the 
real  ^'mlthers  was  no  more  to  be  seen,  and  that 
the  business  was  managed  by  strangers  who  had 
bought  them  out  and  retained  their  name.  Uth- 
I  era  again  said  that  Smithers  &  Co.  had  made 
large  amounts  in  California  mining  speculationg. 
At  length  the  general  belief  was,  that  some  indi- 
viduals who  had  made  millions  of  money  in  Cali- 
fornia had  bought  out  Smithers  &  Co.,  and  weie 
now  doing  business  under  their  name. 

As  to  their  soundness  there  was  no  question. 
Their  operations  were  such  as  demanded,  ^m  of 
all,  ready  money  in  unlimited  quantities.  ibU 
they  were  always  able  to  command.  Between 
them  and  the  Bank  of  England  there  seemed 
to  be  the  most  perfect  understanding  and  the 
most  enviable  confidence.  The  Rothscliikls  spAe 
of  them  with  infinite  respect  People  began)|B 
look  upon  them  as  the  leading  house  in  Europe. 
The  sudden  apparition  of  this  tremendous  power 
in  the  commercial  worid  threw  that  wotld  into  a 
state  of  consternation  which  finally  ended  in  won- 
dering awe. 

But  Smithers  &  Co.  (wntinned  calmly,  yet  snc- 
cessfully,  their  great  enterprises.  The  Kussian 
loan  of  fifteen  millions  was  negotiated  by  them. 
They  took  twenty  millions  of  the  French  loan, 
five  millions  of  the  Austqan,  and  two  and  « 
half  of  the  Turkish,  'iliey  took  nearly  all  the 
stock  of  the  Lyons  and  Marseilles  Railroad. 
'They  owned  a  large  portion  of  the  stock  of  the 
Penmsular  and  Oriental  Steam  Navigation  Com- 
pany. They  had  ten  millions  of  East  India 
stock.  California  alone,  which  was  now  dai- 
zling  the  world,  could  account  to  the  common 
mind  for  such  enormous  wealth. 

The  strangest  thing  was  that  Smithers  himself 
was  never  seen.  The  business  was  done  by  bii 
subordinates.  There  was  a  young  man  who  rep- 
resented the  house  in  public,  and  who  called 
himirtf  Menderson;  ne  was  a  person  of  iliitiiK  H 
gnished  aspect,  yet  of  reserved  and  somewhat 
melancholy  manner.  No  one  pretended  to  be 
in  his  confidence.  No  one  pretended  to  know 
whether  he  was  clerk  or  partner.  As  he  ww 
the  only' representative  of  Smithers  A  Ca,  Iw 
was  treated  with  marked  respect  wbereTwheq)'  | 
pMTOd. 


■.■ii..„.--.,  ^h\tii^-. 


The  vonng  man,  whether  partner  or  clflrk  ».«^ 
meit^ial  world,  and  the Ma^^l  w  /u  "  /=.?"■ 

derson,  theif  representative  Hi,l  „T  ■  " 

the  rates  of  discounrwere  i^fe  1      amT'  ^"^ 
(at  the  result  of  that  «Sr-    ^^"don 

o%8t,ons  o/the  Rothschilds  we^  obSd  fr^m 

Co.  MeoDeil  fnr..^  '^  J  TT^T'  ""'  '''mitherg  & 

wo4Hd^  Smithe™  &  rr""^  ^r'r'*'  "f  * 
ont    Thr,  I   J  ""«"*  *  Co.  came  forth  victori- 

ion.  ^rCd'nX^tht''hVr;v''''T>'"-"- 

•"tter  hnmiliation  for  that  Dmi-^T^K'  •  ?  u'**  * 

"ceofreven^^-^™^  *,""**  ^'«^^^ 
Cut  M  Sf;.,-     '^.T"*  '^'*«<1  *»  "wallow 

•cr.^^tf.!rr-irKL^u" 


CORD  AKD  CREESE. 


3KS:£rs%"e%n'  ''^'^'^ 

agencies, r^cumte«lt-'''''^"^'P'"?"'' «««'  his 
tbat  his  pUnn^c'  ,;rr":rer  '"xj?™"^?-. 
was  so  vast  that  if  nftL  ^  "•     ^'*  capital 

market.  CoSinto^hf  fi^5'"  •=""'™'  °<*^'he 
the  older  hou^^eThM' V"''"^"'«'«*  •" 
money  than  any  of  them  «„,?<•!  '"'^'  ''°"'^'  «' 
of  action.        V         "'  '"''  '^■'  «'-e«te>-  freedom 

othll'^ZfrnK^J'S '"«  ««-««.  and 
ers  &  Co.  had  vast  f„„^  '*"["  """  ^mith- 
capitals  of  Eu^  an^ir?"  *'?'"*' '"  «"  '^e 
the  West  InSeTt^eiroi/"®"*^"-    ^^'^^  '" 

tnmed  to  carry  on  a  noIW  ^t"i.  ^°-  Z^*"  *^°n- 
those  older  bSkem  Th?P*?i'\^5''  ^°'""«  '« 
ular  felt  this  and  4,. J^^""'**''"'^'  '"  Partic- 

mined  to  the  Lo/drHouse.  ^'''«*""^  "" 

ou5;  offmJn  wfVair,"  **»  ?'-'"^  "•7«te- 
the  ^ce,  a^  whX  Xf«  ^^  '""\'°  '""« '"> 
to  possess  ^horityThri  ^rr*"  '^"^^  '•™ 
he  received  from  H«n;i!l!"    ^*  treatment  which 

affS^e-showS  therrL""*^*  ^'"^'«'  <^ 
and  friendly  ;andfi^Jwn^'°  ^J"""'  •'«™«e 
they  all  tho^htUmZ'ST^''^"'-'^^"'^P^ 

Jel^:«rnB^^«'^^^^^ 

mr«.?rior^en^r;a;r„e?-•^-°»• '"«  ^'-er^th": 

onTf:d'  '""'  '"""' '"  -^"^  '«««"  -ere  lying 


from  VOUr  Rran,!^.,  U.li  .  '"  fOUIS.  It  8 


^  from  y„„r  Brandon  Hall  corresp^^ndr^  he  Jd! 
'asfoi.T''"'^''"'''"^"*'^''-    Theletterwa. 

to  «U  you  what  they  we&fnJ^n&OJ 


-t  l-^'-- 


CORD  AND  CREESE. 


v^3  ^%) 


v/  y 


'  LANOHKTTl  18  AU%'K. 


informed  ron  that  they  kept  three  spies  at  Holbv 
to  watch  her.  One  of  these  returned,  as  I  told 
you  in  my  last  letter,  with  the  information  that 
she  had  gone  to  London  with  a  party  named  T>an- 
ghetti.  Ever  aince  then  ihei/  have  been  talking 
U  over,  and  have  come  to  the  conclusion  to  get  a 
detective,  and  keep  him  Imsy  watching  her  with 
the  idea  of  getting  her  back,  I  think.  I  hope  to 
God  they  will  not  get  her  back.  I  f  yon  take  any 
Jnterest  in  her,  Sir,  bs  you  appear  to  do,  1  hotw 
yofli  will  use  your  powerful  arm  to  save  wsr.ii 
will  be  terrible  if  she  has  to  come  back  here. 
She  will  die,  I  know.  Hoping  soon  to  have 
something  more  to  oommunicate, 

"  I  remain,  yours  respectfiiUr, 

"  Mr.  Smrnns,  Sen.,  London." 


Lonia  read  this  letter  tft^r  several  times  and 
fell  into  deep  thought. 

Kmnk  went  on  reading  his  letters,  looking  up 
from  time  to  time.  At  last  he  put  down  the  last 
one. 

"Loais!"  said  he. 

Louis  looked  up. 

"  Yon  came  so  late  last  night  that  I  haven't 
had  a  chance  to  speak  about  any  thing  yet.  I 
want  to  tell  you  something  very  Important." 

**wenr        "''  ' — — — 

"Langhetti  is  alive." 

"  I  know  it." 

"You  knew  itt  When?  Why  did  yon  not 
teUme?" 

"  I  didn't  want  to  tell  any  thing  that  miglit 
distract  you  from  your  purpose."    - 


\'.i; 


CORD  AND  CHEESE. 


eral  times  and 


thooght^you  would  give  up  all  to  fii^tS."      ^ 

"Well.     I  thought  it  would  be  better  to  let 
n^mg  mtejpose  now.between  us  and  our  pur- 
poK.     No,    he  continued,  with  a  stem  tone 
"no,  no  one  hnwnvop  /io»-  i, .    "  '""o. 


145 


^iZ'  „„  '  r  '■""""''«<'.  with  a  stem  tone 
'no  no  one  however  dear,  however  loved  and 

thought  that  your  generous  heart  would  on Iv  be 

^r^-  .  .^°"  ^""^"^  f««'  «''«  giving  up  eveS 
tfung  to  find  him  out  and  see  him,  and,  theretw7 
I  did  not  wish  yon  even  to  know  it.     Yet  i  £ 

Sie^Lrnr-"^  "^  ""—'  -'«''- 
d«;tot?„!"  "  ^"'^°"'"  -'-l  ^-k,  with 
•_.  "  Yes  thank  God !"  said  Louis.    "  You  will  8e« 

,     But,    asked  Frank,  "do  vou  not  think  Lan 
(*etu  IS  a  man  to  be  trusted /• 

"That  is  not  the  point,"  replied  Louis  "  I 
^X^"«''«">  ''*  °"«  "^  the'nobli'men  tha! 
HL  ^n  .^"V  "^  «»  f™"*  what  1  have 
St'ai     hL  :^  *"'  '^''^"^h  his  name  and 

arnd^rrAettL~ 

or  hmithers,  or  Forsyth,  or  any  bJ^Telse  you 
OT  Henderson.  We  keep  our  i«Tt  teru;e^w« 
have  a  purpose  before  us  nnTfT.!.  ^  ° 
(rm  his'torb  to  its  a™ceompli?hmo;^  •'^^o'ii  mH' 

her  grave  of  horror  unutterable,  calls  us  An 
Pjjonal  feeling  must  stand  aside^  F«nk-yo^" 
«d  mjje-whatever  they  be.  tiS  we^haveZ" 

"L;^°.h^.^?'"'  ^"''^"  '"'''J  ^"k.  «emly 

i^^'anTso'Li'l!'  Her^or/t'T-  ^"^ 
opera-house  to  bring  o.t  aJo^i^'l^St  in 

Jteno/ic^s^sr  !^t  5  r 

K-fo^itM"?  --^  ^'  -^"'51^ 

X^irK„"tirrSb£r 

opera  may  be  worth      tktJL   t  "*'  •"* 

"lU  arrange  all  that  I"  gaid  Frank      -tj.- 

"Tiw  n  fair  cham^r  T?*^  ^^^«*8ftettl  shall 
^^wir  Chance.    I U  arrange  a  plan  to  enforce 

inWdo'^'.fnte  *'"  ^'*P  '■''»  P«nn«nently 
"«Witi  of  hi.  own,  Mdted  by  the  letter  which  | 


FranL  "«  "'"*'  "  ^^^^t  «^«"  from 

faiu"''  '"*""  '^".".''^  he  do?    That  Beatrice  had 
fallen  among  friends  he  weU  knew      He  h^ 

her  o,„  „„„^    £.„„„  n^       ,„,  its 
of  hjr  tag  Bta  b„k  isaln..  h.^"']?    E 

K.^^^K  "^^"^  .h,'*  'houghts.     Yet,  on  the  other 
hand  he  conside,^  the  fact  that  she  wm  to«- 

^..  ^«  .P''«"bihty  of  this  filled  him  wi.hlor- 
ror  The  idea  of  her  being  taken  back  t>  U« 
unaer  the  power  of  those  mifcrewte  from  whom 

Between  him  and  her  there  was  a  gulf  unfeth 

Wo?,I,l  I,:     A      '  ''*'  ''""^  »««"fl'^«  life  itself 
would  he  refuse  to  sacrifim  «von  *.-  ;<■  i 

more  dear  than  life  S?  '''''"  """* 

Yet  here  was  a  case  in  which  she  was  ftn-lnn 

ger  connected  with,  but  striving  S  seTr  ttf 

iierinaangB  ?   That  were  imp)s8  Me.    AUalonff 

her  Zlh-Hf  n**".'V""**'*  ""•!  unsuspected  by 

questi-m  With  him  was-rir^ttcftrt 

gu2-2!S*?f  V"™  >**"'.'"°'^  »•"'  'hat  WM  the 

LanghetU  would  k.H>w  the  charJw^^S 
mies  as  well  as  Beatrice  herself,  and  sTS 

rln^L.*?  ^T*^™  l'''"*^  ''is  chief  reliance  on 
Langhetti,  and  determined  merely  to  secure  «^.m« 

rj'n "  T}^  T'^  "^'^  h"'.  '"'HeUiim  kTw 
It  necessary  he  would  have  Rent  a  band  of  m«n  .!! 
w«ch  «d  gu«i  her  by  day  «.d  iTght  ftTt^ 


'^, 


:i^  ''  A  'A  Ak 


,  X     '"  ^-V  -"^      •' 


>£3^)> 


146 


COED  AND  CREESE. 


idea  never  entered  his  mind  for  tlie  simple  reason 
that  lie  did  not  think .  the  danger  was  pressing. 
England  was  after  all  a  country  of  law,  and  even 
A  father  coirid  not  carry  off  his  daughter  against 
her  will  when  she  was  of  age.  isp  he  comforted 
himself 

"  Well,"  said  he,  at  last,  rousing  himself  from 
his  abstraction,  "  how  is  Potts  now  ?" 

"  Deeper  than  ever,"  answered  Frank,  quietly. 

"The  Brandon  Bank—" 

"The  Brandon  Bank  has  been  going  at  a 
that  would  have  foundered  any  other  com 
long  ago.  There's  not  a  man  that  I  sent  thei 
who  has  not  beoi  welcomed  and  obtained 
that  he  wanted.  Most  of  the  money  that  they 
advanced  has  been  to  men  that  I  sent.  They 
drew  on  us  for  the  money  and  sent  ns  various 
securities  of  their  own,  holding  the  securities  of 
these  applicants.  It  is  simply  bewildering  to 
think  hoVir  easily  that  scoundrel  fell  into  the 
snare."     ' 

''When  a  nian  has  made  a  fortune  easily  he 
gets  rid  of  it  easily,"  said  Ixiuis,  laconically. 

"Potts  thinks  that  all  his  applicants  are  lead- 
ing men  of  the  county.  I  take  good  care  that 
tliev  go  there  as  baronets  at  least.  Home  are 
lor^.  He  is  overpowered  in  the  presence  of 
these  lords,  and  gives  them  what  they  ask  on 
their  own  tentis.  In  his  letters  he  has  made 
some  attempts  at  an  expression  of  gratitude  for 
our  great  liberality.  This  I  enjoyed  somewhat. 
The  villain  is  ^ot  a  difficult  one  to  manage,  at 
least  in  the  finaitcial  way.  I  leave  the  denouement 
to  you,  Louis." 

"The  denouement  must  not  be  long  delayed 
now." 

"  Well,  for  that  matter  things  are  so  arranged 
that  we  may  have  '  the  beginning  of  the  end'  as 
goon  as  you  choose." 

"What  are  the  debts  of  the  Brandon  Bank  to 
ns  now  ?" 

"  Five  hnndred  and  fifteen  thousand  oiie  hun- 
dred and  fifty  pounds,"  said  Franl^ 

"Five  hundred  thousand — very,  good,"  re- 
turned Lonis,  thoughtfully.  "  And  how  is  the 
sum  secured?" 

"Chiefly  by  acknowledgments  from  the  bank 
with  the  "indorsement  of  John  Potts,  Presi- 
dent.' 

"  What  are  the  other  liabilities?" 

"  He  has  implored  me  to  purchase  for  him  or 
sell  him  some  California  stock.  I  have  reluc- 
tantly consented  to  do  so,"  continued  Frank, 
with  a  sardonic  smile,  "futirely  thVongh  the  re- 
quest of  my  senior,  and  he  has  taken  a  hundred 
snares  at  a  thousand  |M)unds  each." 

"One  hi^ndred  thousand  pounds,'"  said  Tx>ni8. 

"I  consented  to  take  his  notes,"  continued 
Frank,  "  purely  out  of  regard  to  the  recommenda- 
tions of  my  senior." 

"  Any  thing  else?"  asked  Louis. 

"  He  urged  me  to  recommend  him  to  a  good 
broker  who'might  purchase  stock  for  him  in  re- 
liable companies.     I  created  a  broker  and  recom- 
— aanded  initti     He 


to  tell  him  which  stocks  were  best,  so  I  kindly 
advised  him  to  purchase  the  Mexican  and  the 
Guatemala  loan.  I  also  recommended  the 
Venezuela  bonds.  I  threw  all  these  into  the 
market,  and  by  dextrous  manipulation  raised  the 
price  to  !i  per  cent,  premium.  He  paid  XIOS  for 
eveiy  jCIOO.     When  he  wants  to  m11  out,  at  he 


may  one  day  wish  to  do,  he  will  be  Incky  if  he 
gets  35  per  cent" 

"  How  much  did  he  buy?" 

"Mexican  loan,  fifty  thousand;  Guatemala, 
fifty  thousand ;  and  Venezuela  bonds,  fifty  thou- 
sand." 

He  is  quite  lavish." 

.  That  makes  it  so  pleasant  to  do 

busjii^is  with  him." 

Did  you  advance  the  money  for  this  ?" 
He  did  not  ask  it.  He  raised  the  monev 
somehow,  perhaps  from  our  old  advances,  and 
bought  them  from  the  broker.  The  broker  was 
of  course  myself  The  beauty  of  all  this  is,  that 
I  send  applicants  for  money,  who  give  their 
notes;  he  gets  money  from  me  and  gives  his 
notes  to  me,  and  then  advances  the  money  to 
these  applicants,  who  bring  it  back  to  me.  '  It's 
odd,  isntit?" 

Louis  smiled. 

"  Has  he  no  bona  fide  debtors  in  his  o^m  coun- 
ty?" 

"Oh  yes,  plenty  of  them;  but  more  than 
half  of  his  advances  have  been  made  to  mv 
men." 

"Did  you  hint  any  thing  about  issuing 
notes  ?" 

"  Oh  yes,  and  the  bait  took  wonderfully.  He 
made  his  bank  a  bank  of  issue  at  once,  and  sent 
out  a  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  pounds  in  notes, 
I  think  it  was  in  this  way  that  he  got  the  money 
for  all  that  American  stock.  At  any  rate,  it 
helped  him.  As  he  has  only  a  small  supph-  of 
gold  in  his  vaults,  you  may  very  readily  conjec- 
ture his  i)eculiar  position." 

Louis  was  silent  for  a  time. 

"  You  have  managed  admirably,  Frank,"  said 
he  at  last. 

"Oh,"  rejoined  Frank,  "Potts  is  very  small 
game,  financially.  There  is  no  skill  needed  in 
playing  with  him.  He  is  such  a  clumsy  bungler 
that  he  does  whatever  one  wishes.  There  is  not 
even  excitement.  Whatever  I  tell  him  to  do  he 
does.  Now  if  I  were  anxious  to  crush  the  Roths- 
childs, it  would  be  very  different.  There  would 
then  be  a  chance  for  skill." 

"You  have  had  the  chance." 

"  I  did  not  wish  to  ruin  them,"  said  Frank. 
"Too  many  innocent  people  would  have  suf- 
fered. I  only  ^Rflshed  to  alarm  them.  I  rather 
think,  fVom  what  I  hear,  that  they  were  a  little 
disturbed  on  that  day  when  they  had  to  pay  four 
millions.  Yet  I  could  have  crushed  them  if  I 
had  chosen,  and  I  managed  things  so  as  to  let 
them  see  this." 

"How?" 

"I  controlled  other  engagements  of  theirs, 
and  on  the  same  day  I  magnanimously  wrote 
them  a  letter,  saying  that  I  would  not  press  for 
payment,  as  their  notes  were  as  good  to  me  aa 
money.  Had  I  pressed  they  would  have  gone 
down.  Nothing  could  have  saved  them.  But  1 
did  not  wish  that.  The  fact  is  they  have  locked 
np  their  means  very  much,  and  have  been  rather 

VMXwSmm   tn    IIMC*        X^Umj--  UlLiQ  VSOXtOSUr  tr  i 

now." 

Louis  relapsed  Into  his  reflections,  and  Fnnk 
began  to  answer  his  letters. 


%}.^-4*^^l     \f.  i 


CHAPTER  XXXVIL 


\, 


CORD  And  creese. 


»  THE  ."PBOMBTHBU8." 

It  took  some  time  for  Langfcefti  to  make  his 
preparations  m.JSondon.  Se^ember  came  h^ 
fore  he  had  completed  them.  '  To  his  surprise 
these  arrangements  were  much  easier  than  he 
had  supposed  People  came  to  him  of  their 
own  accord  before  he  thought  it  possible  tZ 
they  could_,have  heard  of  his  proj«:t.  What 
most  surpnsed  him  was  a  caU  from  the  manager 

S?"h  ^T^T  ^''^"^'  *''°  offered  to^TiJ 
into  his  hands  for  a  price  so  low  as  to  sumrise 
Langhett.  more  than  any  thing  else  that  h  J  oc- 
curred. Of  course  he  accepted  the  offer  grate- 
fi.%  and  eagerly     The  manager  said  that  tht   ^ur  d 

budding  was  on  his  hands,  and  he  did  not  wish  h^L..  v  "  ""  u""  ".'""  '»'"™"'e  circum- 
to  use  It  for  the  present/for  which  rea«,nh«  ^JT  t.^°"  f^'^ii"^  *''«>'  i^dmived  yo.ir  voice 
wouW  be  gUd  to  turn  it  'over  tohim  He  «!j  mo™  „f '''"^- .  ^3  '^"^'^  "hall  admire  it  Zo^ 
marked  also  that  there  was  very  much  stock Tnlr  '^V""''  '^""  P«rfoniiance." 
the  theatre  that  could  be  made  use  of,  for  which  del^'ttV^r^f'^,'  1"'^'  "«  »>«  ""'J-  »>ewil- 
he  would  charge  nothing  whatever.  Langhetd  S'his  o^i  ""'  '>,*=''*"  ■*  ""K'*'  ««"»«  ^ 
w«nt  tn  ^  u  „„,,  ,„..... . .  .  j^"f8nf "   ^J'^^J^^.^pera  successful.     His  exertions  were 


147 

I  them  to  me  uid  influenced  all  the  journals  in 
my  favor.  I  should  be  sure  of  this  if  It  were  no" 
^r'!v's°rif  l"  "■'?« '!"«""'«  actual  re^l^tT 
dered  It  U  .  >r  "'^P'^  perplexed  and  bewil- 
aered.  It  is  a  thing  that  is  without  parallel  I 
hava.a  company  such  as  no  one  has  ever  before 
gaAered  together  on  one  stage.  I  have  emTnem 
prima  donnas  who  are  quite  willing  to  sing  s^ 
ond  and  third  parts  without  caring  what  I  ^ 
hem,  or  whether  I  pay  them  or  not.  I  ffi 
the  musical,  world.     ^If  I.  can  say  is  that  thi 

U  Vha^^"'}'^H,^"•'  ^  •^•'"  not'^comprehend 
what  it^n  J^  '^  to  find  out  from  some  of  them 
what  It  all  meams  but  they  give  rae  no  satisfac- 

voTr  r^L^^r^\'"y  ^'"""'  y°»  will  make 
rn'L.f*"^""t.r. '^«  r»'  fevorable  circum- 


■  - .„.g„  ..v^imiijj  wnaiever.     Lanehetti 

w«,t  to  see  it,  and  found  a  large  number  ofln^g' 
nificently  painted  scenes,  which  could  be  used  in 
hiB  piece.  On  asking  the  n,anager  how  scenes 
of  this  sort  came  to  be  there,  hV  learned  tha 

mrXM^ht^^n**""  .^'P-^nting  the  "Midsum- 
mer Night  8  Dream,"  or  s5)mething  of  that  sort 


-  ....,  „j^.„  „„v»,c»Bnu.  HIS  exertions  were 
OS  unremitting  as  though  he  were  still  strugrifna 
aga.n.st  difficulties.  After  aU  that  had  beeffi 
foijum  he  knew  very  weU  that  ho  was  sure  of  a 
good  house,  yet  he  worked  as  hard  as  though  h^ 
audwnce  was  very'  uncertain.  * 

,«tVh"„?l! »!!:!,„Tr^.!l.T"'"«  ^'i™"-    I-n- 


»  ^..^-v.>  x^icaiu,    or  sometmng  of  that  sort  ai- in„.-i,  .u    '  — ^»-'»"i. 

Langhetti's  means  were  very  Iknited   and  ns  „!.«„•  W    "'^.''PP^ted  evening  came.    Lan- 

he  had  risked  every  thing  on  tiJis^Pment  ho  fhose  halv''*"'^'^  f*»T'^  "  ^'^  "^"-"^  f"'™' 

was  rejoiced  to  find  events  so  very  g^atly  in  his  co^LmH^-'  r/l?^"'"  "^^""^  ^  8"«"  '"™  'he 

fiivor.  ■^  *      "J""  •"»  co-operation  of  the  entire  musical  worid  and  of 

Annflior  n{«>„„.. ^,  ,  the  press.     Yet  when  ho  i««i,„,i  „...._■  . 


&Tor. 

Another  circumstance  which  was  equallv  in  his 
fcvor  If  not  more  so,  was  the  kind  consideration 
of  the  London  papers.  They  announced  his 
forthcoming  work  over  and  over  again.  Some 
of  their  writers  came  to  see  him  so  m  to  get  the 
particulars,  and  what  little  he  told  them  they  de- 
»^bed  m  the  most  attractive  and  effective  man- 

tntJtT  ""'"'*'■  *''"P*^P'*'  presented  themselves 
to  form  his  company,  and  he  also  received  appli- 

fflL  J:/''!^'"!"'"'^"^  "^""^  eminence  and 
foftmes  phiced  them  above  the  need  of  any  such 
thmg.  It  was  simply  incomprehensible  to  Lan- 
ghetti,  who  th^ughly  understood  the  ways  of 
the musiad  world;  yet  since  they  offered  he  was 

mth  these  persons  he  was  amazbd  to  find  that 

Ss  tKn""'  "'!.'?'*"^'  •"'*'«■«'*"'  "bout 
terns ,  they  an  ^ssured  hira  that  they  were  ready 

to  take  any  parlVhatever,  and  merely  wish^  to 
Zn-jH"*  '?P'*«'"t«tion  of  apiece  so  new  and 
•oongirtilashiswassaidtobe.  They  all  named 
•  price  which  was  excessively  low,  and  asS 
h.m  that  they  did  so  onjy  for  form-i  X    Zi 

toving  it  to  Langhett!  either  to  take  thwn  on 
th«r  own  terms  or  to  reject  them.  hT,  of 
^could  not  reject  aid  so  powerful  and  so 

m«l«  he  invited  representatives  of  the  London 
^^""^  present  at  tha  hxBt,    TheyaltcMw 

Mcounts  for  their  respective  joumab.  * 

JE^thi^  ha*  come  into  my  hands.  I  don't 
™o«»twidit.  It  seems  to  me  exactly  as  if  there 
«.  »me  powerful,  unseen  hand  assisting  me^ 


'«r.who^dthe;:"iX^L7.^StLnse"^^!     ^L*^*  ^ '""^"k"^ 

■*""     ^'•««^«»ewM  such,  one  as  had  never  befow 


the  press.     Yet  wheiiheloorjiTut^s^wX 

tr.s.:a.'"' ''''  ^^"«°^'^«  -->-  ^^ 

When  he  thus  looked  out  it  was  long  before 
the  t  me.     A  great  murmur  had  attract^  hS 

part.     AU  the  boxes  were  filled.    In  the  pit  wS 

v,.rL'i?"^^"°"  ?<'8«"''emen  and  kdi^,Z 
very  gnlleries  were  thronged. 

The  wonder  that  had  all  along  filled  him  was 
now  gieater  than  ever.  Ho  well  knew  und" 
what  circumstances  even  an  ordinarily  good  honw 

doubted  fame  in  the  prima  donna,  or  else  the 

teL'^'lfP'^, '}"•''  """P^hensive  efforts  on 
fte  part  of  a  skiUful  impresario.  His  efforts  had 
been  great,  but  not  such  as  to  insure  any  thW 

iply  KssTlZ  ^  "'  "'"'  "^  ^«-  -" 

He  did  not  attempt  to  account  for  it.     He  ac- 

foTmance  ''°"'  ""'^  P«pared  for  the  per- 

hT!lf  r ".fC""  ''^^  *"*  audience  may  have 
had  of  the  "Prometheus"  of  Langhettf  need 
hardly  be  conjectured.  Thev  had  h^  of  ?t  m 
a  noveltv^  '/hey  had  hea«f  that  the^«,mp«? 
was  the  best  ever  collected  at  one  time,  andXt 
tne  prima  donna  wa»  a  prodigy  of  genius  That 
wasenoughforthem.  ^hey^aiteH  a  staS 
expectation  which  was  so  high -pitched  th.t  Jt 
wouldhavep„^v^di«.t«,us1n  Sietlri^L 
mrpteee  or  any  linger  who  should  have  proved 
to  be  in  the  sliglitest  degree  inferior.  CoW.  ~ 
mate  exce  lence  alone  in  every  part  could  now 
jave  the  piece  from  ruin.    This  LanSfehl 

work^'Lr  "kV"^  *"■  '•-  ^  confident  fa  & 
work  and  in  his  company.     Most  of  aU,  he  h«l 
confidence  in  Beatrice. 
At  last  the  curtain  rose. 


us 


l)een  represented.  A  "blaze  of  dnzzling  light  filled 
the  stage,  and  licfore  it  atopd  seven  forms,  repre- 
senting the  seven  arcluingels.  They  began  one 
of  the  Bubliniest  strains  ever  heard.  Kach  of 
these  singers  had  in  sijme  way  won  eminence. 
They  liud,.thi'own  themselves  into  tliis  work. 
The  iniisic  which  had*  been  given  to  them  had 
produced  an  e.xnlted  ettifct  upon  their  own  hearts, 
nnd  now  they  rendered  t'ovth  that  grand  "Chorus 
of  Angels"  which  those  who  "heard  the  "I'ro- 
inetheus"  have  nwer-forgotten.  The  words  re- 
sembled, in  some  Jneasure,  the  opening  song  in 
Goethe's  "  Faust,"  but  the  music  was  LauKbetti's. 
The  eifect  of  this  magnitice'nt  opening  was 
wonderful.  The  audience  sat  spell  -  bound -r- 
hushed  iijto  stillness"  by  those  transcendant  har- 
monies-which  seemed  like  the  very  song  of  the 
nngels' themselves;  like  that  "new  song'  which 
is  spoken  of  in  Kevelation.  'J'he  grandeur  of 
Handel's  stupendous  chords  was  renewed,  and 
every  one  present  felt  its  power.. 

Then  came  the  second  scene."  "■  Prometheus  lay 
suffering.  The  ocean  nymphs  were  around  him, 
sympathizing  with. his  woes.  '|'lre  sufferer  lay 
chained  to  a  bleak  rock  in  the  Summit  of  frosty 
Caucasus.  Par  and  vAde  extended  an  expanse 
•of  ice.  In  the  distance  arose  a  vast  world  of 
snow-covereiil  peaks.  In  front  was  a  mer  de  ijlai: 
which  extended  all  along  the  stage. 

Prometheus  addressed  all  nature — "the  divine 
ether,  the  swift-winged  winds,  Earth  the  All- 
mother,  and  the  infinite  laughter  of  the  ocean 
waves."  The  thoughts  were  those  of  ^schylus, 
expi-cssed  by  tHe  nuislc  of  Lunghetti. 

The  ocean  nym|)hs  bewailed  him  in  a  song  of 
,  mournful  sweetness,  whose  indescribable  pathos 
touched  every  heart.  It  was  the  intensity  of'sym- 
l)athy— sympathy  so  profoimd  that  it  became  an- 
guish, for  the  heilrt  that  felt  it  had  identilicd  it- 
self with  the  heart  of  the  sufferer. 

Then  followed  an  extraordiiniry  strain,  it  was 
the  Voice  of  L'niversid  Nature,  animate  and  in- 
animate, mourning  over  the  agoiy'  of  the  (Jod  of 
Ix)ve.  In  that  strain  was  heard  the  voice  of 
man,  the  sighing  of  the  winds,  the  moaning  of 
the  sea,  the  munnur  of  the  trees,  the  wail  of  bird 
and  beast,  all  blending  in  extraordinary  unison, 
and  all  speaking  of  woe. 

And  now  a  third  scene  o^ned.  ,It  was  Athene. 
Athene  represented  Wisdinn  or  Human  Under- 
standing, by  which  the  God  of  Vengeance  is  de- 
throned, and  gives  place  to  the  eternal  nile  of  the 
God  of  Love.  To  bnt  few  of  those  present  could 
this  idea  of  Langhetti's  be  intelligible.  The  most 
of  them  merely  regarded  the  fable  and  its  music, 
without  looking  for  any  meaning-  beneath  the 
surfaca. 

To  these,  and  to  all,  the  appearance  of  Beatrice 
was  like  a  new  revelation.  She  came  forward 
and  stood  in  the  costume  which  the  Greek  has 
given  to  Athene,  but  in  her  hand  she  held  the 
olive — her  emblen) — instead  of  the  sjxiar.  From 
Beneath  her  helmet  her  dark  locks  (lowed  doii-n 
.nnd  were  wreathed  in  thick  waves  that  clustered 

heavily  about  her  head^ ^ 

Mere,  as  Atheito,  thrpure  rtasslcal  eontbui^  ff 
Beatrice's  features  apjteared  in  manelous  beauty 
— faultless  in  their  [wrfect  Grecian  mbuld.  Her 
large,  dark  eyes  looked  with  a  certain  solemn 
ontaning  out  ui)on  the  vast  audience.  Her  whole 
MM  was  refined  and  sublimed  by  the  thought 
tluu  was  within  her.    In  her  artistic  nature  she 


CORD  AND  CREESE. 


had  appropriated  this  character  to  herself  so 
thoroughly,  that,  as  she  stood  there,  she  felt  her- 
self to  be  in-riMility  all  tliat  she  represented.  The 
8|)ectator8  caught  the  same  feeling  fiom  her 
Yet  so  marvelous  was  her  beautv,  so  astonish- 
ing was  the  perfection  of  her  form  and  feature 
so  accurate  was  the  living  representation  of  the 
ideal  goddess  that  the  whole  vast  audience  after 
ojie  glance  burst  forth  into  pealing  thunders  of 
s]>ontaneous  and  irresistible  a))plause. 

Beatrice  had  opened  her  mouth  tij  l)Cfiin.  bin 
as  thlltt  thunder  of  adiriiration  arose  she  fell  hack' 
a  pace.  Was  it  the  applause  that  had  overawed 
her? 

Her  eyes  were  fixed  on  one  spot  at  the  extreme 
right  of  tlie  pit.  A  face  was  there  which  en- 
chained her.  A  face,  pale,  sad,  mournful,  wi.h 
dark  eyes  fixed  on  hers  in  steadfast  des])air. 

Beatrice  faltered  and  fell  back,  but  it  was  not 
at  the  roar  of  applause.  It  was  that  fai^e— the 
one  face  among  three  thousand  before  her,  the 
one,  the  only  one  that  she  saw.  Ah,  how  in 
that  moment  all  the  past  came  rushing  before 
her — the  Indian  "Ocean,  the  Mfllay  pirate,  where 
that  face  first  appeared,  the  Atlantic,  the  ship- 
wreck,  the  long  sail  over  thfe  seas  in  the  boat,  the 
African  isle ! 
eJ  tSb'e  stood  so  long  in  silence  that  the  spectators 
wondered.    • 

Suddenly  the  face  which  had  so  transfixed  her 
sank  down.  He  was  gone,  or  he  had  hid  him- 
self Was  it  because  he  knew  that  he  jvas  the 
cause  of  her  silence  ? 

The  face  disappeared,  and  the  spell  was  brb- 
ken.  Langhetti  stood  at  the  side-scenes,  watch- 
ing with  deep  agitation  the  silence  of  lieutrice. 
He_^  was  on  the  point  of  taking  the  desperate 
step  of  going  forward  when  he  saw  that  she  had 
regained  her  composure.  r 

."he  regained  it,  and  moved  a  step  forward 
with  such  calm  scretiity  that  no  one  couW  have 
suspected  her  of  having  lost  it.  She  began  to 
sing.  In  an  o[)era  v^ords  are  nothing — music  is  • 
nil  in  nil.  It  is  suflicicnt  if  the  words  express, 
even  in  a  feeble  and  general  way,  the  ideas  which 
breathe  and  bum  m  the  music.  Thus  it  was 
with  the  words  in  the  opening  song  of  Beatrice. 

But  the  music !  What  knguage  can  describe 
ft? 

<^pon  this  nil  the  richest  stores  of  Langhetti's 
genius  had  been  lavished.  Jnti)rtliis  all  the  soul 
of  Beatrice  was  thrown  Mith  sithlime  self  forget- 
fulncss.  She  ceas*d  to  be  hej;f«l*  Before  the 
audience  she  was  -'jLtelJl^ '<<*^ 

Her  voice,  alwiiwTnli^lknyly  rich  and  full, 
was  now  grandei^'imn  iflo(^'ea|iacious  than  ever. 
It  |X)ured  forth  a  falj^strdfcm  of  spatchless  har- 
mony that  carried.1^11  the  audience  captive. 
Strong,  soaring,  (Kinetrating,  it  rose  aisily/  to  the 
highest  notes,  and  Hung  them  fortl)  with  ej  lavish, 
and  at  the  same  time  far-reaching  )x)Hf  r  that 
penetrated  every  heart,  and  thrilled  all  wbHcJieaixl 
it.  Ron.sed  to  the  highest  enthusiasm  by  the 
sight  of  that  vast  assemblage,  Beatrice  gave  Her- 
self upL  to  the  intpxication  of  the  hour, 
threw  fierself  into  the  spirit  of  the  piei'e ;  sli 
took  deep  into  her  heart  the  thought  of  Lan- 
ghetti, aiid  uttered  it  forth  to  the  listeners  with 
harmonies  that  were  almost  divine — such  har- 
monies na  they  had  never  before  heard. 

There  was  the  silence  of  death  as  she  sang. 
Her  voice  stilled  all  other  sounds.     Each  listen- 


THE 


w  seemed  almost  afra 
ed  at  one  another  in 
them  sat  motionless, 
^  forward,  anconscious 
"one  Voice. 
A(  last  it  ceased. 


I?, 


-THE    ArPEARANCE   OFBEATH.CB   WAS   UKE   A  «KW    HBVKCAT.ON." 


^•«rS  "'  °'  ""^  ""'"K  "'"^''I"  that 

Ar  last  It  ceased.    For  a  momant  there  was 


a  pause.     Then  there  arose  a  deep,  low  thunder 

of  ap,.Iaase  that  deepened  and  intensified  itself 

every  moment  till  at  last  it  rose  on  h  gh  i^one 

^"hlime  outburst,  a  frenzy  of  acclaj^on   ,ueh 


I        .'iJW?! 


ISO 


CORD  AND  CREESE. 


Beatrice  was  called  out  She  came,  and  re- 
tired. Again  and  again  glie  was  called.  Flow- 
en  were  showered  down  in  heaps  at  her  fieet. 
The  acclamations  went  on,  and  only  ceased 
through  the  consciousness  that  more  was  yet  to 
come.  The  piece  went  on.  It  was  one  long 
triumph.  At  last  it  ended.  Beatrice  had  been 
loaded  with  honors.  Langhetti  was  called  out 
and  welcomed  with  almost  equal  enthusiasm. 
His  eyes  filled  with  tean  of  joy  as  he  received 
this  well-merit^  tri|>ate  to  his  genius.  He  and 
Beatrice  stood  on  the  stage  at  the  same  tima 
Flowers  wer^.flang  at  him.  He  took  them  and 
laid  them  at  tnefeet  of  Beatrice. 

At  this  a  louder  roar  of  acclamation  arose.  It 
increased  and  deepened,  and  the  two  who  stood 
there  felt  overwhelmed  by  the  tremendous  ap- 
plause. 

So  ended  the  first  representation  of  tlie  "Pro- 
metheus!" 


CHAPTER  XXXVra., 

THE  8KCRBT. 


Tub  triumph  of  Beatrice  continued.  The 
daily  papers  were  filled  with  accounts  of  the  new 
sin^r.  She  had  come  suddenly  before  them, 
and  had  at  one  bound  reached  the  highest  emi- 
nence. She  had  eclipsed  aU  the  popidar  favor- 
ites. Her  sublime  stnins,  her  glorious  enthusi- 
asm, her  marvelous  voice,  her  perfect  beauty,  all 
kindled  the  popular  heart  The  people  forgave 
her  for  not  having  an  Italian  name,  since  she 
had  one  which  was  so  aristocratic.  Her  whole 
appearance  showed  that  she  was  something  very 
dmerent  fh>m  the  common  order  of  artistes,  as 
difletent,  in  fact,  as  the  "Prometheus"  was 
from  the  common  order  of  operas.  For  here  in 
the  "Prometheus"  there  were  no  endless  iteration^ 
of  the  one  theme  of  love,  no  perpetual  repetitions 
of  the  same  rhyme  of  amor«  and  cw>re,  or  amor' 
and  CHor';  but  rather  the  efibrt  of  the  soul  after 
sablimer  mysteries.  The  "  Prometheus"  sought 
to  solve  the  problem  of  life  and  of  human  snffer- 
inff.  Its  divine  sentiments  brought  hope  and 
consolation.  The  great  singer  rose  to  the  alti- 
tode  of  a  sibyl ;  she  utter^  inspirations ;  she 
herself  was  inspired. 

As  she  stood  with  her  grand  Grecian  beau^, 
her  pure  classic  features,  she  looked  as  beautiful 
as  a  statue,  and  as  ideal  and  passionless.  In 
one  sense  she  could  never  be  a  popol&r  favorite. 
She  had  no  archness  or  coquetry  like  some,  no 
volaptuonsness  like  others,  po  arts  to  win  ap- 
plause like  others.  StjUs^e  stood  up  and  sang 
as  one  who  believed  (haiiahis  was  the  highest 
mission  of  hnmanity,  to  ntMr  divine  truth  to  hu- 
man ears.  She  sang  loftily,  thrillingly,  as  an 
angel  might  sing,  and^those  who  saw  her  re- 
vered her  while  thev  listened. 

And  thus  it  was  that  the  fame  of  this  new  singr 
er  went  quickly  through  England,  and  foreign 
Journals  spoke  of  it  half-wonderingly,  half-cyn- 
fcally,  as  usual ;  for  Continentals  never  have  any 
Ha^  in  EnglisfaioT,  or  in  tfie  power  which  any 
Englishman  may  have  to  interpret  art.  lite 
leading  Prtjnch  journals  conjectured  that  the 
"  Prometheus"  was  of  a  religious  character,  and 
therefore  Puritanical ;  and  ccmsequently  for  that 
reason  was  popular.  They  amused  themselves 
with  the  idea  of  a  Fnritanical  opera,  dechued 


that  the  English  wished  to  Protestantiifrjjimgic 
and  suggested  "(Calvin"  or  "The  Sabbath"  aa 
good  subjects  for  this  new  and  entirely  Ehgliiili 
class  of  operas.  i 

,But  soon  the  correspondents  of  some  of  the 
Continental  papers  began  to  Write  glowing  ac- 
counts of  the  piece,  and  to  put  ^nghetti  in  the 
same  class  with  HondeL  He  was  an  Italian 
thev  said,  but  in  this  case  he  united  Italian  grace 
and  versatility  with  German  solemnity  and  mel- 
ancholy. They  declared  that  he  was  the  great- 
est of  living  composers,  and  promise  for  him  a 
great  reputation. 

Night  after  night  the  representation  of  the  "Pro- 
metheus" went  on  with  undiminished  success; 
and  with  a  larger  and  profounder  appreciation  of 
its  meaning  among  the  better  class  of  minds. 
Langhetti  be^n  to  show  a  stronger  and  fuller 
confidence  in  the  success  of  his  piece  than  he  had 
yet  dared  to  Evince.  Tet  now  its  success  seemed 
assured.     What  more  could  he  wish  ? 

September  cam«  on,  and  every  Succeeding 
night  only  made  the  success  more  marked.  One 
day  Langhetti  was  with  Beatrice  at  the  theatre, 
and  they  were  talking  of  many  things.  There 
seemed  to  be  somet^ng  on  his  mind,  for  he  spoke 
in  an  abstracted  manner.  Beatrice  noticed  this 
at  last,  and  mentioned  it 

He  was  at  first  very  tnysterious.  "  It  must 
be  that  secret  of 


'  yours  which  you  will  not  till 
"Von  said  once  before  that  it 


^. 


me,"  said  she. 

was  connected  with  me,  and  that  you  would  teH 
it  to  me  when  the  time  came.  Has  not  the  tim4 
come  yet?" 

"  Not  yet,"  answered  LanghettL 

"When  will  it  come?". 

"Idoiftknow."  ■; 

"  And  will  yon  keep  it  secret  always  T  ■ 

"Perhaps  not" 

"You  speak  undecidedly." 

"  I  am  undecided." 

"Why  not  decide  now  to  tell  h?"  pleaded 
Beatrice.  "Why  should  I  not  know  it ?  Sure- 
ly I  have  gone  through  enough  snfi'ering  to  bear 
this,  even  if  it  bring  something  additional." 

Langhetti  looked  at  her  long  and  doubtfully. 

"  You  hesitate,"  said  she, 

"Yes." 
■  "Why?" 

"It  is  of  too  much  importance." 

"That  is  alt  the  more  reason  why  I  should 
know  it    Would  it  crush  me  if  I  knew  it  ?" 

* '  I  don't  know.     It  might " 

"  Then  let  me  be  crushed." 

Langhetti  sighed. 

"  Is  it  something  that  yon  know  for  certain, 
or  is  it  only  conjecture  ?" 

"Neither,"  said  he,  "but  half-way  between 
the  two." 

Beatrice  looked  earnestly  at  him  for  some 
time.  Then  she  put  her  head  nearSk-  to  his  and 
spoke  in  a  solemn  whisper. 

"  It  is  about  my  mother !" 

Langhetti  looked  at  her  with  a  startled  ex- 
pression. 

"Iritnotn-       /  .  —= 

He  bowed  his  head. 

"  It  is — it  is.  And  if  so,  I  implore — I  con- 
jure you  to  tell  me.  I.«ok— I  am  calm.  Think 
— I  am  strong.  I  am  not  one/vho  can  be  cait 
down  merely  by  bad  news." 

"  I  may  t^U^u  soon." 


"Say  you  « 
"IwilI,"Ba 
"When?" 
"Soon." 
"Why  not! 
"Thatisto< 
"Qf  course  . 
not-  to  Be  so  ? 
cernsme?  aijd 
in  the  endeavor 
it  may  be  ?" 

She  spoke  g< 
moved,  and  lool 
"When  will 
"Soon,  perhs 
tation. 
"Why  not  n< 
"Oh  no,  Imu 


"  To-morrow, 

He  hesitated. 

"Yes," said  si 

jou  do  not,  1  sh 

noconfidence  in  r 

Langhetti  was 

"I  shall  expe< 

tjlce. 

Langhetti  still 

"Oh,  very  wel 

ihe,  in  a  lively  toi 

"  I  have  not  co 

"  Yes  yon  have 

"I  was  deliberi 

"  I  asked  you  ( 

•nrely  that  means 

"  I  do  not  say  e 

"  But  you  will  ( 

"  Do  not  be  so  ( 

'     "Yes,  rwilll)6 

me  you  will  vef  I  d 

"In  telling ydta 

"^iorrow  or  joV 

«o  long  as  I  know 

that  I  am  actuated 

you  know  me  bett 

Mbjects  me  to  the  t 

anxious  to  have  tlic 

"The  removal  ' 

pense." 

"Thatisirapossi 
"You  would  not 

was." 

"Tellme,  then.• 
"ThatiswhatI 

"Do  you  fear  foi 

ion?" 

"Only  for  you." 
"Donot  fearfoiri 
it  is  not  only  my  di 
may  know  this." 

Langhetti  seemed 
Whatever  this  secret 
troubled  he  seemed  i 
either  from  fear  that 
Jiielf  or  result  in  am 
probable,  lest  it  mij 
This  last  was  the  mc 
wence  him  most  str 
••wet  of  which  he  spi 
*>>W>ly  important  cht 
ly  the  life  and  fortwic 
MibraMdlwrowni 


ka^'iiikifaiyg^ 


"Say  you  will." 

"Soon."  -<«Vj» 

"  Why  not  to-morrow  ?" 

"'^^"  '"^  ^V  ^<»'  ^"^  impatient" 
^  Of  courw  I  am,"  gaid  Beatrice.     "  Oneht  I 
not  to  be  80  ?     Have  you  not  said  that  tw"  con 
cern*  me  ?  a«d  ia  not  all  my  imaginarn  aroZl 

m„™^  ^'^.^t  "P  earnestly  that  I^nghetti  was 
mo yedj^and  looked  still  mo.^  undecidli 

When  will  you  tell  me  ?" 
J^^n,  perhaps/  he  replied,  with  some  hesi- 

"  Why  not  now  ?" 
^'Oh  no,  I  must  assure  myself  fl«t  about  some 

"To-morrow,  then." 

He  hesitated. 

"  Jes, "  said  she ;  « it  must  be  to-morrow  If 
yon  do  not,  I  shaU  think  that  you  haveXtie  or 
noconfidence  in  me.  I  shall  nvnLf ;, .  °l 

Langhetti  was  silent  *'^' "  ^"»°'™«'- " 

^I  shall  expect  it  to-morrow,"  repeated  Bea- 
Langhetti  still  continued  silent 

•he.Tn'iuv'^yTonl''"^""  «'^-"'---t'" -id 
"  I  have  not  consented." 
"  Yes  yon  have,  by  your  silence. "      • 
I  was  debberating  " 

^n^JffnS/rZ-^^""''''^--^-' 

"'i«t7o"u  wj;^o''so^''^"«''«''^  -™-tly. 
"  Do  not  be  so  certain  " 

«o  long  as  I  know  this.     You  w!  I  «„, 

t:  ir  '^"T^  "^  simple  femSinTcuZT 
Youkiiow  me  better,     This  secret  is  one  ffi 
,   rabjects  me  to  the  tortures  of  susiwn^,  ""i  i 
Mxious  to  have  them  removed  "P""*^'  ""*'  ^  "" 
^•he  removal  wifl  be  worse  than  the  sus- 

"That  is  impossible." 
^^You  would  not  say  so  if  you  knew  what  it 

I'Tellme,  then." 
','That  is  what  I  fear  to  do." 
^Do  you  fear  for  me,  or  for  some  other  per- 

"Onlyforyon." 
ii  ll^.""*/**'  ^"i"^^  *«".  I  bese^h  yon  •  for 
ly  knr  Ss7  '"•"'  "»'  "^y  P-yeMhat'"! 

eStTr  «f«"  "  teU  i  tl^tricr 
either  from  fear  that  it  might  not  be  anyTn2r?n 

Fotoble,  lest  it  might  too  greatly  affect  Iwr 
Tb,  last  was  the  motive  which  apJe^Sto^n 

"cret  of  which  he  spoke  mast  have  been  raa  of 
ffi'L™P««?»'«hamcter,«ffectingm;stX^ 


COBD  AND  CREESE. 


161 

Langhetti  assented  and  nromiHwI  n„  ♦>...         ^ 

It  was  for  these,  tl^en,  that  Beatrip^^^itad  in 
anxious  exiiectation, '  "«»"  w  'waj^  m 


CHAPTER  XXXIX. 

THE  CAB. 

gr^ed'whh"'?,*  H  *"''*"\''  P«»*»™«mce  had  been 
greetea  with  louder  applause  than  usual  «nH 
what  was  more  gratifying  to  one  like  her  th«„f 
fectiye  passages  had  been  listenll  to  S  a  stiU 
ness  which  spoke  more  loudly  thaa  "he  loud«.t 
applause  of  the  deep  interest  of  thraudUce 

heWorffoSstrdtrsiiS^^ 

ma"n"wfi  Z'^lta^'V^  Z^"- 

fsaPjimfsSpaS^^^^^  i 

discoye.7  she  wK  on  the  ^int  o^ing  tk  S 
Ste1en^y"^n'""'-  ?*"'  "^bman^foLSS 
Sd  ii^H  Pr'T"'«.'°  !"''«  ''«'•  wherever  she 

*"/.«'""«,  I^nghetti  abou^  so  small  a  maSw-    • 
«o  that  at  length  she  decidtd  to  employ  tZ^rl  ' 
^venng  cabman,  thinking  t^Tat  hecou?J^eC 
to  her  lodgings  as  weU  as  ahy  body  else. 

took  no  notice.    Then  she  |tried  to  open  thS 


•—•««  uui  uo  go  irom 
hhe  sat  down  and  thought .     What~miiW  K. 

*«™n'"«°^*"^    ThfylrerenowSSiS 
.  ~-  —  _..„  ,„,i„„og  oi  ueatrj™  he„«|f     ci:„      mucn  taster  rate  than  is  con^mon  in  the  str«>«t« 

•1  her  own  id«»  ^  C  i^^^^  \  t"^^^'  '^"'^  '^"'  't  8oi««  1  S 


•152 


CORD  AND  CHEESE. 

\"1 


cried  Deatricc,  and  t>he  ojjened 


She  was  not  afraid;     Iler  chief  feeling  wag  one  [    \"  Help  mff ! 
of  indignation.     Either  the  Ciibnmn  was  drunk    the  ciil)  door. 
— or  wlmt  t    Conid  he  hiive  l)een  hired"  to  carrv  j      "  'I'lio  policeman  can  do  nothing,"  sixid  I'otts. 
her  off  to  her  enemies  ?     Was  slie  l>etrayed  'i    '  |  "  Yon  are  not  of  ago,     lie  will  not  dure  to  take 

'J'his  thought  Hushed  like  lightning  through    you  from  nie.'      * 
her  mind.       •  "'  implore  you."  cried  Ileatrice,  "sdvp  me 

.Mie  was  not  one  who  would  sink  down  into  in-  I  from  this  man.  Take  meto  the '])olice-s^t  ion- 
action  at  the  sudden  onset  of  terror.  Her  chief  any  where  rathecthan  leave  me  here!" 
feeling  now  was  one  of  indignation  at  the  audaci-  j  "  Yon  can  not,"  «uid  I'tJtts  to  tlie  liewililoied 
ty  &f  such  an  nttem|it.  <  )beying  the  first  impulse  '  policeman.  "  Li.<ten.  ^he^ig  mfdiiugliiir  imd 
tiiat  seized  her,  she  took  the  solid  roll  of  nuisic  underage.  She  run  awiiy  witl»i«  stmllinj^  Imlian 
which  she  carried  with  her  and  dashed  it  against  vagahond,  with  whom  she  jsijjijding  an  iniproiK'r 
the  front  window  so  violently  that  she  broke  it  life.  I  have  got  her  back."  i\  • 
in  piet'es.  Then  she  caught  tilie  driver  by  the  "  It's  false  I"  cried  Heatpict^,V.cliemently  "I 
sleeve  and  ordered  him  to  stop.  j  fleil  from  this  man's  housC^eSOiise  1  feaied  his 

"All  right,"  said  the  driver,  and,  turning  a    violence."  ^     '■ 


corner,  he  whipi)ed  up  his  horses,  and  they  gal- 
loped on  faster  than  ever. 

"If  you  don't  stop  I'll  call  for  help!"  cried 
Beatrice.  * 

The  driver's  only  answer  was  a  fresh  ap])lica- 
tion  of  the  whip. 

The  street  up  which  they  turned  was  narrow, 
and  as  it  had  only  dwelling-houses  Fl  was  not  bo 
biightly  lighted  as  Oxford  Street.  There  were 
but.few  foot-]>assengers  on  thcj.  sidewalk.  As  it 
was  now  about  midnight,  most  of  the  lights  were 
'  Jiegas-lami)s  were  the  chief  ineans  of 


illumination 

Yet  there  was  a  chance  that  the  police  might 
save  her.  With  this  hojie  she  dashed  her  music 
scroll  against  the  windows  on  eilCh  side  of  the 
cab  and  shivered  them  to  atoms,  calling  at  the 
toj)  of  her  voice  for  help.  The  swift  rnsh  of  the 
cab  and  the  sound  of  a  woman's  voice  shouting 
for  aid  aroused  the  police.  They  started  forward. 
Hut  the  horses  were  rushing  sO  swiftly  that  no 
one  dared  tt>  touch  them.  The  diiver  seemed  to 
them  to  have  lost  control.  They  thought  that 
the  horses  were  running  away,  and  that' those 
within  the  cab  were  frightened. 

Away  iheff  went  through  street  after  street, 
and  Beatrice  never  ceased  to  call.  The  excite- 
ment which  was  created  by  the  rimawny  horses 
did  not  abate,  and  at  length  when  the  driver 
stojiped  a  policeman  hiliTied  up. 

The  hotise  before  wliich  the  c.nb  stopped  was  a 
plain  two-story  one,  in  a  (piiet-Iooking  street.  A 
light  shone  from  the  front-parlor  window.  As 
the  cab  drew  up  the  door  opened  and  a  man 
came  out. 

lieatrice  snw.the  ])oliccm.an. 

"Help!"  she  cried;  "1  implore  help.  This 
»Tctch  is  carrying  me  away." 

"  What's  this'j'"  growled  the  policeman. 

At  this  the  man  that  had  come  out  of  the 
house  hurried  forward. 

"Have  you  found  her?"  exclaimed  n  well- 
known  voice.  "Oh,  my  child!  How  could  you 
leave  your  father's  roof  I" 

It  was  John  I'otts. 

IJeatrice  was  silent,  for  a  moment  in  ntter 
amazement.  Yet  she  made  a  violent  effort 
against  her  despair. 

"  You  have  no  control  over  me,"  said  she,  liit- 

=leTlyr~  "1  am  of  age.     And  yon,"  «iid  she  to 

the  policeman,   "I  demand  yonr  help.     I  put 

myself  lunler  yonr  protection,  and  order  you 


either  to  take  that  man  in  charge  or  to  let  me 
go  to  mv  home." 

"  ( )h,"  mv  daughter !"  cried  Potts.    "  Will  you 
still  be  relentless  ?" 


"That  is  an  idle  story."  s^fd  I'otts. 

"Save  me!"  cried  Heatrice.  '  .. 

"  I  don't  know  what  to  do — I  sujipose  I'vpf^t 
to  take  you  to  the  station,  at  any  rule,"  said  the 
pt>liceman,  hesitatingly. 

"  Well, "  said  I'otts" to  Beatrice,  "if  yon  dci  go 
to  the  station-house  you'll  have  to  be  handed  back 
to  nvc.    „Yoii  are  under  age." 

"  It's  Ms^!?  cried  Beatrice.     "  I  am  twenty." 

"  ''*'">.  S^''""  ""'  """"  ''"'"  seventeen." 

"  Lan^Wi  t'tin  prove  that  I  am  twenty." 

"  lloWiP  I  huve  documents,'  anil  a  father's 
word  will  Im)  believed  before  a  paramour's." 

This  taunt  stung  Beatrice  to  the  soul. 

"As  to  your  charge  about  my  cruelty  I  can 
prove  to  the  world  that  you  lived  in  s]ileiHlor  in 
Brandon  Hall.  Every  one  of  thb  servants  can 
testify  to  this.  Yonr  morose  disiKisition  mmlo 
you  keep  by  yourself.  You  always  treated  your 
father  with  indittcrenco,  and"  finally  ran  away 
with  a  man  who  unfortunately  had  won  your  af- 
fections in  Hong  Kong." 

"You  well  know  the  reasoni.why  I  left  your 
roof,"  replied  Beatrice,  with  calm  and  severe  dig- 
nity. "  Your  foul  aspersions  upon  my  character 
are  unworthy  of  notice. " 

"And  what  shall  I  sav  abont  your  aspersions 
on  my  character':;'''  cried  I'otts,  in  a  loud,  nide 
voice,  hoping  by  a  sort  of  vulgar  self-assertion 
to  brow-beat  Beatrice.  "  Do  you  reiuemher  the 
names  you  called  me  and  your  threats  ajiiinst 
me?  When  all  this  is  brought  out  in  the  police 
court,  they  will  see  what  kind  of  a  daughter  you 
have  been." 

"  You  will  be  the  last  one  who  will  dare  to 
let  it  be  brought  into  a  jiolice  court." 

"  And  why  'i  Those  absurd  charges  of  yours 
are  worthless.  Have  yon  any  ])roof 'j""  he  con- 
tinued, with  a  sneer,  "or  has  your  paramour 
any  'i'" 

•'  Take  me  away,"  said  Beatrice  to  the  jiolicc- 
man. 

" Wait !"  exclaimed  Potts;  "yon  are  poing, 
and  I  will  go  to' reclaim  you.  The  law  will  give 
you  back  to  me ;  for  I  will  jirove  that  you  are 
under  age,  and  I  have  never  tieated  you  with 
any  thing  except  kindness.  Now  the  law  can  do 
nothing  since  yon  are  mine.  But  as  you  are  so 
young  and  inexperienced  I'll  tell  you  what  will 
bapjMSnr  ^^^        r :  r     -  —,-.--: — '--— 

"The  newspapers,"  he  continued,  after  » 
pause,  "will  be  full  of  your  story.  They  will 
print  what  I  shall  prove  to  be  true— that  you  linil 
an  intractable  disposition — that  you  had  formed 
a  guilty  attachment  for  a  dram-major  at  Hong 
Kong — that  you  ran  away  witli  him,  lived  for  a 


•oh,   my   DAI 


CORD  AND  CHEESE? 


153 


'•OH,  Mv  dvuohter!"  cried  rorrs,  "will  rou  still  be  helemless?- 


fhile  ftt  IIolI)y,  and  tlien  went  with  yonr  para- 
monr  ,o  London  If  you  Imd  only  Zr  LuZ 
.on  would  have  been  ctf  of  my  power;  but  vou 
ont  pretend  to  be  mamed/  Vou  d^t  12 
onrself  Langhetti,  b..t  have  taken  anothor 
S  w7,  -^  ""'  ''"\'T  """"PTer  reiK^rtei-s  will 
!  ml    P''^"/""  by  some  otiier  one  of  your 

1'  ^l*"^  P*"*"  but  your  own  father;  and  yoii— 
™/^''^'^v^'  *"  K'^^'o^^  «n  ""8  8tag^  and 
.Tove"rF„'  7^^  ""^  R^'igion  mil  he  known 

tinn 'Ji*'"  ''^™e"<|<'U''  menace  Beatrices  resolu- 
LTr  "'«'"?'■**'  *"  P''«=««-  That  this  would 
>«  w  «ho  weU  knew.    To  escape  from  Potts  wag 

K 

;    ■       •         \    . 


to  have  herself  made  infamous  publiclv  under  the 
sanction  of  the  law,  and  then,  by  that  same  kw 
to  be  handed  back  to  him.  At  least  whelhci-  it 
was  so  or  not,  she  thought  so.  There  was  no 
help — no  fnend. 

"Go,"  said  Potts;  "leave  me  now  and  vou 
become  covered  with  infamy.  Who  would  "be- 
lieve your  storj-  ?" 

Beatric«  \v«s  silent,  her  slender  frame  Wie= 
rent  by  emotion. 

"O  God!"  she  groaned— but  in  her  deep 
despair  she  could  not  find  thoughts  even  for 
prayers. 

"You  may  go,  policeman,"  said  Potts;  "mv 
daughter  will  come  with  me." 
"  Faith  and  I'm  glad !    It's  the  best  thing  for 


154 


COBD  AN©  CREESE. 


hor ;"  and  the  policeman,  much  rUiavdd,  ratarned- 
lo  his  boat.  '  * 

"  Some  of  you  11  liave  tb  nay  |br  them  windors, " 
!-:\id  the  cabman.  ,    .  •• 

"  All  right,"  answered  PAtis,  fjuiotly. 

"  There  is  your  home  for  to-niglit,  at  any  rate," 
j.iid  I'olts,  pointing  to  the  hoase.  ' '  I  don't  tliink 
1  onliave  any  chance  left.     You  had  bettefJto  in." 

His  tone  was  one  full  of  bitter  taunt.     Scarce 
'imscions,  with  hor  brain  reeling,  and  her  lii^bg  [; 
trembling,  Dcatric«  entered  the  house. 


CHAPTER  XL. 
DiscoyEniEs. 

The  next  morning  after  Bbatrice's  last  per- 
farmance  I.anghetti  determined  to  fulfill  his 
pwmise  and  tell  her  that  secret  which  she  had 
lioen  so  an.xious  to  know.  On  entering  into  his 
Varlor  ho  saw  a  letter  lying  on  the  table  addressed 
t  o  him.  It  bore  no  postage  stamp,  or  post-offlce 
mark.  _,.  t  % 

He  opened  it  and  read  the  following : 

•  '   "^ 

"  London,  Sfptember  8, 1849. 

"SiONOBE, — Cigole,  the  betrayer  «nd  intend- 
ed assassin  of  your  late  father,  is  now  in  London. 
You  can  find  out  about  him  by  inquiring  of  Gio- 
\  anni  Cavallo,  16  Red  Lion  Street.  As  a  traitor 
to  the  Carbonarv  you  will  know  that  it  is  your 
duty  to  punish  him,  even  if  your  fiUal  piety  is  not 
strong  enough  to  avenge  a  father's  wrongs. 

"C-VBDOyXBO.',' 

Langhetti  read  This  several  times.  Tlien  he 
c.illed  for  his  kndlord. 

'Who  left  this  letter?"  he  asked. 

rA  young  man." 

\Do  you  know  his  mamft?" 

hat  did  he  look  like?" 

"He  looked  like  a  counting-house  clerk  more 
th.in  any  thing." 

"When  was  it  left?" 

"About  six  o'clock  this  morning." 

Langhetti  read  it  over  and  over.  The  news 
that  it  contained  Ailed  his  mind.  It  was  not  yet 
ten  ffclock.  He  would  not  take  any  tirefikfast, 
but  went  out  at  once,  jumped  into  a  cab,  and 
drove  off  to  Red  Lion  Street.      .         •»  *t 

Giovanni  Cavallo's  office  was  iri  a  low,  diif|pr 
building,  with  a  dark,  narrow  doorway.  It  was 
one  of  those  numerous  establishments  conducted 
ni)d  supported  by  foreigners  whose  particular  busi- 
ness it  is  not  easy  to  conjecture.  The  building  was 
full  of  offices,  but  this  was  on  the  ground^floor. 

Langhetti  entered,  and  found  the  interior  ns 
dingy  as  the  exterior.  There,  was  a  table  in  the 
middle  of  the  room.  Beyond  this  was  a  door 
which  opened  into  a  Imck-room. 

Only  one  person  was  here — a  small,  bright- 
eyed  man,  with  thick  Vandyke  beard  and  sinewy 
though  small  frame.  Langhetti  took  off  his  hat 
and  bowed. 

-"    "  i  wish  fiTiee  Signofe  CafaHoT"  wad  lie,Tir 
Italian. 

"  1  am  Signore  Cavallo,"  answered  the  other, 
blandly. 

Langhetti  made  a  peculiar  motion  with  his  left 
arm.  The  keen  eye  of  the  other  noticed  it  in  an 
iastant.     He  returned  a  gesture  of  a  similar  char- 


acter. I..anghetti  and  he  then  exchanged  some 
more  secret  signs.  At  last  I^nghqfti  made  one 
which  caused  the  other  to  tlart,  and  to  bow  witli 
deep,  respect. 

"I  did  not  know,"  said  he,  in  a  low  voice, 
"  that  any  of  the  Interior  Council  evBscnitR>  to 
London?!S..Rut  come  in  here,"  and  he  IcmIJIic 
wav  into  the  inner  room,  the  door  of  which  he 
locked  very  mysteriously. 
■  A  long  conference  followed,  the  details  of  wh^h 
woidd  only  bo  tedious.    At  the  close  CUvallo  suit!, 

"There  is  some  life  in  n»  yet,  and  what  life 
we  have  left  shall  bo  spent  in  trapping  that  mii- 
crennt.  Italy  shall  be  avenged  on  one  of  her 
traitors,  at  kiiy  rate."  '  i 

"  You  will  write  as  I  told  you,  and  let  me 
know  ?" 
.  "Most  faithfully." 

Langhetti  departed,  sattsfled  with  the  rtsnlt  of 
this  interview. '  What  surprised  him  most  was 
the  letter.  I'he  writer  must  have  been  one  who 
had  been  acquainted  with  his  past  life.  He  was 
amazed  to  nnd  any  one  denouncing  Cigole  to 
hi'm,  but  finally  concluded  that  it  must  be  siimc 
old  Carbonaro,  exiled  through  the  afflictions  wliich 
had  l>efallen  that  famous  society,  and  cherishing 
in  his  exile  the  bitter  resentment  which  only  ex- 
iles Can  feci. 

Cavallo  himself  had  kno^vri  Cigole  for  years, 
but  had  no  idea  whatever  of  his  early  career. 
Cigole  had  no  suspicion  that  Cavallo  had  anything 
to  do  with  the  Carbonari.  His  firm  were  gen- 
eral agents,  who  did  business  of  a  miscellaneous 
character,  now  commission,  now  banking,  and 
now  shipping ;  and  in  various  ways  they  had  had 
dealings  with  this  man,  and  kept  up  an  irregular 
coiTespondence  with  hira. 

This  letter  had  excited  afresh  within  his  ardent 
and  impetuous  iiature  all  the  remembrances  of 
early  wrongs.  Gentle  thoifgh  he  was,  and  pnre 
in  heart,  and  elevated  in  all  his  aspirations,  he 
yet  was  in  all  respects  a  true  child  of  the  South, 
and  his  passionate  nature  was  roused  to  a  storm 
by  this  prospect  of  jnst  retaliation.  All  the  lofty 
doctrines  with  which  he  might  console  others 
were  of  no  avail  here  in  giviilg  him  calm.  He 
had  never  voluatarily  pursued  Cigole;  but  now, 
since  this  villain  had  been  presented  to  hifl^  he 
could  not  turn  aside  from  what  he.conside:ed  the 
holy  duty  of  avenging  a  father's  vrtongs. 

He  saw  that  for  the  present  every  thing  would 
have  to  give  way  to  this.  lie  determmed  at  once  lo 
suspend  the  representation  of  the  "Prometlieiis," 
even  though  it  was  at  the  height  of  its  popuhirity 
and  in  the  full  tide  of  its  success.  He  determined 
to  send  Beatrice  under  his  sister's  care,  and  to 
devote  himself  now  altogether  to  the  pursuit  of 
Cigole,  even  if  he  had  to  follow  him  to  the  worlds 
end.  The  searchlafter  hiln  mi|ht'  not  be  long 
afler  all,  for  CavallD  felt  sanguine  of  speedy  sue-, 
cess,  and  assuredum.that  the  traitor  was  in  his 
power,  and  that  tni  Carbonari  in  London'were 
sufficiently  numerous  to  seize  hira  and  send  him 
to  whatever  punishment  might  be  deemed  most 

fitting.  ■ 

~Witlr  snch  plans  Shdpinppses  Xanghetii  w 
to  visit  Beatrice,  wondering  how  she  would  re- 
ceive the  intelligence  of  his  new  purpose. 

It  wac  two  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  before  he 
reached  her  lodgings.  On  going  up  he  rapped. 
A  servant  came,  And  on  seeing  him  looked  frigbt- 
ened. 


■WHAT  LIFE 


f^ 


CORD  AND  CftEESE. 


'  WHAT  LIFE  WE  HAVE  LEFT  SHALL   BB  SPENT  IN   TKAPI'ISO  THA^ 


SE^'T. 


'iIgMiMDcsi«rdin?" 

ThelSr^t  said  nothing,  but  ran  off.  Lan- 
ghctti  stood  wniting  in  suqmse ;  but  in  a  short 
{^e  the  kndlady  came.  She  had  a  troubled 
look,  and  did  not.even  rotam  his  salutation. 

"IsMisaDespardin?" 

^'She  is  not  here.  Sir." 

"yothetc'" 


•*Jfro,Sir.    Fm  frightened. 
Mrt  early  this  morning,  too." 

"A  man  here.     What  for?" 

"Why,  to  ask  after  her." 

"And  did  he  see  her?" 
,  "She  wasn't  here." 

"  Wasn't  here  I    Wli&  do  you  mean 


There  was  a  man 


"Sh^didn't  come  home  nt  all  last  night,     I 
i^aited  up  for  her  till  four.r 
/    "  Didn't  come'  home VJcried  Langhetti,  ps  an 
awful  fear  came  over  liiurl 
\    "No,  Sir." 

"Do  you  mean  to  tell  me  that  she  didn't  come 
home  at  her  nsual  hour  ?" 

"^No,  Sir—not  at  ail ;  and  8S  rwarsayfirafl 
sat  up  nearly  all  night." 

' '  Heavens  1 "  cried  Langhetti,  in  bewilderment 

What  is  the  meahing  of  this  ?  But  take  me  to 
her  room.     Let  me  see  with  my  own  eyes." 

The  landlady  led  the  way  np,  and  Langhetti 
followed  anxiously.  The  roomff  were  empty. 
Every  thing  remained  just  as  she  had  left  it    Hw 


K' 


II' 3*: 


I 


a*^ 


<m 


M 


( 


186 


A'  ■» 


CORD  ANDXIBEESE. 


1 


mngic  was  Iring  loosely  aroand.  "the  landlady 
gaid  that  she  h«l  touched  nothing. 

Longhetti  asked  about  the  man  who  had  called 
in  the  moming.  The  landlady  could  tell  no- 
thing about  him,  except  that  he  was  a  gentleman 
with  dark  hair,  and  very  stem  eyes  that  terrified 
her.  He  seemed  to  be  A-ery  angry  or  very  ter- 
rible in  some  way  about  Beatrice. 

Who  could  this  be  ?  thought  Langhetti.  The 
landlady  did  not  know  his  name.  iSome  one  was 
certainly  interesting  himself  very  singularly  about 
Cigole,  and  some  one  else,  or  else  the  same  per- 
son, was  very  much  interested  about  Beatrice. 
For  a  moment  he  thought  it  might  be  Despard. 
This,  however,  did  not  seem  probable,  as  I>es- 
paijl  would  have  written  him  if  he  were  coming 
to  town.  t  I 

Deeply  perplexed,  and  almost  in  despair,  Lan- 
.^etti  left  the  house  and  drove  homo,  thinking  on 
Uie  way  what  qught  to  be  done.  He  thought  he 
would  wait  till  evening,  and  perhaps  sli^  would 
appear.  He  did  thus  wait,  and  in  a  fever  of  ex- 
citement and  suspense,  but  on  going  to  the  lodg- 
ing-house again  there  was  nothing  more  kijgiira 
alwut  her. 

Leaving  this  he  drove  to  the  police-office. 
It  seemed  to  him  now  that  she  must  have  been 
foully  dealt  with  in  some  way.  He  could  think 
of  no  one  but  Potts ;  yet  how  Potts  could  man- 
age it  was  a  mystery.  That  mystery  he  himself 
could  not  hope  to  unravel  The  police  might. 
With  that  confidence  in  the  police  which  is  <^m- 
mon  to  nil  Continentals  he  went  and  made  known 
his  troubles.  The  officials  at  once  promised  to 
make  inquiries,  and  told  him  to  call  on  the  fol- 
lowing evening. 

The  next  evening  he  went  there.  Tlie  police- 
man was  present  who  had  been  at  the  place  when 
Potts  met  Beatrice.  He  told  the  whole  story — 
the  horses  running  furiously,  the  screams  from 
the  cab,  and  the  appeal  of  Beatrice  for  help,  to- 
gether with  her  final  acquiescence  in  the  will  of 
her  father. 

Langhetti  was  overwhelmed.  The  officials 
evidently  believed  that  Potts  was  an  injured  fa- 
ther, and  showed  some  coldness  to  Langhetti. 

"  He  is  her  father ;  what  better  could  she  do  ?** 
asked  one. 

"  Any  thing  would  be  better,"  said  Langhetti, 
mournfully.  "He  is  a  villain  so  remorseless 
that  she  had  to  flv.  Some  friends-  received  her. 
She  went  to  get  her  own  living  since  she  is  of 
age.    Can  nothing  be  dmie  to  rescue  her?"       ' 

"  Well,  she  might  begin  a  lawsuit ;  if  she  reaP 
ly  is  of  age  he  can  not  hold  her.  But  she  had 
much  better  stay  with  him." 

Snch^ere  the  opinions  of  the  officials.  Thfiy 
courteoDsly  granted  permission  to  Langhetti  to 
take  the  policeman  to  the  hoase. 

On  knocking  an  old  woman  came  to  the  door. 
In  answer  to  his  inquiries  she  stated  that  a  gentle- 
man had  been  living  there  three  weeks,  but  that 
on  the  arrival  of  his  daughter  he  had  gone  home. 

"When  did  he  leave W 

"4f— tcrday  aoniing."^     ■  ,       . 


^^  yon 


CHAPTER  XLI. 

THET    MEET    AGAIN. 

At  four  o'clock  on  the  motiiing  .of  Beatrice'i 
capture  Brandon  was  roused  by  a  rap  at  his  bed- 
'room  door.  He  rose  at  once,  and  slipping  on 
his  dressing-gown,  opened  it.    A  man  entered. 

"Welly"  said  Bi-andon. 

"  Something  bos  happened." 

"What?" 

"  She  didn't  get  home  lost  night  The  landlady 
is  sitting  up  for  her,  and  is  terribly  frightened." 

"  Did  you  make  any  inquiries?" 

"No,  Sir;  I  came  straight  here  in  obedience 
to  your  directions." 

"  Is  that  all  vou  know,?"' 

"AU."        ■  \i'-- 

"Very  well,"  said  igrandon,  calmly,- 
mav  go. ' 

'llie  man  retired.  Brandon  sat  down  and  bnr- 
ied  his  head  in  his  hands.  Such  news  as  this 
was  sufficient  to  overwhelm  any  one.  The  man 
knew  nothing  more'  than  this,  that  she  had  not 
returned  home  and  that  the  landlady  was  fright- 
ened. In  his  opinion  only  one  of  two  tilings 
could  have  happened :  either  Langhetti  had  tak- 
en her  somewhere,  or  she  had  been  abducted. 

A  thousand  fancies  followed  one  another  in 
quick  succession.  It  was  too  early  as  yet  to  go 
forth  to  make  inquiries ;  and  he  therefore  was 
forced  to  sit  still  and  form  conjectures  as  to  what 
ought  to  be  done  in  caf>e  his  conjecture  might 
be  true.  Sitting  there,  he  took  a  rapid  sun-e; 
of  all  the  possibilities  of  the  occasion,  and  laid  his 
plans  accordingly. 

Brandon  had  feared  some  calamity,  aiid  with 
this  fear  hod  arranged  to  have  some  oiie  in  the 
house  who  might  give  him  information.  Thg 
information  which  he  most  dreaded  had  come ; 
it  had  come,  too,  in  the  midst  of  a  time  of  tri- 
umph, when  she  had  become  one  of  the  supremg 
singers  of  the  age,  and  had  gained  all  that  bet 
warmest  admirer  might  desire  for  her. 

If  she  had  not  been  foully  dealt  with  she  mnst 
hojre  gone  with  Langhetti.  But  if  so — where— 
and  why  ?  -  What  possible  reason  might  Lan- 
ghetti havA  for  taking  her  away  ?  This  oonjec- 
tore  was  impossible. 

-  Yet  if  this  was  impossible,  and  if  she  hod  not 
gone  with  Langhetti,  with  whom  could  she  haro 
gone  ?  If  not  a  friend,  then  it  must  have  been 
with  an  enemy.  But  with  what  enemy?  There 
W08  only  one. 

He  thought  of  Potts.  Ho  knew  that  thii 
wretch  was  capable  of  any  villainy,  and  wonld 
not  hesitate  at  any  thing  to  regain  possession  of 
the  one  who  had  'tied  from  him.  Why  he  shoold 
wish  to  take  the  trouble  to  regain  possession  of 
her,  except  out  of  pure  villainy,  he  could  not  im- 
agine. 

With  snch  thoughts  at  these  the  time  poswd 
heavily.  Six  o'clock  at  last  came,  and  he  set  oat 
for  the  purpose  of  making  inquiries.  He  went 
first  to  tne  theatre.  Here,  afker  some  trouble,  be 
feund-tfa^ae  who  had^  tha  place  in,chamMB4r^ 
by  questioning  them,  he  learned  that  Beatrice 
had  left  by  herself  in  a  cab  for  her  home,  and 
that  Langhetti  had  remained  some  time  later. 
He  then  went  to  Beatrice's  lodgings  to  qoMtifla 
the  landlady.  From  there  he  went  to  Loii^ieUi  i 
lodgings,  and  found  that  Langhetti  had  cam 
home  about  one  o'clock  and  wm  voijtiiVf. 


,i±.K 


»i...v  .    >   , 


J^^'  *'"f»«'.  had  left  by  herself,  and  had 
Brt  gone  any  where  with  Langhetti.  She  had 
iKrt  re  ume<f  home.  It  seem^  to  him  rn^t 
probable  that  either  voluntarily  or  invokntn, 
dM5  had  come  under  the  control  of  Potts.  Wha^ 
Sin""  *"*  '^^"■"^tonees  wa«  now  ?he 
One  course  seemed  to  him  the  most  direct  and 
Mrtain;  namely,  to  go  up  to  Brandon  «  once 
«]d  m^e  mquiries  there.  From  the  leS 
which  PhJms  had  sent  he  had  an  Idea  of  th" 

Imd  also  been  secured.  It  was  not  his  busing 
todo  any  thmg  more  than  to  see  that  CiS 
•hould  fall  into  Bo  harm  "eaince 

By  ten  o'clock  he  had  acted  upon  this  idea,  and 
was  at    he  railway  station  to  take  the  express 
tauff.     He  reached  Brandon  village  abont'duVk 
He  went  to  the  inn  in  his  usualTsguise  as  Mr 
Smithers,  anU  sent  up  to  the  haU  foTMr.  Potts 

Potts  was  not  there.    Hethen«entfor  PhUiM 
After  some  delay  PhiUps  came.     His  nsuanil 
nudity  was  now  if  possible  still  more  marked 
Mdhe  was  at  first  too  embarrassed  to  sS      ' 

^^He  has  been  there  about  three  weeks,  hasn't 
"Yes,Sir.>  *  I 

"SoyouAVioteme.     You  thought  when  he 

'^'s?rc'o:sS"^'"''-'"p''''^"«"-^ 

•'  And  he  hasn't  got  back  yet  ?" 
•'Not  yet."  "^ 

"  Has  he  written  any  word  ?" 
"None  that  I  know  of." 

to  "gSh  Jr '"'"'  ''"^  "^ ""™  "^y  ''^y »«'  '»•«»» 

.iL!!^.°'i''?r'*'''.'"'^'  •""  I  en««««l  from  what 
«%  said  that  he  was  afmid  of  having  hterat 

"Afraid?    Why?' 

"S^T  ww*"^  «''ng,secret  of  theirs.* 

meelS  '      ''"''^'"  '^^  ^''"'P"' 

Brandon  had  carried  Asgeelo  with  him  as  h« 
w«  often  in  the  habit  of  ddng  o^  hisTu'mevs 
After  his  interview  with  Phili,^  he  st^  "Se 
« the  veranda  of  the  .ilkge  ian  for  s^e  tfme 
•pd  then  went  around  through  the  viUage.  sto^ 
^  at  a  number  of  houses"  What3  t  wX 
A«  he  was  engaged  in,  it  occupied  him  for  s^^ 
«a  hours,  «,d  he  did  not  get  b^k  to  the  M 


CORD  AND  CBEESE. 


«mi  ».?.  Ti  u-^  "?*  "*>'  y«»  returned.     Philins 
CMne  to  teU  him  that  he  had  just  received  a  M^ 

to  tack  that  day  about  one  o'clock.     This  intelli- 

XnH^*rT''"P"''*'»«'»'»«*in«deflnite. 
ft«ndon  found  enough  to  occupy  him  dating 

bid   VJIZi* '\*  P««P'«  »f  'he  neighto^ 
Znilir  -  i!!™^^?^"'"^  ^^<*n'  body,  ami  had 

fi?he  J;:r«  bo's "'  """'  "^  '"«  '^'-'''• 

4KnT^.!f'l«"«' !-»..-«»  "t  the™ 


«.—     tl — ,    ^"  ""'  ■»  "e  inn,  ani 

2r   A^"±*"f|"'«i'r™""y  id'«  «"d  «im- 

»ILdn»«S.2±:l^'*"''°"  "'">™d  and 
"™«i  up  ud  down  tha  veranda. 


■4*7 

iirandon  stood  outside  of  thn  rnr.n.1 
steps,  in  such  a  position  as  to  i^^™?*^'  ''".^^e 
ous,  and  waited  there  tSl  0^„  .    ^'  consjiicn- 
•«ich  the  pkce      Wd  his  Urt  ^7T*?  "•'"•^'^ 

nofhi'^L'i'r'lirt''  wa/that  Potts  could 
Potts  s.'^pSttTni.Sarre.'''"  «™'  «"'> 

tric^o'n.r  Kn"e"  '"^S^kXt 
the  carriage  and  touched  hisXi  ''  ''^ 

volub^y'"i'.K  mel5.^*'*V'''?  ''"  »-"' 
most  uJxpectS^e^uVJ^V."'*'''  "  ""^'^  » 
BeSJrice  w"h!f  "'^^  °™"."^°"  '°«ked  steadily  at 

s^r.;  irckTn^'^r j-t„f r^r- 

were  still  fos^ned  on  his  «  Sgh^^ailn.:^" 
Then  beneath  the  marble  whitenei  othT& 

The  siL  of  h""'^'^  "  ^'»'™  fl"'"'.  that  Z 
ZVT  ,''°P^  ,"^'"8  from  despair^.  i„  her 
^es  there  gleamed  the  flash  of  rJognition  •  for 
Tn  It  f^"""  T}^  had  made  known\l  Us  'soul 
to  the  other.  In  her  mind  there  was  no  nernfex 
mg  question  as  to  how  or  why  he  cLSe  Tere  ^' 

KtteitZ  her""'""^"^  "-'  ««  >^ 
All  this  took  place  in  an  instant,  and  Potts. 

Snce"^  !?&,"''  -J"'.  »otice\hT h3 
Tu^tr'     . f"®  **"'•  *""' '"  't  nothing  but  a  caso- 

'^  n^'AT"  *'™"8«^  "P«"  another 
"I  wish^"i^  JT  yesterday,"  said  Brandon. 
WtL  !^^J  ^  y?"  "hont  a  matter  of  very 
iitt  e  importance  perhaps  to  yon  but  it  U  nZ 
which  is  of  interest  to  m'e.  B^i  am  d'etl  n^J 
»^"  'f  ^^'he-way,  I  am  somewhat  in  a  huiTv 
and  rf  this  lady  will  excuse  me  I  will  driveTo 

i^ehghted.  Sir,  delighted  .'"cried  Potts  "Al- 
Xbt^r.^'  '"'"'^"''  '"  ''"'*^--  y""  »<•  ^ 
Brandon  hekl  out  his  hand.  Beatrice  held  out 
hers.  It  was  cold  as  ice,  but  the  fieree  thrill  that 
Lh  htTf  her  frarne  at  the  touch  of  his  fVvl*, 
bL^"™  th  ^?  '^'th  it  wsl,  an  ecstasy  tlwt 
^tnce  thought  It  was  worth  while  to  have  un- 

forT1«^  J'^r""  "^'^''  P^'  twenty-four  houra 
tor  the  joy  of  this  one  moment. 

Brandon  stepped  into  the  carriage  and  seated 

touched  her.    He  could  hear  her  breathini 
How  many  months  had  passed  since  Xysfi 

^"^':,?^?"""'  What  sorrows  had  they  ^ 
endured !  Now  they  were  side  by  side,  m^  fa? 
«  moment  they  forgot  thaithdrfatemn^^ 
sat  before  them.  .  ««»u7 

^^i""*"^'  '*5f*"*  "'*°''  '^  'he  man  who  was  not 
only  a  deadly  enemy  to  each,  but  who  made  It 
mpo«.blo  for  them  to  be  more  to  oneZuJ^ 
han  they  now  were.  Yet  for  a  time  theyforaot 
ibis  m  tfce  joy  of  the  ecstatic  meetinr  i^X 


»...  i>  ^  •^"'  »io  ocsiauc  meeting.  At  the 
gate  Pott,  got  out  and  excused  hiinMlf  to  Bntf 
don,  saying  that  be  woold  be  up  diieodj. 


«.\P 


.#v. 


168 


CORD  AND  CREESE. 


"Entertain  this  gentleman  till  I  come,"  said 
he  to  Beatrice,  "for  he  is  a  great  friend  of 
mine." 

Beatrice  said  nothing,  for  the  simple  reason 
that  she  could  not  speak. 

They  drove  on.  Oh,  joy !  that  baleful  pres- 
ence was  for  a  moment  removed.  The 'driver 
saw  nothing  as  he  drove  under  the  overarching 
elms — the  elms  under  which  Brandon  had  sport- 
ed in  his  boyhood.  He  saw  not  the  long,  fen'id 
glance  that  they  cast  at  one  another,  in  which 
each  seemed  to  absorb  all  the  being  of  the  other ; 
he  saw  not  the  close  ela.sped  hands  with  which 
they  clung  to  one  another  now  as  though  they 
would  thus  cling  to  each  other  forever  and  pre- 
Tent  separation.  He  saw  not  the  swift,  wild 
movement  of  Brandon  when  for  one  instant  he 
flung  his  arm  around  Beatrice  and  pressed  her 
to  his  heart.  He  heard  not  the  beating  of  that 
strong  heart ;  he  heard  not  the  low  sigh  of  rap- 
ture with  which  for  but  one  instant  the  head  of 
Beatrice  sank  uiwn  her  lover's  breast.  It  was 
but  for  an  instant.  Then  she  sat  upright  again, 
and  their  hands  sought  each  other,  (bus  clinging, 
thus  speaking  by  a  voice  which  wab  fully  intelli- 
gible to  each,  which  told  how  each  felt  in  the 
presence  of  the  other  love  unutterable,  rapture 
beyond  expression.         ^ 

They  alighted  from  the  caniage.  Beatrice 
led  the  way  into  the  drawing-room.  No  one 
was  tliere.  Brandon  went  into  a  recess  of  one 
of  the  windows  which  commanded  a  view  of  the 
Park. 

"AVhat  a  beautiful  view!"  said  he,  in  a  con- 
rentional  voice. 

She  came  up  and  stood  beside  him. 

"  Oh,  my  dariing!  Oh,  my  darling!"  he  cried, 
over  and  over  again ;  and  flinging  his  arms  around 
her  he  covered  her  face  with  burning  kisses.  Her 
whole  being  seemed  in  that  supreme  moment  to 
be  absorbed  in  his.  All  consciousness  of  any 
other  thing  than  this  unspeakable  joy  was  lost  to 
her.  Before  all  others  she  was  lofty,  high-souled, 
Berene,  self-possessed — with  him  she  was  nothing, 
she  lost  herself  in  him. 

"Do  not  fear,  my  soul's  darhng,"  said  he; 
"  no  harm  shall  come.  My  power  is  every  where 
— ev6n  in  this  house.  All  in  the  village  are  mine. 
When  my  blow  falls  you  shall  be  saved." 

She  shuddered. 

"  You  wiU" leave  me  here?" 

"Heavens!  I  must,"  he  groaned;  "we  are 
the  8])ort  of  circumstances.  Oh,  my  darling!" 
he  continued,  "you  know  my  story,  and  my 
vengeance." 

"I  know  it  all,"  she  whispered.  "I  would 
wish  to  die  if  I  could  die  by  your  hand." 

"I  will. save  you.     Oh,  love — oh,  soul  of 
'  mine  -r-  my  arios  ye  around  you !     You  are 
watched — but  watched  by  me." 

"You  do  not  know,  she  sighed.  "Alas! 
your  father's  voice  ttiust  be  obeyed,  and  your 
vengeance  must  be  taken." 

'  *  Fear  not, "  said  he ;  "  I  will  guard  yon. " 
h  aaawered  uothiBgr    C«mkl  she  esB&de  in 
his  assurance?    She  could  not.     She  thought 
with  horror  of  the  life  before  her.     What  could 
Brandon  do  ?    She  could  not  imagine. 

They  stood  thus  in  silence  for  a  long  time. 
Each  felt  that  this  was  their  last  meeting,  and 
each  threw  all  life  and  all  thought  into  the  mp- 
tnre  of  this  long  and  ecstatic  embrace.    Aft- 


er this  the  impassable  gulf  must  reopen.  She 
was  of  the  blcKxl  of  the  accursed,  'i'hey  must 
separate  forever. 

Ho  kissed  her.«  He  pressed  her  a  thousand 
times  to  his  heart.  His  burning  kisses  forced  » 
new  and  feverish  life  into  her,  which  roused  all 
her  nature.  Never  before  had  he  dared  so  to 
fling  open  all  his  soul  to  her ;  never  before  IiqJ 
he  so  clasped  her  to  his  heart ;  but  now  this  mo- 
ment was  a  break  in  the  agony  of  a  long  sepa- 
ration— a  short  interval  which  must  soon  end 
and  give  way  to  the  misery  which  had  preceded 
it — and  so  he  yielded  to  the  rapture  of  the  hour, 
and  defled  the  future. 

The  moments  extended  themselves.  They 
were  left  thus  for  a  longer  time  than  they  hoped. 
Potts  did  not  come.  They  *vere  still  clinging  to 
one  another.  She  had  flung  her  arms  around 
him  in  the  anguish  of  her  unspeakable  love,  he 
had  clasped  her  to  his  wildly-throbbing  heart, 
and  he  was  straining  her  there  recklessly  and  Je- 
spairinglyv  when  suddenly  a  harsh  voice  burst 
upon  their  ears. 

"The  devil!" 

Beatrice  did  not  hear  it.  Brandon  did,  nnd 
turned  his  face.    Potts  stood  before  them. 

"Mr.  Potts!"  said  he,  as  he  still  held  Bea- 
trice close  to  his  heart,  "  this  poor  young  lady  is 
in  wretched  health.  She  nearly  fainted.  .  l,had 
to  almost  carry  her  to  the  window.  Will  yWbc 
good  enough  to  open  it,  so  as  to  give  her  wme 
air  ?  Is  she  subjtict  to  these  faints  ?  Poor  child !" 
he  said ;  "the  air  of  this  place  ought  surely  to 
do  vou  good.  I  sympathize  with  you  most  deep- 
ly, Mr.  Potts." 

"She'ssickly — that's  a  fact,  "said  Potts.  "I'm 
very  sorry  that  you  have  had  so  much  trouble— 
I  hope  you'll  excuse  me.  I  only  thought  that 
she'd  entertain  yon,  for  she's  very  clever.  Has 
all  the  accomplishments — " 

"Perhaps  you'd  better  call  some  one  to  take 
care  of  her, "  interrupted  Brandon. 

"  Oh,  I'll  fetch  some  one.  I'm  sorry  it  hap- 
pened so.  I  hope  you  won't  binmo  me,  f-ir," 
said  Potts,  humbly,  and  he  hurried  out  of  the 
room. 

Beatrice  had  not  "moved.  She  heard'  Brandon 
speak  to  some  one,  and  at  first  gave  her;>elf  up 
for  lost,  but  in  an  instant  she  understood  the  full 
meaning  of  his  words.  To  his  admirable  pres- 
ence of  mind  she  added  her  own.  She  did  not 
move,  but  allowed  her  head  to  rest  where  it  w.if, 
feeling  a  delicious  joy  in  the  thought  that  Potts 
was  looking  on  and  was  utterly  deceived.  When 
he  left  to  call  a  ser\'ant  she  raised  her  head  and 
gave  Brandon  a  lost  look  expressive  of  lier 
deathless,  her  unutterable  love.  Again  and 
again  he  pressed  Iicr  to  his  heart.  Then  the 
noise  of  servants  coming  in  roused  him.  He 
gently  placed  her  on  a  sofa,  and  sup]x>rtcd  her 
with  a  grave  and  solemn  face. 

' '  Here,  Mrs.  Compton.  Take  charge  of  her," 
said  Itotts.     " She's  l>een  trying  to  fuint." 

Mrs.  Compton  come  up,  and  kneeling  dom 
kisfied  Beatrice's  hnnd"     iihe  said  nntliing. 

"Oughtn't  she  to  have  a  doctor?"  said  Brain 
don. 

"  Oh  no— she'll  get  over  it.  Take  her  to  let 
room,  Mrs.  Compton." 

'ICan  the  poor  child  walk?"  asked  Bran- 
don. 

Beatrice  rose.    Mrs.  Compton  asked  her  to 


'  ;^au^.i 


CORD  AND  CKEESE, 


THB   devil!" rOTT9   OTOOn   HEFORB  THEM, 


toke  her  arm.     She  did  so,  and  leaning  heavily  ' 
upon  It,  walked  away.  ' 

^  "She  eeems  very  delicate,"  said  Brandon. 

I  did  not  know  that  you  had  a  daughter  " 

Potts  sighed. 

"  I  have,"  said  he,  "  to  my  sorrow. - 
To  your  sorrow !"  said  Brniidon,  with  ex- 
qnisitely  simulated  sympathy. 

"Ycs/wplied  the^other.     " I  wouldn't  tell  it 

wtryone— bnt  yon,  W.  Pmithers,  are  differ- 
ent Irom  most  iieople.  You  see  I  have  led  a. 
wvmg  hfo.  I  had  to  leave  her  out  in  (hiim  for 
many  years  with  a  female  guardian.  I  supi.ose 
•he  was  not  very  well  taken  care  of.  At  any 
Mf?,  she  got  acquainted  out  there  with  a  stroll- 
m  Italian  vagalmnd,  a  dnim-major  in  one  of 
we  regiments,  named  Langhetti,  and  thU  viihiin 


piine<l  her  affections  bv  his  helUsh  orts  He 
knew  that  I  was  rich,  and,  like  an  unprincipled 
adventurer,  tried  to  get  her,  hoping  to  get  a  for- 
'''""•  I  did  not  know  any  thing  about  this  till 
after  her  nmvnl  homo.  I  sent  for  her  some  time 
ago  and  she  cnmo.  From  the  first  she  was  very 
sftiky.  She  did  not  treat  mo  like  a  daughter  at 
all.  On  one  occanion  she  actually  abused  me 
and  called  PW  names  to^myiace.  hhornHednra 
a  Thug !  What  do  you  think  of  that,  Mr.  Smith- 
erg?" 

The  other  said  nothing,  but  llioro  was  in  his 
face  a  horror  which  I'otts  considerodjis  directed 
toward  his  unnatural  offspring. 

"She  was  discontented  here,  though  I  lot  her 
have  every  thing.  I  found  out  in  the  end  all 
about  It.    At  last  she  actually  ran  oway.    She 


160 


CORD  AND  CREESE. 


joined  this  infamoas  Langhetti,  whom  she  had 
discoverfsd  in  some  way  or  other.  They  lived 
together  for  some  time,  and  then  went  to  Lon- 
don, where  she  got  a  sitaation  as  «n  actress. 
You  can  imagine  by  that,"  said  Potts,  with 
sanctimonious  horror,  "  how  low  she  had  fallen. 

"Well,  I  didn't  know  what  to  do.  I  was 
afraid  to  make  a  public  demand  for  her  through 
the  law,  for  then  it  would  all  get  into  the  papers; 
it  would  be  an  4wful  disgrace,  (iiid  the  whole 
county  would  know  it.  S^  I  waited,  and  a  few 
weeks  ago  I  went  to  London.  A  chance  oc- 
curr^  at  last  which  threw  hel:  in  my  way.  I 
pointed  out  to  her  the  awful  nature  of  the  life 
she  was  leading,  and  offered  to  forgive  her  all  if 
sh^  would  only  come  back.  The  poor  girl  con- 
sented, and  here  she  is.  Bnt  I'm  very  much 
afraid,"  said  Potts  in  conclusion,  with  a  deep 
sigh,  "  that  her  constitution  is  broken  up.  She  s 
very  feeble." 

Brandon  said  nothing. 

"Excuse  me  for  troubling  yon  with  my  do- 
mestic aflbirs ;  but  I  thought  I  ought  to  explain, 
for  you  hare  had  such  trouble  with  her  yourself." 

"Oh,  don't  mention  it.  I  quite  pitied  the 
poor  child,  I  assure  you ;  and  I  sincerely  hope 
that  the  seclusion  of  this  place,  combined  with 
the  pure  sea-air,  may  restore  her  spirits  and  in- 
Tigorate  her  in  mind  as  well  as  in  body.  And 
now,  Mr.  Potts,  I  will  mention  the  little  matter 
that  brought  me  here.  I  have  had  business  in 
Cornwall,  and  was  on  my  way  home  when  I  re- 
ceived a  letter  summoning  me  to  America.  1 
may  have  to  go  to  California.  I  have  a  very 
honest  servant,  whom  I  have  quite  a  strong  re- 
gard for,  and  I  am  anxious  to  put  him  in  some 
good  country  house  till  I  get  back.  I'm  afraid 
to  trust  him  in  London,  and  I  can't  take  him 
with  me.  He  is  a  Hindu,  bnt  speaks  English 
and  can  do  almost  any  thing.  I  at  once  rentem- 
bered  yon,  especiallv  as  you  were  close  by  me, 
and  thought  that  in  your  large  establishmenft 
yon  might  find  a  place  Tor  him.     How  is  it?"  <o 

"Mv  dear  Sir,  I  shall  be  proud  and  happy. 
I  should  like,  above  all  thin^,  to  have  a  man 
here  who  i^  recommended  by  one  like  you.  The 
fhct  is,  my  servants  are  all  miserable,  and  a  good 
one  can  not  often  be  had.  I  shall  consider  it  a 
fovor  if  I  can  get  him." 

"Well,  that  is  all  arranged — I  have  a  regard 
for  him,  as  I  said  before,  and  want  to  have  him 
in  a  pleasant  situation.  His  name  is  Asgeelo,  but 
we  are  in  the  habit  of  calling  him  Cato — " 

"Cato !  a  very  good  name.  Where  is  he 
now?" 

"Atthe  hotel.  Iwill  send  him  to  yon  at  once," 
■aid  Brand9n,  rising. 

"  The  sooner  the  better,"  returned  Potts. 

"  By-the-way,  my  junior  speaks  very  encourag- 
ingly about  tl^  prospects  of  the  Brandon  Bank — " 

"Does  he?'*  cried  Potts,  gleefully.  "Well, 
I  do  believe  we're  going  ahead  of  every  thing." 

"That's  right.  Boldness  is  the  true  way  to 
■access." 


"**tJh,  iiBTBr  ftar.    We  mre  bold  enoogti;" 
"  Oood.    But  I  am  hurried,  and  I  must  go.    I 
trill  send  Asgeelo  up,  and  give  him  a  letter*" 

With  these  words  Brandon  bowed  an  adieu 
and  departed.  Boforo  evening  Asgeelo  was  in- 
ttalled  as  one  of  the  sen-ants. 


CHAPTER  XLn.   >  - 

LAKOHETTI'S  ATTEMPT. 

V  Two  days  after  Brandon's  visit  to  Potts,  Lan- 
ghetti reached  the  village. 

A  searching  examination  in  London  had  led 
him  to  believe  that  Beatrice  might  now  be  sought 
for  at  Brandon  Hall.  The  police  could  do  nothing 
for  him.  He  had  no  rig^t  to  her.  If  she  was  of 
age,  she  was  her  own  mistress,  and  must  make 
application  herself  for  her  safety  and  deliverance;  / 
if  she  was  under  age,  then  she  must  show  that  she 
was  treated  with  cruelty.  None  of  theser  things 
could  be  done,  and  Langhetti  despaired  of  ac- 
complishing any  thing. 

The  idea  of  her  being  once  more  in  the  power 
of  a  man  like  Potts  was  frightful  to  him.  This 
idea  filled  his  mind  continually,  to  the  exclusion 
of  all  other  thoughts.  His  opera  was  forgot. 
ten.  One  great  horror  stood  before  him,  and  all 
else  became  of  jio  account.  The  only  tjiin^  for 
him  to  do  was  to  try  to  save  her.  He  could  find 
no  war,  and  the(«fore  determined  to  go  and  see 
Potts  himself. 

It  was  a  desperate  undertaking.  .  From  Bea- 
trice's descriptions  he  had  on  idea  of  the  life  from 
which  she  had  fled,  and  o^er  things  had  gives 
him  a  true  idea  of  the  character,  of  Potts.  He 
knew  that  there  Was  scarcely  any  hope  before 
him.  Yet  he  went,  to  satisfy  himself  by  making 
a  last  effort. 

He  was  hardly  the  man  to  deal  with  one  like 
Potts.  Sensitive,  high-toned,  passionate,  im- 
petuous in  his  feelings,  he  could  not  command 
that  calmness  which  was  the  first  essential  in  such 
an  interview.  Besides,  he  was  broken  down  by 
anxiety  and  want  of  sleep.  His  sorrow  for  Bea- 
trice had  disturbed  all  his  thoughts.  Food  and 
sleep  were  alike  abominable  to  him.  His  fine- 
strung  nerves  and  delicate  organiuttion,  in  which 
every  feeling  had  been  rendered  more  ocute  by 
his  mode  of  life,  were  of  that  kind  which  lould 
feel  intensely  wherever  the  affections  were  con- 
cerned. His  material  frame  was  too  weak  for 
the  presence  of  such  an  ardent  souL  Whenever 
any  emotion  of  onnsual  power  appeared  he  sank 
rapidly. 

So  now,  feverish,  emaciated,  excited  to  nn  in- 
tense degree,  he  appeared  in  Brandon  to  confront 
a  cool,  unemotional  villain,  who  scarcely  ever  lost 
his  presence  of  inind.  Such  a  contest  coold 
scarcely  be  an  equal  one.  What  oonld  ho  bring 
forward  which  could  in  any  way  affect  such  s 
man  ?  He  had  some  ideas  in  his  own  mind  which 
he  imagined  might  bo  of  service,  and  trusted  more 
to  impulse  than  any  thing  else.  He  went  up  early 
in  the  morning  to  Brandon  Hall. 

Potts  was  at  home, and  did  not  keepLan^et- 
ti  long  waiting. 

'  There  was  a  vast  contrast  between  these  two 
men — the  one  coarse,  fat,  vulgar,  and  strong; 
the  other  refined,  slender,  spiritual,  ant]  delicate, 
with  his  large  eyes  burning  in  their  deep  sockets, 
and  a  strange  mystery  in  his  face. 


**  I  inn  IfrolJTtBiiBliwtl,*  wild  lie,  Bbniptly^ 
"  the  manager  of  the  Oovent  Garden  Theatre." 

"  You  ar«,  are  you  ?"  answered  Potts,  rudely; 
"  t}ien  the  sooner  you  get  out  of  this  the  better. 
The  dov}l  himself  couldn't  be  more  impudent.  I 
have  just  saved  my  daughter  from  your  cltttche^ 
and  I  m  going  to  pay  you  off,  too,  my  fine  fbUow, 
before  long."  ,  v 

5 


CORD  AND  CHEESE. 


161 


>ko.Uo,i — 1,1 1.  V_        X,"^.  "^Vv^    "    '"*' 'na'hw  testimony  is  worthless  ?" 

"Yon  can't."  cried  Tjin™i,»..i  *..^_ 


the  dead  conld  speak  they  would  tell  a  different 
story. 

•'VVhat  the  devil  do'you  mean,"  cried  Potts, 

by  the  dead  ?    At  any  rate  you  are  a  fool :  for 
very  naturally  the  dead  can't  speak ;  but  what 
concern  that  has  with  mV  daughter  I  don't  know 
Mind,  you  are  playing  a  dangerous  game  in'trv- 
ing  to  bully  me. "  "  j 

Potts  spoke  fiercely  and  menacingly.  Lnn- 
ghetti  8  impetuous  soul  kindled  to  a  new  fervor 
at  ihis  insulting  language.  He  stretched  out  his 
long,  thm  hand  toward  Potts,  and  said  • 

"I  hold  your  life  and  fortune  in  my  hand 
Give  up  that  prl  whom  you  caU  your  daughter  '' 

Potts  stood  for  a  moment  staring 

I  ",'J'I'u^*li'y^°"^°'" '>«<="«'>' »»•«"«*•  "Come, 
I  call  that  ^,  nch  racy !  Will  your  sublime 
fecellency  have  the  kindness  to  explain  yourself? 
If  my  life  is  m  your  hand  it's  m  a  devilish  lean 
Md  weak  one.  It  strikes  me  you've  got  some 
kink  m  your  brain— some  notion  or  other.  Out 
wifkit,  and  let  us  see  what  you're  driving  at!" 
■*^&  y""  *now  a  man  named  Cigolp?"  said 

"Cigole ! "  replied  Potts,  after  a  pause,  in  which 
he  had  stared  hard  at  Lapghetti ;  "well,  what 

«,?    .  "*™*P*  I  do,  and  perhaps  I  don't" 
mentlv  **  '"  "^  Power,"  said  Langhetti,  vehe- 

"  Much  good  may  he  do  you  then,  for  I'm  sure 
when  he  was  m  my  power  hp  never  did  any  good 
to  me."  .  ,  ^ " 

"He  wiU  do  gooa  in  this  case,  at  any  mte." 
Mid  Langhetti,  with  an  effort  at  calmness  "Ho 
was  connect»d  with  you  in  a  deed  which  you 
must  remembe^,  and  can  teU  to  the  world  w-hat 
be  Knows. 

.'r.V®"-  .?:'•*'  'f  ''«'d<^  '"  *aid  Potts. 
JHe  wiU  tell"  cried  Langhetti,  excitedly, 
"the  true  storvoftheDespaid  murder." 

Ah  1  said  Potts,  "now  the  murder's  out 
^'?  ^hat  I  thought.  Don't  you  suppose  I 
«»w  through  you  when  you  first  began  to>eak 
»  mystencMiriy  ?  I  kneV  that.you^ad  leaVned 
wme  wonderftil  story,  and  that  you  were  going 
to  trot  It  out  at  the  right  time.  But  if  yon  think 
you  re  going  to  bully  me  you'll  find  it  haVd  work  " 
-^^gole  18  in' my  power,"  said  Langhetti, 

'  Potts^"^  '°  ^''"  """''  ^  *""'  ^^"   ^^"^ 
"  Parti  vsa" 
"Why?"  ■ 

th^^^-rTm'Sr  "*"'  •^"""P""'  °f  ■-""  '" 
^'Sp  he  says,  no  d6ut)l;  but  wholl  believe 

r2^l\^I!  Kolntf'to  turn  Queen's  evidence !" said 
Unehelti,  solemnly. 

.J.1,  "^l'"  fT^'len'^e'''  returned  Potts, 'con- 
trniptuously,  "and  what's  his  evidence  worth- 
ftae^denoe  ofj>  mnn  like  that  agajnat * aeatte» 
fflwrt-nnbleinished  chamcter  ?'^^^^^^ 
He  will  be  able  to  show  what  the  character 
"wV^'"'-f.Tl>'"'^«*"«^  I^hetti? 

Who  will  believe  him  t" 
^jNoonecan  helpit" 

^1  f?'''T~'^''  •'"*'■  friends-and  both 
•MmiM  of  mbie:  bai  luppoae  I  prove  to  the 


vlf"  ??'''','  «'i«^>anghetti;  furiously. 

«cin'?1 ."  '  »''  °f  «=°«tempt  at  him- 
Can  1 1 !  He  resunfcd :  "  How  verv  sim 
pie,  how  confiding  you  must  be,  mJd^T^n 
ghetti!  Let  me  explain  my  mwlning.  Ymltet 
up  a  wdd  charge  against  a  gentleman  of  cK- 
ter  and  position  about  a  mi^er.  In  the  fi^t 
place,  you  seem  to  forget  that'^e  ica  murderer 

Manmi  l^l"'!^  u'"7  P™P«^'y  convicted  at 
Manilla,  and  hanged  there.  It  wis  twenty  veare 
ago.   What  English  court  would  consider  the  ca^ 

r^ttS'h  fi^ill  '"'^•™P«'tW  Spanish  c^urt 
nas  settled  it  finally; and  punished  the  criminal? 
Ihey  did  so  at  the  time  wfien  the%ise  was  fresh 

now  brir?''*''i'^"-S"«*  '^"J  »r/umphant    You 
now  bring  forward  a'man/ A*ho,  y^u  hint  will 
make  statements  against  me.     Sup^sehe  does' 
What  then  ?    Why,  I  will  show  what  this  man  . 
Lt  ^n      T"*  y  •?.'?^  Langhetti,  will  be  the 

Shrink  """  ^  ""]  •'""K  "P  "K^i""'  Wra.  I 
will  bnng  you  up  under  oath,,and  make  vou  teU 

how  this  Cigole-this  man  4o^stifitCinst 

me-once  made  a  certuilT^timony  inXilr 

against  a  cijrtain  Langhetti  fciiior,  by  which  that 

certain  Langhetti  senior  was  b^tmyl^  ,«  the 

Government,  and  was  saved  only  by  the  MW  of 

two  Englishmen,  one  of  whom  wis  this  same 

Despard      I  will  show  that  this  Langhe  tileV 

.or  wasVour  father,  and  that  the  son,  Wd  of 

avenging,  or  at  any  rate  resenting,  his  fiuher's 

vvrong,  ,s  now  a  bosom  friend  of  Sis  father's  i" 

tended  murderer- that  he  has  nreed  him  on 

affunst  me.     I  will  show,  my  deaFLanghetd 

how  yon  have  led  a  ronng  life,  aodTwhen  . 

of  r;r^"L" ".""« ^""«  >^°"  thraiS  ron: 

of  my  daughter  j  how  you  followed  her  here,  and 
seduced  her  away  from  a  kind  father;  hovy  at 
infiml»  nsfc  I  reg«in«l  herj  how. you  came  to 
Z.r*f  r^r'""'  ''T"-'  ""d  how  o^"  the 
ove  for  my  daughter,  prevented  me  fro^  hand- 
ngyou  over  to  the  authorities.  I  will  prove  you 
to  be  a  scoundrel  of  the  vilest  description,  and 

She'^UlZ'T'v'''  -h^.'^-you  tSink'wouQ 
be  tlie  >erd;ct  of  an  English  jurv,  or  of  any  indoa 
in  any  land  j  and  what  do  you'think  woX  g 
your  own  fate?    Answer  me  that  "       ''^""'"  "• 

friLTi  f^^u  r^}"  f^''^  vehemence.     The 
frightful  truth  flashed  at  once  across  Lnnghet^ 
ti  8  mind  that  Potts  had  it  in  his  power  here  to  f 
show  aU  this  to  the  world.     He  wiEToverl^Mm?  ^ 
ecL     He  had  never  conceived  the  possibilitv  of 
Shis  E"  "'""'"^  him  silently.^h  a  s^,^! 

"Don't  yon  thinjf  that  yon  had  better  ofMmd 
comfort  yourself  With  yonr  dear  friend  Cole 
your  fathers  intended  murderer?"  said  he  e» 
Ugth.  "Cigole  told  me  all  about  this  ?„„"g 
ago.  He  told  me  many  things  about  his  Ufa 
whichwouMberiightlydam.gn,to  hi  "chaL^ 


>? 


»!,..  .u'  "'  T'TT  ""•  *  •^oSYmfaid  tellintf'yoa 
that  the  worst  thing  against  him  in  English  eves 
IS  his  betrayal  of  your  father.  But  this  «jomi  to 
have  been  a  very  slight  matter  to  >ou.  Its  odd 
too;  Ive  always  supposed  that  Italians  under- 
Btood  what  vengeance  means. " 

»iwm"*iI'*"*'  ff'*  **■*  *"  etprewion  of  agony 
which  he  could  not  conceal  .Every  word  o? 
Potustmighimtothiwul.    rib  .to3d  fo? liS 


pli4J(\. 


v.*  ,s  Si, 


162 


CORD  AND  CREESE. 


time  in  silence.    At  last,  vithoat  a  word,  he 
walked  out  of  the  room. 

His  brain  reeled.  He  Btaggej«d  rather  than 
wnlked.  Potts  looked  after  him  with  a  smile  of, 
trivrnph.  Uo  lefl  tlie  Hall  and  returned  to  the 
village,  -v 


"  CHAPTER  XLIIL 

THE  BTBAMOER. 

A  PEW  weeks  after  Langhetti's  visit  Potts  had 
a  new  visitor  at  the  bank.  The  stranger  entered 
the  bank  parlor  noiselessly,  and  -stood  qnietly 
waiting  for  Potts  to  be  disengaged.  That  worthy 
was  making  some  entries  in  a  small  memoran- 
dtim-book.  •jTuming  his  head,  he  saw  the  new- 
comer. Potts  looked  surprised,  and  the  stranger 
said,  in  a  peculiar  voipe,  somewhat  gruff  and 
hesitating, 

"Mr.  Potts?" 

"Yes,"  said  Potts,  looking  hard  at  his  vis-' 
itor. 

He  was  a  man  of  singular  aspect  His  hair 
was  long,  parted  in  the  middle,  and  straight. 
He  wore  dark  colored  spectacles.  A  thicb^  bihck 
beard  ran  under  his  cliin.  His  linen  was  not 
tiA'er-cIean,  and  he  wore  a  long  wirtout  coat. 

"  I  beMng  to  the  firm  of  Bigelow,  Higginson, 
&  Co.,.  Solicitors,  London — I  am  the  Co." 

"Weill" 

"  The  business  aboat  which  I  have  come  is  one 
of  some  importance.  Are  we  secure  from  inter- 
ruption?*!* 

"  Yes,"  said  Potts,  "  as  much  as  I  care  about 
being.  I  don't  know  any  thing  in  particular  that 
I  care  about  locking  the  doors  for. ' 

"Well,  you  know  best,"  said  the  stranger. 
"  The  business  upon  which  I  hare  come  concerns 
you  somewhat,  but  your. son  principally." 
,  Potts  started,  and  looked  with  eager  inquiry 
at  the  stranger. 

"It  is  such  a  tprious  case,"  said  the  latter, 
"  that  my  seniors  thought,  before  taking  any  steps 
in  the  matter,  i(  would  be  best  to  consult  yon 
pjivately." 

"  Wdl,"  returned  Potts,  with  a  fkx)%vn,  "  what 
is  this  wonderful  case  ? " 

"  Forgery,"  said  the  stranger. 

Potts  started  to  his.  feet  with  a  ghastly  face, 
and  stood  speechless  for  some  time. 

"Da you  know  who  you're  talking  tor'  said 
he,  at  last 

'^John  Potts,  of  Brandon  Hall,  I  presume," 
■aid  the  stranger,  coolly.  "My  business  con- 
cerns him  somewhat,  but  his  son  still  more." 

''What  the  devil  do  you  mean?"  growled 
Fotts,  in  a  savage  tone. 

"  Forgerjr,"  said  the  stranger.     "  It  is  an  En- 
glish woid,  I  believe.    Forgery,  in  which*  your 
,  son  was  chief  agent    Have  I  made  myself  un- 
derstood?" 

Pottf  looked  at  him  again,  atd  then  slowly 
went  to  the  door,  locked  it,  and  put  the  key  in 
his  pocket 


**TliHt*B  rlghtj*  said  the  itraui  or,'  tiuiedr.  ^  -^ 
"You  appearTo  take  things  easy,"  rejoined 

Potts,  angrily ;  "but  let  me  tell  4ou,  if  yon  come 

to  bully  me  you've  got  into  the  wrong  shop." 
"You  appear  somewhat  heated.    You  mast 

be  calm,  or  else  we  can  not  get  t^  business ;  and 

in  that  cose  I  shdl  have  to  \vkh 


"  I  don't  see  how  that  would  be  any  affliction," 
'Said  Potts,  with  a  sneer. 

" "  That's  because  you  don't  anderstaild  inj-  po- 
lition,  or  the  state  of  the  present  business,    ior- 
if  I  leave  it  will  "be' the  Signal  for  a  number  of  jh-  ■ 
Crested  parties  to  make  a  combined  dfttack  on 
you." 

"An  attack?' 

"Yes." 

"Who  is  there?"  said  Potts,  defiantly. 

" Giovanni -Cavalla,  for  one;  my  seniors, 
Messrs.  Bigelow  &  Uigginson,  and  several  otli- 
ers.  « 

"  Never  heard  of  any  of  Ihem  before." 

*'  Perhaps  not  But  if  you  write  to  Smitliers' 
&  Co.«they  will  tell  you  that  Bigelow,  Higginson, 
&  Co.  are  their  solicitors,'  and  do  their  confiden- 
tial business." 

"  Smithers  &  Co.  ?""  said  Pott?,  aghast. 

"Yes.  It  would  not  be  for  your  interest  for 
Bigelow,  Higginson,  &  Co.  to  show  Smithers  & 
Co.  the  proofs- which , they  have  against  you, 
would  it?" 

Potts  was  silent  An  expression  of  consterna- 
tion came  over  his  face.  He  plunged  his  hands 
deep  in  his  pockets  and  bowed  his  head  frown- 
iljgly. 

"  It's  all  bo^h,"  said  'he,  at  last,  raisingjliis 

head.     "  Let  tliem  show  and  be  d d.    \yjmt 

have  they  got  to  show  ?"  ^ 

"  I  win  answer  your  question  regularly,"  said 
the  stranger,  "in  accordance  with  my  instruc- 
tions"—  and,  drawing  a  pocket-book  from  \m 
pocket,  he  began  to  read  from  some  memoranda 
written  there. 

"  ls<.  The  n6tes  to  which  the  name  of  Enlph 
Brandon  is  attache^,  150  in  number,  amounting 
to  £93,500." 

"Pooh!"  said  Potts. 

"These  forgeries  were  known  to  several  l)e- 
sides.your  son  and  yourself,  and  one  of  these  men 
will  testify  against  you,  Others  who  know  Bran- 
don's signature  swear  that  this  hicks  an  import- 
ant point  of  distinction  common  to  all  the  Bran- 
don signatures  handed  down  from  father  to  son. 
You  were  foolish  to  leave  these  notes  afloat. 
They  have  all  been  bought  up  on  a  speculation 
by  those  who  wished  to  make  the  Braadoh  prop- 
erty a  little  dearer." 

"I  don't  think  theyll  make  a  fortune  ont  of 
the  speculation,"  said  Potts,  who  was  stifling  with 
rage.     "  D n  them !  who  are  they  ?" 

"Well,  there  are  several  witnesses  who  are 
men  of  such  character  that  if  my  seniora  sent 
them  to  Smithers  &  Co.  Smithers  S.  Co.  would 
believe  that  yoa  were  guilty.  In  a  court  of  tew 
you  would  have  no  better  chance.  One  of  these 
witnesses  utmhe  can  prove  that  your  tnie  name 
is  Briggs.'*  ^  ♦ 

At  this  Potts  bounded  from  his  chair  and 
stepped  forward  with  a  terrific  oath. 

"  You  see,  your.son's  neck  is  in  very  conside^ 
able  danger." 

"  Yours  is  in  greater,"  said  Potts,  with  men- 
acing eyes. . 


"i<<rt  at-aa  Even  gupporfHg  rtwt  ywwsw 
absurd  enough  to  offier  violence  to  an  humble 
subordinate  like  me,  it  would  not  interfere  with 
the  policy  of  Messrs.  Bigelow,  Higginson,  &  Co., 
who  are  determined  to  make  money  out  of  thi» 
transaction.  So  you  lee  it's  abratd  to  talk  of 
violence." 


W;  ■ 


:\A. 


The  stranger  took  no  fhrther  norice  pf  Potts 
tat  looked  again  at  his  memoranda;  while  the 
latter,  whose  face  was  now  terrifle  from  the  furi- 
ous passions  which  it  exhibited,  stood  like  a  wild 
beast  in  a  cage,  •'  willing  to  wo^d,  but  yet  afniid 
to«tnke.  ■  ' 

•'The  next.case,"  said  the  stranger,  "ft  the 
Thornton  forgery."  '  > 

"Thornton!"  exclaimed  Potts,  with  greater 
agitation.  ' 

-.wf'^*"*^  ^''®  stranger.  "In  connection 
with  the  Uespard  morder  there  were  two  sets  of 
forgenes;  one  being  the  Thornton  correspond- 
OTce,  and  the  other  your  correspondence-  with 
^e  Bank  of  Good  Hope." 

..«-i^^?"''  "'•'*''*  ""  tl*"?"  cried  Potts. 
^ne«  have  jron  been  unearthing  this  rubbish  ?" 
T,^'  '  Said  the /stranger,  without  noticing 
Ports 8  exclamation,'  "there  are  the  letters  to 
Thornton,  Senior,  Jwenty  years  ago,  in  which  an 
attempt  wat  made  to  obtain  Colonel  Despard's 
money  for  yourself  One  Ckrk,  an.accomplice 
of  yours,  presented  the  letter.  The  forgery  was 
at  once  detected.  Clark  might  have  esdaped, 
but  he  made  an  effort  at  burglary,  was  caught 
and  wndemned  to  transportation.  He  had  l^en 
already  out  once  before,  and  thU  time  received 
a  Dew  brand  in  addition  to  the  old  ones  " 

Potts  did  not  say  a  word,  but  sat  stuMfied. 
_  1  homton.  Junior,  is  connected  with  us,  and 
his  testimony  m  valuable,  as  he  was  the  one  who 
detected  the  foi^ry.  He  also  was  the  on»who 
irent  to  the  Cape  of  Good  Hope,  wh^re  lie'had 
the  pleasure  of  meeting  with  yon.  This  brines 
mo  to  the  third  case,"  continued  the  stranger 

"  Letters  were  sent  to  the  Cape  of  Good  Hope 
ordering  money  to  be  paid  to  John  Potts.  Thorn- 
ton, Senior,  fearing  from  the  first  attempt  that  a 
Miliar  one  would  be  made  at  the  Cnpe,  where 
die  deceased  had  funds,  sent  his  son  there.  Yountf 
Thornton  reached  the  place  just  before  you  did! 
and  would  have  arrested  yon,  but  the  proof  wai 
not  sufBcient."  *^ 

"Aha!"  cried  Potts,  grasping  at  this— "not 
•offlcient  proof  1  I  should  think  not."  His  voice 
was  husky  and  bis  manner  nervous. 
.  " ^  *"l**i'™'  not'-but  Messrs.  Bigelow,  Hig- 
ginson,  &  Co.  have  informed  me  that, there  are 
parties  now  in  communication  with  then!  who 
can  prove  how,  when,  where,  and  by  whom  the 
forgenes  were  executed." 

.  f' ^i.\"  ^~T^  ""^"^  "« '"  "Mwd  Potts,  in 
•  fresh  burst  of  anger. 

."}°^JJ*>P^'^^tthf>ytUiU,.  The  man  has 
«m»dy  written  out  a  statement  in  Cull,  and  is 
only  waiting  for  my  return  to  sign  it  before  a 
magistrate.  'PhU  will  be  •  death-warmnt  ftr 
your  son ;  for  Messrs.  Bigelow,  Higginson,  &  Co. 
wll  have  him  arrested  at  once.  You  aw  aware 
tftat  he  has  no  chance  of  eacmt.    The  amount 

too  opormons,  and  the  proof  is  too  strong." 

.TOnld  believe  any  thing  agunst  a  man  like 
me,  John  Potts— a  man  of  the  county?"  . 
gngUsh  law  is  no  jespecter  of  persons,"  raid 


CORD  Aini  CREESE. 


-A»t«w5k;^^B«A goSfoTnot^  'But"if 
um make cUfi distinctions,  the  witnesses  about 
iftwe  docnmenu  are  of  great  influence.  There  is 
fhomfon  of  Hdby,  and  Colonel  Henry  Despard 

Bi^i"  ^'S.IP*^  "°P«>  ^'"»  '^hora  Messrs. 
Bwelow,  Hira^nson,  &  Co.  have  had  con«- 
•pondence.    There  are  also  othen." 


„M  ?'"  "^  ?• ","'"  ^Claimed  Potts,  in  a  voice 
Zhn^  '^t^  little  tremulous.  "  Who  is  this  foS 
who  has  been  making  out  papers  ?" 

ul\^!^  """^  "  *''•'"?»!  true  name  Lawton. 
SS'lnV^.?^'^"'^'^ «»»->'  --^-tiao^- 

«eJSrxSffiSsrs;£t 

Se7os"p^^''^'^«-    ^o-momenthrw°aS 
»  ^Wlips !"  he  gasped,  at  length. 

A  Pn  M- K  **"' ''™  ""  business  to  Smithem 
&Co.  He  has  not  yet  returned.  He  does  not 
mtend  to,  for  he  was  found  oat  by  Messre  Bi^ 
low  Hi^nson,  &  Co.,  and  you  know  how  ti,^ 
r^»l  fi.„  u^  ^'^''\  succeeded  in  extracting  the 
ruth  from  him.  As  I  am  in  a  huiry,  and  you 
too  m,wt  be  busy,"  continued  the  stiinger,  ^.ll 
unchanged  accents,  "I  wiU  now  comfto  the 
point.  ITiese  forge*  papers  involve  an  amount 
to  the  extent  of-Bmndon  forgeries,  £i)A,r,QO- 

1?.^'""^"'^'^  ^^°^'  ^^^  «f  Good  Ho,«; 
poOO ;  being  m  aU  £102,500.  Messrs.  BiLl 
ow  Higginson,  &  Co.  have  instructed  me  to  say 
^oll^ul  ^"".««»  .these  papeni  to  you  at  their 
face  without  charging  interest.  They  will  hand 
them  over  to  you  and  you  can  destroy  them,  in 
SSUT'  '"""^  *•'  charge  must' bS 
bl<^' ■•  "^' *" "'^^ ^°"'''   " ^"" ^"^^ *^^ •'cvUs 

"That  would  be  murder,"  said  tlie  stranger 
with  a  pe<;uUar  emphasis.  .     ^  ' 

His  tone  stung  Potts  to  the  quick. 
You  appear  to  take  me  for  a  bom  fool,"  he  . 
cried,  stndmg  up  and  down. 

"Not  at  all.    I  am  only  an  agent  carrvhiff 
out  the  instructions  of  others. "  "»"  :  ™g 

Potts  suddenly  stopped  in  his  walk, 
hissed*^*  yo"  ^  those  papers  about  you?''  he 

"AU." 

Potts  looked  aU  around.    The  door  was  locked. 
rtJughl*"®  ''"*"^'"  ^'^  "^  '•» 

"No  use,"  said  he,  calmly.     "Messrs.  Bige-    • 
low,  Higgmson,  &  Co.  would  miss  me  if  anr 
hing  happened     Besides,  I  may  as  weU  tell  yoa 
that  I  am  armed.  ' 

The  strangec  rose  up  and  faced  Potts,  while, 
from  behind  his  dark  spectacles,  his  eyes  seemS 
'"K'owUkeaifa  Potts  retreated  with  a  cuiX^ 
Messrs.  Bigelow,  Higginson,  &  Co.  instructed 
me  to  say  that  if  I  am  not  btek  with  the  money 
by  to-morrow  night,  they  wiU  at  once  begin  a<^ 
tion,  and  have  your  son  arrested.  They  will 
also  inform  Srtiithers  &  Co.,  to  whom  they  say 
yon  are  indebted  for  over  ^eOOO.OOO.  So  that 
.smithers  &  Co.  wilLat  wice  come  down  uoou 
yoa  for  payment"  *^ 

a'^^  ?4'^f  *  P°-  •'"<»''  "ny  th^K  "boot 
this?  asked  PoW,  in  a  voice  of  intent  anxi- 
ety.  ^ 

'l^y  do  bnsinesa  with  yon  the  same  as  ever, 


"Yes." 

.'.'  i!u  ^ ''"  y™  "oppose  they  can  know  it  ?"  . 
ihey  would  never  believe  it"  • 

"ITiey  wouldnieUeve  any  statement  made  by 
Messrs.  Bigelow,  Higginson,  &  Co.  My  senion 
have  been  on  vour  track  for  a  long  time,  and  have 
come  into  conbecuon  with  various  parties.    One 


fi^M^  .>iifit^  'AUr  ■ 


164 


man  who  is  an  Ital^Mkey  consider^mpoi 
They  authorize  meH|nte  to  you  that  this  man 
can  also  prove  the  foffbries. " 

"  Who  ?"  gasped  Pptts. 

"His  name  is  Cigole." 

"Cigole!" 

"Yes."      , 
'D- him  I" 


COBD  AND  CREESE. 

rtahc 


"  You  may  damn  him,  but  that  won't  silence 
him,"  remarked  the  other,  mildly. 

"Well,  what  are  you  going  to  do?"  growled 
Potts. 

"Present  you  the  offer  of  Messrs.  Bfgelow, 
Higginson,  &  Co.,"  said  the  other,  with  calm  per- 
tinacit}'.  "Upon  it  depend  yonr  fortune  and 
your  son's  life. ' 

"  How  long  are  you  going  to  wait  ?" 

"Till  evenjng.  I  leave  to-night.  Perhaps 
yon  would  like  to  think  this  over.  I'll  give  you 
till  three  o'clo<^.  If  you  decide  to  accept,  all 
well;  ifnot,  Igoback.^' 

The  stranger  rose,  and  Potts  unlocked  the 
door  for  him. 

After  he  left  Potts  sat  down,  buried  in  his  own 
reflections.     In  about  an  hour  ClarK  came  in. 

"Well,  Johnnie!" said  he,  "what's  up?  You 
look  down — any  trouble?" 

At  this  Potts  tol^  Clark  the  story  of  the  recent 
interview.  CladOpoked  grave,  and  shook  his 
head  several  time^ 

"Bad!  bad!  Md!"  said  he,  slowly,  when 
Potts  had  ended.  §'  You're  in  a  tight  place,  lad, 
and  I  don't  see  what  you've  got  to  do  but  to 
knock  under." 

A  lopg  silence' followed. 

"  When  did  that  chap  say  he  would  leave  ?" 

"To-night." 

Another  silence. 

"I  suppose,"  said  Clark,  "we  can  find  out 
how  he  goes?" 

"  I  suppose  so,"  returned  Potts,  gloomily. 

"Somebody  might  go  with  him  Or  follow  him," 
■aid  Clark,  darkly. 

Potts  looked  at  him.  The  two  exchanged 
glances  of  intelligence. 

"  Yon  see,  you  pay  your  money,  and  get  your 
papers  back.  It  would  be  foolish  to  let  this  man  * 
get  away  with  so  much  money.  One  hundred 
and  two  thousand  five  hundred  isn't  to  be  picked 
np  every  day.  Let  us  pick  it  up  this  time,  or  try 
to.  I  can  drop  down  to  the  in|i  this  evening,  and 
■ee  the  cut  of  the  man.  I  don't  like  what  he 
told  about  me.    I  call  it  backbiting." 

"  Yon  take  a  proper  view  of  the  matter,"  said 
Potts.  "He's  daiigerouB.  He'll  be  down  on 
yon  next  What  I  don't  like  about  him  is  his 
cold-bloodedness."  >, 

"  It  does  come  hard." 

"  Well,  we'll  arrange  it  that  way,  shall  we?" 

"  Yes,  yon  pay  over,  and  get  your  documents, 
and  I'll  try  my  hand  at  getting  the  money  back. 
I've  done  harder  things  than  that  in  my  time, 
and  so  have  yon— hey,  lad  1" 

"  1  remember  a  few." 

der  if  this  man  knows  uiy  of  4he!Bi" 

"No,"  said  Potts,  confidently.  "He  would 
^ve  Haid  something." 

"Don't  be  too  sure.  The  fact  is,  Fve  been 
ttaubled  ever  since  that  girl  came  out  so  strong 
on  ns.    "What  are  you  going  to  do  with  her?" 

"Don't  know," growled  Potto.  "Keep  her 
•till  somehow." 


"  Give  her  to  me." 

"What'll  yon  do  with  her?"  asked  Potts,  in 
surprise. 

"Take  her  as  my  wife,"  said  Clark,  with  a 
grin.  "  I  think  I'll  follow  your  example  and  set 
up  housekeeping.  The  girl's  plucky;  and  I'd 
like  to  take  her  down."         > 

"We'll  do  it ;  and  the  sooner  the  better.  You 
don't  want  a  minister,  d(^  you  ?" 

"  Well,  I  think  I'll  have  it  done  up  8hip-ghn|)c ; 
marriage  in  high  life  ^,  papers  all  full  of  it ;  luve> 
ly  appearance  of  the  bride— ha,  ha,  ha!  I'll 
save  you  all  further  trouble  about  her — a  hus- 
band is  better  than  a  father  in  such  a  case.  If 
that  Italian  comes  round  it'll  be  his  last  round." 

Some  further  conversation  followed,  in  which 
Clark  kept  making  perpetual  references  to  his 
bride.  The  idea  haid  takefi  hold  of  his  mind  com- 
pletely. 

At  one  o'clock  Potts  went  to  the  inn,  where  he 
found  the  agent.  He  handed  over  the  money  in 
silence.  'liie  agent  gave  him  the  documents. 
Potts  looked  at  them  edl  carefully. 

Then  be  departed. 


CHAPTER  XLIV. 

THE   STRANOEB's  8T0BT. 

That  evening  a  number  of  people  were  in  the 
principal  parlor  of  the  Brandon  Inn.  It  was  a 
cool  evening  in  October ;  and  there  was  a  lire 
near  which  the  partner  of  Bigelow,  Higginson, 
&  Co.  had  seated  himself. . 

Clark  had  come  in  at  the  first  of  the  evening 
and  had  been  there  ever  since,  talking  volubly 
and  laughing  boisterously.  "The  othqrs  were 
more  or  less  talkative,  but  none  of  them  rivaled 
Chtrk.  'rhey  were  nearly  all  Brandon  people; 
and  in  their  treatment  of  Clark  there  was  a  cer- 
tain restraint  whicb<^e  latter  either  did  not  wisit 
or  care  to  notice. ,  As  for  the  stranger  he  snt 
apart  in  sUence  without  regarding  any  one  in 
particular,  and  giving  no  indication  whether  he 
was  listening  to  what  was  going  on  or  '^as  indif- 
ferent to  it  ^1.  From  time  to  time  Clark  threw 
glances  in  his  direction,  and  once  or  tnice  he 
tried  to  draw  some  of  the  company  out  to  make 
remarks  about  him;  but  the  company  seemed 
reluctant  to  touch  upon  the  subject,  and  merely 
listened  with  patience. 

Cliurk  had  evidently  a  desire  in  his  mind  to  be 
very  entertaining  and  lively.  With  this  intent  he 
told  a  number  of  stories,  most  of  which  were  in- 
termingled ynth  allusions  to  the  company  present, 
together  with  the  stranger.  At  last  he  gazed  at 
the  latter  in  silence  for  some  little  time,  and  then 
turned  to  the  company. 

' '  There's  one  among  ns  that  hasn't  opened  his 
mouth  this  Evening.  I  call  it  unsociable..  I  move 
that  the  pailty  prooeed  to  open  it  forthwith.  AVho 
seconds  theimotioft  ?    Don't  all  speak  at  once." 

The  company  looked  at  one  another,  but  no 
OKQ  mode  any  reply.  

"What!  no  one  speaks!  All  rlgSt;  SISee 
gives  consent;"  and  with  these  words  CUrk  ad- 
vanced towi^  the  stranger.  The  latter  said  no- 
thing, but  sot  in  a  careless  attitude. 

"  Friend  r  »ld  Clark,  standing  before  the 
stranger,  "We're  all  friends  here— we  wish  to  be 
sociable— «)  think  you  are  too  silent— will  yoo 


I 


i^ 


>  better.    You 


Sf 


!'  OOHD  AND  CREESE, 

to  Wn^enodgli  to  open  your  mouth?  If  yon 
wont  tcai  a  story,  perhaps  you  wiU  bo  good 
enoDgh^  wPK.iis  a  song  ?'' 

[The  aitraoger  sat  npright. 

"  WelV'^d  he,  in  the  same  peculiar  harsh 
Toice  an^  slow  tone  with  which- he  had  spoken 
t«V<m  Hthe  request  is  a  fair  one,  and  1  shall 
ht  happy  to  open  my  mouth.  ,  I  ngnt^o  state 
that  having  no  voice  I  shaU  beSunable  to  give 


you  a  song  but  I'll  be  glad  to  telK»  story,  if  the 
Oompany  willhsten."  "     ' 

"  The  company  wiU  feel  honored,"  stdd  ClArk. 
in  a  mocking  tone,  as  he  resumed  his  seat.  ' 
■  The  s^ger  arose,  and,  going  to  the  fire- 
place, picked  up  a  piece  of  charcoal. 

Clark  sat  in  the  midst  of  the  circle,  lookinjt  at 
bun  with  a  sneering  finile. 

"It's  rather  an  (^d  stoiy,"  said. the  stranger, 
"and  I  only  heard  it  the  other  day:  perhaps 
yon  won  t  beheve  it,  but  it's  true  " 

"Oh  never  mind  the  truth  of  it!"  exclaimed 
Clark—"  push  along. "         • 

The  stranger  stepped  up  to  the  wall  over  the 
iire-place. 

'.'  ^^J""*.,^  '^P  I  wish  to  make  a  few  marks, 
which  I  wiU  explain  in  process  of  time;  Mv 
story  IS  connected  with  these." 

..  "Z,*"**'^  •>'*  charcoal  and  made  upon  the  wall 
the  following  marks :  "" 


165 


+ 


He  then  timed,  and  stood  for  a  moment  In 
auence. 

The  eflect,nnon  Clark  was  appalling.  His 
ftce  turned  Lvid,  his  arms  cluti;hed  violently  at 
fte  soit  of  his  chair,  his  jaw  fell,  and  his  eyes 
WOT  lixed  on  the  marks  as  though  fascinated  by 

TTie  stranger  appeared  to  take  no  notice  of 

"These  marks  "  said  he,  "  were,  or  rather  are, 
jpon  the  back  of  a  fnend  of  mine,  about  whom 
I  m  gomg  to  tell  a  little  story : 

The  first  (  /f^  )  u  the  Queen's  mark,  kit  on 
cmain  pnsoners  out  in  Botiiny  Bay,  who  weKr 
auiy  uunbordinate. 

ff^.Sy.'T'l'*.  ^7'  attempted  to  escape. 

«  fte  guards.  When  thev  don't  hang  the  cnl- 
pit  they  put  this  on,  and  those  who  are  branded 

for  UfeT*^  ''°**'*'*  •""  ""^  **"*' "  <*»*"»' 
rflT"^  BSMto  are  on  the  back  of  a  ftiend 
£  «^  •*"  ^t  ^  *'"^  "o*  mention,  bat 
w  conrenienoe  lake  I  WiU  caU  him  Clark." 


Clark  didn't  even  resent  this,  but  sat  mute, 
with  a  face  of  awful  e  xpectation. 
_  ''My  friend  Clark  had  led  a  life  of  stranee 
.icjssitud^,  said  the  stranger,  "having  slipped 
through  the  meshes  tt  the  law  very  successfid- 
ly  a  great  number  of  times,  but  finally  lie  was 
caught,  and  sent  to  Botany  Bnv.  H6  scr^■ed 
his  ume  out,  and  left;  but,  finally,  after  a  ge- 
nes of  vei7  extraordinary  adventures  in  India, 
and  some  odd  events  in  the  Indian  Ocean,  he 
came  to  England.  Bid  luck  followed  him,  how- 
ever He  ma^e  an  attempt  at  burgkry,  and  was 
caught,  convicted,  and  sent  back  again  to  his  old 
station  at  Botany  Bay.  • 

.  "  Of  course  he  felt  n  strong  reluctance  to  stiAr 
in  such  a  place,  ahd  tl.erefore  began  to  plan  an 
escape.  He  madeon.i  attempt,  wiiicli  was  un- 
successful He  theti  laid  a  plot  with  two  other 
notorious  offenders.  :S2a«h  of  these  three  had 
been  branded  with  tWwe  letters  which  I  have 
marked.  One  of  thes^  was  named  Stubbs,  and 
another  Wilson,  the  third  was  this  Clark.  No 
one  knew  how  they  mejt  to  make  their  arrange- 
ments, for  the  prison  rcjguhitions  are  very  strict: 
but  they  did  meet,  and  managed  to  confer  to- 
gether. They  contrived  to  get  rid  of  the  chains 
that  were  fastened  around  their  ankles,  and  one 
stormy  night  they  started  oflt  and  made  a  run  for 

''The  next  day  the  guards  were  out  in  pursuit 
with  dogs.  They  went  all  day  long  ofi  their 
track  over  a  very  rough  conntrj-,  and  finally  came 
to  a  nver.  Here  they  prepared  to  pass  the  night. 
Un  rising  early  on  the  following  momin« 
they  saw  sometjiing  n;oving  on  the  top  of  a  hill 
on  the  opposite  side  of  the  river.  On  watchinir 
It  narrowly  they  saw  three  men.  They  hurried 
on  at  once  m  pursuit.  The  fugitives  kept  well 
allead,  however,  as  was  natural ;  and  since  they 
w4re  mmnjig  for  life  and  freedom  they  made  a 
better  pacef. 

"  B"*  'hqr  were  pretty  well  worn  out.  Tliey 
had  taken  no  provisions  with  them,  and  had  not 
palciUated  on  so  close  a  pursuit.  They  kept 
ahead  as  best  they  could,  and  at  Ust  readied  a 
narrow  nver  that  ran  down  between  cliflTs  through 
a  gully  to  the  sea.  The  cUffs  on  each  side  were 
high  and  bold.  But  they  had  to  cross  it;  so 
down  on  one  side  they  went,  and  np  the  other. 

Clark  and  Stubbs  got  up  first  Wilson  was 
just  reaching  the  top  when  the  report  of  a  gnn 
was  heard,  and  a  bullet  struck  him  in  the  arm. 
Groaning  in  his  agony  he  rushed  on  trying  to 
keep  np  with  his  companions. 

"  Fortunately  for  t^em  night  came  on.  Thev 
hurried  on  all  night,  scarcely  knowing  where 
they  were  going,  Wilson  in  an  agony  trjing  to 
keep  up  with  them.  Toward  morning  they 
snatched  a  little  rest  under  a  rock  near  a  brook 
and  then  harried  forward. 

"  For  two  days  more  they  hastened  on,  keep- 
ing  out  of  reach  of  their  pursuers,  yet  still  know- 
ing that  they  were  followed,  or  at  least  fearing 

It.    They  haid  gone  over  a  wild  mnntry  nloogjhfl. 

coas^  and  keeping  a  northward  direction.  At 
length,  after  four  days  of  wandering,  they  came 
to  a  little  creek  by  the  sea-shore.  There  wet« 
three  houses  here  belonging  to  fishermen.  They 
rushed  into  the  first  hat  and  implored  food  and 
drink.  The  men  were  off  to  Sydney,  but  the 
kind-hAarted  women  gave  them  what  they  h^ 
They  Were  terrified  at  the  aapeot  of  these  wi^S. 


CORD  AND  CREESE. 


ed  men,  whoM  natnral  ferodtjr  had  been  height- 
ened by  hardship,  fiunine,  and  gnifering.  Gaant 
and  grim  a*  they  were,  they  leemed  mord!  terri- 
I4e  than  three  wild  beasts.  The  women  knew 
that  they  were  escaped  convicts. 

"There  was  a  boat  lying  on  the  beach.  To 
this  the  first  thoughts  of  the.fugitires  were  direct- 
ed. They  filled  a  cask  of  water  and  pat  it  on 
board.  They  demanded  some  provigions  from 
the  fisherman's  wife,  jlbe^  flightened  wwaan 
gave  them  some  fish  end  a  few  ship -biscuit 
They  were  about  to  forage  for  themselves  when 
Wilson,  who  had  been  watching,  gave  the  alarm. 

"Thmr  pnrsners  were  upon  them,  lliey  had 
to  run  for  it  at  once.  They  had  baldly  time  to 
rash  to  the  boat  and  eet  out  a  little  distance 
whep  the  guard  reached  the  beach.    H»  iMter 


fired  a  few  shots  after  them,  bnt  the  shotg  took 
noefiisct 

"  The  fugitives  put  out  to  sea  in  the  open  boat 
They  headed  north,  for  they  hoped  to  catch  Eome 
Australian  ship  and  be  taken  up.  Their  provi- 
sions were  soon  exhansted.  F&rtnnately  it  was  the 
rainy  season,  so  that  they  had  a  plentif(il  supply 
of  water,  with  which  they  managed  to  keep  their 
cask  filled ;  but  that  did  not  prevent  them  from 
^affigHBythfragoniea  of  funinfc  Clark  and  Stubbt^ 
soon  b^n  to  look  at  Wilson  with  looks  that 
made  him  quiver  with  tenor.  Naturally  enoif^ 
gentlemen;  von  see  they  were  starving.  Wilson 
was  the  weakest  of  the  three,  and  therefore  wis 
at  their  mercy.  They  tried,  however,  to  catch 
fish.  It  was  of  no  use!  Thete  seemed  to  bo  no 
fish  in  those  leu,  or  eke  thebto  of  btead  crumb 


.i.ijfii^m 


which  they  put 
Wt 

"The  two  m« 
the  eyes  of  fiec 
desire,  beaming 
famine  had  tat 
muniing  Wilson 
■The  stronger  ] 
•nfiil  silence. 

"The  lives  of 

(le  longer,"  he  at 

"They  sailed 

Stubbs  began  to 

nnderstand,  gem 

thing  for  these 

tame  glances  wl 

Each  one  feared 

chance,  and  each 

"Theyconldi 

the  how,  the  othi 

another.    My  ini 

lar  endurance.  ^ 

Enough ;  the  bd« 

one  was  left. 

"A  ship  was  b 
crew  saw  a  boat 
They  stopped  and 
stained  with  blooi 
was  ky  around, 
boat  which  chilled 
took  Clark  on  be 
and  raved  in  his 
tell  of  what  be  1 
age  lio  one,  spoke  < 
Town,  and  put  hir 
"My  friend  is 
yon  like  my  story  j 
The  stranger  sa 
lowed,  which  was  t 
half  groan  and  hal 
He  lifted  himsel 
&ce  livid  and  his  i 
out  of  the  room. 


CHI 

bkatbiqe'b 

September  7,  18^ 
long  account  of  her 
by  and  London,  anc 
omitted,  as  it  wonl( 
etition  of  what  has 
Bnindon  left  me  m; 
fierce  impulse  which 
the  remainder  of  th 
of  consciousness  oft 
he  had  only  left  mo  i 
me  in  sd|ne  way  wit 

Night  came,  and 
What  availed  his  p 
*hnt  I  feared  ?  W 
hav^  in  this  house? 
.    wot«BBedr= 

In  the  morning  I ! 
go  to  Mrs,  Compton 
mmt,  I  saw  standinj 
Hod  I  seen  Brando 
nsveibeen  more  ama 
•d  ait  me  with  a  war 

"jUow  did  you  ge 

,     v^   ^  ..    \ 


^ch  they  pnt  down  were  not  an'ottractive 

"The  two  men  began  to  look  nt  Wilson  with 
the  e>es  of  fiends— eyes  that  flamed  vyith  foul 
desire,  tieaming  from  deep,  hollow  orbit*,  which 
famine  had  made.  The  days  passed.  One 
morning  Wilson  h»y  dead." 

.The  stranger  paused  for  a  moment,  amidst  on 
awful  silence. 

"The  lives  of  these  two  were  pre8er\ed  a  lit- 
Ue  onger,    he  added,  in  slow,  measured  tones. 

c  J  t^  ""'**' .°"-.  ^"  *  '■^^  ^nys  Clark  and 
Stubbs  began  to  look  at  one  another.  You  will 
nnderstand,  gentlemen,  that  it  was  an  awful 
thing  for  these  men  to  cast  at  each  other  the 
wne  glances  which  thev  once  cast  on  Wilson 
Each  one  feared  the  other;  each  watched  his 
chance,  and  each  guarded  against  his  companion 
rhey  could  no  longer  row.  The  one  sat  in 
the  how,  the  other  in  the  stern,  glaring  at  one 
mother.  My  fntend  Gark  was  a  man  of  singu- 
tar  endurance.  %Jnt  why  go  into  particulan.? 
Enough;  the  bdSt  drifted  on,  and  at  hist  only 
one  was  left.  ■; 

"A  ship  was  jailing  from  Australia,  and  the 
am  saw  a  boat  drifting.  A  man  was  there 
Biey  stopped  tind  picked  him  up.  The  boat  was 
Homed  with  blood.  Tokens  of  what  that  blood 
was  ky  around.  There  were  other  things  in  the 
boatwhichchiUedthe  blood  of  the  sailors  Thev 
took  Clark  on  board.  He  wa»-mad  at  first 
and  raved  in  his  deUrium.  They  heard  him 
tdl  of  what  he  had  done.  During  that  voy- 
age no  one.spoke  to  him.  They  touched  at  Cape 
lown,  and  put  him  ashore.- 

"My  friend  is  yet  alive  andvjvell.  How  do 
yon  hke  my  story?" 

The  stranger  sat  down.  A  deep  stiltoess  fol- 
lowed, which  was  suddenly  broken  by  something 
half  groan  and  hal  f  curse.     It  was  Clark 

He  lifted  himself  heavily  from  his  chair,  his 
&ce  hvid  and  his  eyes  bloodshot,  and  staggered 
out  <rf  the  room.  m   '»» 


CORD  AND  CREESE. 


le^ 


CHAPTER  XL V. 
beatbice's  jodbnai,  concldded. 

September  7,  1849.— pTiis  part  begins  with  a 
todgMcount  of  her  escape,  her  fortunes  at  Hol- 
liy  and  London,  and  her  recapture,  which  is  here 
wiitted,  as  It  would  be  to  a  large  extent  a  rep- 
Wition  of  what  has  already  been  stated.]— After 
Bm<ton  left  me  mv  heart  stiU  tlirobbed  with  the 
fierce  impulse  which  he  had  imparted  to  it.  For 
Um>  leraamder  of  the  day  I  was  upheld  by  a  sort 
ofconsciousnMs  of  his  presence.  I  felt  as  though 
tohadcHriy  left  me  m  perron  and  had  surrounded 
me  m  s^pe  way  with  his  mysterious  protection. 

Night  came,  and  with  the  night  came  gloom. 

l»ve  in  this  hoiue  ?    I  fKX  a^dC^  Ih^  *^i    ^    u  '.""u"""  '''"'*  *■"  *•«»  "«**'«^  but 
*^  returned.       -     ~^^^-'  *"^iS^J??i|  «he  onlv  looked  the  more  temfled.    Wl>yUfa>. 


In  the  morning  I  happened  to  croes  the  haU  to 
go  to  Mrs.  Compton'8  room,  when,  to  my  araaze- 
matl  saw  standing  outside  the  Hindu  Asgeelo. 
Han  I  seen  Brandon  himself  I  could  scarcely 
teve  been  more  amazed  or  oveijoyed.     He  look- 

.r..*"*  '"'*'  *  »"n*ing  gesture. 
;Uow  did  you  get  here  ?"  1  whiapereil. 


"  My  master  sent  me." 
A  thrill  passed  through  my  reins. 
"Do  not  %ar,"  he  said,  and  walked  mysteri- 
ously away.  ,  ' 

I  asked  Mrs.  Comptoii  who  he  was,  and  she 
said  he  was  a  new  servant  whom//c  had  just 
Hired,  bhe  knew  nothing  more  of  him. 
'  September  12.^A  week  has  passed.  Th»«' 
far  I  have  been  left  alone.  Perhaps  they  do  not 
^now  what  to  do  with  me.  Perhaps  they  are 
busy  arranging  some  dark  plan. 

Can  I  trust?  Oh,  Help  of  the  helpless,  save 
me  I  ^ 

Asgeelo  is  here— but  what  can  one  mnn  do? 
At  best  he  can  only  report  to  his  master  my 
agony  or  my  deoth.  May  that  Death  soon  com& 
Kindly  will  I  welcome  him. 

Septetiiber  15.— Things  are  certainly  different 
here  from  what  they  used  to  be.  Tha'senants 
take  pains  to  pnt  themselves  in  my  way,  go  as  to 
show  me  profound  respect.  What  is  the  raenn- 
mg  of  this  ?  Once  or  twice  I  have  met  them  in 
the  hall  and  have  marked  their  humble  bearing 
Is  It  mockery  ?  Or  is  it  intended  to  entrap  mo  ? 
1  will  not  trust  any  of  them. .  Is  it  possible  that 
this  can  be  Brandon's  mysterious  powei? 

Impossible.  It  is  rather  a  trick  to  win  my 
confidence.  But  if  so,  why  &  They  do  not  need 
to  trick  me.     I  am  at  their  mercy. 

I  am  at  their  mercy,  and  ara  without  defense. 
What  wiU  become  of  me  ?  What  is  to  be  my  fate  ? 
Philips  has  been  as  devoted  as  ever.  He 
leaves  me  flowers  every  day.  He  tries  to  show 
jyrapathy.  At  least  I  have  two  friends  hero— 
1  hihps  and  Asgeelo.  But  Philip*  is  timid,  and 
Asgeelo  13  only  one  against  a  crowd.  There  is 
Vijnl— but  I  have  not  seen'^m. 

September  25.— To-day  in  my  closet  I  found  a 
number  of  bottles  of  diflferent  kinds  of  medicine, 
nsed  while  I  was  sick.  Two  of  these  attracted 
my  attention.  One  was  labeled  '"Laljanum  " 
another  was  labeled  "  Uydror.ynnic  Acid—Poi. 
son.  I  suppose  they  nsed  these  drugs  for  mv 
benefit  at  that  time.  The  sight  of  tfiem  gavi  ' 
me  more  ioy  than  any  thing  else  that  I  could 
have  found.  t. 

When  the  tune  comes  which  I  dread  I  shall 
not  be  without  resource.     Tliese  thaU  save  me. 

October  8.  —They  leave  me  unmolested.    They 
are  waiting  for  some  crushing  blow,  no  doube  > 
Asgeelo  sometimes  meets  me,  and  makes  siiniB 
of  encouragement. 

To-day  Philips  met  me  and  said;  "Don't  fear 
—the  crisis  is  coming."  I  asked  what  he  meant. 
As  usiuU  he  loOftd  frightbned  and  hurried  away. 
What  docs  he  mean^  What  crisis?  The 
only  crisis  that  I  can  Ullnk  of  is  one  which  fills 
me  wth  dread.  WMn  that  comes  I  will  meet 
it  hrmly.  / 

October  10.-HMr8.,Compton  told  me  to-day 
that  I  hihps/had  gone  to  London  on  businesi 
t       TJ  ^  """*  ^^^^  ^*'7  '""''''  troubled. 


should  feel  alarm  about  the  departure  of  Philip* 
for  London  I  can  not  imagine.  Has  it  an  v  thing  to 
do  with  me  ?    No.    How  can  it  ?    My  fa'te,  w&t. 

J^*'  ^  """*  ^  'W)ught  out  here  in  this  pUhml 
I  *^. ^^—Tlie  dreaded  crisis  has  come  at 
lost  WiU  not  this  be  my  last  entry?  How  can 
I  longer  avoid  the  fate  that  impends? 

This  afternoon  He  sent  for  me  to  come  down. 


1-        »  ,  i  ^^ 


ife  iutii 


i^~ 


166 


CORD  AND  CREESE. 


1  went  to  the  dining-room  expecting  some  hor- 1 
ror,  niid  I  was  not  <lisap|K)inteJ.      The  three 
were  sitting  there  an  tliey  luid  sut  beforej  and  I 
tliought  tiiut  there  was  trouble  upon  their  fuccs.  I 
It  was  only  two  o'clock,  and  they  had  just  fin-  ] 
ished  lunch.  I 

fjohn  was  the  first  to  speak.  He  addressed 
me  in  a  mocking  tone.    ' 

"  I  have  the  honor  to  inform  you,"  inid  he, 
"that  the  time  has  arrived  When  you  are  to  be 
took  down." 

I  paid  no  attention  whatever  to  these  words. 
I  felt  culm.  The  old  sense  of  superiority  came 
over  me,  and  I  looked  at  Him  without  a  tremor. 

My  tyrant  glanced  at  me  with  a  dark  scowl. 
"After  your  behavior,  girl,  you  ought  to  bless 
your  lucky  stars  that  you  got  off  as  you  did. .  If 
I  lind  done  right,  I'd  have  made  you  pay  u]i  well 
for  the  trouble  you've  given.  Hut  I've  spared 
you.  At  the  satne  time  I  wouldn't  have  done  so 
long.  I  was  just  arranging  a  nice  little  plan  for 
your  benefit  when  this  gentleman" — nodding  his 
iicad  to  Clark — "this  gentleman  saved  me  the 
treuble," 

I  said  nothing. 

"  Come,  Clark,  spenk  up — it's  your  affair — " 

"Oh,  you  manage  it,"  said  Clark.  "You've 
got  the  'gift  of  gab.'     I  never  had  it." 

"  I  never  in  all  my  born  days  saw  so  bold  a 
man  as  timid  with  a  girl  ns  you  are." 

"  He's  doin'  what  I  shouldn't  like  to  try  on," 
said  .John. 

"  See  here,"  said  my  fyront,  sternly,  "this  gen- 
tleman has  very  kindly  consented  to  take  charge 
of  you.  lie  has  even  gone  so  fur  as  to  consent 
to  maiTy  you.  He  will  actually  make  you  his 
wife.  In  my  opinion  he's  cnizy,  but  he's  got  his 
own  ideas.  He  has  promised  to  give  you  a  tip- 
top wedding.  If  it  had  been  lefl  to  mc,"Jie  went 
on,  sternly,  "I'd  have  let  you  have  something 
very  difierent,  but  he's  a  soft-hearted  fellow,  and 
is  going  to  do  a  roCtish  thing.  It's  lucky  for 
you  though.  You'd  have  had  a  precious  hard 
time  of  it.  with  me,  I  tell  you.  You've  got  to  be 
grateful  to  hijn ;  so  come  up  here,  and  give  him 
a  ki4>s,'iind  thank  him." 

iio  prepared  was  I  for  any  horror  that  this  did 
not  surprise  me, 

■  "Do  you  hear?"  he  cried,  as  I  stood  motion- 
less.    I  said  nothing. 

"  Do  as  I  say,  d — n  yon,  or  111  make  you. 

' '  Come, "  said  Clark,  "don't  make  a  fuss  about 
the  wench  now — it  '11  be  all  right.  !»he'll  like 
kissing  well  enough,  and  be  only  too  glad  to  give 
me  one  before  a  week." 

"  Yes,  bat  she  ought  to  be  made  to  do  it  now." 

"  Not  nepessary,  Johnnie ;  all  in  good  time." 

My  master  was  silent  for  some  moments.  At 
lost  he  spoke  again : 

"  Girl,"  said  he.  "  You  are  to  be  married  tfe- 
mwrow.  There  won't  be  any  invited  guests, 
but  you  needn't  mind  that.  loull  have  your 
hiisiiand,  and  that's  more  than  you  deserve.  You 
don't  want  any  new  dresses.  Y'our  ball  dress 
^■will  do.'" 


"Come,  I  won't  stand  that,"  said  Clark. 
"  She's  got  to  be  dressed  up  in  tip-top  style.  I'll 
stand  the  damage." 

"  Oh,  d— n  the  damage.  If  you  want  that  sort 
of  thing,  it>  shall  be  done.  But  there  won't  be 
time." 

"  Oh  well,  let  her  fix  np  the  best  way  she  can." 


At  this  I  turned  and  loft  the  room.  None  nf 
them  tried  to  prevent  mo.  I  went  up  lo  my 
chamber,  and  sat  down  thinking.  'Ilic  hour  Imil 
come. 

This  is  my  last  entir.  My  only  ref'ugc  frnm 
horror  uns|ieakuble  is  the  I'uison. 

Perhaps  one  day  some  one  will  find  my  jour- 
nal where  it  is  conceided.  Let  them  leniii  fiom 
it  what  anguish  may  be  endured  by  the  inno<ent. 

May  God  have  mercy  uim)ii  my  soul !  Amen. 
.October  U,  11  o'c/o<A-.— Hope! 
,  Mrs.  Compton  came  to  me  a  few  minutes 
since.  She  had  received  a  letter  from  riiillps  hy 
As^eelo.  She  said  the  Hindu  wished  to  sec  mc. 
He  was  at  my  door.  I  went  there.  He  told  mo 
that  I  was  to  fly  from  Brandon  Hall  at  two 
o'clock  in  the  morning.  He  would  take  care  of 
me.  Mrs.  Comjiton  said  she  was  to  go  with  mo. 
A  place  had  been  found  where  we  could  get  shel- 
ter. 

Oh  my  God,  1  thank  thee !  Already  when  I 
heard  this  I  was  mixing  the  draught.  Two 
o'clock  wos  the  hour  on  which  I  had  decided  for 
a  different  kind  of  flight. 

Oh  God !  deliver  the  captive.  Save  mc,  as  I 
put  my  trust  in  thee !     Amen. 


CHAPTER  XLVI. 

THE     LAST    ESCAPE. 

The  hour  which  Beatrice  had  mentioned  in 
her  diary  was  awaited  by  her  with  feverish  im- 
patience. She  had  confidence  in  Asgeelo,  nnd 
this  confidence  was  heightened  by  the  fact  tlmt 
Mrs.  Compton  was  going  to  accompany  her. 
The  very  timidity  of  this  poor  old  creature  would 
have  prevented  her  from  thinking  of  escaj)e  on 
any  ordinary  occasion ;  but  now  the  latter  showed 
no  fear.  She  evinced  a  strange  exultation.  She 
showed  I'hilips's  letter  to  Beatrice,  and  miule  her 
read  it  over  and  over  again.  It  contained  only  a 
few  words.  '     > 

"  The  time  has  come  at  last.  I  will  keep  my 
word  to  you,  dear  old  woman.  Be  remly  to- 
night to  leave  Brandon  Hall  and  those  devils 
forever.     Tho>IIindu  will  help  you. 

"Edgah." 

Mrs.  Compton  seemed  to  think  far  more  of  the 
letter  than  of  escaping.  The  fact  that  she  had 
a  letter  seemed  to  absorb  all  her  faculties,  nnd 
no  other  idea  entered  her  mind.  Beatrice  had 
but  few  preparations  to  make;  a  small  jwircel 
contained  all  with  which  she  dared  to  encumber 
herself.  Hastily  making  it  up  she  waited  in  ex- 
treme impatience  for  the  lime. 

At  last  two  o'clock  came.  Mrs.  Compton  was 
in  her  room.  There  was  a  faint  tap  at  the  door. 
Beatrice  o)f  ned  it.  It  was  Asgeelo.  The  Hin- 
du stood  '^th  his  finger  on  his  lips,  and  then 
moved  awny  slowly  and  stealthily.  They  fol- 
lowed. 
•   The  Hindu  led Jhe  way,  cnm-inga  small  l«n- 


tem.  He  did  not  show  any  very  great  caution, 
but  moved  with  a  quiet  step,  thinking  it  sufficient 
if  he  made  no  noise.  Beatrice  followed,  nnd 
Mrs.  Compton  came  last,  carrying  nothing  but 
the  note  from  Philips,  which  she  clutched  in  her 
hand  as  though  she  esteemed  it  the  only  thing 
of  value  which  she  possessed. 


■>■ 


HIS  A88AILAST,  A!(D  Tta£  OTHER  HOLWNO  THE  KSUB  ALOFT." 


In  spite  of  Beatnce'g  confidence  in  Asgeelo 
^e  ftit  her  heart^wnlt  with  dread  as  she  passed 
throiiKh  the  hall  and  down  the  great  stairway. 
But  n ,  sound  disturbed  them.  The  lights  were 
««  piif,  and  the  house  was  still.  The  door  of  the 
iming-room  was  open,  but  no  light  shone  through. 

Asgeelo  led  the  way  to  the  ndrth  door.  They 
t!?i^"i.'!!i"'-i'^  without  any  interruption,_and  lU 
fcwreach^  It     Asgeelo  turned  the  kev  and  held 

taJr  ,*'»'[. «P«"/^«-  a  moment.  'Then  he 
inmeU  and  whispered  to  them  to  go  out. 
Jteatnco  tookl  two  or  three  steps  forward,  when 
mddenly  a  dark  figure  cmergwl  from  the  stair- 
■^  that  led  to  the  senants'  hall  and  with  a  sud- 
den spring  advanced  to  Asgeelo. 
The  la^r  dropped  the  lamp,  whidh  feU  with 


a  rattle  on  the  floor  but  still  continued  burning. 
He  drew  a  long,  keen  knife  from  his  breast,  and 
seized  the  other  by  the  throat. 

Beatrice  started  back.  By  the  light  thatflick- 
ered  on  the  floor  she  saw  it  all.  The  gigantic 
figure  of  Asgeelo  stood  erect,  one  arm  clutching 
the  throat  of  his  assailant,  and  the  other  holdins 
the-knifo«loftr 


Beatrice  rushed  forward  and  canght  the  up- 
lifted arm. 

"  Spare  himj"  she  said,  in  a  low  whisper. 
"He  is  my  friend.  He  helped  me  to  escape 
once  before." 

She  had  recognized  Vijal. 

The  Hindu  dropped  his  arm  and  released  his 
hold.    The  Malay  staggered  back  and  looked 


i^^-J 


\ 


>  i; 


170 


^OKD  AND  CREESK 


Wmiout  a 

;door  was 

nted  the 

oach  and  shut 


eoroMtly  at  Beatrioev    Recognizing  her,  lie  fell , 
onhis-kneesonclkiiMdherhand.  | 

"  I  will  keep  Vour  secret,"  he  mnmrared^        I 
Beatrice  hunted  out,  and  the  others  foUinred.  i 
They  heard  the  key  torn  in*  the  door  after  tnem. 
Vyal  had  locked  it  from  the  inside. 

Asgeelo  led  the  way  with  a  swift  step.  Thev 
went  down  the  main  avenue,  and  at  length 
reached  the  gate  without  any  interruption.  The 
gates  were  shut 

Beatrice  looked  around  in  some  dread  for  fear 
of  being  discovered.  Asgeelo  said  nothing,  but 
tapped  at  the  door  of  the  porter's  lodge.  The 
door  joon  opened,  and  the  porter  came  out.  He 
said  nodiing,  but  opened  the  gates  in  silence. 

They  went  out.     The  huge  gates  shut  behind 

theitt.    They  heard  the  key  turn  in  the  lock.    In 

ivher  excitement  Beatrice  wondered  at  this,  and 

'  taw  that  the  porter  must  also  be  in  the  secret. 

Was  this  the  work  of  Brandon  ? 

They  passed  down  the  road  a  little  distance, 
and  at  length  reached  a  place  where  there  were' 
two  coaches  and  some  men.         ) 

One  of  these  came  up  and  took  Mrs.  Compton. 
"Come;  old  woman,"  said  he;  "you  and  I  are 
to  go  in  this  coach."  It  was  too  dark  to  see  whd 
it  was ;  but  the  voice  sounded  like  that  of  Shil- 
ips;  He  led  her  into  the  coach  and  jump^  ki 
after  her. 

There  was  another  figure  there. 
in  .silence,  and  motioned  to  the 
word.     Beatrice  followed)  the 
opened,  and  she  entered, 
box.    The  stranger  ent( 
the  door. 

Beatrice  had  not  seen  tfidf  &ce  of  this  man; 
bat  at  the  sight  of  the  iMiline  of  his  figare  a 
■trange,  wild  thought  os^e  to  her  mind.  As  he 
teated  himself  by  her  si%  a  thrill  passed  through 
erery  nerve.    Not  i^;jvord  was  spoken. 

He  reached  ouf  one  hand,  ana  caught  hers  in 
A  dose  and  fervid  clasp.  He  threw  his  arm 
•boat  her  waitt|«nd  drew  her  toward  him.  Her 
head,  sank  in  a^Iicious  languor  upon  his  breast ; 
■and  she  felt  th«%st  throbbing  of  his  heart  as  she 
■£y  there.  He  held  her  pressed  closely  for  a 
i-  kmg  while,  drawing  quick  and  heavy  breaths, 
and  not  speaking  a  word.  Then  he  smoothed 
her  brow,  stroked  her  hair,  and  caressed  her 
cheek,  ityory  touch  of  his  made  her  blood  tingle. 
"  Do  you  know,  who  I  am?"  said  at  last  a 
well-known  voice. 

She  made  no  answer,  but  preiaed  hia  hand 
and  nestled  more  closely  to  his  heart. 

The  carriages  rushed  on  swiftly.  They  went 
through  the  rilloge,  passed  the  inn,  and  soon  en- 
tered thd  open  country.  Beatrice,  in  that  mo- 
ment of  ecstasy,  know  not  at^d  cared  not  whither 
Uiey  wore  g(iing'  Enough  t|iat  she  was  with  him. 
"Yon  have  saved  mo  frotn  a  fiite  of  horror," 
■  laid  she,  ntnnulously ;  "  yrrather,  you  have  pre- 
vented me  from  saving  myself" 

"  How  could  you  have  saved  yonrself  ?"' 
"Ifoundpoisop." 
^=^  She  felt  the  ihOiMer  that  poned  throngh  his 
frame.     He  pressea\her  again  to  his  heart,  and 
■at  for  a  long  time  inXsilence. 

"  How  had  you  the  heart  to  let  me  go  back 
when  vou  could  get  ine  away  so  easily?"  said 
■he;  after  a  time,  in  a  reproachful  tone. 

"  I  cpu\d  not  save  ypu  then,"  answered  he, 
,"  ^t^out  open  violence)    I  wished  to  defer  that 


for  (he  accomplishment  of  a  pnnwae  which  yon 
know.     BJit  I  secured  ronr  santy^  for  all  the 
servants  at  Brandon  Hall  are  in  my  {>ay." 
"What!  V«altoo?" 

"No,  not  Vijal;  he  waa  incormptible ;  b« 
all  the  others.  They  would  have  obeyed  year 
slightest  <vish  in  any  respect.  They  would  have 
shed  their  blood  for  you,  for  the  simple  reason 
that  I  had  promised  to  pay  each  man  an  enor- 
mous sum  if  he  saved  yon  from  any  trouble. 
They  were'  all  on  the  look  out.  You  never  nfere 
so  watched  in  your  life.  If  you  had  cliosen  to 
run  off  every  man  of  them  would  have  helped  yon, 
and  would  have  rejoiced  at  the  chance  of  making 
themselves  ridh  at  the  expense  of  Potts.  Under 
these  circumstances  1  thought  you  were  safe." 

"And  why- did  you  not  tell  me?" 

"Ah!  love,  there  are  many  things  which  I 
must  not  tell  you. 

He  sighed.  His  sombre  tone  bronght  back 
her  senses  which  had  been  wandering.  She 
stru^led  to  get  away.    He  would  not  release  her. 

"Let  me  go!"  said  she.  "I  am  of  the  ac- 
cursed brood — the  impure  ones !  You  ore  pol- 
Inte^  by  my  touch !" 

"  I  will  not  let  you  go,"  returned  he,  in  a  tone 
of  infinite  sweetness.  "  Not  now.  This  may  be 
our  last  interview.    How  can  I  let  you  go?' 

"  I  am  pollution." 

"Yon  are  angelic.  Oh,  let  tu  not  think  of 
other  things.  Let  us  banish  from  our  minds  the 
thought  of  that  barrier  which  rises  between  us. 
AVhile  we  are  here  let  us  forget  every  thing  ex- 
cept that  we  love  one  another.  To-morrow  will 
come,  and  our  joy  will  be  at  an  end  forever. 
But  you,  darling,  will  be  saved !  I  will  guard 
}-ou  to  my  life's  end,  even  though  I  can  not  come 
near  you." 

Tears  fell  from  Beatrice's  eyes.  He  felt  them 
hot  upon  his  hand.     He  sighed  deep!}-. 

"  I  am  of  the  accursed  brood  I— the  accursed! 
—the  accursed !  You  dishonor  your  name  by 
touching  me." 

Brandon  clung  to  her.  Ho  would  not  let  ber 
go.  She  wept  thera  upon  his  breast,  and  still 
murmured  the  words,  "Accursed!  accursed!" 

Their  carriage  rolled  on ;  behind  them  cauM 
the  other ;  on  for  .mile  after  mile,  round  the  lays 
and  creeks  of  the  sea,  until  at  lost  they  reached 
a  village. 

"This  is  our  destination,"  said  Brandon. 

"  Where  ai«  we?"  sighed  Beatrice. 

"  It  is  Denton,"  he  replied. 

The  coach  stopped  before  a  little  cottage.  As- 
geelo opened  the  door.  Brandon  pressed  Besr 
trice  to  his  heart 

"  For  the  last  time,  darling,"  he  murmured. 

She  said  nothing.  He  helped  her  out,  catch- 
ing her  in  his  arms  as  she  descended,  and  lifting 
her  to  the  ground.  Mrs.  Compton  was  already 
waiting,  having  descended  first  Lights  were 
burning  in  the  cottage  window.  ^    . 

"This  is  your  homo  for  the  present,"  mi 
Brandon.     "  Hero  you  are  safe.    You  will  find 
every  thing  that^yon  waat^  andthe^  flertantuaL- 
faithful.     You  may  truKt  them." 

He  shook  hands  with  Mrs.  Compton,  presto 
the  hand  of  Beatrice,  and  leaped  into  the  eo«cli. 

"Good-by,"  he  called,  a*  Asgeelo  wbipH 
the  horses. 

"Good -by  forever,"  mnrmnrad  Beattics 
through  biur  tears. 


■i 


:*.lJbii 


7  »■ 


COBD  AND  CREESE, 


:hing8  which  I 


.  /  CHAPTER  XLVn. 

BOD8ED  AT  LAST. 

T  ABO^.t'»«  time  Dospard  received  a  call  from 
langhetti.  "I  am  going  away,"  said  the  lat- 
ter, after  the  preliminary  greetings.  "I  am 
wqU  mongh  now  to  resmne  my  search  after  Bea- 
trice 

"  Beatrice  ?" 

"Yes." 

"What  can  yon  do?" 

"I  haven't  an  idea;  but  I  mean  to  try  to  do 
lomething. '  ■' 

Langhetti  certainly  did  not  look  lilce  a  man 
who  was  capable  of  doing  very  much,  espe- 


dally  against  one  like  rmt^*     'i^in™^  Zl    nf:^>t\^'^'''^'ll''''''''^^^^^'-o^^^ 
ilC^and  emaciated,  his  slender  fo'rT  s^etfi    rLltlTJ''^^£..r3.»>«."'-"««'««d.,    I  found 


lie,  and  emaciated,  his  slender  form  seemid 
roidy  to  yield  to  the  pressure  of  the  first  fatigue 
which  he  might  encounter.  Yet  his  resolution 
TO9  strong,  and  he  spoke  confidently  of  beini? 
able  m  gome  mysterious  way  to  efl-ect  the  es- 
cape of  Beatnce.  He  had  no  idea  how  he  could 
do  It.  He  had  exerted  his  strongest  influence, 
and  had  come  nwav  discomfited.  Still  he  had 
confidence  in  himself  and  trust  in  God,  and  with 
these  he  determined  to  «et  out  once  more,  and 
,  to  succeed  or  perish  in  the  attempt. 

After  he  had  left  Despard  sat  moodily  in  his 
itndy  for  some  hours.  At  last  a  visitor  was  an- 
nounced. He  was  a  man  wjwm  Despard  had 
Mver  seen  before,  and  who  gave  his  name  as 
Wheeler.  . 

The  stranger  on  entering  regarded  Despai-d 
fiM-some  time  «Pith  an  eame^  glance  in  silence. 
At  last  he  spoke :  ^ 

'•You  are  the  son  of  Lionel  Despard,  are  yon 

'J  Yes,"  said  Despard,  in  some  surprise. 
Excuse  me  for  alluding  to  so  sad  an  evbnt  • 
tat  you  are,  of  course,  aware  of  the  common 
Moiy  of  his  death." 

"Yes,"repUed  Despard,  in  still  grtsater  sur- 
prae. 

"That  Btory  is  known  to  the  world,"  said  the 
•tranger.  "His  case  was  publicly  tried  at  Ma- 
nilla, and  a  Maky  was  executed  for  the  crime." 
_  1  know  that,"  returned  Despard,  "and  I 
tTOw,  ah»,  that  there  were'  some,"  and  that  there 
KUI  are  some,  who  suspect  that  the  Malay  was 
mnocent.."  ' 

"  Who  suspected  this  ?" 

i'.'JJ^,."°'''°  "®"'7  Despard  and  myself." 
Will  yon  allow  roe  to  ask  yon  if  your  sus- 
picions pointed  at  any  one  ?" 

"My  uncle  hinted  at  one  person,  but  he  had 
nothing  more  than  suspiciona." 

"Who  was  the  man?" 

"A  man  who  was  my  fether's  valet,  or  agent, 
*no  accompanied  him  on  that  voyage,  and  took 
•n  active  part  in  the  conviction  of  the  Mahiv  " 

"What  was  his  name?" 

"John  Potts." 

"  Where  does  he  live  now  ? 
In  Brandon, 


171 

^^^  ^  '"'*y'""^  ■^?'  e'-en  suspect  then  that  any 
thmg  else  was  possible.  It  wisonly  subseauent 
circumstances  that  led  n,y  uncle  t6  bA^^ml 
vague  suspicions."  '  ®  "*"°« 

"  What  were  those,  may  I  ask  ?" 
«l,«.nw        "^^^-^  ""* '«"'"  "^d Despaid,  who 

theri^rTn^ipSr^^^^^ 

was  led  to  form  them  ?"  ""your  uncle 

"No." 

1^  About  how  long  ago  was  this?" 
A  bout  two  years  ago— a  little  more  nerhaiw 
ll'^^Zt\^^  ">-\-'f '»  'he  task^oTCrrl 


mred    Beattic* 


Ja^T^-  T**"*  ™y  queitrona,lntT^in« 
■MWBS  to  learn  how  much  you  knew.  You  will 
w  shortly  that  they  were  not  idle.  Has  any 
*tag  ever  been  done  by  any  of  the  itOative.  tb 
JJwjw  wAethef.  thews  auspicions  w«re   cor- 

Ji^L^uT^^L^  T'  *•""*•  Th«/  "cceptod 
••  w  wiahUihed  dot  the  dedaion  of  the  Manilk 


V  . -,  ---J  «-'"•"  "D  "laiuminea..    i 

It  impossible,  however,  to  learn  any  thing      The 

oTof  In?"'^" ^  '"  'r«  "^-^  ""at  it  &  faS 
out  of  men  s  minds.    The  person  whom  I  siw- 

C^^  ^°;?\  he  was  unassailable,  and  I 

<?,Iri  ,«'°«'PeWed  to  give  up  the  effort  " 
.mt»,V^°"  1  -7"  ^^''e  »»  Jeam  something  of  the 
truth  ?    asked  the  stranger,  in  a  thrilling  voice 
tion      "       whole  soul  was  roused  by  this  qnes- 

II  More  than  any  thing  else,"  replied  he. 
".hl^r  !?  *^«"?,fl-h«nk,"  began  the  stranger, 

three  hundred  miles  south  of  the  island  of  J^ 
which  p)es  by  the  name  of  Coffin  Island.  It  iS 
so  called  on  account  of  a  rock  of  peculiar  shape 
at  the  eastern  extremity.  I  was  coming  from  tfce 
East,  on  my  way  to  Enghwd,  when  a  violent 
Storm  arose,  and  I  was  cast  a^hora  alone  u^i 

^„?.  h  rt  .  yS'"  "^y  '*«"'  extraordinarMS 
you,  but  what  I  have  to  teU  is  stiU  more  extraor- 
dinary. I  found  food  and  water  there,  and  liv^ 
for  some  time.  At  hist  another  hurril»ne  came 
and  bleHaway  all  the  sand  from  a  mound  at  the 
western  end.  This  mound  had  been  piled^bont 
a  wrecked  vessel— a  vessel  wrecked  twenty  i 
ago,  twenty  yeara  ago,''  he  repeated,  with  ati 
ling  emphasis,  "and  the  name  of  that  vesael  1 
the  Vtshnu." 

f  '"''he  »^'i**'"'f  cried  Despard,  starting  to  hia 
teet,  while  his  whole  frame  was  shaken  by  emo- 
tion  at  this  strange  narrative  ' '  The  Vithnu  /" 
uv  , '  *he  Vishnu r  continued  the  atranger. 
You  know  what  that  means.  For  many  ySara 
that  vessel  had  lam  there,  entombed  amidst  the 
sands,  untU  at  last  I-on  that  lonely  isle-aaw 
the  sands  swept  away  and  the  buried  ship  re- 
vealed. I  went  on  board.  I  entered  the  cabin. 
I  passed  through  it.  At  last  I  entered  a  room  at 
one  corner.  A  skeleton  lay  there.  Do  yon  know 
whose  it  was?"  ' 

"  Whose?"  cried  Despard,  in  a  frenir  of  ex- 
citement  ' 

"  Your  father's  r  said  the  stranger,  in  on  aw> 
ful  voice. 

"God  in  heaven  1"  exchdmed  Despard.  and 
he  sank  back  into  his  seat. 

"In  his  hand  he  held  a  manustript,  which  was 
nia  iaat  message  to  fais  ftiends.    It  was  indoiif 
in  a  bottle.    The  storm  had  prevented  him  tnm 
throwing  it  overboard.  He  held  it  there  as  though 
waiting  for  some  one  to  take  it     I  was  the  one 
appointed  to  that  task.     I  took  it.    I  nod  it^i^ 
and  now  that  I  have  arrived  in  Endond  I  hwP 
brought  it  to  yon."  ■ 

"  When  ia  it  ?"  cried  Deapud,  in  wild 
ment.  . 


»««t<^  c^  ., 


ihhM 


y'\ 


CORD  AND  CREESE. 


•♦^ere,"  said  the  stranger,  and  he4aid  a  pack- 
age upon  the  table. 

Despard  seized  it,  and  tore  open  the  coverings. 
At  the  first  sight  he  recognized  the  handwriting 
of  his  father,  familiar  to  him  from  old  letters 
^vritten  to  him  when  he  was  a  child — letters 
which  he  had  always  preserved,  and  every  turn 
of  which  was  impressed  upon  his  memory.  The 
first  glance  was  sufficient  to  impress  upon  his 
mind  the  conviction  that  the  stranger's  tale  was 

true.  ,.       .    , 

Without  another  word  he  began  to  read  It.  And 

BS  he  read  all  his  soul  became  associated  with  that 
lonely  man,  drifting  in  his  drifting  ship.  There 
he  read  the  villainy  of  the  miscreant  who  had 
compassed  his  death,  and  the  despair  of  the  cast- 
away. 

That  sufferinjt  man  was  his  own  father.  It 
was  this  that  gave  intensity  to  his  thoughts  as  he 
read.  The  dying  man  bequeatj^ed  his  vengeance 
to  Ralph  Brandon,  and  his  blessing  to  his  son. 

Despard  read  over  the  manuscript  many  times. 
It  was  his  facer's  words  to  himself. 

"I  am  in  haste,"  said  the  stranger.  "The 
manuscript  is  yours.  I  have  madi  inquiries  for 
•Ralph  Brandon,  and  find  that  he  is  dead.  It  is 
for  you  to  do  as  seems  good.  You  are  a  clergjr- 
man,  but  you  are  also  a  man;  and  a  father's 
^VTongs  cry  to  Heavon  for  vengeance." 

"And  they  shall  be  avenged!"  exckimed 
Despard,  striking  his  clenched  hand  upon  the 
table. 

"I  have  something  more  before  I  go,"  con- 
tinued the  stranger,  mournfully— "something 
which  you  will  prize  more  than  life.  It  was  worn 
next  your  father's  heart  till  he  died.  I  found  it 
there." 

Saying  this  he  handed  to  Despard  a  minia- 
ture, painted  on  enamel,  representing  a  beauti- 
ful woman,  whose  features  were  like  his  owti. 

"  My  mother !"  cried  Despard,  passionately, 
and  he  covered  the  miniature  with  kisses. 

"  I  buried  your  father,"  said  the  stranger,  aft- 
er a  long  pause.  "  Ilis  remains  now  lie  on  Cof- 
fin Island,  in  their  last  resting-place." 

"  And  who  are  you  ?  What  are  yon  ?  How 
did  you  find  me  out  ?  What  is  your  object  ?" 
cried  Despard,  eagerly. 

"  I  am  Mr.  Wheeler,"  said  the  stranger,  calm- 
ly ;  "and  I  come  to  give  you  these  things  in  or- 
der to  fulfill  my  duty  to  the  dead.  It  remains 
for  you  to  fulfill  yours." 

''That  duty  shall  be  fulfilled  I"  exclaimed 
Despard.  "llie  law  does  not  help  mo:  I  will 
help  myself.  I  know  some  of  these  men  at  least. 
I  will  do  the  duty  of  a  son. " 

The  stranger  bowed  and  withdrew. 

Despan}  paced  the  room  for  hours.  A  fierce 
thirst  ror  vengeance  had  taken  possession  of  him. 
Afftin  and  again  he  read  the  manuscript,  and 
after  each  rniding  his  vengeful  feeling  Wame 
atronger. 

At  last  he  had  a  purpose.  lie  was  no  longer 
the  imbecile— the  cmshed-r-the  hopeless.  In  the 
full  knowledge  of  his  father's  jtisery  his  own  be- 
came  endnrwie.  ' 

In  the  morning  he  saw  LanghettI  and  told  him 
all. 

"But  who  is  the  stranger?"  Despard  asked 
hk  wonder. 

"It  can  only  be  one  person,"  said  LanghettI, 
wdsranly. 


"\Vho?" 

"  Louis  BrandoiL  He  and  no  other.  'Who 
else  could  thus  have  been  chosen  to  find  the 
dead?    He  has  his  wrongs  also  to  avenge." 

Despard  was  silent.  Uvenvhelming  thouglitg 
crowded  upon  him.  Was  this  man  Louis  Bran- 
don?    - 

"W^e  liiiust  find  him,'"  said  he.  "We  mast 
gain  his  help  in  our  work.  We  must  also  tell 
htm  about  Kdith." 

"Yes,"  replied  Langhetti.  "But  no  doubt 
he  has  his  own  work  before  him ;  and  this  is  bat 
part  of  his  pbin,  to  rouse  you  from  inaction  to 
vengeance." 


CHAPTER  XLVHL 

WHO  IS  HE? 

On  the  morning  after  tho  last  escape  of  Bea- 
trice, Clark  went  up  to  Brandon  HalL  It  wai 
about  nine  o'clock.  A  sullen  frown  was  on  hia 
face,  which  was  pervaded  by  an  expression  of 
savage  malignity.  A  deeply  preoccupied  look, 
as  though  ho  were  altogether  absorbed  in  his 
own  thoughts,  prevented  him  from  noticing  the 
half- smiles  which  the  servants  cast  at  one  an- 
other. 

Asgeelo  opened  the  door.  That  valuable  serv- 
ant was  nt  his  post  as  usual.  Clark  brushed  past 
him  with  a  growl  and  entered  the  dining-room. 

I'otts  was  standing  in  front  of  the  fire  with  a 
flushed  face  and  savage  eyes.  John  was  stroldng 
his  dog,  and  appeared  quite  indifferent.  Clark, 
however,  was  too  much  taken  up  with  his  owu 
thoughts  to  notice  I'otts.  He  came  in  and  sat 
down  in  silence. 

"Well,"  said  Potto,  "did  you  do  that  busi- 
ness?" 

"  No,"  growled  Clark. 

"  No !"  cried  Potto.  "  Do  you  mean  to  saj 
you  didn't  follow  up  the  fellow?" 

"I  mean  to  sjiy  it's  no  go,"  returned  Clark. 
"  I  did  what  I  could.  But  when  yon  are  after  a 
man,  and  he  tnms  out  to  be  the  Devil  himself, 
what  can  yon  do  ?" 

At  these  words,  which  were  spoken  with  nn 
usual  excitement,  John  gave  a  low  hiU|$h,  but 
said  nothing. 

"  You've  been  getting  rather  soft  ktel^r,  it  seems 
to  me, "  said  Potto.  ' '  At  any  rate,  what  did  you 
do?" 

"Well,"  said  Clark,  slowly—"  I  went  to  that 
inn— to  watch  tlie  fellow.  He  was  sitting  by  the 
fire,  taking  it  very  easy.  I  tried  to  make  out 
whether  I  had  ever  seen  him  before,  but  could 
not.  He  sat  by  the  flre,  and  wouldn't  say  a  word. 
I  tiled  to  trot  him  out,  and  at  last  I  did  so.  Ho 
trotted  out  in  good  earnest,  and  if  any  man  was 
ever  kicked  at  and  ridden  rough-shod  over,  I'm 
that  individual.  He  isn't  a  man— he's  Beelie- 
bub.  He  knows  every  thing.  He  began  In  a 
playful  way  by  taking  a  piece  of  charcoal  and 
writing  on  the  wall  some  marks  which  belong 
to  me.  and  which  I'm  n  little  delicate  »b<)atl» 


Blfg  pspls  KffTtB  fec»rfl»Hoany  Bay  nurict^ 
"  I)id  he  know  that?"  cried  Potto,  aghast 
"Not  only  knew  it,  but,  as  I  was  Mj'mf, 
marked  it  on  the  wall.     Hint's  a  sign  of  knowl- 
edge.   And  f()r  fear  they  wouldn't  bo  understood, 
ho  kindly  explained  to  ahout  a  dozen  people  pw 
I  ent  the  particular  meaning  of^.edch." 


•!iijfcj«!  ,Atrj^^ 


SU. 


a  do  that  bnsi- 


on  mean  to  laj 


"The  deViirgald  John. 
Jr,i„     »  n*i"'i!  ^•'^'^  ''«  ^'"«'"  "'joined  Clnrk 
KL  a  JtriV^v  ""?'"«•    '""Member  when 
f.i™^-      il  *      -  •     ^^  continued,  pensively 
'hearing  the  pan|on  read  about  8on.'e  Cwriu 

»etf ;  but  I  teU  ^ou  this  handwriting  on  the  wall 
ased  me  up  a  good  deal  more  thai  that  other 
Still  what  followed  was  worse  " 

Clark  paused  for  a  little  whUe,  and  then  tak- 
ing a  long  breath,  went  on.  ' 

"  He  proceeded  to  give  to  the  assembled  com- 
pany an  account  of  mv  life,  particuhir^  th"t 
venr  mterestmg  part  of  it  whidT  I  pas4d  „„ 
my^l^tv,s,t  to  Botany  Bay.     You  C^J 

He  stopped  for  a  whiia 

^Zi!:'.S^zT'''f^''  *«'^" "'"'«» I'""". 
Schrhad'tMb^i?  whv'Zt":,'"^ 

.tood  up  theiflHH^  toW  fK  ^'  •^*'''' 
ogl^h^at  I  SSXMt.%^e°^^^^^^^^^ 
Pbbs^ffl^.M-S^Seub£ 

^CWk^stopped  again,  and  no  one  spoke  for  a 

"Md^wal'^L^Tl"'  ""^'"u"  ""*•"  '"'  '^""ned. 
I,^.  !L  I  ^  *"  «"  '^'^'^  I  did  so  at  last 
is  th*"  "'""«*  midnight.  I  found  him  sTi  i 
Mtting  there.     He  smiled  at  me  in  a  way  that 

in  w!  ^°'''  *"'^  •'"''"  '*^''"»  «t  ""h  other 

!.'  V  *  ''"T  ♦hat  too  ?"  said  John. 
"wir'\ ""?«'"  «">"•«>  Clark,  dejectedlr 

Well,  when  he  said  that  I  looked  a  litile  siil 
P™*",  as  you  may  bo  sure. 

«nt  i.ll^''*''"  y°«''!  "^  '««''.'  Mid  he,  '  for  you 
wwt  to  see  me  you  knftw.  Youre goinit  to  fol 
W  me,'  says  ha  « YonVe  got  you^p"ftols  1 
«dy,  w,  as  I  always  like  tofb  ij^a  fS'rU 
giro  you  a  chance.  Come.'  «°»'™m.iu 
At  this  I  fairly  staggered. 

get^itfromme.     Come.'  ™  gumg  to 

..  "J  '^^^  yo«  I  conU  not  move.    He  smiled 

C  "l  «'r?V'"''  -"""'y  «ot  up  and  leftj 
TT'  /  "ood  f*"-  wme  time  fixed  to  the  snot 

i\ Wsr^rlTh'"'"'-;  ' '''■«■' "»«  ''-''  h^' 

rai,  says  1,    1 11  have  it  out  with  him  •    i  n..k~i 

itWM  the  dhv^f  h'»  J  fl    J  ^  *"*  """^  """>  •hot 
"g"  toe  dbvil,  but  I  fired  my  othei-  pistst    Hi 

IPWlrenjendous  laugh,  tu^«l  hisS,  and 

"0  1  MI  hewiroramost  on  the  ground.     I  bel 

JriSn^"  ?'l  "'«'"•    Wheri  came  to  U 

^^2^^?!;''  {^'"^'^  ""iKht  here."         | 

Ai  !!•  end«l  cawk  «««,  M«i,  goiflg  to  the  dde- 


CQRD  AN6  CBEESE. 


173 

h'Snrrat ""'  *  ""^  «'"*''  «'"  """"Oy.  -Wch 

your  pistols  an??Sfhte„S  .'?"  '""  ^^^^'-'^ 
•'  Whei  J^''"''  '''*"  •"^'«^'"  ~P««i  Clark. 

a.  ai,JrwVa';t'Si;.rw:rt"'d^'''^''^'? 

"  i"£nt1„t J  iri'  '"•""•^  •«>"  -«^  -^""n- 

giril'IotaS^'*^  ""'"'«"■'' ^O""-     "The 
"The  girl!    Gone!" 

;;&£?'"•''*''"'"*'"*«>•" 

"  I'd  rather  lose  the  girl  than  Mn  r«».... 
'.'  I  'hink  the  devil  is  loose. " 


.ta^fS""  °'  "•  ""•■»»  '■»•  "J  ti.i»« 


No— none  of  them. 

!'  "«^"f,  >ou  asked  them  all  ?" 
Yes. 

I' JDid  they  go  out  through  the  doors?" 

mere 8  treachery  somewhere!"  cried  Tnt,n 
with  more  excitemen't  than  usual!  ^"' 

ine  others  were  silent. 

au,'''sa'rd"rh^'A'"^Si^,:;^r^^"7  ^^ 

Sr:*'"'^  «'r '"^e  «»^  camSut^^LXne; 

woriA  Wv"^*" '"  '•*'!■  "'."«'  "'her  side  of  thj 
world.  We  ve  been  acting  ke  fbols.  W«  n„.A» 
to  have  silence.1  her  at  firat. "  "**** 

"No,"  rejoined  Potts,  gloomily  "Tli««.',. 
somebody  at  work  deeper  than  she  is.  CfJ^ 
body-but  who  ?-whor    "■■"*"*"•     ^^^ 

"  r«^  ^V^^-  •'*^"'"  •"'d  Clark,  finnly 

3b^rrhishS.Va£f.tiyrs^^^^ 

a  good  deal  between  them.     iThnk  he's  man 

Sf'TtTsnl'^^'Tlrir-  He^hiSSbuS 
^.■...  I  1  '  'he  devil;  it's  this  Italian.  We 
must  look  out;  he'll  be  a«.„nd  here  again  p!*,! 

C'"*'*  eyes  brightened. 
The  next  time,"  unit!  nc,  "i,Ufa<j  — 
tols  fresh,  and  then  see  if  hollescape  mo!" 

At  this  a  noise  wag  heaixl  in  the  lialL     Pntt. 

went  out.    The  servants  had  been  iwurini  t h^ 

'  grounds  as  before,  but  withVoSr       *     ° 

d„r     »""••    "'''  '^*'''"-     "  I  «rf«l  it  with  M 

tf    r  fi  "T  "'""«•"  •>"*"  'hrough  the  KiJ? 
and  a  litUe  distance  ouuide  the  so™.  ,1.  iV 

I  tried  him  with  Mr..  Coipton  to^'^^T^  S 


&\K  <•  a^J&j^  ji  ^  i.ijj^i/^,itj^  d  1 


^.«tf! 


V 


^.  '-iit 


174 


r 


COBD  A17D  CRE£S£. 


nent  together,  and  of  course  had  horses  or  car- 
riages tliere." 

"  What  does  the  porter  say  ?"  asked  Clark. 

"He  swears  that  he  was  up  till  two,  and  then 
went  to  bed,  and  that  nobody  was  near  the  gate." 

"Well,  we  can't  do  any  thing,"  said  I'otts; 
"bnt  I'll  send  «ome  of  the  servants  oflF  to  see 
>vhnt  they  can  hear*  The  scent  was  lost  so  soon 
that  we  can't  tell  what  direction  they  took." 

"You'll  never  get  Her  again,"  said  John; 
"  she's  gone  for  good  this  time." 

Potts  swore  a  deep  oath  and  relapsed  into  si- 
lence. After  a  time  they  all  went  do^n  to  the 
bank." 


CHAPTER  XLIX. 

THE   RUN   ON   THE   BANK. 

Not  long  after  the  bank  opened  a  number  of 
])coplc  cante  in  who  asked  for  gold  in  return  for 
some  bank-notes  which  they  offered.  This  was 
nn  unusual  circumstance.  The  people  also  were 
strangers.  Potts  wondered  what  i^  could  mean. 
There  was  no  help  fbr  it,  however.  The  gold 
was  paid  out,  and  Potts  and  his  friends  begaiD^o 
feel  somewhat  ali^rmed  dt  tlie  thought  which  now 
jiresented  itself  fA  the  ftret  time  that  their  very 
large  circulation  ot  notes  might  be  returned  upon 
tiiem.     He  communicated  tliis  fear  to  Ckrk. 

",JIow  much  gold  have  you?" 

"  Very  little."  , 

"How  much'/" 

"Thirty  thoiisand." 

"Phew!"  said  Clark,  "and  naarly  two  hun- 
dred thousand  out  ih  notes !'' 

Potts  was  silent. 

' '  What  '11  you  do  if  there  is  a  run  on  the  l)ank  ?" 

"Oh,  there  won't  be." 

"Why  not?" 

"  My  credit  is  too  good." 

"  Your  credit  won't  be  worth  a  rush  if  people 
know  this." 

While  they  talked  persons  kept  droppmg  in. 
Most  of  the  villagers  and  people  of  the  neighbor- 
liood  brought  back  the  notes,  demanding  gold. 
By  about  twelve  o'clock  the  influx  was  constant. 

Potts  began  to  feel  alarmed.  He  went  out, 
nnd  tried  to  bully  some  of  the  villagers.  They 
tlid  not  seem  to  pay  any  attention  to  him,  how- 
ever. Potts  went  back  to  his  parlor  discomfited, 
vowing  vengeance  against  Ihose  who  had  thus 
slighted  him.  The  worst  of  these  was  the  tailor, 
who  brought  in  i^otes  to  the  extent  of  a  thousand 
pounds,  and  when  Potts  ordered  him  out  and  told 
him  to  wait,  only  kughed  in  his  face. 

"  Haven't  you  got  gold  enough  ?  "  said  the  tai- 
lor, with  a  sneer.  "  Are  you  afraid  of  the  bank  ? 
Well,  old  Potts,  so  am  I.*^" 

At  this  there  was  a  general  laugh  among  the 
people. 

The  bank  clerks  did  not  at  all  sympathize  with 
the  bunk.  They  were  too  eager  to  pay  out. 
Polts  had  to  check  them.  He  called  them  in  his 
uailor,  And  oiileied  them^  to  pay  out  more  slowly. 
They  oil  declare<l  that  they  coi33n't. 

The  day  dragged  on  till  at  last  three  o!clock 
came.  Fifteen  thousand  pounds  had  been  paid 
out.  Potts  fell  into  deep  despondency.  Clark 
had  remained  throughout  the  whole  morning. 

"There's  going  to  b»  a  run  on  the  bonk?" 
■aid  he.     "It's  only  begun." 


Fotts's  sole  answer  wat  a  curse. 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do  ?"  he  asked.      , 

"You'll   have   to   help  me,"  replied  Potts. 
"You've  got  something. 
'  "  I've  got  fifty  thousand  pounds  in  the  Plym- 
outh Bank." 

"  You'll  have  to  let  me  have  it." 

Clark  hesitated. 

"1  don't  know,"  said  he. 

"D''— n  it,  man,  I'll  give  you  any  security  vou 
wish.  I've  got  more  security  than  I  know"w"hat 
to  do  with." 

"  Well,"  said  Clark,  "  I  don't  know.  There's 
a  risk." 

"I  only  want  it  for  a  few  days.  I'll  send 
down  stock  to  my  London  broker  and  hart  it 
sold.  It  will  give  me  hundreds  of  thousatids— 
twice  as  much  as  al^tho  bank  issue.  Then  I'll  |iay 
up  these  devils  weH,  and  tkat  d — d  tailor  worst 
of  alL  I  swear  I'll  send  it  all  down  to-day,  and 
have  every  bit  of  it  sold.  If*there'§  gokig  to  be 
a  ri;n,  I'll  be  ready  for  them." 

"  How  much  have  you?" 

"I'll  send  it  all  down — though' I'm  devilish 
sorry,''  continued  Potts.     "How  much?  Why, 
see  here ;"  and  he  penciled  down  the  following  . 
figures  on  a  piece  of  paper,  which  ho  showed  tu 
Clark : 

California  Company jC100,00« 

Mexican  bonds 4- • 60,0(i0 


Guatemala 
Venezuela  do. 


6Ci,(KW 
50,000 
£260,000 


"  What  do  you  think  of  that,  my  boy?"  said 
Potts.  , 

"  Well,"  returned  Clai-k, cautiously,  "I  don't 
like  them  American  names. " 

"Why,"  said  Potts,  "the  stock  is  at  a  pre- 
mium. I've  been  getting  from  twenty  to  twenty- 
five  per  cent,  dividends.  They'll  sell  for  three 
hundred  tliousand  nearly.  I'll  sell  Aiem  all.  ril 
soil  them  all, "  he  cried.  "I'll  have  gold  enough 
to  put  a  stop  to  this  sort  of  thing  forever." 

"  I  thought  you'had  some  French  and  Uussion 
bonds,"  said  Clitrk. 

"I  gave  those  to  that  devil  who  had  the— the 
papers,'  you  know.  He  consented  to  take  t|i^ni, 
nnd  I  was  very  glad,  for  they  paid  less  thkn  the 
others." 

Clark  wa9  silent. 

"Why,  man,  What  are  you  thinking  about? 
Don't  you  know  that  I'm  good  for  two  millions, 
what  with  my  estate  and  my  stock  ?" 

"  But  you  owe  an  infernal  lot." 

•^And  haven't  I  notes  and  other  securities 
from  every  body  ?" 

' '  Yes,  from  every  body ;  but  how  can  you  get 
hold  of  them  ?" 

"  The  first  people  of  the  county !" 

"  And  OS  poor  as  rats." 

"  London  merchants  I" 

"  Who  are  they  ?  How  can  you  get  back  your 
money  ?" 

"^mithers  &  Co.  will  let  me  hfeve  what  I 
want." : 


"If  Smithers  &  Co.  knew  the  present  state  of 
aiTairs  I  rather  think  that  they'd  back  down." 

"Pooh!  What!    Duck  down  from  a  man  with 

my  means !    Nonsense  1    They  know  how  rich  I 

am,  or  they  never  would  have  begun.    Come, 

don't  be  a  ak)].    It  'II  take  three  days  to  get  gold 

J  for  mf  stock,  and  if  you  don't  help  mo  the  btak 


1-   » 


■"■■■'"■#7 


There's 


CORD  AND  CREESE. 


■ 

g 

■ 

(t 

'm  dcrilish       ■ 

» 

uch?  Why,       ■ 

r 

'  SI 

e  followini! '     H 

'o 

1  showed  tu       ^1 

s. 

.      ■ 

H 

xiDo.ono          H 

R 

60.0(10              ■ 

? 

SO.MK)              ^ 

60,000               ■ 

t 

may  stop  before  I  get  it.     If  you'll  help  me  for 
three  days  I'll  pay  vou  well."         ,• 
"  How  much  will  you  give  ?" 

,  ".'"". »/S  '®"  'I'ousand  pounds— there!     I 
uon  t  mmu.c 

-ni"^""®!  *^''?  J?.*  y*"""  ""t*  fo""  "''ty  thou- 

srtt*s.;?^'^'^''"'-^"''''«'''^''''- 

.hl^"K"?r'j    T°">  8°'  me" where  my  hair  i» 
■hon^  hut  I  don't  mind.     When  cani  have  the 


"The  day  after  |o-morrow,  ni  go  to  Plym- 
oathnow,  get  the  money  to-m3rn)w,  and  you  «m 
Me  It  the  next  day." 

Wft  the  stock,  and  he'll  bring  up  the  gold  at 

ClMk  itart«d  off  ^mediately  for  Plymo»tB,. 


nnd  not  Mng  after  John  went  awJiv  to  London. 

SeT"*'        »o  await  the  stoJpi  which  ho 

The  next  day  came.    The  bank  opened  late 

h^  ff  ^"Ik  .^a"'  P"*  "P,  »  "•'"'=«  'hat  it  was  to 
be  Closed  that  day  at  twelve,  on  account  of  the 
absence  of  some  of  the  directors. 

At  abont  eleven  the  crowd  of  people  began  to 
make  their  appearance  as  before.     Their  de- 
mands were  8omewhat.hirger  4h,ttn  ea  Ae  M»»fci^ 
h«^  tl'     ^l*"*"?.  '**''■''  *""  thousand  pi.mds 
had  been  r«iid.    'At  t^elv^the  bank  Was  shut  in 

Sth'r  not!?:  '='*--*0P'«.  ^S  -oi^ce 
Strangers  Were  there  from  all  parts  of  tti* 
cou«y.  The  viHajje  inn  was  crowded,  and  a 
large  mimber  of  carriages  waA  outside.  Potts 
began  to  look  forward  to  the  tiext  day  with  deep 


I 


;i 


Hi! 


'^-^V-^S^! 


•#■: 


> 


m 


CORD  AND  CREESK. 


/n 


anxiety.  Only  Ave  UiQMpnd  pounds  reifinined 
in  the  banlc.  One  maniliad  cume  with  notes  to 
tiie  ejRent  of  fire  thonsand,  andthad  oiily  been 
got  riCof  by  the  shutting  of  the  bank.  Ue  lef)^ 
vowing  vengc^ce. 

To  I'otts'B  immense  relief  Clark  made  his  ap- 
pearance iHu-ly  on  the  foUowin((  duy.  He  had 
brought  (h»  money.  Potts  ^ve  him  his  note  for 
sixty  thousand  pounds,  and  the  third  day  began. 
liy  l«n  o'clock  the  doors  were  besieged  by  the 
laigest  crowd  that  had  ever  assembled  in  this 
quiet  village.  Another  host  of ,  luokers-on  had 
collected.  When  the  doors  wet«  opened  they 
poured  in  with  a  rush. 

The  demancls  on  this  third  day  were  very  hirge:' 
The  man  with  the  five  thousand  had  fought  his 
way  to  the  counter  first,  and  clamoi«d  to  te  paid. 
The  noise  and  confusion  were  overpowering^  Ev- 
•jy  body  was  cursing  the  bank  or  lauding  at  it. 
Each  one  felt  doubtful  about  getting  his  p»y. 
Potts  tried  to  be  dignified  for  a  time.  Ho  Order- 
ed them  to  be  quiet,  and  assured  them  that  they 
would  all  be  paid.  His  voice  was  drowned  in 
the  wild  nproar.  The  clerks  counted  out  the 
gold  as  rapidly  as  possible,  in  spile  of  the  re- 
mopstrances  of  Potts,  who  on  three  occasions 
called  them  all  into  the  parlor,  and  threatened  to 
dismiss  them  unless  they  counted  more  sloffly. 
His  threats  were  disregarded.  They  went  back, 
and  paid  out  as  rapidly  as  before.  The  amounts 
required  ranged  from  five  or  ten  pounds  to  thou- 
sands of  pounds.  At  hist,  after  paying  out  thou- 
sands, one  man  came  up  who  had  notes  to  the 
■mount  of  ten  thousand  pounds.  This  ^vas  the 
largest  demand  that  had  yet  been  made.  It  was 
doubtful  whether  there  was  so  large  an  amount 
left.  Potts  came  out  to  see  him.  There  was  no 
help  for  it ;  he  had  to  parley  with  the  eqemy. 

He  told  him  that  it  was  within  a  few  minutes 
of  three,  and  that  it  wonid  take  an  hour  at  least 
to  count  out  so  much— would  he  not  wait  till  the 
next  day  ?    There  would  be  ample  time  then,*. 

The  man  had  no  objection.  It  was  all  the 
same  to  him.  He  went  out  with  his  bundle  of 
notes  through  the  crowd,  telling  them  that  the 
bank  could  not  pay  him.  This  intelligence  mode 
the  excitement  still  greater.  There  was  a  fletce 
rush  to  the  counter.  The  clerks  worked  hard, 
«nd  paid  out  what  they  could  in  spite  of  the  hints 
antt  even  th»  threats  of  Potts,  till  at  length  the 
bonk  clock  struck  the  hour  of  three.  It  had  been 
put  forward  twenty  minutes,  and  there  was  a 
great  riot  among  the  people  on  that  account,  but 
they  could  not  do  any  thing.  The  bank  was 
dosM  for  the  diiy,  and  they  had  to  depart 

Both  Potts  and  Chirk  now  waited  eagerly  for 
the  return  of  John.  He  was  ex))ected  before  the 
next  <ay.  He  ought  to  be  in  by  midnight. 
After  waiting  impntiently  for  hours  they  at  length 
drove  out  to  see  if  they  could  find  him.      . 

About  twelve  miles  fivm  Brandon  they  met 
lim  at  midnight  with  a  team  of  horses  and  a 
number  of  men,  oil  of  whom  were  armed. 
"Have  you  got  it r 

"  Yes,"  said  John,  "  what  there  is  of  it." 
wtiat  do  yon  mean  by  that?" 


"I'm  too  tired  to  explain.  Wait  till  we  get 
home."  * 

It  was  four  o'clock  in  the  morning  before  they 
reached  the  bank.  The  gold  was  taken  onf  and 
deposited  in  the  vaults,  and  the  three  went  up  to 


freshed  themselves,  after  which  Johh  remarked, 
in  his  usual  laconic  style, 

"  Yon'\-e  been  and  gone  and  done  it." 

"What?"  asked  Potto,  somewhat  puzsJcd. 

"  With  your  speculations  in  stocks. " 

' '  What  about  them  ?" 

"Nothing,"  said  John,  "only  the^  happen  to 
be  at  a  small  discount." 

"A  discount?" 

"Slightly." 
'Potto  was  silent       j  ^        ~ 

"  How  much  ?"  asked  Clark, 

"I  have  a  statement  here,"  said  John. 
"When  I  got  to  London,  I  saw  the  broker 
He  said  that  American  stocks,  particularly  those 
which  I  held,  had  undergone  a  great  depreiin-v 
tion.  He  assured  me  that  it  was  only  tempomn- 
that  the  dividends  which  thpse  stocks  paid  were 
enough  to  raise  them  in  a  short  time,  perhaps  in 
a  few  weeks,  and  that  it  was  madness  to  sell  out 
now.  He  declared  that  it  would  ruin  the  credit 
of  the  Biundon  Bank  if  it  were  known  tlwt  we 
sold  out  at  sndi  «  fearful  sacrifice,  and  advised 
^  to  raise  the  money  at  a  less  co8t.i~ 

"  Well,  I  could  oiUy  think  of  Smilhers  &  Co 
I  went  to  their  office.  They  were  all  away,  r 
saw  one  of  the  clerks  who  said  they  had  g«ne  to 
see  about  some  Russian  loan  or  other,  so  tliet« 
was  nothing  to  do  but  to  go  back  to  the  broker. 
He  assured  me  again  that  it  was  an  unheard  of 
sacrifice  j  that  these  very  stocks  which  I  held  had 
fallen  terribly,  he  knew  not  how,  and  advised  ,- 
me  to  do  any  thing  rather  than  make  such  a  sac- 
rifice. But  I  could  do  nothing.  Gold  was  what 
I  wanted,  and  since  Smithers  &  Co.  were  away 
this  was  the  onlv  way  to  get  it" 

*  •  Well ! "  cried  Potts,  eag«rly.     « '  Did  you  get 

It  f 

"  Yon  saw  that  I  got  it  I  sold  out  at  a  cost 
that  is  next  to  ruin." 

"What  is  it?" 

"  Well,*  said  John,  "  I  will  give  you  the  state- 
ment of  the  broker,"  and  he  drew  from  his  pock-,* 
et  a  paper  which  he  handed  to  the  others.    Th«r 
looked  at  it  eagerly.  k 

It  was  as  follows  ; 

10«  shares  CsHfomU  9  £1000  each.   OS  per 

cent  dlsounnt -.Itifm 

SO  shares  Meztcan.    76  per  cent  disconot  12,M0 

60  shares  Goatemals.    80  per  cent  dis- 
eonnt ...X.  in.onn 

60 shares Veoeiuela.  80  percent  discount  W,m 

Mt!,m 

The  feces  of  Potto  and  Chirk  grew  black  aa 
night  as  they  reod  thw.  A  deep  execration  hurst 
from  Potts.     Clark  leaned  back  in  his  chair. 

"  The  bank's  blown  up !"  said  he. 

"  No,  it  ain't,"  rejoined  Potto. 

"Whyiiot?" 

"There's  gold  enough  to  pav  all  that's  likclr 
tobeoflfered." 

"  How  much  more  do  yon  think  will  be  offer- 
ed?" 

Not  much ;  it  stands  to  reason." 


^ou 


It  stands  to  reason  that  every  note  which 
Ve  issued  will  he  sent  back  to  you.    SaJ'Jl 


trouble  you  to  give  me  my  sixty  thousand ;  and 
I  advise  you  as  a  friend 'ib  hold  on  to  the  rest." 
"  Chtrk !"  said  Potto,  "you're  getting  limider 
and  tiraider.  You  ain't  got  any  more  pluck  these 
times  than  a  kitten." 

It's  a  time  when  a  man's  got  to  be  catvfnl 


tke  HalL     The/  brought  out  b^ndy  and  re-lof  hiieamiug»,"said  CUrk.     **Howmudibwt 


1  out  at  a  coit 


it  that's  likclr 
.  will  be  oSet- 


^to  paX  With.    WhatVe7o-Xo"Iy 

"  Well !"  Vid  Potta.  "  lT,o  Bnuidon  Bank 
may  igo-bnJ^what  then?  You  K  flmt  1 
jujve  the  Branl^on  estate.    Thata wortf ?wo ^i! 

."  n""  ^'  *'  ^•""  "'o  hnndred  thousand  " 

intlSrCdlT  "^^  •^'^'  ""»  '""''-^ 
oweLui^Sa/^"^'^"*''^'***-  You 
J^Pooh!  thafa  ib  offset  by  securities  which  I 

"Queer  securities!" 
"All  good, ''said  pW 


CORD  AljfD  CREESE. 


/■ 


177 

while  the  one  who  had  been  paid  was  making 
.tmngemenu  about  conveying  CuTev "wav.* 

OoJetJv  ^"7  '7 />*'»°«k-     'll'e  stmnijer  S 
qpietly  to  the  cleik  opposite  that  lie  wanted 

stmS^   *^°"'^**    P"?*^"  """wered    the 

tum^ZZr''  "'=~'»-«>^'''«  yo".  Sin"  .>>■ 

Potts  had  hea'rd  this  and  came  forward. 


"All first-rate.   It'll 


be  ,11  right.  :  We'll  hi|ye  to  put  it  through  " 

all  right  ?!'«ied  Chirk, 


'But.whatifitisn 
nvagely. 

mS  ^X  "^  ^  f™  ^'°^"'«"'  *  Co.  ,0 

SmitiLTco'''*  '"^'  ''""^  --  «"«><" 

.  JS**  "t  •  ^  •"  «"'.  *He«tote  to  M  back  on 
fu.?v'te,l'-J''?"Wexph,inrthem: 
tf  tney  had  only  been  in  trtwn.!  shouldn't  have 
tad  to  make  this  sacriflcai  You  n^n't  ftl? 
troubled  about  your  moriej^v  TU^J.^ou  ^ 
canty  on  the  estate  to  any  iitonnt  I'Urivev^ 
•scanty  for  seventjr  thoui.nd>  siJd  Pottf  ^ 
Clark  thought  fir  a  whila  ^ 

^:'Well!"saidhe,..it's.^butI-Urun 

J'th-^i^^'' '?"  *^.^*^ "  •*  V  "ow  to  make 
ont_the  papen.;  but  whenever  ySu  fetch  ojTin 

thil' e!iSL°°°T*r^^'  and  youll^ign  the  papen. 

la'^rha^iT'?'-^^'^*^^ 

Pottswent  down  not  fcng  after.  Tt  wu  th„ 
fourth  day  of  the  tun.  MiscdLeU^l£ 
l^lnto''^'^  •""  ''••'  «mounKe^"tl 
irwei^So'uT  "'"  ""•"  *'«°  ^^«  »^'"- 

HA'Jf T**  .*  *"*"  **"»«  'n  ^'l>  a  camet-boir 
He  Mlled  out .  vast  quantity  of  notes^  ^: 

Potts  heard  this  and  camrfout.  ^^ 

^  How  much?"  he  asked.  v 

Thirty  thousand  pounds. "  \ 

Do  you  want  it  in  gold?"  \ 

<>f  course."  , 

ftS"  ^*'"  '^''  '  '^"'^  °°  Me«m.  Smithirs 
"%  I  want  gold." 

»TO  H)  par  out  his  last  sovereiim. 

^S-Sr^lJn^.rc'h.""'^  *"''  "^  '""»  °f  »- 
He  <^h,r  man  who  had  wiUted  stood  calmly,  I 


<>  ur    ,     —    ,  """  """  ™">e  forward. 

get  ^U  •■'    ^       '^"'  '^° '  "^  *""  "''•e^d  to 
"  ^  draft  on  Smithers  &  Co.  ?" 

, ,  Couldn't  take  even  Bank  of  1!hgland  notes  " 
said  the  stranger  j  " Im  only  an  a^nt  Tf7o'„ 
can  .  accomm«h»te  me  I'm  wny.Tm  sure."^"" 

Potts  was  silent     His  fiice  was  ghastly 
much  agony  as  such  a  man  could  end! 
felt  by  him  nt  that  moment.  7 

Half  an  hour  afterwaixl  the  shutters  wer«  nn. 
and  outside  the  door  sto<i  a  wSd  aud  rioto« 
crowd  the  most  noisv  of  whom  was  the  taUon 

The  Brandon  Bank  had  foilea. 


As 
waa 


CHAPTER  L,    • 

THE  BANK  DIBECT0R8. 

The  bank  doors  were  closed,  and  the  bnnk  di 

ri  w*^"^  'u^  '»  '•'«''  oZriflections.  (  tark 
had  been  in  through  the  day,  and  at Te  criti™l 
moment  his  feelings  had  meip^wered  hK 
much  that  he  felt  compelled  to^oveVto  tSin^ 

^f^hC^"^V""'''  -••^-'•tb  he'!;SiS 
refresh  himself  and  keep  up  his  spirits. 

Potts  and  John  remained  in  the  bank  parior 

The  clerks  had  gone.    Potts  was  in  tliarstate 

of  dejection  m  which  even  liquor  was  n  t  dS 

"mil  "llh'"'^""  ?."«'  nonchalance. 
i.„      ..  '  f^hnme,"  said  Potts,  after  a  Jbjm^. 
lence,  "werensedup!"  ^^P" 

.  flTr^  ^'?  >""'«^  that's  a  fact  "You  were 
•  fool  for  fighting  it  out  so  long. " 

Wte. "     *'"  "*  '^*'"-    '  ""^  "^Powible,  at  «,y 

•i'.^"  "'*'"  ^"^^  ''^Pt  yout  gold." 
Ihenmyestotewould  have  been  KooA    B* 
inf'J  ^r?.*"  '*«'"  'hrough  this'^ic.d^ 
In  fdct  I  hadn't  any  thing  elsi  to  do."  ^      ^" 

"Why  not?" 

"Smithers  &  Co," 

"Ah!  ves." 

"They'll  be  down  on  me  now.    That's  what 
I  was  afraid  of  aU  along. "  ^^ 

'*  How  much  do  you  owe  them  ?^ 
..^'■^"  hundred  and  two  thousand  pounds." 

d»HiTJ:.^;'i!" '  *"""«'*  •*  *"  ""•>'«-  »"- 

"It's  been  plowing  every  day.    It's  a  dread-* 
damrerous  thiag  to  have  nnljniltea  credit.''""" 


debtsdtSCbanf:'''^'""'''"*'"''""**"'-  ^ 

"si'n™  nll:'>^K^"'';'i"'''"«  »  '""8  hreath, 
th^m„?^■i''"^^•"*  *  •^"n*  n»*nd  telling  vou 
1  t.K  ^  f""  °P"'«°" '•  them  debts  isn't  worth 
m™«  <T  «;^«,«=ro'iof  people  came  herd  for 
money,  a  didn't  hardly  ask  «  question  I  ' 
dieUedoutroyiUly.    I  wJuted  to  KZi,  .J 


Hti^^'i^      1. 4     ■•  !^**^  ^'-^ '  •  f  \^^*  '-J'J 


14* '^  I    -i^t- 


irs 


CORD  AND  CREESIl. 


« 


as  to  get  into  Parliament  some  daj.  ~  I  did  wliat 
is  called  'going  it  blind.' " 

"  How  much  is  owing  yon  ?" 

"The  books  say  five  hundred  and  thirteen 
thousand  pounds — but  it's  doubtful  if  I  can  get 
any  of  it.  And  now  Smitbera  &■  Co.  will  be 
down  on  mo  at  once." 

"  What  do  you  intend  to  do  ?" 

"I  don't  know." 

"  Haven't  you  thought  ?" 
•>    "No,  I«»uldn't." 

"\Vell,^ave." 

"What?" 

"  You'll  have  to  try  to  compromise." 

"What  if  they  won't  ?" 

John  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  said  nothing. 

"After  all,"  resumed  Potts,  hopefully,  ^'it 
can't  be  so  bad.  The  estate  is  worth  two  millions. " 

"Pooh!" 

"Isn't  it?" 

"  Uf  course  not  You  know, what  you  bought 
it  for." 

"That's  because  it  was  thrown  away." 

"  Well,  it  'II  have  to  be  thrown  ^wav  again." 

"  Oh,  Smithers  &  Co.  '11  be  easy.  'They  don't 
care  for  money."  ' ) 

"  Perhaps  so.  Thb  fact  is,  I  don't  understand 
Smitlicrs  &  Co.  at  all.  I've  tried  to  see  through 
their  little  game,  but  can't  begin  to  do  it." 

"  Oh,  that's  easy  enough !  They  knew  I  was 
rich,  and  let  me  have  what  money  1  wanted." 

flobn  looked  doubtful. 

At  this  moment  a  rap  was  h^ard  at  the  back 
door.  -jf 

"  Tliero  comes  Clark !"  saicthe.  ^- 

Potts  opened  the  door.  Clark' entered.  His 
face  }vas  flushed,  and  his  eyes  bloodshot. 

"b'ee  here,"  said  he,  mysteriously,  as  he  en- 
tered the  room.  '  j' 

"What?"  asked  the  others,  anxiously. 

"There's  two  chaps  at  the  inn.  One  is  the 
/talian — " 

"Langhetti!" 

"Ay,"  said  Clark,  gloomily;  "and  the  other 
is  his  raatfe — tlmt  fellow  that  helped  him  to  carry 
off  the  gaL  They've  done  it  again  this  time,  and 
my  opinion  is  that  these  fellows  are  at  the  bottom 
of  all  our  troubles.    You  know  ivhose  son  he  is." 

Potts  and  John  exchanged  glances. 

"I  went  after  that  devil  once,  and  I'm  going 
to  try  it  again.  This  time  I'll  take  some  one 
who  isn't  afraid  of  the  devil.  Johnnie,  is  the 
dogattheHaU?" 

"Yes." 

"  All  right !"  said  Clark.  "  111  bo  even  with 
this  fellow  yet,  if  he  is  in  league  with  the  deviL" 

With  these  words  Clark  went  out,  and  left  the 
two  together.  A  glance  of  savage  exultation 
passed  over  the  face  of  Potts. 

"  If  he  comes  back  successftdf"  said  he,  "  all 
rif^fat,  and  if  he  doesn't,  why  than" —   He  paused. 

"  If  he  doesn't  come  bacl^said  John,  finish- 
ing the  sentence  for  him,  '^hy  then — all  right- 


;  CHAPTER  LL 

A  STBDOOLE. 

All  the  irresolution  which  for  a  time  had  char- 
ecterized  Despard  had  vanished  Iwfore  the  shock 
Of  that  great  discovery  which  his  father's  manu- 


script had  revealed  to  him.  One  parpose  liow  lay 
clbarly  and  vlividly  before  him,  one  which  to  so 
loyal  and  demoted  a  nature  as  ijis  was  the  Imliest 
duty,  and  thajt  was  vengeance  on  his  father's  mup. 
derers.  ■■i- 

In  this  purpose  he  took  refuge  from  his  own 
grief;  he  casti  aside  his  own  longings,  his  anguish  ' 
his  despair.  Langhetti  wished  to  search  after  his 
"  Bice;"  Despard  wished  to  findthose  whom  his 
dj^  father  hid  denounced  to  him.  In  tlie  ii)- 
tensity  of  his  'purpose  he  was  careless  ns  to  tlie 
means  by  which  that  vengeance  should  be  ac- 
complished. He  thought  not  whether  it  would 
be  better  to  tnUt  to  the  slow  action  of  the  law,  or 
to  take  the  task  into  his  own  hands.  Ilia  oAiy 
wish  was  to  be  confronted  witb  either  of  these 
men,  or  both  of  them. 

.  It  was  with  this  feeling  in  his  heart  that  he  set 
out  with  Langhetti,  and  the  two  went'oncc  more 
in  company  to  the  village  of  Brandon,  where  they 
arrived  on  the  last  day  of  the  "run  on  the  Imiik."' 

He  did  not  kilow  exactly  whatit  would  be  l)est 
to  do  first.  His  one  idea  was  to.  go  to  the  Hall, 
and  confront  the  murderers  in  their  own  place. 
Langhetti,  howeW,  urged  the  need  of  help  from 
the  civil  magistrate.  It  was  while  they  were  de- 
liberating about  tliis  that  a  letter  was  brought  in 
addressed  to  tjie  jRev.  Courtenay  Despard. 

Despard  did  not  recognize  the  handwriting. 
In  some  surprise  |iow  any  one  should  know  that 
ho  was  here  he  obened  the  letter,  and  his  sui^  - 
prise  was  still  greater  as  he  read  the  following : 

"Sir, — ^There  dre  two  men  here  whom  von 
seek — one  Potts,  the  other  Cktk.  You  can  "see 
them  lx)th  at  any  time. 

"  The  young  lady  whom  you  and  Signer  Lan- 
ghetti formerly  rescued  has  escaped,  and  is  now 
in  safety  at  Denton,  a  village  not  more  than 
twenty  miles  away.  She  lives  in  the  last  cot- 
tage on  the  left-hand  side  of  the  ro^d,  close  by 
the  sea.    There  is  an  American  elm  m  front." 

*■ 
There  was  no  signature. 

Despard  handed  it  in  silence  to  Langhetti,  who 
read  it  eagerly.  Joy  spread  over  his  fuee.  l^c 
started  to  his  feet. 

"I  must  go  at  once, "  said  he,  excitedly.  "Will 
yon?" 

' '  No,"  replied  Despard,  "  Yon  had  better  go. 
I  must  stay ;  my  purpose  is  a  different  one." 

"  Bat  do  not  you  also  wish  to  secure  the  safety 
of  Bice?" 

' '  Of  course ;  but  I  shall  not  be  needed.  Yon 
will  be  enough." 

Langhetti  tried  to  persoade  him,  but  Despaid 
was  immovable.  For  himself  he  was  too  impa- 
tient to  wait.  He  determined  to  set  out  at  once. 
He  could  not  get  a  carriage,  but  he  managed  to 
obtain  a  horse,  and  with  this  he  set  out.  It  was 
about  the  time  when  the  bank  had  closed. 

Just  before  his  departure  Despard  saw  a  man 
come  from  the  bank  and  enter  the  inn.  lie  knew 
the  face,  for  he  had  seen  it  when  here  beforej  It 
was  Clark.  Atthe*ightof  tbiAfaceallhisfloBM- 
est  instinct  awoke  within  him— «  deep  thirst  fo» 
vengeance  arose.  He  could  not  lose  sight  of 
this  man.  He  determined  to  track  him,  and  thiu 
by  active  pursuit  to  do  something  towaid  the  ac- 
complishment of  his  purpose. 

He  watrtied  him,  therefore,  as  he  entered  the 
inn/ and  caught  a  hasty  glance  which  CUrk  di- 


h'^ii^^^^^ 


rec  ed  at  himself  and  LanghettL  He  did  not 
mderstand  the  meaning  of  the  scowl  that  passed 
orer  the  nifflan's  face,  nor  did  Clark  nnderatand 
the  full  meaning  of  that  gloomy  frown  which  low- 
wed  over  DeajMird's  brow  as  his  eyes  blazed  wiath- 
fiiUv  and  menacingly  upon  him. 

Clark  came  out  and  went  to  the  book      On 
qnitting  the  bank  Despanl  saw  him  looking  ba^ 

•.rte  V    '.•n'l'*  """  J""*  '««""«•     He  then 
J^hedhimtillhewentuptothellall. 
lu^iT^i- 1?'*^^  an  honr  Clai*  came^ck  on 

£  t^t  ^  ^"'^'°'^'  '^'^  »*«"»  ^^^^  °ff  «'  » 
On  questioning  the  landlord  Despard  fp«nd 
•MrlP^*  had  asked  him  about  thVdiJtion 
which  Langhetti  had  taken.  The  idea  at  once 
fl-hed  upon  him  that  pos«bly  CUrk  wished  to  i 

■^^  ■-  * 


pursue  Langhetti,  m  order  to  find  out  about  Bea- 
trice.^ He  determined  on  pursuit,  both  for  Lan- 
ghotti's  sake  and  his  own.  •""•■"  '"^  lab- 

He  followed,  therefore,  not  far  behind  Clark 
nding  at  first  rapidly  till  he  caught  sight  of  him 
^  'hesummitof  a  hill  in  front,  and  thtn  keeping 
at  about  ihe  same  distance  behind  him.     He  had 

do,  but  held  himself  prepared  for  «njF  courae  irf 


After  riding  about  an  hour  he  put  spurs  to  hi* 
horee,  and  went  on  at  a  more  rapid  pace.     Yet 

Sv     H    *  himself  must  have  gone  on  more  Jtt 
«S  r*  -i  \°*'5'  P"'  •""  "'^  hoiw  at  its  fullest  •^ 
spped,  with  the  intention  of  coming  up  with  hia 
enwny  as  soon  as  possible,  H  wim  m. 

He  iiide  on  at  a  tremendous  pace  for  anothflc 


Jr 


flip?!' 


100 


CXIRD  AND  CBEE8B. 


half  honr.  At  last  the  road  took  a  tndden  torn ; 
and,  whirlMg  around  ,here  at  the  atmoit  ipeed, 
he  bunt  upon  a  scene  which  was  at  atmling  t^ 
it  was  unexpected,  and  which  ronsed  to  madness 
all  the  fervid  pawion  of  his  natpn). 

The  road  here  descended,'  aM  in  its  descent 
wound  round  a  hill  and  led  into  a  gentle  hol- 
low, on  each  side  of  which  hillf  ame  which 
were  Covered  with  trees. 

Within  tliis  glen  was  disclosed  a  frightful  spec- 
tacle. A  man  lay  on  the  ground,  torn  fh>m  his 
hpree  by  a  hti^  blood-hound,  which  even  then 
was  rending  him  with  its  huge  fangs !  llie  dis- 
mounted rider's  foot  was  eritanglml  in  the  ftir- 
nips,  and  the  horse  was  plunging  and  dragging 
him  along,  while  the  dog  was  pmllng  him  back.. 
The  man  himself  uttered  not  a  cry,  but  tried  to 
fight  off  the  4oR  with  his  hands  as  best  he  could.. 

In  the  horror  of  the  moment  Despard  saw  that 
it  was  Langhetti.  Tor  an  instant  his  brain  reeled. 
The  next  moment  ho  hod  reached  the  spot  An- 
other horsenlan  was  standingrclose  b^,  without 
'  pretending  even  to  interfere.  Despard  did  not 
see  him;  he  saw  nothing  but  Langhetti.  He 
flung  himself  from  his  horse,  -'and  drew  a  re- 
volver from  his  pocket  A  loud  report  rang 
through  thfi  air,  and  in  an  instant  the  huge 
blood-hound  gave  a  leap  upward,  with  a.  pierc- 
ing yell,  and  fell  dead  in  the  road. 

l>Bspard  flung  himself  on  his  knees  beside 
Langhetti.  He  saw  his  hands  tom^nd  bleed- 
ing, and  Uood  covering  his  face  and  breast  A 
low  grouf  was  all  that  escaped  from  the  sufferer. 

"  Ledve  me,"  he  gasped.     " Save  Bice." 

In  his  grief  for  I^anghetti,  thus  lying  before 
him  in  sudi  agony,  Despard  forgot  aU  else.  He 
seized  his  handkerchief  and  tried  to  stanch  the 
blood. 

"Leave me !"  gasped LanghcMf  again.  " Bice 
will  be  lost"  His  head,  whjoiniespard  had  rap- 
ported  for  a  moment,  sanMMck,  and  life  aeemed 
to  leave  him.  y' 

Despard  started  npr  Now  for  the  first  time 
he  recollected  the  stranger;  and  in  an  instant 
understood  who  he  was,  and  why  this  had  bieen 
done.  Suddenly,  as  he  started  up,  he  felt  his 
pistol  snatched  from  his  hand  by  a  strong  grasp. 
He  turned. 

It  was  Uie  horseman — it  was  Clark — who  had 
stealthily  dismounted,  and,  in  his  deKperote  pur- 
pose, had  tried  to  make  sure  of  Despard. 
<  But  Despard,  quick  as  thought,  leaped  npon 
'liim^  and  caught  his  hand.  In  the  struggle  the 
pistol  fell  to  the  ground.  Despard  caught  Clark 
m  bis  arm»,  and  then  the  contest  began. 

Clark  was  of  medium  size,  thick-set,  muscn- 
lar,  robust,  and  desperate.  Despard  was  tall, 
hot  .bis  ftame  was  well  knit,  his  muscles  and 
sinews  were  like  iron,  and  he  was  inspired  by  a 
higher  spirit  and  a  deepei'  passion. 

In  the  first  shock  of  -that  fierce  embrace  not 
a  w6rd  was  spoken.  For  some  time  the  strug/ 
gle  was  maintained  without  result.  Clark  had 
caught  Despard  at  a  disadvantage,  and  this  for 

his  Strength  effectually. 

At  last  he  wound  one  arm  around  Clark's  neck 
in  a  strangling  grasp,  and  forced  his  other  arm 
under  that  of  Clark.  Then  with  one  tremen- 
dous, one  resistless  impulse,  he  put  forth  all  his 
ttrength.  Hia  antagonist  gave  ytvj  befors  it 
Honeled. 


Despard  disengaged  one  arm  and  dealt  him  a 
tremendous  .blow  on  the  temple.  At  the'  same 
inatant  he  twined  his  le«4d)ii|it  those  of  the  oth- 
er. At  the  stroke  Clark,  who  had  already  stog- 
gei«d,  gave  way  utterty  and  fell  heavily  back- 
ward, with  Itoapard  upon  him. 

The  next  instant  Despard  had  seiied  his  throat 
and  held  him  down  so  that  he  could  not  move. 

The  wretch  gasped  and  groaned.  He  strug- 
gled to  escape  from  that  iron  bold  in  vain. 
The  hand  which  had  seiied  him  was  not  to  be 
shaken  off.  Despard  had  fixed  hit  grasp  there, 
and  there  in  the  throat  of  the  fainting,  sutfoca- 
ting  wretch  he  held  it 

The  struggles  grew  feinter,  the  arms  rehixed, 
the  fiice  blackened,  the  Umbe  stiffened.  At  hut 
all  efforts  ceasedi 

Despard  4hen  arosei|  and,  tuning  Clark  over 
on  his  fece,  took  the  bridle  flrom  one  ,of  tlio 
horses,  bound  his  hands  behind  hipi,  and  fjis- 
tened  his  feet  securely.  In  the  fierce  struggle 
Chirk's  coat  and  waistcoat  had  been  torn  awnv, 
and  slipped  down  to  some  extent  His  shirt- 
collar  nad  burst  and  slipped  with  them.  As  Des- 
pard tnm^  bbn  over  and  proceeded  to  tie  him,. 
something  struck  his  eye.  It  was  a  bright,  red 
scar. 

-  He  pulled  down  t^e  shirt  A  mark  appeared, 
the  full  meaning  of  which  he  knew  not,  but^could 
well  conjecture.  There  were  three  bninds-^^ry 
redound  these  were  Um  marks :  »       \ 


wmmmjLiam^ 


CHAPTER  LH. 

FACE  TO  FACE. 

Ox  the  same  evening  Potts  left  the  bank  at 
about  five  o'clock,  and  went  up  to  the  Hall  with 
John.  He  was  morose,  gloomy,  and  abstracted. 
The  great  question  now  before  him  was  hoir 
to  defd  with  Smithers  ft  Ca  Should  he  write  to 
them,  or  go  and  see  them,  or  what?  How  could 
he  satisfy  their  claims,  which  he  knew  would  no«r 
be  presented?  Involved  in  thoughts  like  these, 
he  entered  the  Hall,  and,  followed  by  John,  went 
to  the  dining-room,  where  father  and  son  sat 
down  t<j  »efreslt^thnmselvw|„pver  a  liottle.j){L^ — 
brandy. 

They  had  not  been  seated  half  an  hour  before 
the  noise  of  carriage-wheels  was  heard ;  and  on 
looking  out  they  saw  a  dog-cart  drawn  by  two 
magnificent  horses,  which  drove  swiftly  up  to  tin 
portico.  A  gentlonan  dismounted,  and,  throw- 
iiig  the  reins  to  hie  Mrrant,  cam*  up  the  stqii. 


&<ii^S^^ 


!■&, 


SPi-" 


The  itrangOT  was  of  medium  size,  with  an  «iv 
litocratic  iir,  remarkaUy  regular  f&tnres.  of 
pore  OwwiM  outline,  and  deep,  bkck,  lunrous 
•res.  Hill  brow  was  dark  and  stern,  and  cloud- 
ed o^fer  by  a  gloomy  frown. 

"  Who  the  devil  is  be  ?"  cried  Potts.  "D— n 
a»t  porter  I    I  told  him  to  let  no  one  in  to-day  " 

"I  believe  the  porter's  playing  fMt-«nd  looU 
with  us.    But,  by  JoTe!  djw4ir«Sethat  fellow's ' 
•^w  V"y'»"'"»°'^,)>*o  else  has  such  eyes?" 

"OldSmithei 
"Smithora 


CORD  Jk^D  CEEESE. 


^"  t' 


181 


iayonngSmithers?" 
or  else  the  devil,"  said  John,. harshly. 
" he  continued.    "I've 


"  I  begin  to  have  an  idea,  „„  vuu»,.ueu. 

,,",„.'"«  ''^""  "*•  fo«"  »onie  time." 
"What  Is  It?" 

"  Old  Smithers  had  these  eyes.  That  last  chao 
that  drew  the  forty  thousand  out  of  you  kept  his 
eyes  covered.  Here  comes  this  fellow  with  Uie 
sune  evftj.  I  begin  to  trace  a  connection  be- 
tween them."  ,  ... 

"Pooh I  Old  Smithers  is  old  enough  to  be 
this  man's  grandfather."  8"  w  ue 

smithers  hadn  t  a  wrinkle  in  his  face?" 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

•'Oh  nothing -only  his  hair  mightn't  have' 
been  natural;  that 8  all."  •••  »«»o 

Potts  and  John  exchanged  glances,  and  no- 
thing was  said  for  some  time. 

"Perhaps  this  Smithers  &  Son  have  been  at 
the  bottom  of  all  this, "  continued  John.  ' '  Thev 
sre  the  only  ones  who  could  have  been  strong 

"Hut  why  should  they  ?!■' 

John  shook  his  head. 

"  Despard  or  Langhetti  mav  have  got  them  to 

*  r  J^f *"?'  *•""  ''-^  «''•'  *<1  «'•  Smithen 
&  to.  wIU  make  money  enong^  ont  of  the  spec- 
nhtion^to  i»y  them.  As  for  me  and  you,  I  be- 
^  to  have  a  general  bul^vary  accnmte  idea  of 

room.     The  servant  came  down  to  nnnoun^ 

"What  name?"  asked  PMts.        &      '. 

"  He  didn't  give  any. "  " 

Potts  looked  perplexed. 

"Come  now, '  said  John.  " This  feUow  has 
OTer«,ached  hirtiself  at  last.  He's  come  he^"f 
perhaps  it  won  t  be  so  easy  for  him  to  get  out. 
m  have  aU  the  ser^ante  ready.     Do  y5u  keen 

Sn!  ,{•  JK  ?'^'.  ■"'^  "'•'«n  '•»«  time  comes 
ring  the  bell,  and  111  march  in  with  aU  the  serv- 

Potts  looked  for  a  moment  jtt  his  son  with  a 
glMce  of  deep  admiration.     "7  "' 

*  finger  tlun  I  have  in  my  whole  body.    tS  • 


The  stranger  was  standinc  looking  ont  of  one 
of  the  windows.  His  attitude  brought  l«ck  to 
Potts  8  recollection  the  scene  which  had  once 
uZa  ,  'Tf'  ''"IIP  "'"^  ^mi'hers  was  holding 
?h^J^T^"  ''%'\-T-  '*"'»«  Hicollection  of  thU 
threw  i  flood  of  light  on  Potts's  mind.  He  re- 
caUed  it  with  a  savage  exultation.  Perhaps  they 
were  the  sam^,  as  John  sald-perhapsT  no 
most  assuredly  they  must  be  the  same.  ' 

Pottitohrsefr.wZVea;!^'"  ""^"^ 
^  The  stranger  turned  and  looked  at  Potts  for  a 
Aw  moments.  He  neither  bowed  nor  uttered 
f«ny  salutation  whatever.  In  his  look  there  vZ 
a  certain  temfic  menace,  an  indefinable  glanceof 
conscious  power,  combined  with  implacable  hate, 
riio  frown  which  usually  rested  on  his  brow 
darkened  and  3eepened  tiU  the  gloomy  shadows, 
that  covered  them  seemed  Uko  thunder-clouds. 

Before  that  awful  look  Potts  felt  himself  cow.  • 
enng  involuntarily;  and  he  began  to  feel  less 
conBdeneo  in  his  o^vn  power,  and  less  sure  that 
the  stranger  had  flung  himself  into  a  trap.  How- 
ever, the  silence  was  embarrassing;  so  at  last. 
with  an  effort,  le  said :  ^^ 

"  Well ;  is  there  any  thing  yon  want  of  Ine? 
J.m  in  a  huny. 

"  Yes,"  said  the  stranger,  "I  reached  the  vil- 
J.]^j«»;<J'»y  'o  call  nt  the  bank,  but  found  it 

too  ""''■'    '  *"PP*>*®  >°""^e  Bot  a  draft  on  me, 

"Yes,"  said  the  stranger,  mysteriously.     "I 
suppose  I  may  call  it  a  draft."  , 

i,  'liF^T'J^  TA"  troubling  your  head  about 
le,  then,    returned  Potts ;  "  I  won't  nav  " 

"Yotf  won't?"  ^^' 

"Not  a  penny." 

nvii  .?,''"?•         .®°,  ™"«  °f  contempt  flashed 
over  the  stranger's  fac&  ' 

"Perhaps  if  you  knew  what  the  draft  is.  vou 
would  feel  differently."  '  ^ 

"  I  don't  care  what  it  i»." 

.'.'Thatjlepends  upon  the  drawer." 

I  don  t  care  who  the  drawer  is.    I  won't  pay 

L., '  »  "  i  '^'"^  ^"^^  "■  it's  Smithers  &  Co.    Ill 

settle  all  when  I  m  ready.    I'm  not  going  to  be 

bnll  ed  any  longer.     I've  borne  ehougli.     Yoa 

,"i^v  * .??''  '^.r'^  f*"'''"  ^^  e«°tin"e<l,  pet- 
«;  I  see  through  you,  and  you  can't  keep 
np  ihis  sort  of  thing  much  longer. '• 

o„9"'°"  ^PP**'  t°  '""'  ">at  you  know  wh6  I 


wve  got  this  fellow,  whoever  he  is;  and  if  he 
toMout  to  be  what  I  suspect,  then  ^e'U  sprinj 

tei7ti;s:»""'  '•"'"  ^  '^"•^ " " '» p'«? 

With  these  words  Potts  departed,  and,  ascend 
mt  the  stairs,  entered  the  di^ing-rooii. 


Something:of  that  sort,"  said  Potts,  mdely ; 

andlet  me  tell  you  I  don't  care  who  you  are.* 
^^     l-hat  depends,"  rejoined  the  other,  calmly. 

veiy  much  npon  circumstances." 

"So  you  see,"  tontinued  Potts,  "you  won't 
get  any  thing  ont  of  me-not  this  time,"  he  add- 

fJl*ll'*'^r:^'*  *''*'  "t^ngor,  "Is  different 
TOu  tOT  "**  *^  presented  at  the  bank 

He  spokfrja^  tone  of  de^«ofemriw-^riffilt= 
tone  which  seemed  like  the  tread  of  some  inevita- 
ble Date  advancing  upon  its  victim.    Potts  felt 
an  indefinable  fear  steaUng  over  him  in  spite  of 
himself.     He  said  not  a  word.      •  ^ 

"  My  draft,  '•  continued  the  stran|^r,  in  a  ton* 
which  was  still  more  aggressive  in  its  dominant 
and  self-assertive  newer— "my  draft  vma  drawn 
r  twenty  years  ago."  ;* 


A^\ 


I 


lea 


*CORD  AND  CBIliESE. 


PotU  looked  wtmderingly  and  half  fearfully 
at  him.  '  i 

"My  draft,"  aaid  the  other,  "was  drawn  by 
Colonel  Lionel  Uespard." 

A  chill  went  to  the  heart  of  Potts.  With  a 
Tiolent  effort  he  shook  otf  his  fear. 

"Pooh!"  said  he,  "you're  at  that  old  story, 
are  yon?    That  nonsense  Won't  do  here." 

"  It  was  datetl  at  sea,"  continued  the  stranger, 
in  tones  which  still  deepeneil  in  awful  emphasis 
— "  ftt  son,  when  the  writer  was  all  alone. 

"It's  a  lie!"  cried  Potts,  while  his  face  grew 
white. 

"At  sea,"  continued  the  other,  ringing  the 
changes  on  this  one  word,  "at  sea — on  board 
that  ship  to  which  yon  had  brought  him — the 
Vishnu!" 

^  Potts  was  like  a  man  fascinated  by  some  hor- 
rid 8i)ectacle.  He  looked  fixedly  at  his  interloc- 
utor.    His  jaw  fell. 

"  There  he  died,"  said  the  stranger.  "  Who 
caused  his  death  ?    Will  you  answer  ?" 

With  a  tremendous  etfort  Potts  again  recover- 
ed command  of  himself.  I 

"  Vou — you've  been  reading  up  old  papers," 
replied  he,  in  a  stampefiii^'voice.  "You've 
got  a  lot  of  stuff  in  yoiir  head  which  you  think 
will  frighf^  me.  You've  come  to  the  wrong 
shop."  ' 

lilJt  in  spite  of  these  words  the  pale  fiice  ond 
ner\pii»  miuiner  of  Potts  showed  how  deep  was 
hid  agitation. 

"  I  myself  was  on  board  the  Vishnu"  said  the 
other.        ' 

"You! 

"Yes, 

"You if  "Then  yon  must  have  been  precious 
smnll.  The  Vishnu  went  down  twenty  years 
ago."      / 

"  I  wAs  on  board  of  the  Vishnu,  and  I  saw 
Colonel  /Despard. ' ' 

emory  of  some  awful  scene  seemed  to 

'the  tones  of  the  speaker — they  thrilled 

the  coarse,  brutal  nature  of  the  listener. 

iw   Colonel  Despard,"   continued  the 


"  Pead  men  tell  no  tales, "  mtitterei!  Potts,  in  a 
scarce  articulate  voictt 

'^Ko  you  thought  when  you  locked  him  in,  nnd 
set  fire  to  the  ship,  and  scuttled  her ;  but  you  sco 
you  were  mistaken,  for  here  at  least  was  a  (lend 
man  who  did  tell  tales,  and  1  was  the  listen- 
er." 

And  the  mystic  solemnity  of  the  man's  face 
seemed  to  mark  him  as  one  who  might  indeed 
have  held  commune  with  the  dead. 

"  He  told  mo,"continued  the  stranger,  "wlicro 
he  found  you,  and  how." 

Awful  expectation  was  manifest  on  the  face 
of  Potts. 

"  Ho  told  me  of  the  mark  on  your  arm.  Draw 
up  your  sleeve,  Briggs,  Potts,  or  whatever  oJhor 
name  you  choose,  and  show  the  indelilJe  char- 
acters which  represent  the  name  of  Ihwhani. " 

Potts  started  back.  His  lips  grew  ashen.  Hig 
teeth  chattered. . 

"He  iiave  me  this,"  cried  the  stranger,  in  a 
louder  voice ;  "  and  this  is  the  draft  width  you 
will  not  reject."  ,  i 

He  strode  forward  three  or  four  paces,  and 
flung  something  toward  Potts. 

It  was  a  cord,  at  the  end  of  which  was  a  me- 
tallic ball.  The  ball  struck  the  table  as  it  fell, 
and  rolled  to  the  floor,  but  the  stranger  held  the 
other  end  ifl  his  hau)!,' 


is?' 


" Thco !"  cri^tie ;  "do you kno* 


what  that 


The 
inspire 
throng! 

'I 
■tran,. 

,  lie !"  cried  Potts,  roused  by  terror  and 
horrcjr  to  a  fierce  pitch  of  excitement. 

.  saw  Colonel  Despard,"  re()ealted  the  strfln- 
Ifor  the  third  time,  "on  board  the  Vtshnu 
he  Indian  Sea.    I  learned  from  him  his 
stort— " 

!  paused.  , 

'iTlieu,"  cried  Potts,-  quickly,  to  whom  there 
suddenly  came  an  idea  which  brought  courage 
with  it ;  "  then,  if  you  saw  hira,  what  concern 
is  it  of  mine  ?  He  was  alive,  then,  nnd  the  Des- 
pard murder 'never  took  place.?' 

"It  did  take  place,"  said  the  Other. 

"  You're  talking  nonsense.  How  could  it  if 
yon  saw  him  ?    He  must  have  been  alive." 

"  lie  was  dead!"  replied  the  stranger,  whose 
eyes  had  ne^^^  withdrawn  themselves  from  those 
of  Potts,  and  now  seemed  like  two  fiery  orbs 
blazing  wrathfully  upon  him.  The  tones  pene- 
Bnted  16  the  very  soul  of  the  listener.  He  shud- 
dered in  spite' of  himself  Like  most  ^ndgar  na- 
tures, his  was  accessible  to  superstitious  horror. 
He  heard  and  trembled. 

"  He  was  dead,"  repeated  the  stranger,  "  and 
vet  all  that  I  told  you  is  true.  I  learned  from 
him  his  story."  y 


Had  the  straitgrnr  beeiKCMympian  Jovj^  and  had 
he  flung  forthftJUpt  Ms  ptht  h*nd  a  thuhder-bolt, 
it  could  notJwVfe 'rapdl^  a  more  appalling  ef- 
fect than  thil^  WljiftMfila  brought  upon  Potts  by 
the  sight  of  tB|^»d|r<lIe  started  back  in  hor- 
ror, uttering  a  ci^stTaMMyjar^etween  a  jcrenm  and 
a  groan.  Big  <Mps  of  {K^igtion  started  from 
his  brow.  He  trembled  an1|^[^^^ifislered  from  head 
to  foot.     His  jaw  fell.     Hd'gfajM!  speechless. 

"That  is  my  draft,"  said  th'^ Stranger. 

"What  do  you  wont?"  gasped  Potts. 

"The  titltf  deeds  of  the  Brandon  estates!" 

"The  Bfandon  estates!"  said  Potts,  in  a  fal- 
tering voice. 

I     ' '  Yes,  the  Brandon  estates ;  nothing  less. " 
'     ' '  And  Will  j'ou  then  keep  silent  ?" 

"  I  will  give  you  the  cord." 

"Will  yoii  keep  silent?" 

"  I  am  yolir  master,"  said  the  other,  haughtily, 
as  his  burning  eyes  fixed  themselves  with  a  con- 
suming gaze  upon  the  abject  wretch  before  him ; 
"  I  am  your  master.  I  make  no  promises.  I 
spare  you  or  destroy  you  as  I  choose." 

These  words  reduced  Potts  to  despair.  In  the 
^ilepths  of  that  despair  he  found  hope.  He  start- 
ed up,  defiant. .  With  an  oath  he>8prttng  to  the 
bell-rope  and  palled  again  and  again,  till  the 
peals  reverberated  throujgK  the  house. 

The  stranger  stood  mth  a  scornful  smile  on 
his  face.     Potts  turned  to  him  savagely : 

"  I'll  teach  you,"  he  cried,  "  that  you've  come 
to  the  wrong  shop.  I'm  not  n  child.  Who  you 
are  I  don't  know  and  don't  care.  You  are  the 
cause  of  my  ruin,  and.yQuJljepflnt  ofitJl 

The  stranger  said  nothing,  but  stood  witji  tho 
same  fixed  and  scbrnful  smile.  A  noise  was 
heard  outside,  the  tramp  of  a  crowd) of  men. 
They  ascended  the  stairs.  At  last  John<'appeared 
at  the  door  of  the  room,  followed  by  thirty  serv- 
ants. Prominent  among  these  was  Asgeelo. 
I  Near  him  was  VijaL    Potts  gave  a  triumpbaat 


'Hfiial!"  cried  Po 


J 


CORD  AND  CREESE. 


■ 

t                         I 

f 

Ii« 

I'll! 

in 

If -5    ,   , 

'1 

[Si 

liflli 

»             I 

i 

'Mil 

• 

'*|!itlh„,r' 


mile.    The  servantg  ranged  themaelres  around' 
U16  room*  M 

"  Now,"  cried  Potts,  "you're  in  for  it  You're 
ra  B  tmp,  I  think.  Yonll  find  that  I'm  not  ^ 
bom  Idiot.  Give  up  that  cord  !"•  "^  *  ™  "»'  « 
.^l  *^n8er  said  nothing,  but  wound  up  the 

gartled  I'otts  with  his  scornful  smUR 
-cllrLf"^  Potte.  addressing  the  senants. 
tatch  that  man,  and  tie  his  hands  and  feet." 

J^7?'l  •'.'"'  *?''*'"  "■"'  «""""  ''■•""nd 
«lTr  "' •^°??  »  <"-der.  As  Potts  spoke  they 
»tood  jhere  looking  at  the  sfranger,  buVnot  one 

S  f/(L  T     """^  '"''"'^  •>•«»  «"'»  '""•'ed  jn 

thefc^^^^^         •"  '"^"-'  -""-e  f- 

I  ^v?"v  ^^'T  *'''"^  ^°"'''  "  <J'*  yo»  hear  what 
A  My?    Seize  that  man!" 

- 1.?^^*'*  '^"^"tyTirevtd; "■•■  — 

,^IU  my  belief,"  said  Jphn,  "  that  they're  aU 

^  lobl^,lua5^'^"^f"l-     At  that  instant  Asgec- 
to  bounded  fonvard  Mso  with  one  tremencUius 

to  1  ir*'"*^      "^  •'^  ""*  '»>^o«'^'"»e<l  him 


"imtfOl    DO  Ton  KNOW  WHAT  THAT  18?" 


The  Stranger  waved  hi»  hand.    • 

Let  him  go!"  said  he. 
Asgeelo  obeyed. 

Tnhn^''"f  •"'"  *'"''"'*  *'•*'  menninffifef  this  T  cried 

resstimjative"^"'  ""^  '"«  -^ts-motion- 
fj/**?!"  'hclMt  time, "roared  Potts,  with  a  ner- 

^n^'^Tn"!!!  '"^  n>«ionless.    Tlie  stmnger 
fc^^^^ii*"  """"^  ""'"«J«  ^''h  'he  same 


rsmile. 

know' Iriiefi^  Yoh'r^'^'  ^•°"  •^°"'' 
'  .     ""^  ■"•      »o"  are  in  mv  power 
Bn^gs-you  op^t  get  a,vay.  nor  /an'^ou; 

Po»8  rushed,  with  an  onth,  to  the  door.    Half 
a  dozen  sen-ants  were  standing  tliere     As  he 
aT^X^^  toward  thep»  1.14,^^^^,^^ 
clenched  fists     Ho  rushed  ujion  them.     ^ 

Toh"".^''-    1^"  *?"'  «""»'"«  "t  the  lips      ^ 
John  stood  cooled  unmoved,  looking  around 

™Th'  Ti  '#"'^"'  the  face  of  c^ch 
ifrfn^iiv*"^  werem,yo„d  his  authority"' 
He  folded  bis  arms,  and- said  nothing.  ''    ' 

mAn^'Zi?^""  '*•  '"''■''  heen  mistalen  in  yonr 
mn,    said  the, stranger,  cooUy.     "These  aw 


■■    in 


^ 


;  ' 


) 


184 


CORD  AND  CREESE. 


not  yonr  serrants :  they're  mine.    Shall  I  tell 
them  to  seize  you  ? 

Pottg  glared  at  him  with  bloodshot  eyes,  bnt 
said  nothing. 

"  .'^Imll  I  tell  them  to  pull  up  your  sleeve  and 
display  the  mark  of  Bowhani,  Sir  ?  Shall  I  tell 
who  and  what  you  are  ?  Shall  1  begin  from  your 
birth  and  give  them  a  full  and  complete  hiHtory 
ofyDiirlife?" 

I'otts  looked  around  like  a  wild  beast  in  the 
arena,  seekj^g  for  some  opening  for  escape,  bat 
finding  nothing  except  hostile  races. 

"Do  what  yov  like!"  he  cried,  desperately, 
with  an  oath,  and  sank  down  into  iitolid  despair. 
"  No ;  you  don't  mean  that,"  said  the  other. 
.  "  For  1  have  some  London  policemen  at  the  inn, 
and  I  might  like  best  to  hand  vou  over  to  them 
on  charges  which  you  can  easily  imagine.  You 
don't  wish  me  to  do  so,  I  think.  You'd  prefer 
being  at  large  to  being  chained  up  in  a  cell,  or 
sent  to  Botany  Bay,  I  suppose  ?  Still,  if  you  pre- 
fer it,  I  will  at  once  arrange  an  interview  be- 
tween yourself  and  these  gentlemen." 

"  What  do  you  wani?"  anxiously  asked  Potts, 
who  now  thought  that  he  might  cqme  to  terms, 
and  perhaps  gain  his  escape  from  the  clutches  of 
liis  enemy. 

' '  The  'title  deeds  of  the  Brandon  estate,"  said 
the  stranger. 
"Never!" 

"Then  off  yon  go.    They  must  be  mine,  at 

any  rate.    Nothing  can  prevent  tliat.     Either 

give  them  now  and  begone,  or  deUy,  and  you  go 

at  once  to  jail."  ; 

"I  won  t  give  them," said  Potts,  desperately. 

"Cato!"  said  the  stranger,  "go  and  fetch  the 

policemen." 

"Stop!"  cried  John. 

At  n  sign  Asgeelo,  who  had  already  taken 
two  steps  toward  the  doqr,  paused.  ^^ 

"Ilero,  dod,"  said  John,  "you've  got  to 'do 
it.     You  might  as  well  hand  over  the  papers. 
You  don't  want  to  get  into  quod,  I  think.''   u    V 
Potts  turned  his  jmleTace  to  his#n. 
"Do  it!"  exclaimed  John.'- 
■f"  Well,"  he  said,  with  a  sigh,  "  since  I've  got 
to,  I've  got  to,  I  suppose.     YoBknow  best,  John- 
nie.    I  always  said  you  had  a  long  head." 

"I  must  go  and  get  them,"  he  continued. 
,    "  I'll  go  with  you  ;  or  no— Coto  shall  go  with 
yon,  and  I'll  wait  here." 

The  Hinjuwent  with  Pottg,  holding  his  collar 
In  his  pohWTuI  grasp,  and  taking  care  to  let 
Potts  see  the  hilt  of  a  knife  which  he  carried  up 
his  sleeve,  in  the  other  hand. 

After  aljait  a  Quarter  of  an  hour  they  returned, 
and  Potts  VAded  over  to  the  stranger  some  pa- 
pers. He  lodked  at  them  carefully,  and  put 
them  in  his'  pocket.  Ho  then  gave  Potu  the 
cord.  Potts  took  K^  an  ab8tra(:ted  way,  and 
(oiiLnothing. 

'^u  must  leave  this  Hdkto-night,"  said  the 
stranger,  sternly — "you 
main  here." 


yet?  I  know  yon.  IH  pay  yon  up.  What 
complaint  have  you  against  mo,  I'd  like  to  know  ? 
I  never  harmed  you. 

"You  don't  know  me,  or  you  wouldn't  sav 
that"  ' 

"I  do.     You're  Smilhers  &  Co." 

"True;  and  I'm  several  other  people.  I've 
had  the  pleasure  of  an  extended  intercourse  with 
you.  For  I'm  not  only  Smithers  &  Co. ,  but  I'm 
also  Beamish  &  Hendricks,  American  mei-cluints. 
I'm  also  Bigelow,,lIigginBon,  &  Co.,  solicitors  to 
Smithers  &  C<V  Besides,  I'm  your  London 
broker,  who  attended  to  your  specuhitioiis  in 
stocks.  Perhaps  you  think  that  you  don't  know 
me  after  all." 

As  ho  said  this  Potts  and  John  exchanged 
glances  of  won^r. 

"Tricked!"  cried  Potts —  " deceived !  hum- 
bugged! and  mined!  Who  are  you?  Wlint 
have  you  against  me  ?    Who  are  you  ?    Who  ? ' 

And  he  gazed  with  intense  curiosity  ujion  tlie 
calm  fece  of  the  stranger,  who,  in  his  turn,  look- 
ed upon  him  with  the  air  of  one  who  was  suney- 
ing  from  a  superior  height  some  feeble  creature 
for  beneath  him. 

"Who  am  I?"  ho  reputed.  "Who?  lam 
the  one  to  whom  all  this  belongs.'  I  ani  one 
whom  you  have  injured  so  deeply,  that  what  I 
have  done  to  you  is  nothing  in  comparison." 

"Who  are  you?"  cried  Potts,  with  feverisli 
impatience.  "It's  a  lie.  I  never  injured  yoiu 
I  never  saw  you  b<<fore  till  yon  came  youi-se'lf  to 
trouble  ma  Those  whom  I  have  injured  are  nil 
dead,  except  that  parson,  the  son  of— of  the  offi- 
cer." 

"  There  are  others." 

Potts  said  nothing,  bnt  looked  with  some  fear- 
ful discovery  dawning  upon  him. 

"You  know  me  now!"  cried  the  stranger. 
"  I  see  it  in  your  face. "  ' 

"  You're  not  him !"  exchimed  Potts,  in  a 
piercing  voice. 

"  I  am  Louis  Bha^^don  !" 

"I  knew  it!  I  |^new  it!"  cried  John,  in  a 
voice  which  was  alntbst  a  shriek. 

"Cigole  played  fulso.  I'll  make  him  pnj-  for 
this,"  gasped  Potts. 

•"  Cigole  did  not  plS'y  f4d8e.  He  killed  nc  as 
well  as  ho  could —  But  away,  both  o*  you.  I 
can  not  breathe  whihj  you  aie'hoi'e.  I  will  allow 
you  an  hour  to  \to  gon^" 

At  the  end  of  the  hflur  Brandon  of  llrnnilon 
Hull  was  at  lost  master  in  the  home  of  his  ances- 
tors. 


»J' 


your  son.     I  re- 


"  f.^ve  the  Hall  ?"  gasped  Potts. 
"Y««" — . — 


^:¥m 


For  a  moment  Ip  stood  o^nrhelmed.  He 
looked  at  John.     John  noddeirali  head  slowly. 

"  You've  got  to  do  it,  doij,"  said  be. 

Potts  turned  savagely  at  the  stranger.  He 
shook  liin  clenched  list  at  him. 

"D — n  you!"  he  cried.     "Are  you  iatkflcd 

4 


CHAPTER  Lin. 

THIS  COTTAOK. 

When  Desp^d  had  bound  Clark  ffi  returned 
to  look  after  Lan^hetti.  He  lay  feebly  and  mo- 
tionless upon  the  ground.  Despard  carefully  ex- 
amined his  wounds.  His  injuries  were  very  se- 
>'Bre.  His  arms  were  lacerated,  and  his  bIiouI- 
der  torn ;  blood  also  was  issuing  from  a  wound 
on- the  side^of  his  iieclc7^^^>BgpiiPd  bmnid  fhese^ 
up  as  best  he  could,  and  thttn  sat  wondering  wliat 
could  lie  done  next. 

He  judged  that  he  i^^ht  be  four  or  five  mite 
from  Denton,  and  saw  that  this  was  the  place  to 
which  ho  must  go.  Besides,  Beatrice  was  then, 
and  she  could  nurse  LatighettL    But  how  couU 


be  get  there ?- 

possible  for  L 

tried  to  form 

done.    He  be 

hung  between 

down  with  hii 

•  bushes  for  ibis 

on  the  road  be 

ft  was  a  fai 

f.-om  t/ie  direcl 

it,  explained  hi 

tiling  if  the  far 

his  friend  and 

not  take  long 

nirned  his  hon 

were  strewn  on 

these  Langhetti 

who  by  this  tini 

at  one  end,  whe 

three  horses  wer 

on  the  wagon,  s 

on  his  Icnees. 

Slowly  and  ca 
Despard  had  no 
It  was  where  tl 
village  iun  stood 
htftd. 

It  was  about  n 

%y  reached  the 

itrthe  windows. 

and  knocked.    A 

for  the  mistress,  a 

recognized  him  1 

But  I>espard's  fa 

pi-essed  her  hand  i 

"  My  dear  ador 

loved  Langhetti.'' 

"Langhetti!  "si 

"He  has  met  ' 

doctor  in  the  place 

Beatrice  hurried 

"  We  will  first 

"Is  there  a  bed  rei 

"Oh  yes!    Brii 

who  was  now  in  an 

'      She  hurried  afie 

lifled  Langhetti  on 

whicli  Beatrice  show 

.him on  the  bed.     M 

ried  off  for  a  doctor 

Beatrice  sat  by 

tw)w  of  the  almos 

med  in  every  ixjssil 

Ine  doctor  soon  arri 

eft  directions  for  hit 

ly  in  cpnstant  watch 

Leaving  I^nghett 

fnce,  Despard  went 

He  found  one  withoi 

«n  hour  Clark  wa'j  sa 

*l4h  Despard  lodge 

I?®"  bv  the  brands  i 

Mm  to  be  a  man  of  d 

^^™|e^^ntran8p< 

— jr**iw*  next  wroii 

He  told  her  about  L 

««n«  on  immediately 

loen  he  returned  to 

«np  with  Langhetti. 

"« let  him.    She  said 

w  of  the  place  by  I 

■•wed,  however,  and 


be  get  there  ? — that  was  thn  nniui»i<.«     t» 

d^     H„'L    ™^  P'""  ''>'  ^ '»«'''  th«  might  te 

w^ere  Btre^vn  on  the  bottom  of  thrw„go„  and  Z 
th^  Langhetti  was  deposited  carefX"'  clt' 
who  by  thw  time  had  come  to  himself  w^,  I 
at  one  end,  where  he  satgrim^^  nnd^ulkZ  T 
th.^  ho,-ses  were  led  behi^,  anVl^rd  "^^i^W 

j4Sftfra!K%s!n?e;?^- 

I   was  where  the  letter  had  described  .rS 

Sir '""  '*°'''  ""'■  °"  ">«  oppositeiide  of  ti:: 

ii^he  windows      iS,^  ^  fJ^^r'"',  ^"""'"K 

p.^ed  her  hand  in  silence  andTid :        "       ^^° 
loredXhett? '^''''  ""'"'  '  """«  ^^  °-  »>«- 

doctor  in  the  ulace  ?    i«n  i  '"^"'^"'-     "  "wre  a 
"  \Ve  wi    fl"f  r?-  """""^ «i'h "servant. 
J'^^  y«*'  .Bring  him  in!"  cried  Beatri™ 

Leaving  I^nghetti  under  the  charge  of  Bea 
*l|kh  IWnlT^J™?      -"i"''-  u?^''"  '"fonnation 


CORD  And  CREEciE. 


-.?*r 


audible.    Beatrice  Du?hlr»      1  '""^  ^'^  ^^^^ 

::  What  is  itra7eJYC^"  '^ '"  ""'^• 

««Vc  smile  pa^^e^^otfcj^"^''"''-  '^ec 
it  M  well,"  he  murmured. 


CHAPTER  LIV. 

THB    WORM    TURNS. 

though  some  sutm^atSli^hir''""'  »■«  ^1'  al 

left  of  ever  recQinW  ,i        "J*""'  "  n»^  of  hope 
One^h"'^  '•"'■n  which  he  h^  cmr^'"'''  '" 

'•is  vengS^^S  hereT  ^"""^  ?^«<J- would 
for  this     ifeTu  JL""  '>o"'J  f  ""^e  hope 

and  he  knew  fflfte  would"^^  \^'  ''M'"' 
search  after  vengeance.  iCniv  ^^^  '"  ">« 
fnllest  and  dire  K^  in?h  •"*"''•'"?  "'•"^  «'  'he 

death  it«,,fruK-:fy^t^' '"  "''=''  '*°«  «''■ 

(fates  the  stn^e  end^3    "''*"  "'*'^  '^  ^^  ^'> 

toZoi?"'-"^"'''""'"'  "-"atare^ougoing      . 
■'  F  don't  know." 


'* [?*^e  yo"  any  money ?' 
,.  *our  thousand  pounds  in 


jiZT-T^    transported  .„.  „„„„^ 

"Wt  lit  him     She  Mill  .hi?      •'  ''T*'"""'  «""'W 

wthTp.Sryt;",i^rdrX'.r.:! 

»^,  however,  „d  the  two  devoted  S  ^. 


<«  ktT'  — ^-""""  pounds  in  tlie  bank." 

s;ta^j;:i.;s- -4-, ;:»,,. 
*1:lk  rs'r-' "''='=■•   " 

At  any  rate  there's  one  comfort  "  said  T«i.n 
even  about  that."  ""«n,    saiu  John, 

"What  comfort?" 

T>^'^:x:iri,;x.S'«"^«''^" 

"  S"«n  ?rr '"«'■'  ""^  •^°'"» «'  "--t. 
ia;hS"sV;ti;rs/^"°^'^'»-'''''"«'''»o.«, 

"Howi-anlhelpit?" 
Y^  can  t  help  it ;  but  you  ran  rtrikn  n  Mo„ 


yourself.' 
"How?" 

"  How  ?    You've  struck  blows  hflfitn.  .„  . 
'  pntjiose,  I  think. "  "'""'  '»  •"»»>• 

'  ™.l!i'"'  '  "***"■  y*"  '"'•'«'  «ny  one  with  such  »r«. 
mendous  power  as  this  m«n  i...      *  ■ncn  tre- 

did  he  get  all  his  moZrVou  «idl"f''  ''^*"' 
he  was  the  devU  .ndV  bJCxTi'^'whe'S 
Clark  ?    Do  you  thj„k  he  luu  .u««rfed  r 


186 


CORD  AND  CREESE. 


"No, "said  John. 

"No  more  do  I*  Tliis  man  lins  every  body 
in  his  pay.  Look  at  the  servants!  See  how 
easily  he  did  what  he  wished!" 

"  You've  got  one  servant  left." 

"Ah,  yes — that's  a  fact." 

"That  servant  will  do  something  for  you." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?" 

"  Urandon  is  a  inan,  after  all — and  can  die" 
said  John,  with  deep  emplinsis.  "Vijal,"  he 
con^nucd,  in  a  whisper,  "hates  me,  but  lie  would 
lay  down  his  life  for  yon. " 

"I  understand,"  said  Potts,  after  a  pause. 

A  long  silence  followed. 

"You  go  on  to  the  inn,"  siSid  Potts,  at  last. 
"Ill  talk  with  Vijal." 

"  Shall  I  risk  the  policemen  ?" 

"  Yes,  you  run  no  risk.  I'll  sleep  in  the 
bank." 

"All  right,"  said  John,  and  he  walked  away. 

"Vijnl,"  said  Potts,  dropping  back  so  as  to 
wait  for  the  Malay.     ,"  You  are  faithful  to  me." 

"  Yes,"  answered  Vijal. 

"  All  the  others  betrayed  me,  but  you  did  not  ?" 

"Never." 

"  Do  you  know  when  you  first  saw  mo?" 

"Yes." 

"1  saved  your  life." 

"Yes," 

"  Yonr  father  was  seized  at  Manilla  and  killed 
for  murder,  but  I  protected  you,  and  promised  to 
take  care  of  you.     Haven't  I  done  so  ?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Vijal  humbly,  and  in  a  reverent 
tone. 

"  Haven't  I  been  another  father?" 

"You  have." 

"  Didn't  I  promise  to  tell  you  some  day  who 
the  man  was  that  killed  your  father  ?"   * 

"  Ye.s,"  exclaimed  Vijal,  fiercely. 

"  Well,  I'm  going  to  tell  you." 

"Who?"  cried  Vijal,  in  excitement  so  strong 
that  he  could  scarce  speak. 

"  Did  you  see  that  man  who  drove  me  out  of 
the  Hall  ?" 

"Yes." 

"Well,  that  was  the  man.  He  killed  your  fa- 
ther. He  has  ruined  me — your  other  father. 
\Vhat  do  you  say  to  that  ?" 

"  Heshalldie,"retumed  Vijal, solemnly.  "He 
shall  die." 

"I  am  an  old^nan,"  resumed  Potts.  "If  I 
were  as  strong  as  I  used  to  be  I  would  not  talk 
about  this  to  you.     I  would  do  It  all  mvself." 

"Ml  do  it!"  cried  Vijal.     "ill  doit!" 

His  eyes  llkshed,  his  nostrils  dilated — all  the 
savage  within  him  was  aroused.  Ji'otts  saw  this, 
and  rejoiced. 

"  Do  you  know  how  to  use  this  ?"  he  asked, 
showing  Vijal  the  cord  which  Brandon  had  given 
him. 

Vijal's  eyes  dilated,  and  a  wilder  fire  shone  in 
them.  lie  seized  the  cord,  tnmcd  it  round  his 
hand  for  a  moment,  and  then  hurled  it  at  Potts. 
It  passed  round  and  round  his  waist. 

'Ah!"   said    I'ntts,   with    deep    gmtificntion. 


come  back  to  me  till  you  come  to  tell  me  that  he 
is  dead." 

Vijal  nodded. 

"  Now  I  am  going.  I  must  fly  and  hide  mv- 
self from  this  man.  As  long  as  he  lives  I  am  "in 
danger.  But  you  will  always  find  John  at  the 
inn  when  you  wish  to  see  me." 

"I  will  lay  down  my  life  for  you,''  said  Vijul. 

"  I  don't  want  your  life,"  retunied  Potts,  "i 
want  his." 

"  You  shall  have  it,"  exclaimed  Vijal. 

Potts  said  no  more.  Ho  handed'  Vijal  his 
purse  in  silence.  The  latter  took  it  wiltiout  a 
word.  Potts  then  w»!ht  toward  the  bank,  and 
Vijal  stood  alone  in  the  road. 


'^Tou  Have  not  forgotten,  then.  Vou  can  throw 
it  skillfully." 

Vijal  nodded,  and  said  nothing. 

"  Keep  the  cord.  Follow  up  that  man. 
AvcngoHour  father's  death  ami  ray  ruin." 

"  I  will,"  said  Vljnl,  sternly. 

"  it  may  take  long.     Follow  him  up.    Do  nut  | 


CHAPTER  LV. 

ON     THE     ROAD. 

Ox  the  following  morning  Brandon  started 
from  the  Hall  at  an  early  hour.  He  was  on 
horseback.  He  rode  down  through  the  gates. 
Passing  through  the  village  he  went  by  the  inn 
and  took  the  road  td  Denton. 

He  had  not  gone  far  before  another  horseman 
followed  him.  The  latter  rode  at  a  rapid  jiace. 
Brandon  did  not  pay  any  especial  attention  to 
him,  and  at  length  the  latter  overtook  him.  It 
was  when  they  were  nearly  abreast  that  Brandon 
recognized  the  other.     It  was  Vijal. 

"  Good-morning,"  said  Vijal. 

"  Good-morning,"  replied  Brandon. 

"  Are  vou  going  to  Denton  ?" 

"Yes."' 

"Soaml,"8oid  Vijal. 

Brandon  was  purposely  courteous,  although  it 
was  not  exactly  the  thing  for  a  gentleman  to  lie 
thus  addressed  by  a  scr%'ant.  He  saw  that  this 
servant  had  overreached  himself,  and  knew  iji.at 
he  must  have  some  motive  for  joining  him  and 
addressing  him  in  so  familiar  a  manner. 

He  susi>ected  what  might  be  \'ijar8  aim,  nnd 
therefore  kept  a  close  watch  on  him.  lie  saw 
that  Vijal,  while  holding  the  reins  in  his  left 
hand,  kept  his  right  hand  concealed  in  his  Ivenst. 
A  stispicion  darted  across  his  mind.  He  strolled 
his  mustache  with  his  own  right  hand,  which  he 
kept  constantly  upraised,  and  ttdkcd  ciieei  fully 
and  patronizinglv  with  his  companicm.  After  a 
while  he  fell  back  a  little  and  drew  forth  a  knife, 
which  he  concealed  in  his  haittl,  and  then  he  rode 
forward  as  l>efore  abreast  of  the  other,  nsxunilng 
the  ap|)earance  of  perfect  calm  and  inditl'ereiice. 

"Have  you  left  I'otts?"  said  Brandon,  after  a 
short  time. , 

"  No,"  replied  Vijnl. 

"  Ah !/  Then  you  ar*  on  some  business  of  hit 
now?"  ; 

"Yei" 

Brandon  was  silent. 
Would  you  like  to  know  what  it  is ?'  asked 

nl. 
Not  particularly,"  said  Brandon,  coldly. 


V^n 


^'STinllTtcUyouT" 
"  If  you  choose." 


Vijal  raised  his  bond  suddenly  and  gave  a 
quick,  short  jerk.  A  cord  flow  forth— there  was 
a  weight  nt  the  end.  The  cord  was  flung  straight 
at  Brandon's  neck. 

But  Brandon  had  been  on  his  giurd.    At  th« 


CORIJ  AND  CREESE. 


"v»..  .ooKK..  ..«.Ksx.v  .X  ^r.    «^s.^^,  ,„,„,^  ,„^  ^^ 


moven,.nt  of  Vijal'.  ann  he  had  raised  his  own  • 
Ae  con!  passed  around  him,  but  his  arm  wai 

concealed  I^n  instant  he  slashed  his  knife 
Jmugh  the  wiping,  of  the  conl,  seTerinJ  them 
Z'  .u  "  «*"»PP'ns  the  knife  ha  phinRed  hU  hand 
^  the  pocket  of  his  coat,  and  tefor^ij^'ctld 
Xin'^Til'lVh-ff'^'''''"'^^ '->>»-«>•- 
Vijslgayatim 


■  -J...  ■!.„  ni  iince4hnt  h«  »nitfait.     Tlji  ..-L-^.    I      iV-!!"..'"  '""°"  ffl_«nre  nnswerwl  nnthinir- 

^^^  h.  s^Snis^lleSSfTSS^^™^ 
0(1  off  n!!  ,  "" i°  ««=«P«-     As  his  horse  bound- 
•^off  Hrandon  fired.     The  animal  gave  a  wild 
n«gh,  which  sounded  almost  like  a^riek   and 

riSLir;!'  '"r'"«  ^y"'  over  ard 

"•pea  fh)m  hU  horse  befora  Vijal  had  diaencnm- 1 


If  you  move,"  he  cried,  stemlv  "in  l.in- 
yourbniinsont!"  "'     ^ "  "'o'' 

Vijal  lay  motionless. 

"«conndrelI"  excWmed  Brandon,  as  he  held 
hm  with  the  revolve*  pmssed  againn^is  hSi 

who  sent^you  to  do  this  ?"  ' 

Vijnl  in  sullen  silenre 


^■/ 


Fool  that 


Vijal  made  no  replf. 

".Speak  out,"  cried  Brandon, 
you  are,  I  don't  want  your  life." 
1,.'',^*^"  •"*  'he  mnttlerer  dlf  mv  fothsr  "  u»i 
Vijal,  fiercely,  "and  therefor.  I^ST'to  uj 

Brandon  gave  a  low  langh. 


H 


i 


188     ^ 


CbSD  AND  CREESE. 


"  The  murderer  of  your  father  ?"  he  repeated. 
/'Yes/'  cried  Vyai,  wUdly;    "and  I  sought 
yoni' death." 
Brandon  langhed  again. 
"  Do  you  linow  how  old  I  am  ?" 
Vijal  looked  np  in  amazement.     He  saw  by 
that  one  look  what  he  had  not  ihonght  of  before 
in  his  excitement,  that  Brandon  waa  a  younger 
man  t)iaQ  himself  by  several  years.     Ue  was  si- 
lent. 
' '  How  many  ye^rs  is  it  since  y»i»  fother  died  ?" 
Vijal  said  nothing.        ' 
?'  Fool !"  exclaimed  Brandon,  t  " It  ia  twenty 
years.     You  are  fiilse  to  yova  fattier.     Yon  pre- 
tends to  avenge  his  deafh,  and  you  seek  .out  a 
young  man  who  had  no  connection  with  it     1 
was  in  En^hind  when  he  was  kill^     I  was  a 
child  only  seven  years  of  age.     Do  you  believe 
now  that  I  am  his  murderer?"  , 

Brandon,  while  speaking  in  this  way,  had  re- 
laxed his  h<jld,  though  he  still  held  his  pistol 
poured  at  the  head  of  his  prostrate  enemy.  Vi- 
jarjave  a  lorigj  low  sigh. 

"You  were  too  yonng,"said  he,  at  last    "Yon 
are  younger  than  I  am.     I  was  oriiy  twelve." 
"I  could  not  have  been  his  murderer,  then?" 
"No." 

"  Yet  I  know  who  his  murderer  was,  for  I  have 
found  out" 
•        "Who?"  . 

7*nie  same  man  who  killed  my  own  ^ther." 
wij^l  looked  at  Brandon  with  awful  eyes. 
'•'  Your  father  had  a  brother  ?"  said  Brandon. 
"Yes." 

"Do  yon  know  his  name?" 
"Yes.     Zangorri." 

"Right     Well,  do  you  know  what  Zangorri 
did  to  avenge  his  brother's  death  7" 
"No;  what?" 

"For  many  years  he  vowed  death  to  all  En- 

'  •    glishmen,  since  it  was  an  Englishman  who  had 

>  caused  the  death  of  his  brother.     He  had  a  ship; 

^,^"got  a  grew  and  sailed  through  the  Eastern  seas^ 

-Capturing  English  ships  and  killing  the  ct«ws. 

This  was  his  vengeance." 

f    Vijal  ^ve  a  groan. 

"Yon  see  he  has  done  more  than  yon.  He 
knew  better  than  yon  who  it  was  that  had  killed 
your  father." 

"Who  was  it?"  cried  Vijal,  fiercely. 
"I  saw  him  twice," continued  Brandon,  with- 
out  noticing  the  question  of  the  other.  "  I  saw 
him  twice,  .^nd  twice  he  told  me  the  name  of  the 
man  whoso  death  he  sought  For  year  after  year 
he  had  sought  after  that  man,  but  had  not  found 
him.  Hundreds  of  Englishmen  had  fallen.  He 
told  me  the  name  of  the  man  whom  he  sought, 
and  charged  me  to  carry  out  his  work  of  venge- 
ance. I  promised  to  do  so,  for  I  had  a  work  of 
rengeance  of  my  own  to  perform,  and  on  the 
Mine  man,  too." 

* '  Who  Was  ho  ?"  repeated  Vijal,  with  increased 
excitement 

"  When  I  Mw  him  last  he  gave  me  something 
which  he  said  he  had  worn  around  his  neck  for 
I  trtok  it,  and  promised  to  wear-it^iiJl 


a  Maliiy  creese,  which  was  hung  around  his  neck 
and  worn  under  his  coat 

"  Do  you  know  what  this  is  ?"  he  asked,  sol- 
emnly. 

Vijal  took  it  and  looked  at  it  earnestly.    Hi, 
eyes  dilated,  his  noatrils  quivered. 

"  My  &ther's  I"  he  cried,  in  a  tremulous  voice 

"  Can  you  read  English  letters  ?" 

"Yeg.** 

"  CAn  yon  read  the  name  that  is  cut  upon  it  ?" 

And  Brandon  pointed  to  a  l)lace  where  loma 
letters  were  carved. 

Vijal  looked  earnestly  at  it  He  saw  these 
words: 

JOHN  POTTS. 

"That," said  Brandon,  "is what yom: father's 
brother  gave  to  me. " 

• '  It's  a  lie !"  growled  Vital,  fieixjely. 

"It's  true,"  said  Brandon,  calmly,  "and  it 
was  carved  there  by  yonr  foyer's  ovirn  hand." 

Vijal  said  nothing  for  a  long  time.  Brandon 
arose,  and  put  his  pistfil  in  his  pocket.  Vijal, 
disencumbering  himself  ft;om  his  horje,  arose 
also.     The  two  stood  tec;«fther  on  the  road. 

For  hours  they  remained  there  talking.  At 
last  Brandon  remonnted  and  rcfle  on  to  Denton. 
But  Vijal  went  back  to  the  village  of  Brandon. 
He  carried  with  him  the  creese  which  Brandon 
had  given  him.    . 


CHAPTER  LVL 

VATHKR     AMD    SOlT. 


J9m. 
The  ve 


Ihe  vengebnce  which  he  sought  sliould  be  accom- 
plished. I  did  so,  for  I  too  had  a  debt  of  venge- 
ance stronger  than  his,  and  on  the  same  man." 

"Who  was  he?" cried  Vyal  again,  with  rest- 
less impetuosity. 

Brandon  unbuttoned  hia  vest  and  di«w  forth 


Vijal,  on  going  back  to  Brandon  village, 
went  first  to  the  inn  where  he  saw  John.  To 
the  inquiries  which  were  eagerly  addressed  to 
him  ho  answered  nothing,  but  simply  said  that 
he  wished  to  see  Potts.  John,  finding  him  im- 
practicable, cursed  him  and  led  the  way  to  the 
bank. 

A»  Vyal  entered  Potb|  locked  the  door  care- 
fully, and  then  anxiously-questioned  him.  Vijal 
ga\-e  a  plain  account  of  every  thing  exactly  as  it 
had  luqmened,  but  with  some  important  alten- 
tions  and  omissions.  In  the  first  place,  he  said 
nothing  whatever  of  the  long  interview  which 
had  taken  place  and  the  startling  information 
which  he  had  received.  In  the  second  place, 
ho  assured  Potts  that  he  must  have  attacked  the 
wrong  mail.  For  when  this  man  had  spared  his 
life  he  looked  at  him  closely  and  found  out  that 
he  waa  not  the  one  that  he  ought  to  have  at- 
tacked. 

"  You  blasted  fool,"  cried  Potto,     i'  Haven't 
yon  got  eyes  ?    D-— ^n  you ;  I  wish  the  fellow, 
whoever  he  is,  had""Beized  you,  or  blown  your' 
brains  out." 

Vijal  cast  down  his  eyes  hnmbly. 

"  1  can  try  again,"  said  he.  "I  have  made  a 
mistake  this  time ;  the  next  time  I  will  moke 
sure." 

There  was  something  in  the  tone  of  jliis  voice 
so  remorseless  and  so  vengeful  that  Potts  felt  re- 
anureo,  -  "    -yr  ■^^^^^^-^^^^^'^r  =-— 

"  You  are  a  good  lad,"  said  be,  " »  good  kd. 
And  you'll  tnr  again  ?" 

"  Yes,"  Mid  Vijal,  with  flashing  eyes. 

"  Youll  wake  sura  this  time?" 

"  I'll  make  sure  this  time.  But  I  mast  hart 
some  one  with  me,"  he  continued.    "You  Mtd  . 


.Hr 


"Sf^.   -^ 


w  ■u.iUA.ii'ssbi  ' 


^i  . 


n 


CfORD  AND  %] 


BottPonbleyotOTelf.    Send  John  with  ma     H« 
wont^uitake.     If  he  i,  with  I"  ni  ma?? 


lEESE. 


(lire.' 


..hS  fch'^SM^-t'  e^y  Vi™""' 
materolent  mile,  and  his  wh^  ;«.S^i^™  ? 

You  II  kno,^  the  fellow,  won^tyou?" 
'  "  I  rather  think  I  should  "         ' 
"Bat  what  wiU yoo  do  first  ?" 
"Go  to  Denton,'' j 


189 


u  rn^ ;;:  — •"■■» '  *"d  John. 
"To  Denton?" 

"Why?" 

"Because Brandon  is  there."     • 
How  can  be  be  ?" 

l%e  h-?t'  "I?  "^  •!"•*  with^he^  retl^ 

LfSoSnSJrtac^^^^^^ 

Brandon,  «,d  no  one  eUe,  and  I'm  going  on  U^ 

bat  take  care  of  yourself,  Johnnie. "  ' 

John  gave  •  dry  smile. 

.o;s,;oTkanr.ftL^^^^ 

heKrhKr^^lJi"  "«-"■«>  JoK  and 
John  went  back  to  the  inn  first,  iffiaMer  r 

*V  he  amused  himself  with  cwrse  i^fa.  «t  vi 
iT/rS^I-  •"owing  himSToCde^  iSi 
by  Brandon,  taunted  him  with  cowanH,^  J^ 

£  r^r"^'  ""i  ""'"^  l.im  tharonrwho 

Toward  evening  they  reached  the  Inn  at  n«n 
u"-    ^°^^  *«  --^te"  not  to  show  hlnSy? ™" ' 
k«r     *L  "^  ^  "•«  '"».  directing  VUal  to 
keep  a  look-out  for  Bmndon  andlet  him  know 
"file  saw  any  one  who  looked  like  him      ThZ 


leim  smile  passed  over 

John      •'aronunder- 
n  you've  gWto  fix,  do 


i«  SngTdo"^  •»"-  r'  "-« to  se,  *h.t  he 

yonhZr^"^  ^^^  *'"  '""•'"°«  "««.  then,  do 
"Yes  "         -        •    '  I 

you  hear?  Don't  be  a  fool  thi^  tim„®  v    

manage  it  to-niriit  fhr  i^!,!.".        *'    '""  ™™« 
foreTOT   I^vf  ,•;  ,  '^""t  t"  wait  here 

bed  soon.    Wh";  I  w?k&oliTeS  to 

infernal  S^;SiiL~"  y""'  ^^  '^"8  ^^-^ 
jai'SlSJ."''  "^  *^"""  ^'  to-motrow,"  said  Vi- 

bed'^ww"'*^'""'*''*™'"*-    I'mgohigto 
^^    What  you  ve  got  to  do  is  to  wateh  t1.« 

Vijal  retired. 
In  J.'lf  "'^^P***'-   When  the  following  morn-  ^ 

£  r„?"''K-'"  ".".'  "P  « "«'  ordina^^"^™ 
sSiifc  /"j  ^'"*  °*=''*^  "^me.  Ten  o'clock 
Still  he  did  not  appear.  •*• 

™  SXnJ  5?5  "f  «,  "'"J  to  .to  inn  .iS 
i«he  form  of  a  man  stiU  lying  there.  ^ 


'7  ..'S  "  "'  "  ™""  *""  ying  there. 
"Jlta^lvLvY"l'''*r'"  ««'«*^e  landlord. 

■About  half  nn  hnni- .A£lkl& .         .     . 


--  — - — •■™",  iiui  mint 

waf  teJ^^i^nr  •"""■  "'^  »«"'«  "f  wheels 

&LT.  .i?"i  "^V  "'*•  nX  jumped  out,  gave 

«,.i;  .   -"1  ,'"'"r^'""  "'"''od  nnd  flunied.    Ilig 
S^h^,     '"^'"'  '•'1«'"'-^'  •""»  'ho-*  was  a  sort" 

,iIi^!?iT  l^'^K  *''"  «'"PPed  here  last 
!?^  *""*  ••"'      'hat  I  wish  to  see."       . 

o„.„;    iT"f  °",!^  °"*  Pe™""  here  last  iiight."    " 
answered  the  landlord ;  "a  young 'man-"  *^ 
^  Ajoung  man,  yes-thaf.  right,  I  want  to    ' 

1^!!'!  ".  *"  "'"-*• ".  »id  the  landlorti.   "I 


ni 


don't  know Jbui ywj ^ure to Tndt.' 


w^ 


topping  at  the  sa^e  i^"?    uJ^\„  Y'f  '«»       "I""''. he  up  yet ?" 


who;.."™"'  """.'    ""  "'  ""fo  "ummoiied  Viial     Inut  ni^L  !  *i""  J'"'""' "'eepeix    He  went  to  bed 
!»"^"'"''*'  «"1««»M  ever.     To  John'.  Impa.int   iteten^nnf  n^'  ^T'  •"'  "«*"•  '^e™  »«  •>«f'"^ 

d  him  aS ;  Sp. "  "'  '  "  •  """'•^  »"«•  •"«»■  he  isn't 


quesfioM  as  to^h^K    k  ,  ^»  J»hn'. Impaiien    elevc 
Bt«.,i      ?^  ^  *hy  ho  had  not  told  him  about   im  " 


H«. 


> 


•♦• 


"I 


loo 


W:  ~-i 


COBD  AND 


■U^J^ 


h 


" 

HUBh^^^ 

^P^' 

f- 

'  %in.y  and  ni 

Wbite  lips, 

horror. 

"Heisde 

" 

ion— my  Job 

If* 

<     him." 

'lie  landk 

'  horror  from  t 

ery.  . 

It  was  for 

He  went  bac 

Tlien  be  can 

balcony-niot 
lips'iilrowinf 

A  crowd  , 

spread.     Thi 

who  had  stop 

The  crowd  th 

father  as  he  s 

The  dwelle 

oppo/^ite  saw  1 

news. 

"  Yes,  and 
The  landlord 
loudly.    Thew 
more  loudly, 
•u  inpessant  raj 


ik,  for  I'm  in  h  hurry." 
to  the  d6or  and  knocked 
.nswer.  He  knocked  still 
answer.  He  then  kept  np 
^Mibout  ^n  miftntes.  Still 
ther«  was  no  answer.  He  had  tried  the  door  be- 
fore, but  it  w^  locked  on  the  inside.  He  went 
around  to  the  windows  that  opened  on  tHe  bal- 
cony ;  those  were  open. 

He  then  went  down  and  told  the  old  man  that 
ihe  door  waa  fastenBd,J>iit  that  the  windows  were~ 
unfastened.    1/  he  cheee  to  go  in  there  he  mi^t 


do  so. 

"I  will  do  so,"  sold  the  other,  "for  I  must 
Me  him.  I  haT0  businoM  of  importance."  He 
went  dp.  '* 

The  landlord  and  some  of  the  serranta,  whose 
cnriodQr  was  by  this  Ume  exdtei^  followed  after. 


'■mi!. 


,  ^iMji^. 


"Johnnie!" 

'flg  ricrifi  Qllfl 

fixed.  Arouncmi^eck  was  a  faint,  bluish  line, 
a  mark  like  what  mi^ht  hare  been  mode  by  a 
cord. 

' '  Johnnie,  Johnnie  I"  cried  the  old  man  again, 
in  piercinK  tones.  He  caught  at  the  bands  of 
the  figure  before  him ;  ht  triwl  to  pull  it  forward. 

ThilttHl  no  retpcoap. '  The  old  nan  txapi^ 

V  .> 


'  V!^^  ""^  ™*«''  ♦»  *e  window,  gasping,  with 
wbite  lips,  and  bloodnhot  eyea,  nnd  a  face  of 
horror, 

"  He  is  dead ! "  he  shrieked.     ' '  My  boy— m  v 
son— my  Johnnie!    Mnrdererl    You  hove  killed 
'  mm. 

the  landlord  and  the  servants  started  back  in 
horror  from  the  presence  of  this  father  in  his  mis- 
ery. . 

It  was  for  but  a  moment  that  he  stood  there 
He  went  back  and  flung  himself  upon  the  bed 
Tlien  he  came  forth  again  and  stood  upon  tlie 
balconj^otionless,  white-faced,  speechless-his 
lips  fflvtWing  inaudible  words. 

A  crov^d  gathered  round,     ITie  story  soon 

T*i  .4  \^'^  '^"*'"'*  ^^^^^  of  "  ypung  man 
who  liad  stopped  at  the  inn  and  died  suddenly 
pe  crowd  that  gathered  around  the  inn  saw  the 
father  as  he  stood  on  the  balcony 

The  dwellers  in  the  cottage  that  was  almost 
oppofiite  saw  lum,  and  Asgeelo  brought  them  the 
sews. 


CORD  AND  CREESE. 


191 


CHAPTER  LVir. 

MK8,  COMPTOJi'a   SECRET, 

..  9?  *i'i|"'K'>t  after  the  arrival^f  John,  Brandon 
had  left  Denton.  He  did  not  return  till  the  fol- 
lowing day.  On  arriving  at  the  inn  he  sflw  an 
unusual  spectacle— the  old  man  on  the  balponv 
the  crowd  of  viUagers  around,  the  universS  ex- 
citement, i  ' 

On  entering  the  inn  he  found  some  one  who 
for  «oine  time  had  been  waiting  to  see  him.  It 
was  Philips.  Philips  had  come  early  in  tlie 
morning,  and  had  been  over  to  the  cottage  He- 
had  Ifcarned  all  about  the  affair  at  the  inn,  and 
iwrrated  It  to  Brimdon,/Wl,o  listened  wjth  his 

S,*ii<^L'S"'^l-.  u^^  "'•'"  «ave  him  a  letter 
from  Fratik,  which  Brtndon  repd  and'put  in  his 

POCKCCa  * 

ITien  Philips  told  him  the  news  which  he  had 
tomed  at  the  cottage  about  Langhettl.  Lan- 
gfietti  and  Despard  were  both  there  yet,  the  for- 
mer veiy  ^ngerously  ill,  the  Utter  wailing  for 
jome  fhends.  He  also  told  about  the^air  on 
the  road,  the  seizure  of  Clark,  afvji  i^delivery 


into  the  •>«><•» 9fjlb«iffl|lboriti^,'fe«».c 
«t     wS!!J^Ww^««'^eep««t  fflter- 
.•■.  ,'T[*fw  excitement  at  thtf  inn  *^ltill 

whMg&nds  Clark  had  been  committed.     After 

fhL^'"'  '^'"*  •?'"  *"  fetnmed.  He  found 
the  ftwitement  unabated,  tie  then  went  to  the 
cottage  close  by  the  inn,  whei«  Beatrice  had 

ttith'hr"'''*''^'''^  "''"««•    ^"W*!^ 
On  knocking  at  the  door  Asgeelo  opened  it. 
^.yr  entered  the  parlor,  and  in  a  rfiort  tiWUte 
^Tnffr^-    Brandon's  first  immhyV 
ton.'^°  "  •*«'««^Ao  same,"  said  Mrs.  Comp- 


'Does 


recovery?'' 


'Very 

"WhoK..^,, 
"M^  Potts  «n^ 
I'AteUijyboth 

^^ndoB  WM  0aai 


any  hopes  of  his 
t,  anxiously, 
Pompton.    . 


««id  Ssl -C^mSn!'"  '"^  *"'  y""  «-  "-.' 

Brandon  made  no  reply,  and  Mrs.  Compton 

tabng  sUcnce  for  assent,  went  to  amionKi 

terid  flr^l'^'shi'**  "''^  "PJ^"^  B«^ee  ««>' 
w„,^  ,  "■"'  ^'■"''^'  «"•*  «=«»1^  and  solemn : 
Despai-d  was  gloomy  and  stern.  They  both  shook 
hands  with  Brandon  in  silenc  Beatrice  ra^o 
her  hand  without  a  word,  lifeless'lyl^d  «,ld?y  • 
Despard  took  his  hand  abstractedly  ' ' 

8  ood  there  before  him,  calm,  sad,  passionless, 
almost  repellent  inher  demeanpr,  and  wonSe«d 
what  the  cause  might  be  of  such  a  change 

npor'liv'r  "P'^'i  V*^  !P""  "*  »  ""'e  distance, 
n™J-  ''iP1'/"'^irH^  ""  ^"»  a  ^'wnge  ex- 
pression, half  wistful   half  timidi 

There  was  a  silence  which  at  length  became 

embarrassing,     i'rom  the  room  where  they  we're 

sitting  the  inn  could  plainly  be  seen,  with  ihe 

crowd  outside.     Beatrice's  eyes  weti  directed 

tojvard  this.     Despard  said  not  a  wo2    mS- 

other  time  he  migfe^ve  been  strongly  interested 

in  this  nian,  who  on  so  many  accounts  was  so 

closely  connected  with  him ;  but  now  the  power 

ofsome  dominant  and  all-engrossing  ideTpos- 

iL!3rIi-       '  ?""  ''•'  seemed  to  take  no  notice  of 

Irithin'"^         **'*"^  *''*'^''  '^^°^*'  *^^  "'ouse  or 

After  looking  in  silence  at  the  inn  for  a  lonir 

time  Beatrice  withdrew  her  gaze.     Brandon  r^ 

tholjgh  he  would  read  her  inmost  sod.     bho 
looked  nt^him,  and  cast  down  her  eyes. 

/You  ,i|)!ior  met"  said  he;  in  a  fond,  thrilling 
voice.  * 

She  said  nothing,  but  pointed  toward  the  inn. 

You  know  all  about  that?" 
Beatrice  bowed  her  head  silently. 
"  AnJ  yon  look  upon  me  as  girilty  ?" 
She  gazed  at  him,  but  said  nothing.     It  was  a 
cold,  austere  gaze,  without  one  touch  of  Bofhiess.    , 

After  all,"  said  she,  "he  was  my  fkther. 
You  had  your  vengeance  to  take,  and  yon  have 

Brandon  started  to  his  feet 
thin  1"  ^°^  ^"^'"  ***  *'"*^'  "^  ^^  ""'  ''"  *•*"* 

B^trice  looked  npmoumfuUy  wid  inquiringly. 
If  it  had  been  his  base  life  which  I  sought" 
rd  M.?"*'"?'  ^■«I'«n»ently,  "I  might  lon/a^o 
haVe  tWcen  it  He  was  surroundbd  ofi  allsidea 
l|3niy  power.  He  could  not  escape.  Offlwrs 
of  the  law  8tqod>  reiidy  to  do  my  bidding.  Yet  I 
allowed  him  to  leave  the  HaU  in  safety.  I  mioht 
have  taken  hij^hearts-blood.  I  might  have  hand-  - 
ed  him  over  to.  thta  law,     I  did  not " 

"No,'?%id  BAtrice,  in  icy  tones,  "wta  did 
not ;  yon  songht  a  ieejier  Vengeance,  Yon  cared 
noyte.  take  bis  J  fe,  .  It  *«s  sweeter  to  yon  to 
tal^^is  son's  liWknd  give  him  iigony,  D«ith 
\A  kk—  i^p  insuflteie  '    " 


Brandon  lodked  at  her  without  a 
Who  nm  I— a  poUated  one,  of  the  a<!- 
brood^who  am  I,  to  stand  between  yon 
1,  or  lo  blame  you  if  yon  seek  for  venge- 
^  I  avi  nothing.    You  have  done  kind- 

nesses to  ttjo  which  I  now  wish  were  undone. 


I 


J\^ 


IM 


OOHD  AND  CHEESE. 


-  v./'.  thttt-Ihylilied  under  the  hand  ef  the  pirates  I 
Oh  that  the  ocean  had  swept  me^  down  to  d^th 
with  all  its  waves :  Then  I  should  not  have  lived 
to  see  this  day !" 

Roused  by  her  vehemence  Despard  started 
from  h^  abstraction  and  looked  >tr«und. 

•'frseems  to  me,"  taid  he,  "as  if  you  were 
blamin{(j8ome  one  for  inflicting  saft'ering  on  a 
man  fo'r  whom  no  sufforing  can  be  too  gr«at. 
What!  caB  you  think  of  youf  friend  as  Ue  lies 
there  in  the  next  room  in  his  agony,  dyina  torn 
to  pieces  by  this  man's  agency,  and  have  ^y  for 
him  ?'• 

"Oh!"  cried  Beatrice,  "  is  i)e  not  my  father?" 

•Mrs.  Compton   looked  aroubufc^  with^taring 

eyes,  and  trembled  from  head  to  rape*''Herlips 

moved— she  began  to  speak,  but  the  words  died 

away  on  her  lips. 

"  Your  father  I"  said  Despard ;  "  his  acts  have 
cut  him  off  from  a  daughter's  sympathy."  , 

"  Yet  he  has  a  father's  feelings,  at  least  fbr 
his  dead  son.  Never  shall  1  forget  his  look  of 
anguish  as  he  stood  on  the  balcony.  Uis  face 
was  turned  this  way.  He  seemed  to  reproach  me. " 
" Letmetellyou,"cri^  Despard,  harshly.  " He 
has  not  yet  made  atcjnemen  t  for  Ii  is  crimes.  This 
is  but  the  beginning.  I  have  a  debt  of  vengeance 
to  extort  from  him.  One  scoundrel  has  been 
handed  over  to  the  law,  another  lies  dead,  anoth- 
er is  in  London  in  the  hands  of  Ijinghetti's  friends, 
the  Carbonari.'  The  worst  one  yet  remains,  and 
my  father's  voice  cries  to  me  day  and  night  from 
that  dreadful  ship." 

"Your  fdthers  voice!"  cried  Beatiico.  She 
looked  at  Despard.  I'heir  eyes  met.  Some- 
thing passed  between  them  in  that  glance  which 
brought  back  .the  old,  mysterions  feeling  which 
she  had  knowii  before.  Despard  rose  hastily  and 
left  the  room. 

"  In  God's  name,"cried  Bcandon,  "  I  say  that 


this  hum's  life  wfis  not  songl^  by  me,  nor  the 
life  of  »ny  of  his.  I  will  tell  ^bu  all.  „  When  he 
compassed  the  death  of  Uracao,  of  whom  yo^i 
kapw,  he  obtained  possession  of  his  son,  thert  a 
meife  boy,  and  carried  him  away.  He  kept  this 
lad  with  him  and  brought  him  up  with  the  idea 
that  he  Was  his  best  friend,  and  that  he  would 
one  day  show  him  his  Other's  murderer.  After 
I  made  myself  known  to  him,  he  told  Vijal  that 
I  was  this  murderer.  Vijal  tried  to  assassinate 
me.  1  fdllcd  him,  and  could  have  killed  him. 
Bat  I  spared  his  lifa  1  th«n  told  him  the  trukh. 
That  is  all  that  I  have  done.  Of  doiliw,  I  kniew 
that  Vijal  would  seek  for  vengeance.  ■  That  ifas 
not  my  concern,  hinoe  Potts  had.sent  him! to 
seek  my  life  under  a  lie,  I  sent  him  away  with  a 
knowledge  of  the  truth.  I  do  not  repent  thai  I 
told  him ;  nor  is  there  any  guilt  chargeable  ito 
me.  The,  man  that  lies  dead  there  is  not  Ay 
victim.  Yet  if  he  were  —  oh,  Beatrice!  if  he 
were— what  then  ?  Could  that  atone  for  whai  I 
have  suffered  ?  My  fether  ruined  and  broke- 
nhearted and  dying  in  a  pooi^house  calls  to  me 
alwAys  for  vengeance.  My  mother  suffering  in 
Umi  emigrant  ship,  and  dying  of  the  plague  amidst 
hOrrort  wiflinnt  a  nnme  calU  to  roci  Abeiie-i4lf 
myT  fweet  sister,  my  pure  Edith—" 

"  Edith r  interrupted  Beatrice—"  Edith !"  { 
"  Yes ;  do  you  not  know  that  ?    She  was  biir- 
\iea  •live." 

';:  What!*  cried  Beatrice ;  ♦'  is  it  possible  thjit 
oa  do  not  know  that  she  is  olive  ?" 

•   V 


.yt 


"Alivel"  ' -' 

.  "  Yes,  alive ;  for  when  I  was  at  Holby  I  saw 
her." 
Brandon  stood  speechless  with  surprise. 
"Vnghetti  saved  her,"  said  Beatrice.    "  U^ 
sister  has  charge  of  her  now." 

"Whore,  where  is  shi?"  asked  Brandon, 
wildly.  ^ 

"  In  a  convent  at  Lond(in." 
At  this  moment  Despard  entered. 
"  Is  this  true  ?  '  asked  Brandon,  with  a  deeijer 
agitation  than  had  ever  yet  been  seen  in  liin»— 
"my  sister,  is  it  true  that  she  is  not  dead'i' " 

"It  is  true.  I  should  have  told  yon,"  said 
Despard,  "but  other  thoughts  drove  it  from 
my  mind,  and  I  forgot  (hat  you  miglit  be  is- 
nomnt."  ,  * 

"How  is  it  possible?  I  was  at  Quebec  mv- 
self.  T I  have  sought  over  the  world  after  my  rcla- 
tives-T— " 

' '  I,jyill  tell  you, "  said  Despard. 
He  sat  down  and  began  to  tell  the  story  of 
Edith's  voyage  and  all  that  Langhetii  had  done 
down  to  the  time  of  his  rescue  of  her  from  deutli! 
The  recital  fdled  Brandon  with  such  deef)  amaze- 
ment that  he  had  not  a  word  to  say.  He  listened 
like  one  stupefied. 

"Thanik  God!"  he  cried  at  hist  when  it  was 
ended;  "thank  God,  I  am  spared  this  last  m- 
guish ;  I  om  freed  from  the  thought  wlii^h  for 
years  has  been  most  intolerable.  The  memories 
that  remain  are  bitter  enough,  but  they  are  not 
so  terrible  as  this.  But  I  must  see  her.  I  must 
find  her.     Where  is  she?" 

''  Make  yourself  easy  «iuhat  score,"  said  Des- 
pard, calmW.  " She  vi^lte  here  to-monow  or 
the  day  after.  I  have  written  to  Xanghctti's 
sister;  she  will  come,  and  will  bring  your  sis- 
ter with  her," 

"  I  should  have  told  you  so  before,"  said  Bea- 
trice, "  but  my  own  troubles  drove  every  tWng 
else  from  my  mind." 

"Forgive  me,"  said  Brandon,  "for  intruding 
now.  I  came  in  to  learn  about  Langhettl.  You 
look  upon  me  with  horror.    I  will  withdraw." 

Beatrice  bowed  her  head,  and  tears  streamed 
from  her  eyes,     Brandon  took  her  hand. 

"Farewell,"  he  murmured;  "farewell,  Bea- 
trice.    You  Will  not  coi^demn  me  when  I  say 
that  I  am  innocent?' 
"  I  am  accursed,"  she  H^nrmured, 
Despard  looked  at  thesy^vo  with  deep  anxietv. 
"Stay,"  said   he  to  I»andon.      "There  h 
something  which  must  be  explained. .  There  is 
a  secret  which  Langhetti  has  had  for  years,  nnU 
,  which  he  has  s*viral  times  beenjin  the  point  of 
,  telling,    I  hav«  just  spok^  to  him  nni  told  him  " 
j  that  you  are  here.    He  says  he  vill  tell  ilis  secret 
I  now,  whatever  it  is.     He  wishes  us  all  to  come 
in— and  yon  too,  especially,  V  said  Despard,  look- 
ing at  Mrs,  Compton, 
The  poor  old  creature  b^anto  tremble. 
"  Don't  be  afraid,  old  woman,"  said  riiilips. 
"Take  my  arm  and  111  protect  you,'* 

She  mm,  and,  leanmg  on  his  nntf;  followed 
the  otheb  into  Lan^tti'B  foom.  He  was  far- 
fully  emaciate^.  His  material  frame,  worn  down 
by  pain  andv confinement,  seemed  about  to  dis- 
solve and  let  fttee  that  soaring  soul  of  his,  whose 
fiery  impulses  hud  for  years  chafed  against  the 
prison  bars  of  ih  mortal  inclosuro.  His  eyes 
■hone  darkly  and  {nminously  from  their  deep, 


',i     1^  . 


/tsteiiuJi^y^' 


^'■.>.^K.->. 


I-*/^-)- 


hoUow  wckets,  and  npon  hb  thin,  wan.  white 

Up.  there  wag  a  faint  gmile  of  we  co,ne-Tuh  t 

fcj-f  ^-  -k,  yet  .weet  as'the  S 

It  was  with  such  a  smile  that  he  greeted  Bran 

P^lhe'sln"*"'  i  "'*  thin^i^S 
pressed  the  strong  and  muscular  liaiid  of  the 

•.i-'i'^H?  you^  are  Edith's  brother,"  he  said 
"Edith's  Uther,"  he  repeated,  rtsst  „g  lovi^i; 
upon  that  name,  Edith.   ^She'alwa^f  sLid  S 

tfi  see  you.    Welcome,  brother  of  my  Edith '    I 

t.T'^u  rd"i  ot?^^*^'"'  •'^  "^^^ 

.hnvl^  '^'  *'°"?'"  '"^''  Brandon,  in  a  voice 
choked  with  emotion,  as  he  pressed  the  hand  of 
the  dymg  man      "  He  will  come,  and  at  once  " 

I.iiteS.^""'""'^""''^^''''^"^««««'«"»J«-' 
He  paused. 
"Bice!"  said  he  at  last. 

daS^olMm.""/'"'"^  "y  ''"  "^^^  ''-' 

"Bice,"  said  Langhetti.     "My  pocket  book 

«m  my  coat,  and  if  you  open  the^iSo  tS 

j^oaw^llfindsomethingwrapped  in  paper?  ff„^ 

«S^*'7„'*  /h'  !^.'',«-»"«'k  and  opened  it 
as  auiected.  In  the  inside  pocket  there  was  a 
thin  small  parcel.  She  opened  itanSwfmth 
a  very  small  baby's  stocking 

•Look  at  the  mark,"  said  Langhetti. 
^^«Ml.d  so,  and  SAW  t^vo  letten,  marked 

ir^ P"er'  *.'r"  ™^  ••>'  y°«""  """e  at  Hong 
BMg.    She  said  your  things  were  all  mar3 

hen  She  d,d  not  know  what  it  meant  'fl" 
meant  Beatrice ;  but  what  did  '  D'  mean  ?" 

<^atl,  mi^  *^Tfff"  **»  «no8t  agitated. 
„J^^**',"P'  "'''  T™*"  ••"  «u"<l  h&     "  There's 

me  that  your  ^her  never  cared  particularly 


CORD  AND  CREESE. 


t'    '■ 


103. 
I      Mrs.  Coftjpton  wag  gtajzed  with  ■•  n.-i 

'n.e'^Jf^V^^^'fi-V!''^'''^^ 

"Mrs  r,r  ^"^  "P  ^?,''«'«"'l  '"Ok  her  hand 

vpice!'"yo^uZri;yhTstt'i:,:^^^^^ 

is  no  need  for  fear  nn«      Jf.'  /o'"-  cui-se.    There 

,  man  whom  you  bavefeair  f*""^'  >""•  '^'^o 
ruined,  helpiZ,  and  S^/^J"*?"  -  "«- 

'  him  at  this  moment  inXse  v  "°"^''  t'^.T 
if  you  fear  him.    Your  i>ni^  with  you  "V^^''^ 

sry?uinVuJL"-^i:r^^ 

youkLw.   YKoXnd^^Snivi""^?^'"" 


^t  you,  and 
J  to  be  inarfed 
«  was  a  thing 
made  many  in^i 
ManilLi  murdeK._ 
Pected  that  '  DJ  m^ 
," Oh,  Heavens!' 


strange  for  your  cloth- 

your  name  was  Potts. 

"■"'ly  troubled  her.    I 

.)und  out' about  the 

-    Jm  that  moment  I  sus- 

Despard. 

of.aspenseriwIf^Jd'S:^'^^^^ 
•■T/^!  "["^tins^-methinSlSn^ 


«VI  triad  aim^^fL!l^'"'^.°g""?"L"'i 

,  S'KiyrwTjrtS'n,^^, 

"W^"rri^  ??!?''  2"*  "H  *•"  'he  truth. "' 
tofcbofl,  Lil^  ^^P*"^'  *™«  ho  and  B»n- 
"^  looked  earnestly  at  Mrs.  Compto^^ 


!.'  v""  .r"'  P""**'  "»8  ?"  said  she. 

in  a  S::;sx™'  '^^ '''" '"  *'"'  p«"# 

ShJtvargbrSrh"  'v£U™,°'  ".«'*«• 
fa.,  as  thoughiX  coura^!Sd1.I '^^^  f 

mmim 

had  at  once  given  way  to  the,  grief  of  The  bl 
reavement,  and  had  liunied  off.  ^^ 

anxious  riot  only  to  keep  this  secretl„.r  oi      f^ 

aSKf  tlVlt  Suet  a'^a^f  .« 
was  ready  for  sea  almost  imm^iltelf  nhd  U 
>vith  Colonel  Despand  on  thatTf«ediyC 

chiS"'  He?r  ''•"^  ^1  ^''f'  •■"  InJhrwXhe" 
Tnhn    »K      .u°"  1°'"^  ''«'••  in  comimny^  with 
John,  who,  though  only  a  bov,  had  thT,vi«, 
of  a  grown  man.     Mobths  p«i^  befo-  S"* 
came  back.     He  then  took  hTlnT w^th  the 
ci  Id  to  China,  and  left  the  latter  withVr«L/,! 
able  «^man  at  Hong  K^ng,  wto  was  the^w  ' 
ii:^?^^'"'''^'^-    ^VcIitTdwastS: 
Potts  alwaj:.  feaiied  that  A^rs.  Compton  tLisht 


the 


to«»iHuwaii}t 


life  „„ r?*iil&'"*^^^*9 donstem'^r'l^'lS 
life,  and  as  J||pq^  passed  oiAlii.  Co-  ,„J7J: .-™ 

«ned.  Thennfferiigs 
terror  wereoMtecp^ 
presence  JMB>n,  mlMMuAn^ 

which-this  viHiifa  hJS  dror^' 
and  timid  naiti^    Hbtts 


lis  fear  was  n^t  le^o^ 
she  felt  fro'ip  tills 

meet 

pf^l«yWeak^J 
"  It  tbtam  to 


m 


'K 


"•T." 


194 


COKD  AND  CREESE. 


^I 


^  i'V. 


Englandii.llnd  they  had  lived  in  diiTerent  places, 
until  at  last  Brandon  Hull  hod  fallen  into  his 
hati'dK.  Of  the  foimer  bocnpants  of  Qrandun 
Hull,  Mrs.  Compton  knew  almost  nothing.    Vei 

■"  little  hod  ever  been  said  about  them 
knew  scarcely  ahy  thing  about  thi 

^  their  names  were  Brandon,  and  'iliat  they  had 
Butfered  misfortunes. 

^  Finally,  tUis  Beatrice  was  Beatrice  Des})ard, 
.'Ilie  daughter  of  Colonel  Despard  and  the  sister 
]  bf  the  clergyman  then  present.  She  herself,  in- 
stead of  being  the  daughter  of  Potts,  had  l)een 
"one  of  his  victims,  and  had  sufl'ered  not  the  least 

l^at  his  hands.     . 

-,  This  astounding  revelation  was  checked  by 
frequent  interruptions.  The  actual  story  of  her 
true  parentage  ovenvhelmed  Beatrice,  'i'his  was 
the  awful  thought  which  had  occurred  to  hei-self 
frequently  before.  This  was  what  had  moved 
her  sgi/,deeply  in  reading  the  munuscript  of  her 
father  tin  that  African  Isle.  This  also  was  the 
thing  which  had  always  made  her  hate  wjjth  such 
inteps^y  the  miscreant  who  pretended  £>  bo  her 
father. 

Now  she  wag  overwhelmed.  She  threw  her- 
self into  the  arms  of  her  brother  and  wept  upon 
his  brQ|8t.  Courtenay  Despard  for  a  moment 
rose  abC^e.,  the  gloom  that  oppressed  him,  and 
prised  to  hk>  heart  this  sister  so  strangely  dis- 
covered. Brdndon  stood  apart,  looking  on, 
shaken  to  the  soul  and  unnen-ed  by  the  deep  joy 
of  that  un[mralleled  dfscoveiy.  Amidst  all  the 
speiculations  in  which  he  had  ii^dtdged  the  very 
possibility  of  this  had  neverimgge^j^  itself.  He 
had  believed  most  implicitly  all  alolig  that  Bea- 
trice was  in  reality  the  :.4<kughtci'  of  his  mortal 
enemy.  No>^^fej|^discor^1i  of  the  tmdi  came 
upon  him  witraaHmvlieflcMl;  force. 

She  raised  heraW  from  her  brother's  embrace, 
And  turned  an(i  looked  u))on  the  man  whom  she 
adored— ^the  oife  who.  ns  she  said,  had  over  and 
over  again  ^^ed^ri^M^  the  one  whoso  life  she, 
too,  in  her  turn  HUsif^d,  with  whom  |l^,  had 
passed  so  man^  a'dStenturous  and  momeft|ous 
days — days  of  alternating  peace  and  storm, 
varying  hope  lind  despair.  To  him  shi 
every  thing ;  to  him  sjie  cfvved  ev 
of  this  moment. 

Aa  their  eyes  met  they  revi 
most  thoughts.    Xhere  wtis  ni 
-i;wecn  them.     V^pished  was  tli( 

^^tacle,  vanished  the  inipossable  ib^ 
side  by  side.  The  enemy  of  this  Jfian — his  foe, 
his  victim — woi  also  hers.  Whatever  he  might 
suffier,  whatever  anguish  might  have  been  on  the 
face  0^  that  old  man  who  had  looked  at  her  from 
the  balcony,  she  had  clearly  no  part  nor  lot  now 
in  that  suffering  or  that  anguish.     Ho 'was  the 

'  murderer  of  her  father.  She  was  not  the  daugh- 
telr  of  this  man.    She  was  of  no  vulgar  or  sordid 

.  race.  ^  Her  blood  was  no  longer  polluted  or  ac- 
cursed. She  was  of  pure  and  noble  lineage. 
She  was  a  Despard. 
"Beatrice,"  said  Bnnd(%  withadeep,  fervid 
>B^4n  his  VI '  ,  "~ 
and  you  are  mine.  lieatrice,  it  was  a  lie  that 
kept  us  apart.  My  life  is  yours,  and  yours  is 
mine." 

He  thought  of  nothing  but  her.  He  spoke 
with  burning  impetuosity.  His  words  sank  into 
her  soul.  His  eyes  devoured  hers  in  the  passion 
of  their  glance.  .  /, 


'  Bcatric« 


Her 


he 


in- 

lans  bo- 

penifli  ob- 

They  Btood 


"  Be^itrice — niy  Beatrice !"  he  said, 
Despard — "  ' 

Ho  spoke  low,  bending  his  head  to  hers, 
head  sunk  toward  his  breast. 

Beatrice,   do  you  now  reproach  ipe?" 

She  held  out  her  hand,  while  tears  stoiHl  in 
Iter  eyes.     Brandon  seized  it  nnd  covered  it  with 
kisses.     Despard  saw  this.     In  the  midst  of  tlifm^ 
anguish  of  his  face  a  smile  shone  furtli,  like  t>iin-  % 
shine  out  of  a  clouded  sky.^  He  Iookd|i||  ilicse 
two  for  a  ihgmcnt.  ^^ 

I^nghetti's  eyes  were  closed,  Mre.  Comptoft 
and  her  son  were  talking  apart.  Despard  louked 
upon  the  lovers.   ■ 

"Let  them  love,"  he  murmured  to  hiinscjf; 
"let  them  love  and  bo  happy.  Heaven  has  its 
favorites. .  I  do  not-  envy  them ;  I  bless  tliem, 
though  I  love  without  hope.'  Heaven  has  its  fa- 
vorites, but  I  am  an  outcast  from  that  favor." 

A  shudder  passed  through'  him.  He  drew 
himself  up. 

"Since  love  is  denied jne,' 
can  at  least  have  venge 


he  thought,  "I 


CHAPTER  LVIII. 

»v  THE  MALAYS   VENOEANCE. 

'  SfiME  hours  afterward  Despard  called  Bmn- 
don  outside  the  cottage,  aiujl,  walked  along  the 
bank  which  overhung  the  begmi.  Arriving  nt  a 
point  several  hundred  yards  distant  from  thc,cot- 
to^  he  stopped.  Brandon  noticed,  a  dce|)cr 
gloqin  upon  his  face  and  a  sterner  purpose  uii  liiit 
reso^te  mouth. 

"I  liaA'-is  called  you  aside,"  said  Despard,  "to 
say  that'  I  am  going  on  a  journey.  I  may  be 
back  immediately.  If  I  do  not  return,  will  yoii 
say'te  nliy  ijne  who  tnay  ask" — and  here  he  lauaed 
for  a  ramient — "say  to  any  one  who  may  ask, 
iliat  I  W§e  gone  aiwy  on  important  business,  and 
that  the  time  of  my  comings  is  uncertain." 
■%%-^i'l  suppose  yfl|p8b,n  be  j»ard  of -at  Holbv,  in 
case'of  ifeed."    '  j*'*' 

^"♦'  I  am  never  going <Back  again  to  Holby." 

Brandon  looked  surprised. 
&'*^ro  one  like  you,"  said  Despard,  "  I  do  not 
object  to  tell  my  purpose.  You  know  what  it  is 
to  seek  forvvengeance.  The  only  feeling  that  I 
have  is  that.  Love,  tenderness,  aftection,  all 
aro  idle  words 'with  mb. 

' '  There  ore  three  who  pre-eminently  were  con- 
cerned in  my  father's  death,"  continued  Despard. 
"Qjie  was  Cigole.  The  Carbonari  have  him. 
Langhetti  tells  mo  that  he  must  die,  unless  he 
himself  interposes  to  save  him.  And  I  think 
Langhotti  will  never  so  interpose.  Langhetti  is 
dying^ — another  stimulus  to  vengeance. 

"The  one  who  has  been  the  cause  of  tiiis  is 
Clark,  another  one  of  my  father's  murderers.  He 
is  in  the  hands  of  the  law.  His  punishment  is 
certain. 

Bmama  llift  thinlj  nnd  the  worst. 


fe: 


Your  vengeance  is satisiSeSon  him.  THino Is  nof. 
Not  even  the  sight  ot  that  miscreant  in  the  atti- 
tude of  a  bereaved  father  could  for  one  moment 
move  mo  to  pity.  I  took  note  of  the  agony  of 
his  ftice.  I  wotched  his  grief  with  joy.  1  wa 
going  to  complete  that  joy.  He  must  die,  and 
no  mortal  cau  save  him  from  my  bonds." 


-^ 


CORD  AND  Creese. 


The  deep,  stem  tones  of  Despard  wore  like  the 
k^ell  of  doom,  and  there  wns  in  them  sucli  de- 
terminate vindictiveness  that  Urandon  saw  all 
ifemonstrance  to  be  useless. 

He  marked  the  pale  sad  face  of  this  man.  Ho 
saw  ir|  at  the  traces  of  sorrow  of  longer  standing 
than  hnv  which  he  might  have  felt  about  the 
manu«cnpt  that  he  had  reSniJ-  It  was  the  face 
of  a  man  who  had  guttered  so  much  that  lite,  hud 
becoipe  a  burden. 

"You  are  a  clergj-man,"  said  Brandon  lit 
length,  with  a  faint  Iiope  that  an  appeal  to  his 
profession  might  have  some  effect.  ^ 

Despard  smiled  cynically. 

" I  om  a  man,"  said  he. 
.   "Can  not  the  discoveiy  of  a  sister,"  asked 
Brandon,  "  atone  in  some  degree  for  your  crief 
about  your  father?"  ' 

Despard  shool^  lys  head  wearily. 

"No,"  said  he,  "I  must  do  something,  and 
only  one  purpose  is  before  me  now.  I  see  your 
motive.  You  wish  to  stop  short  of  taking  that 
devd  H  life.  It ,  is  useless  to  remonstrate.  My 
mind  13  made  jip»^  Perhaps  I  may  come  back 
unsuccessful.  Jf  jb— I  must  be  resigned,  I  sup- 
pose. At  any  rate  you  know  my  puqtose,  and 
can  let  those  who  ask  after  me  know,  in  a  general 
—y,  what4  have  said." 


195 

With  A  s/ight  bow  Despard  walked  awav,  leav- 
ing Brandon  standing  there  filled  with  tllo.ights 
which  were  half  mournful,  half  remorseful. 

Qn  leaving  Brandon  Despard  went  nt  once  to 
the  )nn.  The  crowd  without  had  dwindled  nwnv 
to  halt  a  dozen  people,  who  were  still  talkiii 
about  the  one  event  of  the  day.  Aloking  his 
way  through  thesje  he  entered  the  inn 

Iho  londlord  stood  there  with  a  puzzled  face 
discussing  with  several  friends  the  case  of  the 
Uay.  More  particularly  he  was  troubled- by  the 
sudden  departure  of  the  old  maiAvhp  about  an 
hour  previously  had  started  off  iifa  rfi:at  liuirv 
eaving  no  directions  whatever  q^  to  whttf  was  to 
be  done  with  the  body  up  kiJi-s.  It  was  thw 
which  now  pei-plexed  the  landlord. 

Despard  listened  attentively  to' the  conversa- 
tion. Ihe  landlord  mentioned  that  I'otts  had 
tuk^n  the  road  to  Brandon.  The  senant  who 
hud  been  with  the  young  man  had  not  been  seen. 
It  Hie  old  man  should  not  return  what  was  to  be 
done? 

This  was  enough  for  Despard,  who  had  his 
horse  saddled  without  deby  and  started  also  en 
the  Brandon  road.  He  rode  on  swiftly  for  some 
time,  hoping  to  overtake  the  man  whom  he  pur- 
sued. He  rode,  however,  several  miles  with- 
out coming  in  sight  of  him  or  of  any  one  like 


•      ^ 


i'i 


^iji.'SViit 


# 


•sSlfc-       ■>  .%.a.t 


.  ..  .LJJa.J-  J 


190 


CORD  AND  CllEEiSE., 


him.  At  last  he  reached  that  hollow  which  had 
hccn  the  Hcone  of  hi»ei)uounter  with  Chirk.  As 
he  descended  into  it  ho  miw  a  group  of  men  by 
the  road-side  suTounding  some  object.  In  the 
middle  of  the  road  was  a  furmer's  wngon,  and  a 
horse  was  standing  in  the  distance. 

Despard  rode  up  and  saw  the  prostrate  figure 
of  a  man.  He  dismounted,  'jlio  fanners  stood 
aside  and  d^'losed  the  face. 

It  WHS  Potts. 

DesjMird  stooped  down.  It  was  nli-eady  dusk  ; 
but  even  in  that  dim  light  he  saw  the  coils  of  ii 
thin  cord  wound  tightly  about  the  neck  of  this 
victim,  froin-one  end  uf  which  a  leaden  bullet 
hung  down. 

liy  that  light  also  he  saw  the  hilt  of  a  weapon 
wliich  had  l>cen  |)lunged  into  his  heart,  from  which 
the  blood  had  flowed  in  torrents. 

It  was  n  Malay  crecse.  Upon  the  handle  was 
cai'vcii  a  name : 

JOHN  FOTXS. 


CHAITER  MX. 
Aiort  Ti\wTatop  uairaafiov  SCtftiv. 

TliK  excitement  which  had  prevailed  through 
the  villuge  of  Denton  was  intepsiiied  by  the  ar- 
rival thei'e  of  the  body  uf  the  old  man.  For  his 
mysterious  death  no  one  could  account  except 
one  i)er8on. 

That  one  was  Brandon,  whom  Despard  sur- 
prised by  his  speedy  return,  and  to  whom  he 
narrated  the  circumstances  of  the  discovery. 
Brandon  knew  who  it  was  that  could  wield  that 
cord,  what  arm  it  was  that  had  held  that  weapon, 
and  what  heart  it  was  that  was  animated  by  suf- 
ficient vengeance  to  strike  these  blows. 

DcKpard,  finding  his  purijose  thus  unexpected- 
ly taken  nwuy,  remained  in  the  village  and  walt- 
zed. There  was  one  whom  he  wished  to  see 
again.  ()n  the  following  day  Frank  Brandon 
arrived  from  London.  lie  met  Langhetti  with 
deep  emotion,  and  learned  from  his  brother  tlio 
astonishing  story  of  Kdith. 

On  the  following  day  that  long-lost  sister  her' 
self  appeared  in  company  with  Mrs.  Thornton. 
Her  form,  always  fragile,  now  appeared  frailer 
than  ever,  her  face  had  a  deeper  pallor,  her  eyes 
an  intenser  lustre,  her  expression  was  more  un- 
earthly. The  joy  which  the  brothers  felt  at  find- 
ing their  sister  was  subdued  by  an  involuntary 
Bwe  which  was  inspired  by  her  presence.  She 
seemed  to  them  as  she  had  seemed  to  others,, 
like  one  who  had  arisen  from  the  dead. 

At  the  sight  of  her  Langhetti's  face  grew  ro- 
diunt — all  pain  seemed  to  leave  him.  bhe  bent 
over  him,  and  their  wan  lips  met  in  the  only  kiss 
which  they  had  ever  exchanged,  with  a|l  that 
deep  love  which  they  had  felt  for  one  another. 
She  sat  by  his  bedside.  She  seemed  to  appro- 
priate him  to  herself.  The  others  acknowledged 
tliis  quiet  claim  and  gave  way  to  it.  ,?  ;, 

'  t^she-Jiiaaed  Langfaetttih4^  he  nmnaiaied 
faintly  s~ 

"  I  knew  you  would  come."  '', 

"  Yes,"  said  Edith.     *'  We  will  go  together." 

"Yes,  sweetest  ^nd  dearest,"  said  Ij»nghetti. 
"And  therefore  we  meet  now  never  to  ^>ait 
agnin." 

^llo  looked  at  liim  fondly. 


I      "  The  time  of  our  deliverance  M  near,  oh  mv 
friend."  ' 

"  Near,"  repeated  Langlietti,  with  a  smile  of 

I  ecstasy — "  near.     Yes,  you  have  already  by  your 

presence  brought  me  nearer  to  my  immortllhtv.'' 

Mrs.  Thornton  was  pale  and  wan;  nnd  llic 
shock  which  she  felt  at  the  sight  of  her  brothci' 
'  at  first  overcame  her. 

Despard  said  nothing  to  her  through  the  dav, 
but  as  evening  came  on  he  went  up  to  lier  and  in 
a  low  voice  said,  "  Let  us  take  a  walk." 

Mrs.  Thornton  looked  at  him  eaniestly,  and 
then  piit  on  her  bonnet.  It  was  quite  durk.ns 
they  left  the  house.  They  walked  idong  the 
rood.     The  sea  was  on  their  left. 

"This  is  the  hist  ||mt  we  sliall  see  of  one  an- 
other. Little  PltiymalK,"  said  Despard,  after  a  long 
silence.     "I  have  left  Holby  forever." 

"  Left  Ilolhy !  Where  are  you  going  ?"  asked 
Mrs.  Thornton,  anxiously. 

"To  join  the  army." 

"The  army!" 

"Little  I'ffijTiiate,"  said  Despard,  "even  my  ' 
discovery  of  my  father's  death  has  not  cliniigcil 
me.  Even  my  thirst  for  vengeance  could  not 
take  the  place  of  my  love.  Listen — 1  Hunj;  my- 
self with  all  the  ardor  that  I  could  command  into 
the  pursuit  of  my  father's  murderers.  I  funeil 
myself  to  an  unnatural  pitch  Of  pitile^iess  nnd 
viudictiveness.  1  set  out  to  pursue  one  of  the 
worst  of  these  men  with  the  full  dotermina'tiun 
to  kill  him.  God  saved  me  from  blood-gnilii- 
ness.  I  (ound  the  man  dead  in  the  road.  After 
this  all  my  passion  for  vengeance  died  oilt,  and*I 
was  brought  face  to  face  with  the  old  luve  nnd 
the  old  despair.  But  each  of  ps  would  die  rather 
than  do  wrong,  or  go  on  in  a  wrong  courec.  'i'lie 
only  thing  lefl  for  us  is  to  separate  forever." 

"Yes,  forever,"  murmured  Mrs.  Thoniton. 

"Ah,  Little  I'liM'mate,"  he  continued,  taking  ' 
her  hand,  "you  are  the  one  who  was  not  only 
my  sweet  companion  but  the  bright  ideid  of  my 
youth.  You  always  stood  transfigured  in  iny 
eyes.  You,  Teresa,  were  in  my  mind  somethii^ 
lierfect — a  bright,  brilliant  being  unlike  anv  oth- 
er. Whether  you  were  really  what  I  believed 
you  mattered  not  so  for  as  the  etfect  n|ion  me 
was  concerned.  You  were  at  once  a  real  nnd  an 
ideal  being.  I  believed  in  you^  and  believe  in 
you  yet. 

"I  was  not  a  lover;  I  was  a  devotee.  My 
feelings  toward  you  are  such  as  Dante  describe 
his  feelings  toward  his  Beatrice.  My  love  is  teo- 
der  and  reverential.  I  exalt  you  to  a  phme  abbve 
my  own.  What  I  say  mav  sound  extravaganfto 
vou,  but  it  is  actual  fact  with  me.  Why  it  should 
be  so  Ijcan  not  telL  I  can  only  say — I  am  so 
made.<;ii^ 

^  We' part,  and  I  leave  ^on;  but  I  shall  be 
like  D^te,  I  suppose,  and  as  the  years  pass,  in- 
stead of  weakening  my  love  they  will  only  refine 
it  and  purify  it .  You  will  be  to  me  a  guardian 
angel,  a^patron  saint — ^yonr  name  shall  always 
mingle  vt-uh  my  prayers.  Is  it  impious  to  name 
your  Bome  't^fc'ittiyrer?  ~I~tttm  away  rfifsHt  yet 
because  I  would  ntther  suffer  than  do  wrong. 
Ma^  I  not  pray  for  my  darting  ?" 

'•  I  don't  know  what  to  do,"  said  Mrs.  Thorn- 
ton, wearily.  "Your  power  over  ree  is  fear- 
ful. I4|^  I  would  do  any  thing  for  your  sakB. 
You  talk  about  your  memories ;  it  is  not  for 
me  to  speak  about  mine.    Whether  you  idealiu 


COHD  AND  CREKS^ 


197 


-11 


f 

! 


•i ;  ■ 


1 1 


SHB  WAS  WBK.-IX9.\|)MPABD  FOLDED  HER  IK  HIS  ARMS." 


me  or  not,  after  all,  you  must  know  what  I  reallv 
am."  "^ 

"  Would  yon  be  glad  never  to 

The  hand  which  Despard  held 

"  If  you  would  be  happier,"  Baii 

"Would  yon  be  glad  if  I  could  Wiiifcr  this 
love  of  mine,  and  moot  you  jtgain  ascodly^os  a 
common  friend  f  ; 

"  I  want  you  to  be  happy.  Lama,"  she  replied. 

I  would  suffer  royselfto  make  you  happv." 

She  WW  weeping.  Despard  folded  her  in  his 
anna.  • 

"This  once,"  said  he,  "the  only  time,  Little 
l*»ymate,  in  this  life."  • 

8h&  wept  upon  his  breast. 

"TAtwmW  aairacriiov  W/mv,"  said  Despard 
marmunng  in  a  low  voice  the  opening  of  the 
•on?  of  the  dead,  so  well  known,  so  often  sung, 

»^  to  the  dead  whe<»  the  friends  bestow  the  "  tast 

II-??  J^*^^?'^'"'*''*^-    Her  head  fell.     Hii 
lips  toikched  her  forehead. 

She  felt  the  beating  of  his  heart; 

™me  tremble  from  head  to  foot;.Bn«nea 

w«p-(tairo  btoathing,  every  breath  a  sigh. 


"  It  is  onr  last  farewell,"  said  he,  in  a  voice  of 
agony. 

in^I*"*"  ^^  m"  '">*«'f  ""-a^  nnd,  a  few  minutes 
biter,  was  ndmg  from  the  vilkge. 


I 


lead  fell.     Hu 

t ;  MlPt  his 
■  shlmMrdrhis 


CIIAITER  LX.,'    - 

CO^CLU8ION.^     .  --' 

A  MONTH  passed.  Despard  gave  no  sinf.  A 
short  note  which  ho  wrote  to  Brandon  announced 
his  nmval  at  London,  and  informed  him  tluit  im- 
portant affairs  required  his  departure  abroad. 

The  cottage  was  but  a  small  place,  and  Bran-.  ■ 
uxr  n^""'"*''  '"  *'*^'^  I^nghetti  conveyed  to 
the  Hall.    An  ambulance  was  obtained  from  Exs» 
eter,  and  on  this  LangBetti  and  Edith  were  tak^_^ 


On  arriving  at  Brandon  Hall  Beattice^found 
her  diary  m  its  place  of  concealment,  the  mem- 
ory of  old  sorrows  which  could  never  be  forgot- 
ten. But  those  old  sorrows  were  passing  away 
How,  in  the  presence  of  her  new  joy. 

And  yet  that  joy  was  darkened  by  the  cloud 
of  a  new  sorrow.     Langhetti  was  dying.     His 


198 


frail  form  became  more  and  more  attenuated 
every  day,  liis  eyes  fnore  lustroug,  his  face  more 
spiritual.  Down  every  step  of  that  way  which 
led  to  the  grave  Edith  went  wit4i  him,  seeming 
in  her  own  face  and  form  to  promise  a  speedier 
advent  in  tliat  spirit-world  where  she  longed  to 
arrive.i '  Ueside  these  Beatrice  watched,  and  Mrs. 
Thomtoti  added  her  tender  care, 
J  Day  by  day  Langhetti  grew  worse.  At  last  one 
day  he  culled  for  h^  violin.  He  had  caused  it  to 
be  sent  for  on  a  previouii  occasion,  but  had  nov«r 
used  it.  His  love  for  music  was  satisfied  by  the 
songs  of  lieatrice.  Kow '  he  wished  to  exert 
his  own  skill  with  the  last  remnaflts  of  his 
strength. 

Langhetti  was  propped  up  by  pillows,  so  that 
he  might  hold  the  insti'ument.  Near  him  Edith 
reclined  on  a  sofa.  Her  Itttgo,  lustrous  eyes  were 
fixed  pn  him.  Her  breathing,  which  came  and 
went  rapidly,  showed  her  utter  weakness  and 
prostration.' 

Langhetti  drew  his  bow  across  tl^  strings. 

It  was  a  strange,  sweet  sound,  weak,  but  sweet 
beyond  all  words — a  long,  faint,  lingering  tone, 
which  rose  and  died  and  rose  again,  bearing 
away  the  souls  of  those  who  heard  it  into  a 
realm  of  enchantment  and  delig>j|t. 

That  tone  gave  strength  to  LmTghettL  -  It  was 


/I 


CQKD  AND  CREESE. 


/!■ 


as  though  some  nnseen  power  bad  been  invoked 
and  had  come  to  his  aid.  The  tones  canis^forth 
more  strongly,  on  firmer  pinions,  flying  from  the 
strings  and  towering  through  the  air. 

The  strength  of  these  tones  seemed  to  emjinate 
from  some  unseen  power ;  so  ajso  did  their  mean- 
ing. It  was  a  meaning  beyond  wbat  might  he  in- 
telligible to  those  who  listened — a  meaning  be- 
yond mortal  thought. 

Yet  Langhetti  understood  it,  and  so  did  Edith. 
Her  eyes  grew  brighter,  a  flush  started  to  her  ' 
wan  cheeks,  her  breathing  grew  more  rapid.    , 

Tlie  ipustc  went  on.  More  subtle,  more  pene- 
trating, more  thriMing  in  its  mysterious  meaning, 
it  rose  and  ^ell^  through  the  air,  like  the  sung 
of  some  unseen  ones,  who  were  westing  for  new- 
comers to  the  Invisible  land.  ■  j  'k 
'  Suddenly  Beatrice  gave  a  piercing  cry.  She  » 
rmlied  to  Edith's  sofa.  EslUh  lay  back,  her  mar- 
ble face  motionless,  her  white  lips  apart,  her 
eyes  looking  upWard.  But  the  lips  br^tlied  no 
more,  and  in  the  eyes  there  no  longer  beamed 
the  light  of  life. 

At  the  cry  of  Bejitric^athe  violin  fell  from      ^ 
Langhetti's  hand,  and  he  sank  back.     His  face 
was  turned  toward  Edith.    He  saw  her  ^nd  knew 
it  alL  .; 

He  Sttid  not  a  word,  but  lay  with  his  face  tuincd  '^  ' 


'i/. 


.  .7 


<S^ 


'  LAXaKKTTI.  0)iaW  BH    BOW   ACKOU  THB  aVUlKua." 


-,    .y 


J  ■.■J 


vW";  -  • 


CORD  AND  CREESE. 


toward  jier.     They  wished  to  carrr  her  away, 
bnt  he  gently  reproved  them. 

"Wait!"  he  murmured.  "In  a  short  time 
yon  will  carry  away  another  also^    Wait." 

They  waited.  ■* 

An  hour  before  midnight  all  was  6ver.  They 
had  passed— .those  pure  spirits,  frojft  a  world 
which  was  uncongenial  to  a  fairer  \imr\d  and  a 
purer  clime. 

They  were  buried  side  by  side  in  the  Bmndon 
vaults.  Frank  then  retnmed  to  London.  Mrs. 
Thornton  went  back  to  Holby.  The  new  rector 
was  surprised^t  the  request  Of  the  lady  of  Thorn- 
^ton  Grange  to  be  allowed  to  become  organlj^  in 
.  Yrinity  Chufth.  She  offered  to  pension  off  the 
old  man  who  now  presided  there.  Her  request 
was  gladly  acceded  to.  Her  zeal  was  remarka- 
ble. Kvery  day.^he  visited  the  church  to  prac- 
^ce  nt  the  organ.  ITiis  became  the  purpose  of 
li«r  lif^     Yet  of  oU  tlie  piec^  two  were  per- 


199 

formed  most  frequently  in  Hfer  daily  practice, 
the  one  being  t(ie  Agnus  Jiei ;  the  other,  ihk 
rt\€VTa,qi'  aama^ov  of  St.  John  Damaiicene. 
Peace!    Peace!    Peace!, 

Was  tiifit  cry  of  hers  Unavailing?  Of  Despard 
nothmg  was  known  for  some  time.  Mr.'  Thorn-'' 
ton  once  mentioned  to  his  wife  that  the  Hev 
Courtenay  Despard  had  joined  the  Eleventh  HetA- 
ment,  and  had  gone  to  Soutli  Africa,  He  men- 
tioned this  because  he  had  seen  a  paragraph 
stating  that  a -Captain  Despard  had  been  killed 
in  the  Kaffir  war,  and  wondered  whether  it  could 
by  any  possibility  be  their  old  friend  or  net. 

At  Brandon  Hall,  the  one  who  had  been  so 
long  a  prisoner  and  a  slave  soon  l)ecame  mistress 

Ihe  gloom  which  had  rested  over  the  house 
was  dispelled,  and  Brandon  and  his  wife  were 
soon  able  to  look  back,  even  to  the  darkest  period' 
ot  their  lives,  without  fear  of  marring  their  perfect 
happiness.  "         e 


1 


sfacetuincd  *  ' 

e 


4 


%■■- 


1.' 

THE  END. 


.,-» 


ft' 


^  ■ 


■■  ;v  -3 


.f 


!' 

r ' 


'>! 


ih\ 


<^ 


.i!%;Vif<'. 


■  ■      ft.      '■  "Ki 


V- 

::-:■■■  .  ■%■<  ^-  ■     ,     H\f 

•Jv-T"*"  r  "       ■* 


Til 


I 


■^ 


AUTHOR  ( 


f 


*t^ 


'»*«  ^jSGii  ."»,  '^  . 


v. . 


>. 


THE    DODCE   club- 


ITALY  IN   MDCCCLIX. 


■\ 


By  JAMES  DE  M|£lE, 


AUTHOR  OF  "CORD  AND  CREESE;  OR, 


THE  BRANBON  MYSTERV,"  ETC., 


ETC 


,  •' 


toiti)  ®ne  ^anbreb  3Hnsttatiom. 


NEW    YORK 


HARJ" 


fr.cc    liKOTHERS,    PUBLISHERS, 

\         ''RANKLIN    SQUARE. 


"f» 


makft  I  It  I 


J..  !,«-    '     Ji 


v 


PABIg.'— THE 
FBENQH. — H 

liinBTIUTIOSB.— 

-  Club.— The  Vim 


Entered,  according  to  Act  of  Congress,'  in  tJie  year  1869,  by 

HARPER  &  BROTHERS, 

In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  district  Court  of  the  United  States  for  tl;e^Southem 

District  of  New  York.  '       ■'  ■      " 


OBtEANS.— HOI 
TO  FIGHT  OFJ 
W4IHOCT  BAl 

IllUgTSATIOXg—n 

V«i*». — Sk-i-t 


THE  BBONE  IN  . 
,    — SCICIDE  A  C 

lU^nBATIOMg.— N 


■V',T 


HABSEILLES..,..' 


V 


TUB   HEflBED   01 

.     PHILOSotHUIEl 

;        FA«SPORJ.°,.».. 

^BSWATION*,  —Til 


UZARONI  AJfD  M; 
lUBgTEATIONB.'—  Th 

>q4  Hacarool.  ■ 


',     •■■              *" 

•     ' 

.            t        ,        '          ■                                      •                  '», 

.  *■                                          '- 

r " — ; "^ •" 

"   ■            '\\ 

,  :  „ » ■■■  :■•' 

*OW)BEB.— an^a; 
*  ioMAirrio'  a; 

ASD  WHAT  QGFK 
ISO  DOMISQ.-^j 
"^ttOUNDlHO  DI» 

|uwTi«|io»g._Yiin 
-A  1 


<" 


CONTENTS. 


.^' 


'hi 


CUAl'TER  L 


CHAPTER  II. 

WJTHO^  «^^  HVMBCC8  ;   AND  HOW  TO  TBAVeT 
W^THOnT  BAGQAGE ^ ,-, 

V«n*»._Sac-r.r-r-re  I       "        Bl".-Clcoro  against 


CHAPTER  IX. 


A  DRIVE  INTO  THE  CODNTHT  — i  »to.,~ 

vKrr„H.N<l._T„E  Kr^cT  opVAmo  ^nn 

BOILED  E0G8."_WHATTHEr  SAW  AT  p^s^^,'' 

-FIVE  TEMPLES  AND  ONE  «  MILL  "  ^g 

lL.r^x,o«^    ..DoYou  8eeTh.trrTheMm.i  pj,. 


CHAPTER  X. 


CHAPTER  in. 


niE  BHONE  IM  A  RAIN.-THE   MAD  FRERCnsIAN 
.    -SUICIDE  A  CAPITAL  CRIME  IN  FBANC^^"      13 

"     '*™''8— NamberT29.-IIorrorI    D^paltl 


T 

KABSEILLES . 


CHAPTER  i;v. 


U 


CHAPTER  Vwi 


■Xv 


niE   BEttBED  OROAK-GRINDEB.— THE    SENATOn 

,  CHAJPTER  VI. 

UZARONI  AND  MACARONI ..?....,....  J  7 


■•    '        "        CHAPTER  VII.     ^ 

*  •    ■*"'T""«4j8e''Htor._Exl«8*iutor" 


'    CHTpTEBItHl.      - 


ON   THE  WATER,  WHERE  BtTTONS  BEES   A   LOST 

IDEA  AND  GIVES  CHASE  TO  IT,  TOGETtffeR  wi" 

THE  HEART-SICKENING  BESuiTS  t1e!![^opT  32 

"■ZZ""""'-'""'  SP«-'»^-"A  Tb0M»nd  Par. 

SfAPTER  XL 
SnCH  A  FANCT  FOB   8EEKIXO 
USEFUL  INFOBMATION  .'-CUBIdtS  TOSITION  OF 
,     A  WISE,  AND  WELL-KNOWN,  ANI,  PESM^LY 

iLLUBiBATfOM—Tlie  senator.  •••••••• 

CHAPTER  xri.       '       , 

HEBCULANEUM  and  POMfeii,  and  all  that  THE 

o»  THE  MINDS  OP  THE  DODGE  CLDB.       87     I 

CHAPTER  XIII, 

VESBVinS—wOKDERFDL  ASCENT  OF  THE  COKfc 

AND    JtoST    WONDERFUL    Dl8APPEARA;«CE    OF 
MB   riGGjT,  AFTER  WHOM  ALL  HIS  f3d8  00 

-  -*  CHAPTER  XrV.  -/ 

HAONlFfcENT  ATHTUDB  OF  THE  SENATOR  •  BRtt."  v- '    / 
UANCT  OF  BrttONS  ,  Am  PLUC^  OF^/^T^        7 
BB  MEMBERS  OF  THE  CLUB!    BT  ALI,OF  WHICH         ' 
THE  GB^TEST  EFFECTS  ABB  FBODPCED         i"  - 


««nmnw>5rK_T^e».,dlM'64,to™d._8old. 


DOMBES  ONC^^Ol 

Tio».-»l»ntMfi 


CHAJPtEBXV./  -       '     \ 

^tr^PLBASAMTOOIIVEKiu-i    „ 
FB^END.-TfAFFECTINO  FABBjTBLb.........^     fiQ 


sV 


*^"->vj.' 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

WCK  BELATES  A  FAMILT  LEOEKD. 53 

IUSRBATI0M8.— Buying  A  While. — The  Long-lost  Sao. 

CHAPTER  XVII. 
K^arr  os  tke  hOiad. — the  club  asleep. — tiiky 

£2ITER    BBBIB. — THOUGHTS    ON    APPROAC  IlINo"' 
ASD  EMTlMOia  "THE  ETEBMAL  CITY.".. ...      5(5 
iLLCSTBATioa.— To  Rome.      "'  — —^ 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

A  LETTER  BY  DICK,  .-«D  CRITICISMS  OF  HIS 
FBIENDS - 56 

CHAPTER  XIX. 
ST.  Peter's  ! — the  tragic  story  o^  the  fat 

MAN    IN  the  nALL. — HOW  ANUTAEK\  TRAGEDY 

NEARLY  HAPPENED. THE  VVCKS  OF  MEINHERR 

8CUATT 67 

lLLCgTB.iTiox.— "Gracioua  Me:" 

CHAPTER  XX. 

THE  OLORT,  GRANDEUR,  BEAUTY,  AXO  INFISITB 
VARIETY  OF  THE  PIM^AN  HILL;  NARRATE^ 
AND  DETAILED  NOT  feOfcUMNARILY  BUT"  EX-j 
IIAD8TIVELY,  AND  AFTER  THE  MANNER  OF  RA- 
BELAIS        CO 

CHAPTER  XXI. 

nARMONT  ON  THE  PINCIAN  HILL. — MUSIC  HATH 
CHARMS. — AMERICAN  MELODIJBS. — THE  GLORY, 
THE  POWER,  AND  THE  BEAUTY  OF  YANKEE 
DOODLE,  AND  THE  MERCENAttY  SOUL  OF  AN 
ITALIAN  ORGAN-ORINDER CO 

lUCfTKATlOM.— Old  Vlrglnn)'. 

CHAPTER  XXII. 

HOW  A  BARGAIN   IS   MADE. — THE  WILES  OF  THE 

ITALIAN     TRADMHAN. THE     NAKED     SULKY 

BEOOAR,  AND  TIIK  JOVIAL,  WELL-CLAD  UEO- 
OAB. — WHO  IS  THE  KINO  O*  BEGGARS?...      C2 

iLLCSTIATIOlf.— The  glirug. 

\  CHAI-fER  XXIII. 

THE  VAXirOL'D  MFB  OF  THFf'OAFE  NUOVO,  ANt> 
HOtfT  SttSr^iniEIVED  TliK  MEWS  AHOLT  MAUEN- 
TA.—BXCITEMBlrt'.—BHItllbSIASM.— TEAKS.— 

bmbbXcbs...; .-. '. „ 64 

Ii,Li7aTBATioii.~N'«iraof  Magen^t     . 


>^ 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 


CfelAPT^R  XXIV. 


CHECKMATE  !.. 

Ui-ciTBATtOH.— Dofon  »^  After. 


65 


CHAPTER  X?vy. 


CONSEQUENCES    OF    BEI.'^G    GALLANT    IN    ITAI.V 

WHERE  THERE  ARE  LotER8,HU8llAN|>S,l)]i()Tll! 

ER8,   FATHERS,    COUSINS,    MD     l.VNUMpitAIlI.r; 

OTHER      RELATIVES     AND     CONNECTIONS,    Al.r! 

READY  WITH  THE  STILETTO .'.      (jg 

iLmsTEAT**)*.— An  In^pmiptlon.  ( 

CHAPTER  XXyil. 

DICK  O^THE  SICK;0§T.— RAITURE  OF  lltlTTOXS 
AT  MAKING  AN  lS»5ijlTANT  DISCOVERY.  ...      71 

Illcstbation.— P«i^r  DicKl 

,         CHAPTER  XXVYn. 

WHAT  KIND  OF  A  LETTER  THE  8EXAT0H  WROTE 
FOR  THE  "new  ENGLAND  PATRIOT,"  WIIICII 
SHOWS  A  TRUE,  LIBERAL,  UNBIASED,  PLAIN,  VS- 
VARNISHED  VIEW  OF  ROME '     73 

Illustbation Sketches  by  a  Friend. 

CHAPTER  XXIX. 

THE  LONELY  ONE  AND  HIS  COJIFORTER.— THE 
TRUE  MEDICINE  FOR  A  SICK  MAN 7,-, 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

OCCUPATIONS     AND     PEREGRINATIONS     OF 
TONS ■__ 

ItLCBTKATiON Buttona  and  Murray. 

CHAPTER  XXXI. 

BUTTONS  ACTS  THE  GOOD  SAMARITAN,  AND 
ERALLY  UNEARTHS  A  MOST  UNEXPECTED 
TIM  OF  AN  ATROCIOUS  RQBBERY. — GR-R- 
CIOU8  me! f\'l- 


SR  XXXI 


BUT- 

77 


i.rr- 
vic- 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 

ANOTHER  DISCOVERY  MADE  ^Y  BLTTO^S... 

CHAPTER  XXXHI. 

UplKlKlK    Kouf    K0«{    Kojf. 


ILLUBTUATION.— nrckekokck  Koax  Koi^x! 

CHAPTER  XXXIvi. 

THE  SENATOR  PURSUES  HIS  INVESTIOAItOXS.— AV 
INTELLIGENT  ROMAN  TOUCHES  A  CHUIII)  IN  TIIB 
SENATOR'S    HEART   THAT  VIBRATES.. — RESULTS 

OF  THE  VIBRATION. A  VISIT  FROM  ,TIIE  ROMAS 

POLICE  ;  AND  THE  GREAT  RACE  DOWN  THE  COR- 
80  BETWEEN  THE  SENATOR  AND  A  ROMAN  gPK. 
— OLEE  OF  THE  POPULACE  ' — III!   Hi'....     80 

iLUtiTMnoxR.— Oot  You  There  I— Walking  g|)iniali. 
CHAITER  XXXV. 

PICK  MAKES  ANOTHER    EFFORT,  AND  BEOIKg  TH 


HUTTONB  A   MAN  OF  ONjS  IDEA.— DICIC  AND  HIS 

MBA8UR1N«    XA1»E, — DARK    KT BK.  — SUSCRPTI- 

BLE  HE^RT.— TO0NO  MAIDEN  WHO  LIVES  OUT 

^OF    TiyWN.— GBAlID    COLLISION    OF    TWO    AB- 

ITBACneO  L0V9BS  IN  THE  PUBLIC  STREETS.  66 

IUDmasiuifc-^way|«.r«plUi 


FEEL   ENCOUBAO KD .7. 83 

Il.LCBTIIATIO!«.-^ick  llliokl  it'Ovo'. 

CHAPTER  XXXVI. 

SHOWIN&  HOW  DIFFICULT  TT  IS  TO  GET  A  tM!t- 
PBESS,  FOR  THE   SEMATOR  WAKTKB  0X1,  tSO 

-       • .  .M.  .      * 


'(M*»J'  - 


FOUTEB. 
S 

— TflE 

7j 

OSS     OF 

DUT- 

.    77 

KP  nEGISg  TO 


ROT  Kxowujo  niE  laVguaoe  got  ikto  a' 

SCEAPE,  NOT  BV  HIS  OW*  FAULT,  FOR  HE  WAS 
CAEEFDL  ABOUT  COMMITTING  HIMSELF  l¥ITH 
TUB  LADIK8;  llliT  PRAY,  WAS  IT  IU8  FAULT 
IF  THE  LADIES  WOULD  TAKE  A  FANCY  TO 
«•«? -  85 


'rr«  Wofe  *'"'""'  '^  •  "^  •"^-TOe  ^no. 


'CIlJ^^'TEB  xxxvjr. 


\ 


Rome.  —  Anaentllistoty.  —  the   pbehiStoiiic 

ERA.— CRITIC  J*  EXAMINATION  OP  NIBBUHR 
AND  HIS  8CIl6^..— Tlk  EAItLY  HISTORY  OF 
ROME  PLACED  ON  A  RIGHT  BASIS.— EXI'LANA- 
TION  OF  HISTORY  OF  HEPUllLIC— NAPQLEON'S 

"CESAR." THE    IMPERIAL    REGIME. THE 

NORTHERN  BARBARIANS RISE  OP  THE  PA- 
PACY.—MEDI.eVAL  ROMB. 
TopO<jraphg.—IBVii  ADJUSTMENT  OP  BOUNUh  OF 
ANCIENT  CIT^— ITS  PROBABLE  POPULATION.— 
OeOfoyjr.— EXAMINATION  OF  FORMATION  — 
TUFA  TRAVERTINE.— ROMAN  CEMENT.— TEREA- 

cortx.—SjKcial  consideration  of  Roman  Cata- 

C0m6«.—B0SIO.-l-ARHIN0in.—VAEDINAL  WISE- 
MAN. —  RECENT  EXPLOKATIOIWJSJNVESTIOA- 
TIOSS,  EXAMINATI0S8,  E.XIIDMATIOMS,  AND  RE- 
SUSCITATIONS.—EARLY  CHRISTIAN  HISTORY 
SET  ON  A  TRUE  BASI8.—RELIC8.— MARTYRS 
—HEAL  ORIGIN  OF  CATACOMBS.— TRUE  AND 
RELIABLE  EXTENT  (wiTH  MAPS). 

Remarhon  Art.— the  renaissance.— the  ear- 
ly PAINTERS:  CIMABUE,  GIOTTO,  PEHUOINO, 
HAFAELLB  SANZIO,  MICHELANGELO  BUONAROT- 
TI.-THB  TRAKSFIGUIJATION.- THE  MOSE^  OF 
MICHELANGELO.  —  BELLINI.-  SAINT  PETER's, 
AND  MORE  PARTICULARLY  THE  COLONNADE  — 
THE  LAST  JUDGMENT.- DANTE.— THE  MEDI.E- 
VAL  SPIRIT.— EFFECT  OF  GOTHIC  ART  ON  ITAI  Y 
AND  ITALIAN  TASTE. —COMPARISON  OF  LOM- 
BARD WITH  SICILIAN  CHURCHES.— TO  WHAT 
E.\TENT  ROME  INFLUENCED  THIS  DEVELOP- 
ME.NT.  —  THE  FOSTERING  SPIRIT  OF  THE 
CHURCH.- ALL  MODERN  ART  CHRISTIAN.— 
WHY  THIS  WAS  A  NECESSITY.— FOLLIES  OF 
MODERN  CRITICS.- REYNOLDS  AND  RUSKIN.- 
now  FAR  POPULAR  TASTE  IS  MORTII  ANY 
THLNG.— CONCLUDING  REMARKS  OF  A  MISCEL- 
LANEOUS DESCRIPTION.. ; 88 


.,  CHAPTER  XLT. 

FINAL  J^ACK  OP  REINFOBCEMENTS  OF  BEIO- 
ANDS.— THE  DODGE  CLDB  D|;PIES  THEM  AND 
KEPELS  THEM.^HOW  TO  MAKE  A  BARRICADE 
— FRATERNI2ATi6n  op  AMERICAN  EAGLE  AND 
GALLIC  COCK.— there's  NOTHING  LIKE  LEATH- 
^^■■■■f-- : 06 

lLLU8T^ATio»._An  International  Affidr. 


CHAPTER  XLII. 


K. 


I'lOEENCE.— DESPERATION   OP   BUTTONS,  OF   MR. 

FI0G8,  AND  OF  THE  DOCTOR 99 

lLLiraTKATiONa_Florenco,fram  S«n  Miniatn.-Plttl  Pal- 
EnTwy!  ^""""""'^-A^zzJ    Palace.- Uuttona 
CHAPTER  XLIII.    , 

THE  SENATOR  ENTRAPPED.— Tllli  WILES  AND 
WITCHERY  OF  A  QUEEN  OF  SOCIETY.  —  HIS 
FATE  DESTINED  1<»  BE,  AS  HE  THINKS,  ITALIAN 
COUNTESSES.— SEN-tlMENTAL  CONVERSATION  — 

POETfeY.—BEAUTY^MOONLJGHT.— RAPTURE. 
—DISTRACTION.— BLISS  '.\.. y^. \Q^ 

Ilh;str.\tion.— Lii  Clca. 


3!. .>., 

■  r 


CHAPTER  xxxviir. 


CHAPTER  XLIV. 

MORERE  DIAGORA,  NON  ENIM  IN^fcffiLUil'  AD- 
8CENSURU8  ES."— THE  APOTHEOSIS  OF  THE 
SENATOR  (NOTHING  LESS— IT  WAS  A  MOMENT 
IN  WHICH  A  MAN  MIGHT  WISH  TO  DIE- 
THOUGH,    OF     COURSE,    THE     SENATOR     DIDN'T 

""'"^ 10« 

Ii.UTSTE^TiON8.-Solfeiino!_Tho  Senator  Speaks. 

CHAPTER  XLV. 

THE  PRIVATE  OPINION  OF  THE  DOCTOR  UIOUT 
FOREIGN  TRAVEL.  —  BUTTONS  STILL  MEETS 
WITH  AFFLICTIONS jgjj 

Iu.u3Tn\iioHS.-A  Grease  Spot.-Farewell,  FIgga! 
CHAPTER  XLVI. 

A  MEMORABLe  DRIVE.- NIGHT.— THE  BRIGANDS 
ONCE  MORE.— garibaldi's  NAME;— THE  FIRE. 
—THE  IRON  BAR.— THE  MAN  FROM  THE  GRAN- 
ITE  STATE  AND  HIS  TWO  BOYS lH 

A  Free  Fight— Dou't 


"'li!»^"*?»'"  ""''"*'  ""■"«— ^CBA^-nnKEAK-!  I,...r.TnAT.o.x8. -In  the  Coach. 

nOWN.  — AN    AUMY    OF   BEGGARS. —SIX    MKN  i       SlKak. 

HUNTING  IP  A  CARRIAGE  WHEEL;   AND  PLANS  1 

OF  THE  SENATOR  FOB  THE  GOOD  OP  ITALY.    88  ' 
lurmpOATioN^-Tra^ltog  in  lUly.'-The  Senator's  Es- 


CHAPTER  XLVH. 


CHAPTER  XXXIX. 

IttiniPHANT  PROOEE88  OF  DICK. -GENDARMES 
lOILLII.— THE    DODGE   CLUB    IS    ATTACKED  BY 

■  """-^WS,  AND  EVERY  MAN  OF  IT  COVERS  IIIM- 
BfcLF  WITH  0LOBY.-8CREAM  OF  THE  AMERI- 
CAN  eagle! 


TMmATiosfc-DIck  In  hia'oiwjv 


9Ui 


-Pletro The  Barrl- 


CHAPTER  XL. 

PIKASANT  MEDITATIONS  ABODTtRe  WONDERS  OT 
TOBACCO;  AND  THRkB  PLriMANT  ANHCDOTB8 
■r  AN  ITALIAM  BHIO( 


BAD  imCrSES,  BUT  GOOD  MUSES.  — THE  HON- 
ORABLE SCABS  OF  DICK  —A  KNOWLEDGE  Of 
""'"iS _;    ,j5 


CHAPtEll  XLVIII. 


SUrPKRINO  AND  SIlNTIMENT  iT  BOLOGNA MOON- 

SHINE. — BEST  BALM  FOR  Wi)UI(D8 117 

UlUBTHATIO.V UtPfl  ITp. > 


I'*, 


CHAPTER  xr.ix. 

CBOSgINO    ISX»TIIE    ENKMT'S    CODNTHT.r-CON- 
STBBMATION     OF     "the     Cl'^TOX-HO0tB     OPFI- 

CKR9-... 118 

Klcstbatio.v,— ButtoDi  In  BlUa. 


^\>-. 


-^ 


>t 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  L. 


VENICE  AND  ITS  FECCI.U8  OLORT.-^THB  DODOE 
CLUB  COMB  ;^ORIEr  AT  LAST. — pP  A  THEE.— 
a  A  NET,  ETC L 119 

iLLCsjraATiONg— Dlck'9  Luggsge.— Arretted.— Silence! 

CHAPTER  LI. 

THE  AMERICAN  EAOLE  AND  THE  A(^TRIAN  DOlTll- 
LE-HEADED  Drrio ,....^ 122 

/ixcBTBATioH.— "Don't  Try  it  On  WlthJMe!" 


CHAPTER  LIV. 


CHAPTER  LH. 


I 


THE  SENATOR  STILL  ENGAGED  IN  I  FACING  DOWN 
THE  AUSTBUN.— TUB  AMEBIojlN  fONKJL.— 
UNEXPECTED  RE-APPEARANCE  OP  FORdOTTEN 
4HIN08. — COLLAPSE  OP  THE  COtRT 124 

ILU7BTBATI0N.— Watts  Mis-ppelled. 

CHAPTER  LIII.j< 

A  MTSTEBKJD8  PLIGHT. — DE8FAI|k  OP  BUTTONS. 
— PURBDIT.— HISTORIC  GROUND,  AND  HISTORIC 
CITIES .' J 126 

ILLISTOAXIOH.— Formalities.      '.  i       ^ 


PICK  MEETS  AN  OLD  FRIEND. — THE  EM0TI0*;ai 
NATOItE  OF  THE  ITALIAN. — THE  SENATOR  OVEH. 
COME    AND   DUMBFOUNSED J^g 

lu.usTiMTioii.— The  Count  Ugo. 

CHAPTER  LV. 

IN  WHICH  BUTTONS  WRITES  A  LETTER ;  AXD  IS 
WHIC^I  THE  CLUB  LOSES  AN  IMPORTANT  MEM- 
BER.— SMALL  BY  DEGREES  AND  DBAUTIPULLY 
LESS 129 

^    CHAPTER  LVI. 

THE      FAITHFUL     ONE  I DARTS,      DISTRACTION 

love's  VOWS,  OVERPOWERING   SCENE  AT  THE  • 

MEETING    OP    TWO    FOND    ONES. COMPLETE 

BREAK-DOWN  OF  THE  HISTORLiN ]30 

Illubteation. — The  Door. 


CHAPTER  LVH. 


THE   DODOE   CLUB  IN  PARIS   ONCE   MORE.— BUT- 
TONS'S  "jolly  GOOD  HEALTH." 130 

illustbatWn.— "He's  a  Jolly  Good  Fellow  I" 

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THE  «)DGE  aUB,  OB,  ITALY  IN  MDCflCLIX, 


•  lUCKl. 

ClifAl^EKI. 

""^'in^r^"  DODGE  CLUB.-noW  TO  SPEAK 
F^5fCn.-Hpw  TO  RAISE  A  C80WD. 

_  It  ».a.  glorious  dny  in  Itris,  -  The  whole 

^ll  f  i°/''°  P"''"'=  P'""^""'  watching  the 
departure  of  the  army  of  Italy.  Every  imagi- 
«.blo  uniform,  on  foot  and  on  horsd^ck,  en- 
"Tens    the   nrpno        "'  ~ 


--T-X^  ."g'^IlL     ZouaYXja  are.  cveV>>vlwre; 

ImliT r  5"7  '°""** *'°'  '°°''*"ff  <■«'""«"« 
blXl!  ^'I"*  ''^'^  magnificent.  7nn„mora- 
Wo  1  ttle.  red-legged  soldiers  of  tiio  lino  dance 
aDOttt,  gesticnlating  veherhently.  Griscttcs 
jMg  alont  the  neoks  of  departing  braves.  A 
great  many  tears  are  ^ed,  and  a  great  deal-of 


bombast  uttered.  For  the 
invincible  soldiers  of  Franco 
are  off  to  fight  for  an  idea ; 
and  doesn't  every  one  of 
them  carry  a  marshal's  ba. 
ton  in  his  knapsack  ? 

A  troop  of  Cent  Gardes 
comes  tha'iidering  down  in 
a  cloud  of  dul^  dashing  the 
people  right  and  left.  Loud  • 
cheers  arise  :  "  Vive  TEm- 
perenr!"  The  hoarse  voices 
of  myriads  prolong  the  yell. 
It  is  Louis  Napoledn.  He 
touches  bis  hat  gracefully 
to  the  crowd. 

A  chasseur  leaps  into  a 
cab. 

"Wliere  shall  I  take 
you  ?"  . 

"To  Glory!"  shouts  the 
■soldier.  *      ' 

.  The  crowd  applaud.  The 
ca'bman  drives  off  and  don't 
wan\  any  further  direction. 
Here  a  big-bearded  Zou- 
ave kisses  his  big-bearded 
brother  In  a  blouse. 

"Adieu,    nion    fr5re; 
write  me."    , 

''^here  shall  I'Wiito  ?"    ■ 
' 'Direct  to  "Vienna-^>d«te 
restante." 

Every^  fcody   laughs  at 
every  thing,  and  the)  crowd 
are  quite  wild  at  this. 
"A  young  man  is  perched 
upon  a  pallar  jjear  the  gar- 
of  the  Tuilof  ies. '  lie  enjoys  the  scene , 
^  ily.     After'a  whil6  he  takes  a  clay  pipe 
!S  pocket  and  slowly  fills  it.     Havingcom- 
J^Ais- business  he  drft\»s  a  matplt  along 
Jfiii^ijd  is  just  about  lighting  his  pipe. 
Haj!*!"  ■ 

'''&own)j9>»ps  the  lighted  match  on  the  neck 
1°^  °"  ^?^n  "  1^  ^V^-     The  man  scowls  up; 
™»e««^ii^*i8c,  BmlTei  and  waves  his  h&ni""' 
forgivinCTt^i  \mit     •     * 

At  this  nf-qpR  m!an  in  the  midst  of  the 
crowd  stops  iRia  1<^oks  around.  He  Is  a  shWt 
young  rtian,  in  whose  Jace  there  is  a  strange 
mixture  of  innocence  and  shrewdness.     He  i» 


>... 


-^w 


6 


The  dodge  club  j  on,  italy  in  mdccclix. 


palling  a  bnby-carriago,  containing  a  small 
specimen  of  French  nationality,  and  beliind 
him  walks  a  majestic  female. 

The  young  man  Dick  takes  a  quick  survey 
and  recognizes  the  person  who  has  called  liim. 
Down  drops  the  pole  of  the  carriage,  and,  to 
the  horror  of  the  majestic  fcm'ale,  ho  darts  off, 
and,  springing  up  the  pillar,  gntspa  first  the  foot 
and  then  the  hand  of  his  friend. 

"Buttons !"  he  cried  ;  "  what,  you !  vou  hero 
in  Paris!" 

"  I  believe  I  am." 

"  Why,  when  did  yon  come  ?" 

"  About  a  month  ago." 

"I  had  no  idea  of  it.     I  didn't  know  you 

"And  I  didn't  know  that  you  were.  I 
thought  by  this  time  that  you  were  in  Italy. 
What  has  kept  you  here  so  long  ?" 

Dick  looked  confused.  ; 

,fact  is,  I  am  studying  German." 

in  Paris  I     French,  vou  mean." 
^»  * 

izy;  who  with?" 
his  head  toward  his  late  corn- 


woman  ?     How  she  is  scowling 


'Wl 

nt  us!" 

"Is  she ?"  sail)  Dick,  with  some  trepidation. 

"Yes.  But  doii't  look.  Have  you  been 
with  her  all  the  time  ?" 

"Yes,  seven  montlis." 

"Studying  German!"  cried  Buttons,  witli  a 
Uiugh.     "Who  is  she?" 

"  Madame  Bang. 


"Bang?  Well;  Madame  Banife  must  look 
out  for  another  lodger.  You  must  come  wiili 
me,  yoijng  man.  You  need  a  guardian.  It's 
well  that  I  came  in  time  to  rescue  you.  Let's 
be  off!" 

And  the  two  youths  descended  and  were 
soon  lost  in  the  crowd. 

"  Three  flights  of  steps  are  bad  enough  ;  but 
great  Heavens  !  what  do  you  mean  by  taking  a 
fellow  up  to  the  eighth  story?"  * 

Such  was  the  exclamation  of  Dick  as  he  fell 
exliausted  into  a  seat  ifl  ft  little  room  at  the  top 
of  one  of  the  tallest  houses  in  Paris. 
"  Economy',  my  dear  bov." 
"Ehem!" 

"Paris  is  overflowing,  and  I  could  get  no 
otlior  place  without  paying  an  enormous  price. 
Now  I  nm  trj-ing  to  husband  my  mcjans." 
"  I  should  think  so." 
' '  1  sleep  here — " 
"And  have  plenty  of  bedfellows." 
"  I  eat  here—" 

"  The  powers  of  the  human  stomach  arc  as- 
tounding." 

"And  hero  I  invite  my  friends." 
"Friends   only,  J   should    think.     Nothing 
but  the  truest  friendship  could  make  a  mao 
hold  out  in  such  an  ascent." 

"But  come.     Wh&t  are  j'our  plons  ?" 
"I  have  none." 

"  Then  you  must  leagne  yourself  with  me." 
"^I  shall  ho  delighted." 
"  And  I'm  going  to  Italy." 
'•  Then  I'm  afraid  onr  league  is  already  at  an 
end." 

"Why?*'    ■ 

"  I  haven't  money  enough." 
"How  much  have  you?" 
"  Onlj^  five  hundred  dollars ;  I've 
spent  all  the  rest  of  my  allowrncc.'' 
,"Five   hundred?     Why,  man,  I 
have  only  four  hundred."  "  " ' 

"WhatI  and  you're  going  to  Italy?" 
"Certainly." 

"Then  I'll  go  too  and  run  the  risk. 
Buti^this  the  style  ?"  and  Dick  looked 
dolefully  around. 

"  By  no  means— not  always.    But-' 
you  must  practice  economy." 
"  Have  you  any  acquaintances?" 
"  Yes,  two.     We  three  have  formed 
ourselves  into  a  society  for  the  purpose 
of  going  to  Italy.     We  call  oursclve* 
the  ^Jodgo  Club." 
"  The  Dodge  Club  ?'» 
"  Yes.     Because  our  principle  is  to 
dodge  all  humbugs  and  swindles,  which 
make  travelling  so  expensive  generally. 
We  iiftve  gained  mueh  experiencfrak 
ready,  and  hope  to  gain  more.    One 
of  my  friends  is  a  doctor  from  Phil- 
adelphia, Doctor  Snakeroot,  and  the 
other  is  Senator  Jones  from  Maasa* 
cbuictts.     Neither  theJJoctor  nor  the 
Senator  andcntand  »  word  of  any  lan> 


m'  ■'■  ■"> 


THE  DODGfi  CLUB  J  OB,  ITALY  IN  MDCCCLIX. 


gatge  but  tho  American.     That  is  th«  renson 
why  I  became  acquainted  with  them.    ' 

"First  as  to  tho  Doctor,  I  picked  him  up  at 
Dunkirlc.     It  was  in  a  caf<5.     I  was  getting  my 
modest  breakfast  when  I  saw  him  come  in. 
He  sat  down  and  boldly  asked  for  coffee.     Aft- 
9r  tho  usual  delay  tho  gar^on  brought  him  a 
small  cup  filled   with   what  looked   like  ink. 
On  the  waiter  was  a  cup  of  eau  de  vie,  and  a  lit- 
tle plate  contaiping  several  enormous  liim))g  of 
loaf-sugar.  Never  shall  I  forget  the  Doctor's  face  ' 
of  amazement.   He  looked  at  each  jtrtii-lo  in  sue- ' 
cession.    What  was  tho  ink  for  ?  what  the  brnn- ' 
dy  ?  what  the jugar  ?     Ho  did  not  know  that  tho 
two  first  wlien  mixed  makes  the  best  drink  in  tho 
world,  and  tliat  tho  last  is  intended  for  the  pock- 
et of  the  guest  by  force  of  a  custom  dear  to  ev- 
ery Frenchman.     To  make  a  long  story  short, 
I  e.\pluined  to  him  the  mysteries  of  French  <!of- 
fee,  and  we  became  sworn  friends. 
-  "My  meeting  with  the  Senator  was  under 
slightly  different  circumstnnees.     It  was  early 
in  the-^orping.     It  was  chilly.      I  was  walk- 
ing briskly  out  of  town.     Suddenly  I  turned 
a  cornor  and  came  upon  a  crowd.     Thcv  sur- 
rounded a  tall  man.     IIo  was  an  American, 
and  appeared   to  bo  insane.     First  ho  /iiade 
gestures  like  a  man  hewing  or  chopping.    Then 
he  drew  his  hand  across  his  throat.     Then  ho 
staggered  forward  and  pretended  to  fall.    Then 
he  groaned  heavily.     After  which  ho  raised  him- 
splf  np  and  looked  at  the  crowd  with  an  air  of 
mild  inquirj-.  They  did  not  laugh,  fhey  did  not 
oven  smile.     They  listened  respcctfullv,  for  thev 
knew  that  tho  strange  gentleifian  wished  to  ex- 


press something.  On  the  whole,  I  think  if  I 
hadn't  come  up  that  tho  Senator  would  have 
been  arrested  by  a  stiff  gendarme  who  wog  just 
then  coin^^long  the  street.  As  it  was,  I  ar^ 
nvod  jog^ftitno  to  learn  that  ho  was  anxious 
'°  *<"»  UPrench  mode  of  killing  cattio,  and 
was  trying  to  find  his  way  to  the  abattoirs. 
Iho  Senator  is  a  fine  man,  but  eminently  prac- 
tical. He  used  to  think  tho  French  language 
an  accomplishment  only.  Ho  has  changed  his 
mind  since  his  arrival  here.  Ho  has  orje  little 
peculiarity,  and  that  is",  to  bawl  brofeca'Enj.lish 
at  the  top  of  his  voice  when  ho  wants  to  cora'inu- 
nicato  with  foreigners." 


^ot  long  afterward  tho  Dodge  Club  received 
a  new  member  in  the  person  of  Mr.  Dick  Whif- 
fletree.  Tho  introdnctioii  took  place  in  a  mod, 
est  cafe,  where  a  dinner  of  six  courses  was  sup. 
plied  for  the  ridiculous  sum  of  one  franc— soup, 
a  roast,  a  fry,  a  bake,  a  fish,  n  pie,  bread  at 
discretion,  and  a  glass  of  vinegar  generously 
thrown  in. 

At  one  end  of  the  table  sat  the  Senator,  a 
very  large  and  muscular  man,  with  iron-gray 
hair,  and  features  that  wore  very  strongly 
marked  nnd  very  strongly  American.  He  ap- 
peared to  bo  about  fifty  years  of  age.  At  the 
other  sat  tho  Doctor,  a  slender  young  man  in 
Wack.  On  one  side  sat  Buttons^  nnd  opposite 
te  him  was  Dick.  , 

"Buttons,"  said  the  Senator,  "were  you  out 
yesterday  ?" 
"I  was." 
"It  was  a  powjfrful  crowd." 

"  Rather  largo." 
"  It  was  Im-mense.     I  never 
befure  had  any  idea  of  the  popu- 
lation   of  Paris.      New  Tork 
isn't  to  be  compared  to'li."" 

"  As  to  crowds,  that  is  noth- 
ing uncommon  ip  I'aris.  Set 
a  rat  loose  in  the  Champs  Ely-  • 
sees,  and  I  bet  ten  thousand 
people  will  be  after  it  in  flv* 
minutes." 
"Sho!" 

"Anything  will  raise  n  crowd 
in  Paris." 

"It   will   bo  a   small  one, 
then." 

"  My  dear   §enator,  in   an 
hour  from  this  I'll  engage  my- 
selfjo^ise  as  largo  a  crowd  aa  ■ 
llie  Onejwu  sow  yestcrdav." 

"  My  jlear  Buttons,  yoii  look 
like  it." 

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there  is  an  immense 
crowd  outside  already." 

"Then  let  the  scene  of  my 
trial  be  in  a  less  crowded  place 
—the  Place  Vendome,  for  in- 
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Sciences  . 
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8 


THE  DODGE  CLUB ;  OR,  ITALY  IN  MDCCCLIX 


•       "  Name  the  conditions." 

"In  an  hour  from  this  I  engage  to  fill  the 
Place  Vendome  with  people.  Whoever  fails 
forfeits  a  dinner  to  the  Club." 

The  eyes  of  Dick  and  the  Doctor  sparkled. 

"Done  !"  said  the  Senator. 

"All  that  you  have  to  do,"  said  Buttons, 
"  is  to  go  to  the  top  of  the  Colonno  Vendome 
and  wave  your  hat  three  times  when  you  «*nt 
^e  to  begin." 

"I'll  do  that.  But  it's  wrong,"  said  the* 
Senator.  "  It's  taking  money  from  you.  You 
must  lose." 

"Oh,  don't  bcakrmed,"  said  Buttons,  cheer- 
fully. 

The  Dodge  Club  left  for  the  Place  Ven- 
dome, and  the  Senator,  separating  himself 
from  his  companions,  began  the  ascent.  But- 
tons left  his  friends  at  a  corner  to   see  the 


result,  and  walked  quickly  down  a  neighboring 
street. 

Dick  noticed  that  every  one  whom'  he  met 
stopped,  stared,  and  then  walked  quickly  for- 
ward,  looking  up  at  the  column.  These  peo- 
ple accosted  others,  who  did  the  same.  In  n 
few  minutes  many  hundreds  of  people  were 
looking  up  and  exchanging  gknccs  with  one  an- 
other. 

In  a  short  time  Buttons  had  completed  the 
circuit  of  the  block,  and  re-entered  the  Place 
by  another  street.  Ho  was  running  at  a  quick 
pace,  and,  at  a  moderate  calculation,  about  two 
thousand  gamins  de  Paris  ran  before,  beside, 
and  behind  him.  Geils  d'armes  caught  the  ex- 
citement, and  rushed  frantically,  about.  Sol- 
diers called  to  one  another,  and  tore  across  the 
square  gesticulating  and  shouting.  Caniagcs 
stopped;  the  occupants  stared  up  at  the  col. 
umn  ;  horsemen  drew  up  their  rearing  horses ; 
dogs  barked ;  children  screamed ;  up  flew  a 
thousand  windows,  out  of  which  five  thousand 
h6ads  were  thrust. 

At  the  end  of  twenty  minutes,  after  a  very 
laborious  journej^  the  Senator  reoched  the  top 
of  the  column,  'lie  looked  down.        i 

A  cry  of  amazement  burst  from  luim.  The 
immense  Place  Vendome  was  crammed  with 
human  beings.  Innumerable  upturned  faces 
were  staring  at  the  startled  Senator.  All 
around,  the  lofty  houses  sent  all  their  inmates 
to  the  open  windows,  through  which  they  look- 
ed up.  The  very  house-tops  were  crowded. 
Away  down  all  the  streets  wliich  led  to  the 
Place  crowds  of  hum|in  beings  poured  along. 

"  Well,"  muttered  the  Senator,  "  it's  evident 
that  Buttons  understands  these  Frenchmen. 
However,  I  must  perform  my  part,  so  hero 
goes." 

And  the  Senator,  majestically  removing  his 
hat,  waved  it  slowly  around  his  head  seven 
times.  At  the  seventh  whirl  his  fingers  slipped, 
and  a  great  gust  of  wind  caught  the  hat  and 
blew  it  far  out  into  the  air. 


TUK  IXAUI  TkHMI.4K. 


..•  M^^Mls''*''^ 


■^i^'.j^liJSiliih^M^  U^'.'^i^ 


THE  DODGE  CLUB ;  OR,  ITALY  IN  MDCCCLIX.     - 


r 


I      ItfelL 

A  deep  groan  of  horror  burst  forth  fiflm  the 
mnltttnde,  so  deep,  so  long,  so  terrible  that  the 
Senator  tpmed  pale. 

A  hundred  thousand  heads  upturned;  two 
hundred  thousand  arms  wared  furiously  in  the 
air.  The  tide  of  new-comers  flowing  up  the 
other  streets  filled  the  Place  to  overflowing; 
and  the  vast  host  of  people  swayed  to  and  fro,' 
agitated  by  a  thousand  passions'  AH  this  was 
the  work  of  but  a  short  time. 

"Come,"  said  the  Senator,  "  tliis  is  getting 
beyond  a  joke." 

There  was  a  sudden  movement  among-  the 
people  at  the  foot  of  the  column.  The  Senator 
kaned  over  to  see  what  it  was. 

At  once  a  great  cry  came  up,  like  the  than- 
der  of  a  cataract,  warningly,  impcriousry,  tor- 
ribly.     The  Senator  drew  back  confounded. 

Suddenly  he  advanced  again.  He  shook  his 
head  deprecatingly,  and  waved  his  arms  as  if  to 
disclaim  any  evil  motives  Which  they  might  im- 
pute to  him.  But  they  did  not  comprehend 
him.  Scores  of  stiff  gens  d'ormes,  hundreds  of 
little  soldiers,  stopped  in  their  rush  to  the  foot 
of  the  columif  to  shako  their  fists  and  scream  ot 
him. 

"Now  if  I  only  understood  their  doosid  lin- 
go," thought  the  Senator.  "But"— after  a 
pause—"  it  wouldn't  be  of  no  account  up  here 
And  what  an  awkward  fix,"  he  added,  "  for  tlic 
father  of  a  family  tb  stand  hatless  on  the  top 
of  a  pillory  like  this  I     Sho  !" 

There  came  a  deep  rumble  from  the  hollow 
stairway  beneath  him,  which  grew  nearer  and 
Ipudcr  every  moment. 

,   "Somebody's   coming,"  said   the    Senator. 
Wa'al,  I'm  glad.      Misery   loves  company 
Perliaps  I  can  purchase  a  hat." 

In  five  minutes  more  the  heads  of  twenty 
gens  darmes  shot  up  through  the  opening  in 
the  top  of  the  pillar,  one  after  another,  and  re- 
minded the  Senator  of  the  "  Jump-up-John- 
mes"in  children's  toys.  Six  of  them  seized 
nim  and  made  him  prisoner. 

The  indignant  Senator  remonstrated,  and  in- 
formed them  that  ho  was  an  American  citizen. 
His  remark  made  no  impression.     They  did 
not  understand  English. 

The  Senator's  wrath  made  his  hair  fairly 
bristle.  He  contented  himself,  however,  with 
drawing  up  the  programtne  of  an  immediate 
war  between  France  ajid  th«^Great  Republic. 

«ed.  It  was  choked  with  people  rushing  op. 
t>«vcn  gent  emen  fainted,  and  three  escaped  with 
^ly  sprained  limbs.  During  this  /ime  the 
Senator  remained  in  the  custody  of  his  capto«. 

At  last  the  column  was  cleaiwl. 

The  priaoncr  »«,  token  down  «n>hptewHnT 
WD.  Mo  gaw  the  dense  crowd  and  heard  the 
ffllRhty  mnrmnra  of  the  people. 

It  -!  "'!  ^'ir"  '"^"^  *■•"  "» immense  distance. 
u  seemed  miles. 

iJUl^  "''.n!*'*  '''"•  Of  •¥go  edifice  rose 
"^fcwhim.    The  cab  drove  under  a  dark  arch- 

"di  <■         -  ■  V  '       ' 


way,  Thrf  Senator  thought  of  the  dungeons  of 
the  Inquisition,  and  other  Old  World  horrors  of 
which  he  bad  heard  in  his  boyhood. 

So  the  Senator  had  to  give  the  dinner.  TW 
Club  enjoyed  it  amazingly. 

Almost  at  the  moment  of  his  entrance  But- 
tons  had  arrived,  arm  in  arm  with  the  Amer- 
lean  minister,  whoso  representations  and  ex- 
planations procured  the  Senator's  release. 

"  I  wouldn't  have  minded  it  so  much,"  said 
the  Senator,  from  whose  manly  bosom  the  last 
trace  of  vexation  had  fled,  "if  it  hadn't  been 
for  that  darned  policeman  that  collared  me  first 
What  a  Prudence  it  was  that  I  didn't  knock 
him  down !  Who  do  you  think  he  was  ?" 
"Who?" 

"The  very  man  that  was  going  to  arrest  me 
the  other  day  wlicn  I  was  trying  to  find  my  way 
to  the  slaughter-house.  That  man  is  my  evil 
genius.  I  will  leave  Paris  before  another  day." 
"  The  loss  of  your  hat  completed  my  plans  " 
said  Buttons.  "Was  that  done  on  purpose'? 
Did  you  throw  it  down  for  the  sake  of  savine 
'Take  my  hat?'"  ''    *" 

"  No.  It  was  the  wind,"  said  the  Senator, 
innocently.  "But  how  did  you  manage  to 
■  raise  the  crowd  ?  You  haven't  told  us  that  yet. " 
"How?  In  the  simplest  way  possible.  I 
told  every  soul  I  met  that  a  crazy  man  was  go- 
ing up  the  Colonne  Vendomo  to  throw  himself 
down." 

A  light  burst  in  upon  the  Senator's  soul. 
He  raised  his  new  hat  from  a  chair,  and  placing 
it  bcfor*  Buttons,  said  fcnently  and  with  unc- 
tion : 

Keep  it,  Buttons!" 


10 


THE  DODGE  CLUB;  OR,  ITALY  IN  MDCCCLIX. 


TUAT  8  A  UOTFL  lUU- 


CIIAPTER  II. 

ORLEANS. — HOW  TO  QUELL  A  LANDLORD. — HOW 
TO  FIGHT  OFF  HUMDCOS  ;  AND  HOW  TO  TRAVEL 
WITHOUT  BAOOAOB.       ' 

A  TREMENDOUS  uproaf  in  th(;Jiall  of  n  hotel 
at  Orleans  awaked  every  member  of  the  Dodge 
Club  from  the  sound  and  refreshing  slumber 
into  which  (they  had  fallen  after  a  fatiguing 
journey  from  Paris. 

Filing  out  into  the  hall  one  after  another  they 
beheld  a  singular  spectacle. 

It  was  a  fat  man,  bald-headed,  middle-aged, 
with  a  ncU-to-do  look,  that  burst  upon  their 
sight.  ,  .  > 

He  was  standing  in  the  hall  with  flushed  face 
and  stocking  feet,  swearing  most  frightfully.  A 
crowd  of  waiters  stood  around  shrugging  their 
shoulders,  and  trying  to  soothe  him.  As  the 
fat  man  spoke  English,  and  the  waiters  French, 
thcro  was  a  little  misapprehension. 

"There,  gentlemen,"  cried  the  fat  man,  as 
he  caught  sight  of  our  four  friends,  "  look  at 
that !     What  do  yon  call  that  ?" 

"  That  ?"  said  Buttons,  taking  a  paper  which 
the  fat  man  thrust  in  his  face,  "  why,  that's  a 
hotel  bill." 

•     "  A  hotel  bill  ?     Why  it's  nn  imposition  !" 
cried  the  other  excitedly. 

"  I'erhaps  it  is,"  said  Buttons,  coolly. 

"Of  course  it  is !  Read  it  out  load,  and  lot 
these  gentlemen  see  what  they  think  of  it." 

"  I'll  read  it  in  English,"  said  Buttons,  "for 
the  benefit  of  the  Club:" 

MiMter  Dbmt, 

-Jtt  tte  UabMnJMt^ 

One  bed S  frnnrr. 

Dneboota 1      '■ 

One  candle 1      '- 

One  candle 1      " 

One  candle 1      " 

One  candle 1      " 

t>6  frauc*.  I 


One  dinner B  franca. 

Plx  pnrtera. 0  '■ 

One  cab 1  " 

Onetio S  " 

Oiiv  Infonnntlon.  5  " 

Wine 0  " 

Tubaoeo g  " 


"By  Jove!  Thirty-five  francs!  My  dew 
Sir,  I  quite  agree  with  j»u.  It's  an  imposi- 
tion,"  .        "t^^/i 

A  deep  sigh  cxpras||(J  ^ho  relief  of  the  fat 
^man  at  this  mar^  o/  sympathy^!  ' 

"  There's  no j|||^^'  s^id  Bnttons.  "  You'll 
have  to  grin  ^[^^HpV  J'or  you  must  know 
thot  hj  thc^e'|HHKyns  hotel-keepers  nre  in 
league,  oflfensi\'onfia  defensive,  with  nil  the 
cab-drivers;  Jomnibus-drivcrs,  postillions,  truck- 
men, ho^tlQrsj  porters,  errand-boys,  cafe-keep- 
ers, ciecron^s,  tradesmen,  lawyers,  chamber- 
maids, doctors,  priests,  soldiers,  gens  d'armcs, 
fliagistrates,  etc.,  etc.,  etc.  In  short,  the  whole 
commniiity  is  a  joint-stock  company  organized 
to  plunder  the  unsuspecting  traveller." 

"And  must  I  stand  here  and  be  swindled 
without  a  word  ?"  cried  the  other. 

"Bynomeifns.  Row  like  fury.  Call  up 
the  whole  household  ope  by  one,  and  swear  at 
them  in  broad  Saxon.  That's  the  way  to  strike 
terror  into  the  soul  of  a  Frenchman."  ' 

The  fat  man  stared  for  a  moment  at  Buttons, 
and  then  plunging  his  hands  deep  into  his 
trowsers  pockets  ho  walked  up  and  down  the  hall. 

At  lost  he  turned  to  the  others : 

"  Gontlomcn,  is  this  endurable  ?" 

V  Horrible !"  cried  Dick. 
_,/*^AbominBble!"  the  Doctor.  • 

"t"  Infamous  I"  the  Senotor. 

i"  By  jingo  I  I've  a  great  mind  to  go  horae. 
If  I've  got  to  bo  plundered,  I'd  a  durned  sight 
rather  have  my  money  ^o'to  support  our  own 
grdti'lTiiS^ glorious  institutions."  '*., 

There  is  no  doubt  thnt  tlm  nnfoftqiiats  1 
would  have  had  to  pay  up  if  it  had  not  been  for 
the  energetic  action  of  Buttons. 

lie  summoned  the  hotel-keeper  before  him, 
and,  closing  the  door,  asked  hit  fHends  to  sit 
down.  i/ 


THE  DODGE  CLUB;  OR,  ITALY  IN  Mi)CCCLIX. 


11 


Then  Battons,  standing  up,  began  to  repeat  to' 
the  hotel-keeper,  smilingly,  but  with  extroor- 
dinary  volobility,  Daniel  Webster's  oration 
against  Hayne.  The  polite  Frenchman  would 
not  interrnpt  him,  but  listened  with  a  bland° 
though  somewhat  dubious  smile. 

The  Dodga  Club  did  infinite  credit  to  theta- 
selres  by  listening  without  a  smile  to  the  words 
of  their  leader. 

Buttons  then  went  through  the  proposition 
about  the  hypothenuse  of  a  right-angled  tri- 
angle, and  appended  the  words  of  a  few  negro 
songs. 

Hero  the  worthy  landlord  interrupted  him, 
begging  his  pardon,  and  telling  him  that  he  did 
not  understand  English  very  well,  and  could 
his  Excellency  si>eak  French  ? 

His  Excellency,  with  equal  politeness,  regret- 
ted his  want^ complete  familiarity  with  French. 
He  was  forced  when  he  felt  deeply  on  any  sub- 
ject to  express  himself  in  English.  ' 

Then  followed  Cicero's  oration  against  Verres, 
and  he  was  just  beginning  a  speech  of  Chat- 
ham's when  the  landlord  surrendered  at  dis- 
cretion. 

When,  after  the  lapse  of  three  hours  and 
twenty-five  minutes,  the  fat  man  held  his  bill 
toward  him,  and  Buttons  offeiyl  five  fiftncs, 
he  did  vqt  even  remonstrate,  but  took  tJic  money, 
and  hastily  receipting  the  bill  with  his  pencil] 
darted  from  the  room. 

"Well,"  exclaimed  the  Senator,  when  he 
had  recovered  from  the  cflFccts  of  the  scene — "  I 
never  before  realized  the  truth  of  a  story  I  once 
heard."  »   . 

"  What  was  the  storj- ?" 

"  Oh,  it  was  about  a  bet  be- 
tween a  Yankee  and  a  French- 
man, who  could  talk  the  long- 
est. The  two  were  shut  up 
in  a  room.  They  remained 
there  three  days.  At  the  end 
of  that  time  their  friends  broke 
open  the  door  and  entered, 
and  what  do  you  think  they 
found  there?"  * 

"Nobody?"  suggested  the 
fat  man. 

"No,"  said  the  Senator, 
with  a  glow  of  patriotic  pride 
on  his  fine  face.  "  But  they 
found  tlie  Frenchman  lying 
dead  upon  the  floor,  and  the 
Yankee  whispering  in  his  ear- 
the  beginnii\g  of  the  second 
part  of  the  Higgins  story." 

"  And  what  is  the  Higgins 
•tory?" 

"For  Heaven's  sake," 
g**P<xl  the  Dnrtnr.  -fttAriuu*^ 
np,  "don't  ask  him  now— 
wait  till  next  week  1" 

A»  they  passed  over  the 
monntaini  of  Auvergne  a  new 
member  wag  added  to  tho 
Dodge  Club. 


It  was  the  fut  man. 

He  was  President  of  a  Western  bank. 

His  name  was  Figgs. 

It  was  a  daiftp,  dull,  dreary,  drenching  night, 
when  the  lumbering  diligence  bore  tho  Dodge 
Club  through  the  streets  of  Lyons  and  up  to 
the  door  of  their  hotel.  Seventeen  men  and 
five  small  boys  stood  bowing  ready  to  receive 
them. 

Tlio  Senator,  Buttons,  and  Dick  took  the 
small  valises  which  contained  their  travelling 
apparel,  and  dashed  through  the  line  of  servitors 
into  the  house.     The  Doctor  walked  after,  se- 
renely ond  majestically.     He  hud  no  baggage. 
Mr.  Figgs  descended  Vrcuji  the  roof  with  con- 
sidcrablc  diflJculty.     Slicing  from  the  wlieel, 
he  fell  into  the  outstretched  arms  of  three  wait- 
ers.    They  put  him  on  his  feet. 
His  luggage  was  soon  ready. 
Mr.  Fi^gs  had  two  trunks  and  various  ottier 
articles.     Of  tliese  trunks  seven  waiters  took 
one,  and  four  the  other.     Then 
Waiter  No.  12  took  hat-box ; 

"     13    "     travelling^lesk ; 
"     14    "     Scotch  plaid; 
"     15    "     over-coat; 
"     IC    <•     umbrella; 
"     17    "     rubber  coat; 
Boy     "       1    "     cane; 
"       "       2    "     miifllcr; 
"       "       3    "     one  of  his  mittens ; 
"        "       4    "     the  other;    ; 
"       "       6    "     cignr-oase. 
After  a  long  and  laborious  dinner  they  rose 
ond  smoked. 


aoiM  AOAiim  vntM. 


1^. 


m„A' 


M 


THE  DODGE  6lUB;  OR,  ITALY  IN  MDCCCLIX. 


V-^ 


HAC-B-B-B-BE I 

The  head  waiter  informed  Mr.  Figgs  that 
with  his  permi88ion  a  deputation  would  wait  on 
him.  Mr.  Figgs  was  surprised,  but  graciously 
invited  the  deputation  to  walk  in.  They  ac- 
cordingljr  walked  in.  Seventeen  men  and  (ire 
boys. 

•'What  did  they  wont?" 
■^■,  •,'  0h,  only  a  pourboire  with  which  .to  drink 
wB^llency'a  noble  health."  • 

"  Really  they  did  his  Excellency  too  much 
honor.     Were  they  not  mistaken  in  their  man  ?" 

"  Oh  no.  They  had xarried-his  luggage  into 
the  hotel" 

Upon  this  Mr.  Figgs  gave  strong  proof  of  poor 
moral  training,  by  breaking  out  into  a  volley  of 
Western  oaths,  which  shocked  one  half  of  the 
depntation,  and  made  the  other  half  grin. 

Still  they  continned  respectful  but  firm,  and 
reiterated  their  demand. 

Mr.  Figgs  called  for  the  landlord.  That  gen- 
tleman was  in  hed.  For  his  wife.  She  did 
not  attend  to  the  business.  For  the  Ji«ad  wait- 
er. The  spokesman  of  the  depntation,  with  a 
polite  bow,  informed  him  that  the  head  waiter 
stood  before  him  and  was  quite  at  his  service. 

The  scene  was  ended  by  the  sudden  entrance 
of  Buttons,  who,  motioning  to  Mr.  Figgs,  pro- 
ceeded to  giro  each  waiter  a  douceur.  One 
after  another  took  the  profiered  coin,  and  with- 
out looking  at  it,  thanked  the  generous  donor 
with  a  proflisipn  of  bows. 

Five  minutes  after  the  retreating  form  of 
Bottoni  had  vanished  through  the  door,  twenty- 
one  persons,  consisting  of  men  and  boys,  stood 
staring  at  one  another  in  blank  amazement. 

Anger  followed ;  then 

He  had  given  each  one  a  centime. 

Bnt  the  customs  of  the  hotel  were  not  to  be 
changed  by  the  shabby  conduct  of  one  mean- 
minded  person.  When  the  Club  prepared  to 
retire  for  the  night  they  were  taken  to  some 
roooM  opening  into  each  other.    Five  waiters 


le^  tho-wny ;  one  woiter  to 
ejsdh  man,  and  each  carried  a 
piiir  of  tall  wax-candles.  Mr. 
Figgs's  waiter  took  him  to  his 
room,  laid  down  the  ligliti, 
and  departed. 

The  doors  which  connected 
the  rooms  were  nil  opened 
and  Mr.  Figgs  walked  throiiKh 
to  see  about  something.  He 
saw  the  Doctor,  the  Senator, 
Buttons,  and  Dipk,  each  draw 
the  short,  well-used  stump  of 
a  wax-candle  from  his  coat 
pocket  ond  gravely  lipht  it. 
Then  letting  the  melted  wax  ' 
fall  on  the  mantlc-pieccs  thcr 
stuck  their  candles  there,  and 
in  a  short  time  the  rooms 
were  brilliantly  illuminated. 

The  waiters  were  thunder. 

struck.      Such   a   procedure 

had  never  come  within  the 

compass  of  their  experience  of  the  ways  of 

travellers. 

"  Bonsoir, "  said  Buttons.  "  Don't  let  us  de- 
tain you." 

They  went  out  stupefied. 
"  What's  the  idea  now?"  inquired  Mr.  Figgs. 
"Oh,  they  charge  a  franc  apiece  for  each 
candle,  and  that  is  a  swindle  which  we  will  not 
submjitto." 

"And  will  I  have  to  be  humbugged  again?" 
"  Certainly." 
"Botheration." 

"  My  dear  Sir,  the  swindle  of  bougies  is  the 
curse  of  the  Continental  traveller.  None  of  us 
are  particularly  prudent,  but  we  are  all  on  the 
watch  against  small  swindles,  and  of  them  all 
this  is  the  most  frequent  and  most  insidious,  the 
most  constantly  and  ever  recurrent.  Beware, 
my  dear  President,  of  bougies— that's  what  we 
call  candles." 

Mr.  Figgs  said  nothing,  but  leaned  agaiil|{  < 
the  wall  for  a  moment  in  a  meditative  mood,  tig 
if  debating  what  ho  should  do  next. 

He  happened  to  be  in  the  Doctor's  room.  He 
had  already  noticed  that  this  gentleman  had  no 
perceptible  baggage,  and  didn't  understand  it. 
But  now  he  saw  it  all. 

The  Doctor  began  gravely  to  make  prepara- 
tions for  the  night. 

Before  taking  off  his  over^coat  he  drew  vari- 
ous articles  from  the  pockets,  among  which 
were: 


A  balr-bnub, 
A  tpoth-bnuh, 
A  thoe-bnuh, 
A  pot  of  blacking, 
A  niglit-ihirt, 

A  pipe. 

A  pouch  of  tobaceok 

AnuEor, 

A  •liaTlnR-bruib. 

A  pleoe  oc  Hiap,  f 


A  Dight^D, 

AbatUeofhair.on. 
A  pbtol, 
^  Kuide-book, 
jAjjIgar-caie, 

~~A^lNMls^kiiltk^  " 

Apleoaofcord, 
A  handkerohior, 
A  caw  of  iiiigkal  in* 

■tmmeota, 
Borne  Mil  of  eandlM. 


Mr.  Figgs  mthed  from  the  room. 


.  ii;W*ii^.t\kAikfij!.Vfe)^iA  ■\i:^Tiii.i^hU^i'Jiij^i^'^'^(^'^J^ 


THE  DODGE  CLUB  j  OB,  ITALY  IN  MDCCCLIX. 


)n't  let  US  de- 


NUMIIKS  TJ9. 

! 

CHAITER  III. 

THE  HHOlfB  IN  A  BAIN.— THE   MAD  PBENCHMAN 
—SUICIDE  A  CAPITA^-  CBIMB  IN  FBANCB. 

The  steamboats  that  run  Jon  tbo  Rhono  are 
very  remarkable  contrivances.     Their  builders 
have  only  aimed  nt  combining  a  maximum  of 
length  with  a  minimnra  of  otlier  quolities,  so 
that  each  boat  displays  nn  incredible  extent  of 
deck  with  no  particular  breadth  at  all.    Five 
gentlemen    took  refuge  in   the   cabin   of  tho 
Eloik,  from  the  drenching  min  which  fell  dun- 
ing  half  of  their  voyage.     This  was  an  absurd 
ressel,  that  made  trips  between  Lyons  and  Avign- 
on.   Her  accommodations  resembled  those  "of 
a  canal  boat,  and  she  was  propelled  by  a  couple 
of  paddle-wheels  Urivenl^  a  Lilliputian  dngino 
It  was  easy  enough  for  her  to  go  dowii  tho 
nver,  as  tlio  current  took  the  responsibility  of 
moving  her  along ;  but  how  she  could  over  get 
back  it  was  difficult  to  tell. 

They  were  borne  onward  through  some  of  the 
fairest  scenes  on  earth.  Ruined  towers,  ivy- 
covered  castles,  thnnder-blusted  heights,  fertile 
valleys,  luxnriant  orchards,  terraced  slopes,  trel- 
lised  vineyards,  broad  plains,  bounded  by  dis- 
tant mountains,  whoso  summits  were  lost  in  tho 
clouds;  such  were  the  successive  charms  of  tho 
region  through  which  they  were  passing.  Yet 
though  they  were  most  eloquently  described  in 
the  letters  which  Buttons  wrote  home  to  his 
fnends,  it  must  ba  confessed  that  they  made 
but  little  impression  at  the  time,  and  indeed 
were  Marcely  seen  at  all  through  the  vapor- 
covered  cabin  windows. 

Avignon  did  not  excite  their  enthusiasm. 
In  vam  the  gnide-book  told  them  about  Pe- 
"""L'Zii?!^  Tho  usual  raptures  were 
tethcomlDg,  ^  vSm  iSe  dceione  led 
ftem  through  the  old  papal  palace.  Its  sombre 
*•«»  awakened  no  emotion.     The  only  effect 


18 

Aries  was  much  more 
satisfactory.  Tlicre 
are  more  pretty  wom- 
en in  Aries  than  in 
any  other  town  of  tlie 
stime  size  on  the  Con. 
tinent.  Tho  Club 
created  an  unusual 
excitement  in  this 
peaceful  town  by  walk- 
ing slowly  through  it 
in  Indian  file,  nar- 
rowly scrutinizing  ev- 
erything. They  won- 
dered much  at  the 
numbers  of  people  that 
filled  the  cathedral, 
all  gnyly  dressed.  It 
was  not  until  after  a 
long  calculation  that 
;4hey  found  out  thn'tit 
was  Sunday.    Riittons 


prodaced  was  on  the  Senator,  who  whiled  away 
TJ^^.  "'  ^''^  bed-time  by  pointing  out  the 
wpenority  of  American  institutions  to  those 
wwch  leuvd  the  prisons  which  ihey  had  visited.  | 


kept  his  memorandum-book  in  his  hand  all  day, 
and  took  account  of  all  the  pretty  women  whom 
%  saw.  Tho  number  rose  as  high  as  72<J.  Ho 
would  have  raised  it  higher,  but  unfortunately 
an  indignani  citizen  put  a  stop  to  it  by  chnrg- 
ing  him  with  impertinence  to  his  wife. 

On  the  railroad  to  Marseilles  is  a  famous 
tunnel.  At  the  last  station  before  entering 
the  tunnel  a  gentleman  got  in.  As  they  passed 
through  tho  long  and  gloomy  place  there  sud- 
denly arose  a  most  outrageous  noise  in  the 
car. 

It  was  tho  new  passenger. 
Occasionally  the"  light  shining  in  would  dis- 
close him,  dancing,  stamping,  tearing  his  hair, 
rolhng  his  eyes,  gnashing  his  teeth,  and  curs- 
ing.  , 

"  Is  he  crazy  ?"  said  Dick.  \ 

"  Or  drunk  ?"  said  -Buttons.  ^ 

Lo  and  behold  1  just  at  the  train  emerged 
from  the  tnnnel  the  passenger  made  a  frantic 
dash  at  tho  window,  fliAig  it  open,  and  befo^ 
any  body  could  speak  or  move  he  was  half  onft  , 
To  spring  over  half  *  d6zen  scats,  to  Ian* 
behind  him,  to  seize  his  ohtakretched  leg,  to  jerk 
him  in  again,  was  but  the  Work  of  a  moment. 
It  was  Buttons  who  did  this,  and  who  banged 
down  the  windpw  again. 

"  Sac-r-r-B-B-RcJ !"  cried  the  Frenchman. 
"Is  it  that  you  are  mad  ?"  said  Buttons. 
" Sacrd  Blen !"  cried  tho  other.      "  Who  am 
yon  that  lays  hands  on  me  ?" 

"  I  saved  you  from  defp'nction."  ■' 

"Then,  Sir,  you  have  no  thanks.  Behold 
me,  I'm  a  desperate  man !" 

In  truth  he  looked  like  one.  His  clothe* 
were  all  disordered.  Jlialipgjwere^  WeediBft 
and  moSt  of  his  hair  was  torn  out.  By  this 
time  the  guard  had  come  to  the  spot  All 
those  in  the  car  had  gathered  round.  It  was  a 
long  ear,  second-class,  like  the  American. 

"BTsieu,  how  is  this?    What  is  it  that  I 
see  ?    Yon  endeavor  to  kill  yoarvelf  ?" 
"Leave  me.    1  am  desperate." 


f.H    '  -ft4^ 


14 


"  But  no; 

"  Listen. 

to  Avi^on; 


X'aia 


THE  DODGE  CLUB;  OB,  ITALY  IN  MDCCCLIX. 


M«ieu,  what  is  it  V 
I  enter  the,  train  thinking  to  go 
I  have  importaixt  business  there, 
most  important.  Suddenly  I  am  struck  by,  a 
thought.  I  find  I  have  mistaken.  I  nm  car- 
ried te  Marseilles.  It  is  the  c?<prcss  train,  and 
I  must  go  nil  the  way.  Ildrror !  Despair ! 
Life  is  of  no  use  !  It  is  time  to  resign  it !  I 
die !  Accorditigly  I  attempt  to  leap  from  tho 
window,  when-  this  gentleman  seizes  mo  by  tho 
leg  and  pulls  mo  in.     Behold  all." 

"  M'sieu,"  said  tho  guard,  slowly,  and  with 
emphasis,  "  you  have  committed  a  grave  of- 
fense.    Suicide  is  a  capital  crime." 

"A  capital  erim*!"  exclaimed  tho  French- 
man, turning  pale.     "  Great  Heaven  !" 


beauty.  Here  the  Mediterranean  rolls  its  wa. 
tors  of  deepest  blue,  through  the  clear  air  the 
landscape  appcar»  with  astonishing  distinctness 
opd  tho  sharply-defined  lines  of  distinct  objects 
surprise  tho  Northern  eye.  Marseilles  is  al- 
ways a  pictHros(|ue  city.  No  commercial  town 
in  tlie  world  can  compare  with  it  in  this  respect. 
On  tho  water  float  the  Mediterranean  craft, 
rakish  boats,  with  enormous  latteen  sails  ;  lopi;, 
low,  sharp,  black  vessels,  with  a  suspicious  air 
redolent  of  smuggling  and  piracy,;*  No  tides 
rise  and  fidl  —  ndvancd  and  retreat.  The 
waters  are  always  tho  same. 

All  tho  Mediterranean  nations  are  represent- 
ed in  Marseilles.  Three-quarters  of  the  world 
send  their  people  here.     Europe,  Asia,  Afriiiu 


"  Yes,  Sir.     If  you  Icaj)  from  the  car  I  shall   In  the  streets  tho  Syrian  jostles  the  Sptmiunl 


put  you  in  irons,  and  hand  you  over  to  tho  j)o- 
lico  when  we  stop." 

Tho  Frenchman's  pale  face  grew  paler.  Ho 
became  humble.  He  entreated  the  guard's 
compassion.  Ho  begged  Buttons  to  intercede. 
Ho  had  a  family.     Moreover  he  had  fought  in 


tho  Italian  tho  Arab;  tho  Moor  jokes  with  ilie 
Jew;  the  Greek  chaffers  with  the  Algcrine  ;  the 
Turk  scowls  nt  the  Corsican ;  the  liussinn  from 
Odessa  pokes  the  Maltese  in  the  ribs.  There  is 
no  want  of  variety  here.  Human  nature  is 
seen  under  a  thousand  aspects.     Marseilles  ij 


tho  wars  of  his  country.     Ho  had  warred  in  ■  tho  most  cosmopolitan  of  cities,  and  represents 
Africa.     He  appealed  to  the  Senatir,  tho  Doc-  !  not  only  many  races  but  many  ages, 
tor,    to  Figgs,  to   Dick.     Finally   ho   became  !      Moreover  it  is  a  fast  city.     New  York  is  not 
calm,  and  the   train  shortly  after  arrived   at  |  more  ambitious;  Chicago  not  more  aspiring 


Marseilles, 

The  last  that  was  seen  of  him  he  was  rushing 
frantically  about  looking  for  the  return  train. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

HAB8EIIXE8. 


San  Francisco  not  moro  confident  in  its  future. 
Amazing  sight !  Hero  is  a  city  which,  at  the 
end  of  three  thousand  years,  looks  forward  to  a 
longer  and  grander  lifo  in  the  future. 

And  why  ? 

Why,  because  she  expects  yet  to  be  tho  arbi- 
ter  of  Eastern  commerce.  Through  her  tho 
gold,  tho  spices,  and  the  gems  of  India  will  yet 
be  conveyed  over  the  European  world.  For  tho 
Suez  Canal,  which  will  onco  more  turn  the 
tide  of  this  mighty  traffic  through  its  ancient 
Mediterranean  channel,  will  raise  Marseilles  to 
the  foremost  rank  among  cities.  ' ' 

So,'  at  least,  the  Mancillaise  believe. 

When  our  travellers  arrived  there  the  city 
was  crammed  with  soldiers.  The  haibor  was 
packed  with  steamships.  Gum  were  thunder- 
ing, bands  playing,  fifes  screaming,  muskets  rat- 
tling, regiments  tramping,  cavalry  galloping. 
Confusion  reigned  supreme.  Every  thing  was 
out  of  order.  No  one  spoke  or  thought  of  any 
thing  but  tho  coming  war  in  Lombardy. 

Excitable  little  red-legged  French  soldiers 
danced  about  everywhere.  Every  one  was  be- 
side himself.  None  could  nso  the  plain  Ian- 
goage  of  every-day  life.  All  were  intoxicated 
with  fa^pe  and  enthusiasm. 

Thglitrovellers  admired  immensely  the  excit- 
ing sceve,  but  their  admiration  was  changed  to 
disgust  fyhen  they  found  that  on  account  of  the 
rush  of  Soldiers  to  Italy  their  own  prospects  of 
getting  there  were  extremely  slight. 

At  Iqogth  they  fonnd  that  a  steamer  was  go- 
ing.^   It  war  «  pFopelior.     Its  name  was 


rr-rrOtA  Matsilia  woanheryearrweH.    To  look 

at  her  now  as  she  appears,  full  of  lifo  and  joy  and  Prince.  Tho  enterprising  company  that  owned 
gayety,  no  one  would  imagine  that  thirty  cen-  her  had  patriotically  chartered  every  boot  on 
turies  or  more  had  passed  over  her  head.  theirline  to  theGovemment  at  an  enornions  prof- 
Here  is  the  first  glimpse  of  the  glorious  South,  it,  and  had  placed  the  /Vmcc  on  tho  lino  for  tlM 
with  all  its  snnsbine  and  luxar;  and  voluptuous  use  of  travellers. 


,#. 


THE  DODGE  CLUB;  OB,  ITALY  IN  MDCCCLIX. 


IS 


niOSE  ITALIANa 


CHAPTER  V, 

THB   RETIBBD   ORGAN  -  OBINDEB.— THE   8ENATOB 
P^80PU,ZE8.-EV,L8  OF  NOT  HA^NoTpAss 

tm     The  dark-blue  waves  ;  the  sicics  of  dark- 

Z^lZ'J  f""'  '''"'"f  P"*^!''*'  ^"'h  their 
crowns  of  everlasting  snow;  and  the  beetlinit 
precipico  where  the  vexed  waten,  forever  throw 
up  tbeir  foammg  spray;  the  frequent  hamlets 

h.  T  T"^  l^*""  '  *«  *='«"«'  »°'J  towers 
S  'TV'  '"^  '"''S'**''!  ""'l  the  road 
bu  winds  tortnoasly  along  tlie  shore-*lI  these 

tt.haro^^h'V.-'"''.  ^""'y  ""^  """""tic 
rtan  that  of  the  Kh,ne  b  contrasted  with  all  the 
grandeur  of  th6  ocean. 

Buttons,  with  his  usual  flexible  and  easy  dis- 
P«.t.on,  rnade  the  acquaintance  of  a  couple  of 
Italians  who  had  been  away  from  Italy  and 
^^.  now  returning.     They  4..  tn^velK  ^c' 

"  gS '/"i^ST^  ."'"^  'T^"  "'"'^ '°  e«'  b^jk. 

^the«  r  ^'^*""'  '■°"'^*""  °f  "*«'■•  ««""t7  than 
TS'?'.''''"'"-    «««>  they  not  the  beat 


rv^ 


2^tbSltVrh?taly'^™"-'"^-''-^" 


B 


How  can  you  ask  that  ?  If  you  know  the 
history  of  the  country  yon  will  see  that  it  has 
been  impossible.  No  other  was  j^  so  beset 
It  IS  split  up  into  diflerent  StatMUt  ig  gur 
rounded  by  powerful  enemies  wh^M|°  advan" 
tage  of  this.  It  would  not  be  so  bSl  if  therJ 
wenj;only  one  foreign  foe ;  but  there  are  manr. 
and  if  one  were  driven  out  another  would  step 

"There  will  be  a  chance  for  them  now  to 
show  what  they  can  do." 

"  True  ;  and  yon  will  see  what  they  will  do. 
T^iey  only  want  the  French  to  open  the  way. 
Wa  Italians  can  do  the  rest  ourselves.  It  is  a 
good  time  to  go  to  Italy.  You  will  see  devo- 
tion  and  patriotism  such  as  you  never  saw  be- 

7<'t  CrV^  '*  "°  ">"n»»y*>  beloved  as  Italy." 

I  think  other  nations  are  as  patriotic  " 
"OthernationsI  What  nations?  Do  von 
know  that  tho  Italians  can  not  leave  Italy  ?  '  It 
IS  this  love  that  keeps  them  home.  French 
Germans,  Spaniards,  Portuguese,  English-all 
others  leave  their  homes,  and  go  all  over  the 
world  to  live.  Italians  can  not  and  do  not."  , 
'',1  have  seen  Italians  in  America."  / 

"You  have  seen. Italian  exiles,  not  eraf- 
grants.  Or  you  hare  seen  them  staving  thet« 
for  a  few  years  so  as  to  earn  a  little  money  to 
+»>  back  with.  -TlH^  ^w  only  tnirelfeirw— 
business.  They  are  always  unhappy,  and  are 
ft'"  ^  ""'  '"*''**"  of  getting  home 

These  Italians  were  brothei»,  and  ftom  ex, 
perieneo  m  the  worid  had  grown  very  intelli, 
gent    One  had  been  in  the  hoad-oisan  boai. 


^^'1 


:**.■ 


I 


MW     14  JfjBl-tiV 


16 


THE  DODQE  CLUB ;  OR,  ITALY  IN  MDCCCLIX. 


ness,  the  other  in  tho  imago-making  line.  Ital- 
ians can  do  nothing  else  in  tbo  bustling  com- 
munities of  foreign  iialiobs.  Buttons  looked 
^witli  respect  upon  those  |ncn  who  thus  had  Car- 
ried their  lovo  for  their  deor  Art  for  years 
through  strange  lands  and  uncongenial  elitnes. 

"  If  I  were  an  Italian  I  t«)0  would  bo  an 
organ-grinder !"  he  at  length  exclaimed. 

The  Italians  did  not  rcpl/v  but  evidently 
.thought  that  Button's  could  not  be  in  a  better 
business. 

"These  /taliajis,"  said  tho  Senator,  to  whom 
Buttons  had  told  the  conversation — "  these  /tal- 
inns,"  said  ,hc,  after  they  had  gone,  "  air  a 
singnlai'  people.  They're  deficient.  They're 
wanting  in  the  leading  clement  of  tha  age. 
They  haven't  got  any  idee  of  tho  principle 
of  pro-gress.  They  don't  niid^rstand  trad^. 
There's  where  they  miss  it.  ';>V?hat'8  the  tise 
of  hand-organs  ?  What's  tho  use  of  dancers  ? 
What's  the  use  of  statoos,  whether  plaster  im- 
ages or  marble  sculptoor?  Can  they  clear  for- 
ests or  build  up  States?  No,  Sir;'  and  there- 
'  fore  I  say  thai  this  /talian  nation  will  never  bo 
wuth  a  casR  until  they  are  inocuUtod  with  the 
spirit  of  Seventy-six,  the  principles  of  the  Pil- 
grim Fathers,  and  the  doctrines  of  the  Revo- 
lution. Boney  knows  it" — ho  added,  sentcn- 
tioiisly — "  bless  you,  Boney  knows  it." 

After  a  sound  sleep,  which  lasted  until  late 
in  the  following  day,  they  went  out  on  deck. 

There  lay  Genoa. 

Glorious  sight  t  As  they  stood  looking  at 
tho  superb  city  the  sun  poured  down  upon  the 
scene  his  brightest  rays.  The  city  rose  in  suc- 
cessive terraces  on  the  side  of  «  semicircular 
slope  crowned  with  massive  edifices;  moles 
projected  into  the  harbor  terminated  by  lofty 
towers ;  the  inner  basin  was  crowded  with  ship- 
ping, prominent  among  which  were  conntleas 
French  ships  of  war  and  transports.  Tho  yells 
of  fifes,  the  throbbing  of  drums,  the  bang  of 
muskets,  the  thunder  of  cannon,  and  the  strains 
of  martial  music  filled  the  air.     Boats  crowded 


V.       -S- 


with  soldiers  Constantly  passed  IVom  tho  shipt 
to  the  ston^  quays,  where  thousands  more  wait- 
ed  to  recoivo'  them — soldiers  being  mixed  up 
with  guns,  cannons,  wheels,  muskets,  drums 
baggage,  sails,  beams;  timbers,  camps,  m«t- 
tresses,  casks,  boxes,  irons,  in  infinite  confusion. 

"  Wo  must  go  ashore  here,"  said  Uuttoni. 
"Does  any  b6dy  know  how  long  the  steamer 
will  remain  here?-" 

"A  day." 

"  A  day  !  That  will  bo  magnificent !  \Vc 
will  be  able  to  see  tho  whole  city  in  that  time. 
Let's  go  and  order  &  boat  oflf." 

Tho  Captain  received  them  politely. 

"  What  did  Messieurs  want?  To  go  nsliorc? 
With  the  ntmost  pleasure.  Had  they  their  pass- 
ports ?  Of  course  they  had  them  vised  in  JIar- 
seilles  for  Genoa." 

Buttons  looked  blank,  and  feeblv  imiiiircJ : 

"Why?" 

"It's  the  law.  Monsieur.  We  ore  prohibileil 
from  permitting  |>asscngcrs  to  go  asiiorc  un- 
-less 'their  passports  are  all  right.  It's  a  mere 
form." 

"A  more  form!"  cried  Buttons.  "Why, 
ours  ore  visid  for  Naples." 

"Naples!"  cried  the  Captain,  witlra  shruR; 
"you  are  unfortunate.  Messieurs.  Tliat  will 
not  pass  you  to  Genoa." 

"  My  dear  Sir,  you  don't  mean  to  tell  me 
that,  on  nccounthof  ^iS^  little  informnlity,  yoii 
will  keep  its  prisoners  on  board  of  this  vessel  7 
Consider — " 

"  Monsieur, ".said  tho  Captain,  courteously, 
"I  did  not  make  these  laws.  It  is  the  law ;  I 
can  not  change  it.  I  should  be  most  happy  to 
oblige  you,  buf  I  ask  yon,  how  is  it  possible  ?'" 

The  Captain  was  right.  ^  He  could  do  noth- 
ingf.v  The  tnivellprs  would  have  to  swallow 
th^lt^Age. 

Imagine  them  locking  all  day  at  the  loveli- 
est of  Italian  scenes — the  glorious  city  of  Genoa, 
with  nil  its  historic  associations! — the  city  of 
tho  Dorias,  the  home  of  Columbus,  even  now 


\ 


THE  DODGE  CLUB;  OR,  ITALY  IN  MDCCCLIX. 


Imagine  them  looking  „pon  all  this,  and  only   'ho^  ZCp;.8.DtfklVfh^  '"''*'?  "'r -T' 
looking,  unable  to  go  near  ;  «,eing  all  the  pre^  i  yes^\'rlcH^ZL    ^  °"  ^"''^  "^  "^ 

.ration,  for  war.  bnt  unable  to  „.i„gle  with'  th':  iaralo  Z\or:lTo'ZyTlT:;.anZrs 

alone    Wt^m    naiwwi  T»    .1   _  .  J     . 


warrior..  To  pace  up  and  down  all  day ;  to 
ahake  their  fists  at  the  scene ;  to  fret,  and  fume, 
and  chafe  with  irrepressible  impatience  •  to 
scold,  to  rave,  to  swear— this  was  the  lot  of  the 
unhappy  tourists. 

High  in  tho  startled  heavens  rose  the  thun- 
der of  preparations  for  tho  war  in  Loml>ardy. 
They  hoard  the  sounds,  but  could  not  watch 
the  scene  near  at  hand. 

The  day  was  as  long  as  an  ordinary  week, 
but  at  length  it  came  to  an  end.  On  the  fol- 
lowing  morning  steam  was  got  up,  and  they 
went  to  Leghorn. 

"I  suppose  they  will  play  tho  same  gome 
on  IIS  ot  Leghorn,"  said  Dick,  moamfullv. 

"Without  doubt,"  said  Buttons.  ""But  I 
dbn't  mind  ;  tho  bitterness  of  death  is  past.  I 
tan  stand  any  thing  now."      ' 


It  was  tho  colraneM  of  de- 


alone  were  calnl. 
spair. 

After  watching  Leghorn  for  hours  they  were 
taken  to  Civita  Vecchia.  Here  they  rushc.I 
down  below,  and  during  the  short  period  of 
their  stay  remained  invisible. 

,1  A'  '"h!!  ^\t  T"«°  •'"'•'=''•  »"'!  "'t'y  entered 
he  harbqr  of  Naples.    Glorious  Naples  I    Naples 
the  captivating  I  ^ 

• '  VeJe  Napoliy  e  poi  mori .'" 

There  was  the  Bi^  of  Naplcs-tho  match-., 
less,  tho  peeriess,  the  indescribable!  There 
the  njck^of  Iscliia,  the  Isle  of  Capri,  there  ihe 
slopes  oPSorrento,  where  never^inding  sprin- 
abides ;  there  the  long  sweep  of  Naples  and 
her  sister  cities  ;  there  Vesuvius,  with  its  thin 
volume  of  smoke  floating  likcva  pennon  in  tho 


inriB  KouLR 


-   CHAPTER  VL  "^ 

LAZAKONI  AND  MACAUONl. 

AnocT  forty  or  fifty  lazaroni  surrounded  the 
Dodge  Club  when  they  landed,  but  to  their  in- 
tense disgust  tha  tetter  ignored  them  altogeth- 
er, and  carried  their  own  umbrellas  and  carpet- 
Me«.    But  tho  lajMroni  rovengea  themselves. 

^-  vl^?,'  '*^^'^  '^  P*'^''  "P  hi»  cane, 
Which  had  fallen,  n  number  of  articles  dropped 
flfom  his  b^east-pocke^  and  among  them  was  a 
WTOIver,  a  thing  which  was  tabooed  in  Naples. 
A  wgged  rascal  eagerly  snatished  it  and  handed 


OEI.I.RNOIKS. 


it  to  a  gendarme,  and  it  was  onlv  After' paving 
a  piastre  that  the  Doctor  was  permitted  to  re- 
tain  it. 

Even  after  the  travellers  had  started  off  on 
foot  in  search  of  lodgings  the  lazaroni  did  not 
desert  them.     Ten  of  them  followed  every-    j 


where.  Ar  JnlerfSTs  thqr  respectfully  oflfercd 
to  cafry  their  baggage,  or  show  ^hem  to  a 
hotel,  whyhever  was  most  agrSeable  to  their 
Noblo'Exccllencies. 

Their  Noble  Excellencies  were  in  despair. 
At  length,  stumbling  upon  the  Cafe'  dell'  Eu- 
ropa,  they  rushed  in  and  passed  three  houn 


; 


../ 


Y? 


18 


THE  t)ODGE  CEUB  5  OB,  ITALY  IN  MDCCCLIX, 


over  tRcIr  breakikit.  Tbit  done,  they  congrat- 
ulated themselves  on  having  got  rid  of  their 
followers. ' 

In  vain ! 

Scarcely  had  they  emerged  from  the  cafe 
than  Dick  uttered  a  cry  of  horror.  From  be- 
liirid  a  corner  advanceu  their, ten  friends,  with 
tlio  same  calm  demeanor,  the  same  unrnffl&l 
and  even  cheerful  patience,  and  the  same  re,- 
spectful  offer  of  their  hnmblo  services. 
,  In  despair  tl^ey  separated...  Buttons  and 
Dick  obtained  lodgings  in  tiio  Strada  di  San 
.  Bnrtollomeo.  The  Senator  nqd  the  other  tw6 
engaged  pleasant  rooms  on  the  Strada  ^uova, 
which  overlook^  the  Bay. 

Certainly  Naples  is ,  r  very  cprious  place. 
There  are  mognificent  edifices — palaces,  mon- 
uments, castles,  furtrcsses,  churches,  and  cathe- 
drals. There  are  majestic  rows  of  buildings ; 
gov  sliops,  splendidly  decorated ;'  stately  colon- 
niiJcs,  and  gardens  liko;  Paradise.  There  aro 
streets  unrivAlled  for  gayety,  forever  filled  to 
overflowing  with  the  busy,  the  laughing,  the 
jo)^  ;  dashing- officers,  noisy  soldiers,  ragged 
Iiizaroni,  proud  nobles,  sickly  bcggarSj  lovely 
ladies ;  troops  of  cnvnlry  galloping  uj)  aild 
do.wn ;  ten  thousand  culcchetf  dashing  to  and 
fro.     There  is  variety  enough  everywhere. 

AH  the  trades  arc  divided,  and  arranged  in 
different  parts  of  the  city.  Here  are  the  lock- 
smiths, there  the  cabinet-makers;  here  the 
builders,  there  the  Armorers  ;  in  this  place  the 
bo'sketrweavers,  in  that  the  cork-makers. 

And.  most  amusing  of  all  is  the  street  most 
favored  of  the  lazaroni.  Here  they  live,  and 
move,  and  have  their  being ;  hero  they  are 
Warn,  they  grow,  they  tved,  they  rear  families, 
tiicy  eat,  and  drink,  and  die.  A  long  array  of 
furnaces  extends  up  the  street ;  over  each  is  a 
stew-pan,  and  behind  each .  a  cook  armed  with 
an  enomlbaB  ladle.  At  all  hours  of'theday  the 
c6f}k  serves  up  macaroni  to  customers'.  This  is 
the  diet  of  the  people. 

In  the  cellars  behind  those  linerftf  stew-pans 


aro,tbe  e<4Ii)g^houses  of  the  vulgar — low,  grimy 
places,  floors  incrusted  with  mad^'tabri-a  u( 
thick  deal  worn  by  *  thousand  homy'liands, 
slipp«fty  with  ton  thousand  upset  dishesof  mnc- 
aroni.  ^Ilero  the  |>ewter  plates,  and  the  jruq 
knives,  forks,  and  spoons  aro  chained  to  iiia 
ma-ssivo  tables.  "How  utter  must  the  destitu- 
tion be  when  it  is  thought  necessary  to  clinin 
up  siich  worthless  trash  I  ' 

Into  one  of  these  placA  .went  Bu^ns  and 
Dick  in  their  study  of  human  nature.'  They 
sat  at  theiiiblo.  A  huge  dish  of  macaroni  Vni 
served  uj^-  Fifty  gnosis  stopped  to  look  at  the 
new-comefs.  The  waiters  winked  at  tiio  cus- 
tomers of  tify  ''house,  and  thrust  thett  ^tongues 
in  their  checks.  ■ 

Dick  could  not  eafi  but  the  more  philokoph- 
icnl  Buttons  made  nn  extremely  hearty  meal, 
4ind  ])r<>noimced  the  macaroni  delicious. 

On  binding  in  a  city  tkbich  swarmed  with 
beggars  the  first  thonght  of  our  tourists  \rni. 
How  the  mischief  do  they  ttU  live  ?  There  are 
si.Nty  thousand  lazaroni  in  this  gay  city.  The 
average  amount  of-  clothing  to  cnch  man  ii 
about  qrnw^hird  of  a  pair  ef  tro\Vsers  and  a 
woolM^iop.  But  after  spon(]ing  a  day  or  two  ' 
the  qltiiStion  changed  its  form,  and  bccauic. 
How  tflb  onischief  can  they  all  help  living? 
Food  ma^  be  picked  up  in  the  streets.  Iland- 
fuls  of  oranges  and  other  fruits  sell  for  next  to 
nothing ;  strings  of  figs  cost  abbqt  a  ceilt. 

The  consequence  is  that  these  sixty  thousand 
people,  fellow-creatures  of  ours,,  who  are  known 
as  the  lazaroni  of  Naples,  whom  wo  half  pity 
and  altogether  despise,  and  look  upon  as  the 
lowest  mcmWers  of  the  Caucasian  race,  aro  not 
altogetlicr  very  miserable.  On  the"  contrary, 
taken  as  a  whole,  they  f«mn  the  raggedcst, 
oiliest,  fattest,  dr&llest,  noisiest,  sleekest,  dirti- 
est, ignorantcst,  prejudicedesjl,  narrow-minded- 
est,  shirtlesseat,  clotheslesE^st,  idlest,  carclcss- 
est,  jolliest,  absnrdest,  rascaliest.— but  still,  for 
all  that,  perhaps — taken  all  in  nil— the  happi- 
est community  on  the  face  of  the  earth. 


,.    i 


■-■    4i     '   *_..■"»» ■W>^' 


THE  DODGE  CLUB,'  OH,  rf-ALTT  IN  MDCCCLIX. 


TANKEK  DOODL& 


10 

■1  sotiR?     "Oh  yei!'hop|>y 
beyond  expression  to  do  so." 
,    The  rciuli,  after  ton  fessoni, 
WHS  some! liiiig  liko  this: 

"  Amy  ndodntiinimii  towna 
Hy  lili  rwf  «  po-iMi 
.      Stntxn  (nililik  liinn  mt  ••      ,  • 

K»llii  Uiccnroul." 

She  u8od  to  »ing  th^  in'tl.n 
most  charming  miiniicivesi.i - 
<inlly  01C  Ins't  wonf in  the  hist 
line.  N'ot  the  least  clmrrt  in 
her  manner  wns  her  evident 
conviction  tliat  she  had  mas- 
tered the  English  Innguopc. 

"^yn9  it  not  an- astonish- 
ing thing  for  so  yoimg  a  Sign- , ' 
orinn  to  ktibw  English  ?' 

"Oh,, it  was  indeed!"  so 
nnttons,  who  knew  Iiulil.. 
very  well,  and  had  the  lion's 
shriro  of  tUo  conversation  al- 
ways. "        ■ 

-    "  And  they  said  Tier  a^cnt 
was  fine  ?" 

"Oh,  most  beaiififiijj"" 
" Bellisslma !  Bellissifha!"* 
repeated    little  Dolores,   and 
she  would  laugh  until  licr  eyes 
overflowed  with  delighted  van- 
ity. 

"Could    any    Signoriiia 
Americana  learn  Italianin^so" 


CHAPTER  Vn.  .  short  atimo?" 

■  Ah  !  you  say  all  the  time  that  n,  v  accent  is 

most  beautiful."  „ 

One  day  she  picked  up  a  likeness  of  a  young 
lady  which  was  lying  on  the  table. 

"Who  is  this  ?"  she  asked,  abruptly,  of  But- 
tons.  . 

"  A  Signorina." 

"  Oh  yes !     I  know ;  bnt  is  she  a  relative  ?" 

''  No." 


WHAT  BEFELL  THB^8ENAT0R.-A  CIIAKMINO 
DOMim— A  MporfLlpHT  WALK,  AND  AN  A8- 
tOUNDlNO  DISCOVEKT.  ^^ 

The  lodgings  of  Buttons  andDiek  were  in  a 
remarkably  central  part  of  Naples.  The  land- 
lord was  a  true  Neapolitan;  a  handsome,  gnv, 
witty, iwwy  lively,  rascally,  covetous,  ungrate- 
ful, deceitful,  cunning,  good-hearted  old  scoun- 
drel, who  took  advantage  of  his  guests  in  a 
thoiisand  ways,  and  never  spoke  totthcnviwith. 
out  tryiitg  to  humbug  them.  He  fras  the  fa- 
ther of  a  ptetty  daughter  who  haralf  <ier  par- 
ents nature  somewhat  toned  down,  a^d  eiaiand- 
ed  m  a  feminine  monld. 

Buttons  had  a  chivalrous  souL  and  so  had 
Dick  J  the  vivacity  of  this  very  fricntfly  voung 
«dy  was. like  an  ^wsis  in  the  wilderness  of 
travel.  In  the  evening  they  loved  t6  sit  in  the 
sanshme  f  her  nnile.  She  was  singularly 
naconventton^il,  fti.  landlor4's- dau^hter/nnd 
made  majiy  mfofmal  colls  on  her  two-icilgerg 
in  their  apartment.  '•        ., 

An  innocent,  sprightly  liMle  maid-name  Do^' 
w«»p»ge  seventeen— complexion  olive— haif 
jet  black-eyes  likes  tars,  largo,  luminous,  and 
l««irTt  '*""'  twinkling-i^  anxious  "to 
.TJ:"*  ■;  •."tPf"'"'">'  ^  "'"S  English  songs; 
•niso  ased  tobring  her  guitar  and  singfor  the 
Amencsni.    Would  they  teach  hg  their  nation- 


"  Arc  xpa  married  ?"  '*' 

"No."  -<       ■  ,-      ■ 

"Is  this  yonr  affianced  ?" 

"Vp«"  *^      ,  .  •■ 

What  will  you  be? — a 


Yes.' 

"Ah,  how  strange! 
soldier  or  nn  ndvo'ciitc  ?" 

"  Neither.     I  will  be  a  prie«."> 

i'A  priest  I  Signer,  what  is  it  IJiat  you  tell' 
"";:     ^°^  *^''"  "''•'^  yovet  affianced  lildy  ?" 

"Oh!  in  our.  country  the  priests  all  marry, 
«nd  live  iirWaulifuflittle-cottages,  ^ith  a  gar- 
den in  front." 

This  Dolores  treated  Avith  the  most  contempU 
uotis  dincrednlity.     Who  ever  heard  of  such  a 
.thing^J    Impossible!     Moreover,  it  waswrt^ 
surd.     Buttons  told  her  th^  he  was  affianced 
five  years  ago. 

"  An  etebity !"  exclaimed  Dolores.  "How 
can  you  wait  ?  But  yoa  must  have  been  wn 
young."  ,  ,   ..  ,!      *^  ' 

"  Young  ?    yei,'only  sixteen." 


^^ji.-i  •.*t;.»u-'' .  ^.jf  Ji. 


%-'Vf1 


20 


THE  DODGE  CLUB ;  OB,  ITALY  IN  MDCCOtfitf 


"  Blessed  and  most  venerable  Virgin !  Only 
sixteen !  And  is  she  the  most  beautiful  girl 
you  know  ?" 

"No." 

"Where  have  you  seen  one  more  so?" 

"In  Naples." 

"Who  is  she?" 

"  An  Italian." 

"  What  is  her  n.imo  ?" 

"  Dolores." 

"  That's  mc."  _       ^ 

•'    "  I  mean  yon."  X-',. 

This  was  pretty  direct ;  but  Dolores  was  frank, 
and  required  frankness  from  others.  Some  younj? 
ladies  would  have  considered  this  too  coarse  and 
open  to  be  aeccpl^dc.  But  Dolores  had  so  high 
on  opinion  of  hcrselnthat  she  t^ok  it  for  sincei-e 
homage.  So  she  hjif  closed  her  eyes,  leaned 
back  in  her  clinirJwokcU  languishitivtly  at  But- 
tons, and  then  buret  into  a  merry  jicni  uf  music- 
al laughter.  .1:^' 

<'I  think  I  am  the  most  beautiful  g)rl  you 
ever  saw/'      '  ;; 

It  was  Buttons's  tjMn  to  laugh.  Ho  told  Do- 
lores that  she  was  quite  right,  and  repeated  her 
favorite  word,  "  Bellissima !"  i 

One  evening  when  Dick  was  alone  in  the 
room  a  knock  came  to  the  door. 

"  Was  ho  disengaged  ?" 

"  Oh,  quite." 

"  The  Signora  in  the  rooih  next—" 

"Yes." 

"  Would  bo  happy  to  see  him." 

"Now?" 

"  Yes,  as  soon  as  he  liked." 


The  Signorn  Idid  not  haVe  "to  wait  long.  In 
less  time  than  it  takes  to  tell  this  Dick  stood 
with  his  best  bow  before  her.  How  he  con- 
gratulated himself  on  having  studied  Italian ! 
The  lady  recliiied  on  a  softt.  She  was  about 
thirty,  and  undeniably  pretty.  A  guitar  lay  at 
her  feet.  Books  were  scattered  around — Frcfcli 
novels,  and  manuals  of  devotion.  Intelligence 
beamed  from  her  large,  expressive  eyes.  How 
delightful !  Here  was  an  adventure,  perhspa  a 
fair  conquest. 

"  Good-eveiiing,  Signer !" 
"I  kiss  the  bands  to  your  ladyship,"  snid 
Dick,  mustering  a  sentence  from  Ollcndorfi'. 
"  Pardoh  lie  for  this  liberty." 
"  I  assure  von  it  gives  me  the  grei^tcst  ]ia]>i.i. 
ness,  and  I  am  wholly  at  your  service." 

"  I  have  updetstood  that  you  are  an  Ameri- 
can." j 

"  I  am,  Signora."      <» 
"  And  this  is  your  first  visit  to  Naples  ?" 
"  My  first,  Signora." 
"  How  docs  Naples  please  you  ?" 
"Exceedingly.  The  beautiful  city,  the  crowd- 
cd  streets,  the  delightful  views — above  all,  the 
most  charming  ladies." 

A  bow — a  slight  flush  patted  over  the  ladji^J' 
face,  and  l5ick  whispered  to^liimself — 

"  Well  put,  Dick,  my  b*y — deuced  well  put 
for  a  beginner." 

"  To  come  to  the  point,"  said  the  lady,  with 
a  sigh. — ("Ah,  here  we  have  it!"  thought 
Dick — the  point — blessed  moment  <) — "  I  wouU 
not  have  ventured  to  trouble  you  for  any  slight 
cause.  Signer,  but  this  nearly  concerns  myself."— 
(Keep  down — our  heart,  murmured  ' 
Dick — cool,  you  dog — cool!)— "Jly 
happiness  and  my  tcndercst  feel- 
ings— "  (Dick's  suffused  eyes  ex- 
pressed deep  sympathy.) — "  I  thought 
ofvou — " 

"Ah,  Signora!", 
"And  not  being  acquainted  with 
you — "  (What  a  shame ! — aside)— 
"I  concluded  to  waive  all  formality" 
— (Social  forms  are  generally  a  nui- 
sance to  ardent  souls — asiJt)—'* ani 
to  c^mmunicato  at  once  with  you." 

"Signora,  let  mo  assure  yon  that 
this  is  the  happiest  moment  in  my 
life." 

The  Signora  looked  surprised,  but 
went  on  in  a  sort  of  preoccupied  way : 
"  I  want  to  know  if  you  can  tell  me 
any  thing  about  my  brother." 
"Brother!" 

"Who  is  now  in  Amcrico." 
Dick  opened  his  eyei. 
"  I  thought  that  perhaps  you  could 
tell  me  how  he  is.    I  have  net  Iteutl 
from  him  for  two  years,  and  feel  very 
anxious." 

Dick  sat  for  a  moment  surprised  it 

this  unexpected  turn.     The  tody's 

anxiety  about  her  brother  ho  conld 

see  WM  not  feigned.    60  ho  coucoilecl 

I 


THE  DODGE  ipLUB ;  OR,  ITALY  IN  MDCCCLIX 


ouccd  well  put 


niK  vooKO  UDaSAK. 


his  disappointment,  and  in  his  most  engaging 
manner  informed  lier  that  he  had  not  seen  her 
brother;  but  if  she  could  toll  him  his  nnmo,  and 
the  place  where  he  was  living,  ho  might  bo  able 
to  tell  something  about  him. 
"His  name,"  sighed  the  lady,  "is  Giulio 

"And  the  place?" 

"Rio  Janeiro." 

"Bio  Janeiro?"  .^ 

"Yes,"  said  tho  lady,  slowly.    ', .' 

Dick  was  in  despair.     Not  to  kfiixr  tony  thing 
of  her  brother  would  make  her  tliink  him  stu- 
^  pid.    So  he  attempted  to  explain  : 

"  America,"  ho  began,  "  is  a  very  large  conn- 
try— larger,  in  fact,  than  the  whole  Kingdom 
of  Naples.  It  is  principally  inhabited  by  sav- 
ages, who  are  very  hostile  to  the  whites.  Tho 
whites  have  a  few  cities,  however.  In  tl*^orth 
tho  whites  all  speak  English.  In  tho  South  they 
nil  speak  Spanish.  The  South  Americans  are 
good  Catholics,  and  respect  the  Holy  Father ; 
hut  tho  English  in  the  North  are  all  heretics. 
Consequently  there  is  scarcely  any  communica- 
tion between  the  two  districu." 

The  lady  had  heard  somewhere  that  in  the 
American  wars  ihey  employed  tho  savages  to 
Msist  them.  Dick  acknowledged  the  troth  of 
this  with  candor,  but  with  pain.  She  would 
<eo  by  this  why  he  was  upablffto  tell  her  any 
thing  about  her  brother.  His  not  knowing 
^=^1  brother  ma  now  fh«  chief  sorrow  of  hw 
l"o.  The  lady  earnestly  hoped  that  Rio  Ja- 
neuo  was  well  protected  from  the  savages. 

"  Oh,  perfecdy  so.  The  fortifications  of  that 
o«y  aw  impregnable." 

«A?'**  "'"*  *"''«*^*»'*«'  to  B»TO  the  lady  an 
>«•  of  America.    Tho  convorsation  gradually 


21 

tapered  down  until  the  en- 
trance of  n  gentleman  brouglit 
it  to  a  blose.  Dick  bowed 
himself  out. 

"At  any  rate,"  ho  mur- 
mured,  "  if  the  lady  wanted  to 
inspect  me  she  had  a  chance, 
and  if  she  wanted  to  pump 
mo  she  ought  to  be  satisfied." 

One  cvenit^g  Buttons  and 
Dick  came  in  and  found  a 
stranger  chatting  familiarly 
with  the  landlord  and  a  young 
hussar.  The  stranger  was 
dressed  like  a  cavalry  officer, 
and  was  tho  most  astounding 
fop  that  the  two  Americans 
had  ever  seen.  He  paced  up 
and  down,  head  erect,  chest 
thrown  out,  sabre  clanking, 
spurs  jingling,  eyes  sparkling, 
ineifablo  smile.  IIo  strode  up 
to  the  two  youths,  spun  round 
on  one  heel,  bojved  to  tho 
ground,  waved  his  hand  pat- 
ronizingly, and  welcomed 
them  in. 
"  A  charming  night,  gallant  gentlemen.  A 
bewitching  night.  All  Naples  is  alive.  All  tho 
worl4^9ing.     Arc  you?"     . 

Thfll'Sfoiihg.nieu  stared,  and  coldly  asksd 
where  ?  / 

"Ha,  ha,  ha!"     A  merry  peal  of  laughter  / 
rang  out.     "Absolutely  —  if  the  young  Amer- /  w 
leans  a«e  not  stupid.     They  don't  know  mo !" 
"Dolores!"  exclaimed  Buttons. 
"  Yes,"  exclaimed  the  other.     <'JIow  do  you 
like  mo  ?     Am  I  natural  ?— eh  ?  military  ?  'Do       ' 
Hook  terrible?". 

And  Dolores  skipped  up  and  down  with  a 
strut  beyond  description,  breathing  hard  and 
frowning.  j 

"  If  you  look  so  ficjTo  Vou  will  tiighUfn  us 
away,"  aaid'Buttons.      _^* 
'    ^'How  do  I  look.  noi/T!  she  said,  standing 
fuU^foro  him  with  folded  ann6,  a  la  Napoleon 
at  St.  Helena.  *        «. 

"Bellissimal  BolUpkui  I"  said  Buttons,  in 
unfeigned  admir8ti«jir      js 

"Ah!"    ejaculated  DoRh^b,  backing   her 
lips,  and  puffing  out  her  little  dimpled  checks. 
"Oh  1"  and  her  eyes  sparkled  more  brightly 
with  perfect  jdy  and  self-cotitcntment. 
"Andwhatjis  all  this  for?"  ,    , 

"  Is  it  possible  that  yon.do  not  know?" 
"  I  have  no  idea."     .        • 
"Then  Ust^.     It  If Jt  the  Royal  Opera- 

honie^Jt  will\be  theiggttost  mMqneradftbalL 

ever  given."  ' 

"  Oh— a  masquerade  Ml' I— and  yon  ?" 

"  I  ?     I  go  as  a  handsfdime  young  officer  to 

break  the  hearts  of  the  ladies,  and  have  such 

rare  sport.     My  fcrave  cousin,  yonder  gallant 

•oldicr,  goes  with  me." 

The  brave  cousin,  who  was  a  big,  heavy-head* 


23 


THE  DObGE  CLUB  j  OK,  ITALY  IN  MDCCCLIX. 


e<l  fellow^  grinned  in  ncknowledgment,  bat  said 
notiiing. 

Tlio  Royal  Opera-houso  at  Naples  is  the 
largest,  tlio  grandest,  and  the  most  cajNicious  in 
the  world.  An  immense  stage,  an  cnonuous 
pit  all  thrown  into  one  vast  room,  surrounded 
by  innnmorablo  boxes,  nil  risinf:;,  tier  above 
tier — myriads  of  ^anccrs,  myriads  of  masks, 
myriads  of  siKictntors — so  the  scene  appeared. 
Moreover,  tlie  Neapolitan  is  a  born  bnffoon. 
Nowhere  is  ho  so  nnturnl  as  at  a  masquerade. 
Tl(6  music,  the  erowd,  the  brilliant  lights,  the 
incessant  motion  are  all  intoxication  to  this  im- 
pressible being. 

The  Senator  lent  the  countenance  of  his 
presence — not  from  curiosity,  but  from  a  bcnev- 
'  olent  desire  to  keep  his  young  friends  out  of 
trouble.  Ho  narrowly  escaped  being  prohibited 
from  entering  by  making  an  outrageous  fuss  at 
the  door  about  some  paltry  change.  IIo  actual- 
ly imagjtned  that  it  was  possible  to  get  the  riglit 
change  for  a  large  coin  in  Naples. 
The  multitudes  of  moving  forms  made  the 
^^OYf-csioiira  dizzy.  There  were  all  kinds  of 
fantastic  ffgores.-  Lions  polked  with  sylphs, 
crocodiles  chased  serpents,  giants  wal|ccd  arm 
in  arm  with  dwarfs,  elephants  on  two  legs  ran 
nimbly  about,  beating  every  body  with  huge 
probosces  of  inflated  India  rubber.  Pretty  girls 
in  dominos  abounded ;  every  body  whose  face 
was  visible  was  on  the  broad  grin.  All  classes 
were  represented.  The  wealthiest  nobles  en- 
tered into  the  spirit  of  th^  scene  with  as  great 


gusto  as  the  humblest  artisan  who  treated  his 
obscure  sweet-heart  with  an  entrance  ticket 

Our  friends  all  wore  black  dominos,  "jusf 
for  the  fun  9f  the  thing."  Every  body  know 
that  they  were  English  or  American,  which  is 
just  the  same  ;  for  Englishmen  ohd  Americans 
are  universally  recognizable  by  the  rigidity  of 
their  muscles.  - 

A,bcvy  of  masked  beautio's  were  attracted  by 
the  colossol  form  of  the  Senator.  To  say  that 
ho  was  bewildered  would  express  his  sensations 
but  faintly.  He  was  distracted.  Ho  looked 
for  Buttons.  Buttons  was  chatting  with  a  little 
domino.  Po  turned  to  Dick.  Dick  was  walk- 
iiig  off  witii  a  rhinoceros.  To  Figgs  and  the 
Doctor.  Figgs  and  the  Doctor  were  exeliang- 
ing  glances  with  a  couple  of  lady  codfishes  imj 
trying  to  look  amiable.  The  Senator  gave  a 
sickly  smile. 

"  Whnt'n  thunder'll  I  do?"  ho  muttered. 
Two  dominos  took  cither  arm.     A  third  stood 
smilingly  before  him.     A  fourth  tried  to  appro- 
priate  his  left  hand. 

"  Will  your  Excellency  dance  with  one  of  us 
at  a  time,"  said  No.  4,  with  a  Tuscan  accent, 
"or  will  you  dan*  with  all  of  us  nt  once?  ' 
The  Senator  looked  helplessly  at  her. 
"  He  does  not  know  how,"  said  No  1.    "  IIo 
has  passed  his  life  among  the  stars." 

"Begone,  irreverent  ones  I"  said  No.  3. 
"  This  is  an  American  prince.  He  said  I  f  liould 
be  hh  partner." 

"  Boh !  malidctta  1  "  cried  No.  2.  "  He  told 
mo  the  same ;  but  ho  said  he 
was  a  Milor  Inglese." 

No.  4  thereupon  gave  a  smart 
pull  at  the  Senator's  hand  to 
draw  him  off.  Whereupon  No. 
2  did  the  same.  No.  3  began 
singing  "Come  e  bcllo!"  and 
'No.  1  stood  coaxing  him  to 
"Fly  with  her."  A  crowd 
of  idlers  gathered  grinningly 
around. 

"My  goodness!"  groaned 
the  Senat(»L  "Mo!  the— tlio 
representative  of  a  respectable 
constituency ;  the  elder  of  a 
Presbyterian  church ;  the  pres- 
ident of  a/'temperance  society; 
the  deliverer  of  that  famous 
Fourth  of  July  oration;  the 
father  of  a  family— me !  to  be 
treated  thus!  Who  air  these 
females?  Air  they  countesses? 
Is  this  the  way  the  foreign  no- 
bility treat  an  American  cit- 
izen ?" 

But  the  ladies  pulled  and  the 
crowd  grinned.  The  Senator 
endeavored  to  remonstrate. 
Then  ho  tried  to  pnll  his  arms 
•way  ;  but  finding  that  impos- 
sible he  looked  in  a  piteoiu 

At  the  other. 


'"pyi>" 


THE  DODGE  CLUB;  OR,  ITALY  IN  MDCCCLDC. 


to  bo  mine.     I  nnderstnnd  the  national  dance 
"MltTin"'''''  *■'""""'' J-^S  Irlandese." 
The  Senator  shoated  this  one  word  in  a  stcn- 

tonan^vcce.     Tho  ladic,  dropped  hi.  arm,  and 

hZ^  "^'  ^-  ■"  "J'"^  "«'  Senator.     "  Look 
mT«,™    •  "*  '^^^  /-talinn-jnc  American 
Me  come  jast  see  lee  fnn,  you  kno«r-,ee  spoart 
-youund.,t«nd?     Ha?    Hnm!"  ^ 

"Bmvor    '  '^^^  *^"'"  ''""*''•  «""1  "\^J 
Quite  0  crowd  gathered  around  them.     TUj 

Sl'r'"^'**"*  '';"'  •''*'  *•*"»  "«'•.  to  make 
^^^TL^derBUnd.  it  was  only  noL^j^ 

j*4owtmoiigh.l«wled  «,  loudly  that  ererT 

awy  dancer,  .topped.     Among  thew  Battoni 


28 

.came  near  with  tho  little 
Domino.  Little  Dom- 
ino stopped,  laughed, 
clapped  her  hands,  and 
peinted  to  the  Senator. 

The  Senator  was  yells 
ing  vehemently  in   bro- 
ken English  to  a  large 
crowd  of  masks.       Ho 
told  them  that  he  had  a 
largo  family;     tlmt   he) 
owned  a  factory ;  tlmt  he 
was  a  man  of  Mcight, 
character,  influence,  pop, 
ularity,  wealth  ;  that  ho 
came    hero    merely    to 
study  their  manners  and 
customs.    He  disclaimed 
any  intention  to  partici- 
pate   in    their    amuse, 
menfs  just    then,  or  to 
make    acquaintances. — 
Ho  would  be   proud  to    . 
visit   them  all  at  their    " 
houses,  or  see  them  at 
his  apartments,  or— or— 
in  short,  would  bo  hap. 
py  to  do   any  thing  if 
they  would  only  let  him 
go  in  peace. 

Tho  crowd   laughed,  ^ 
chattered,    and    shout- 
ed   "Bravo!"     at    ev- 
ery pause.    The  Senator 
was  covered  with  shame 
and  perspiration.    What 
would  have  become  of 
him  finally  it  is  impos- 
sible to  gncss  ;  but,  for- 
tunately, at  this  extrem- 
ity he  caught  sight  of 
Buttons.    To  dash  away 
from  tho  charming   la- 
dies, to  burst  through  the 
crowd,  and  to  seize  the 
..  ,     .  arm  of  Buttons  was  but 

tho  work  of  a  moment. 

"  Buttons !  Buttons  1  Buttons !  Help  mo ! 
Iheso  confounded  /.talian  wimtain  !  Take 
them  away.  Tell  them  to  leave  mo  be.  Tell 
them  I  don't  know' thom-don't  want  to  have 
them  lianging  round  mo.  Tell  them  Tm  your 
Mher!  cried  tho  Senator,  his  voice  rising  to 
a  shout  in  his  distraction  and  alarm. 

About  1)70  people  were  around  him  by  this 
time. 

"Goodness!"  said  Button.,  "you  are  in  a 
n-x.     Why  did  you  make  yourself  so  agreeable  ? 
and  to  80  many?     Why,  it',  too  bad.     One  at 
*tinvB!" 

j^"  Button.,"  Mid  the  Senator,  wlcmnlv,  "i. 

i<^)Hiis  a  time  for  joking  ?    For  Heaven',  uka  get 

me  away!"  ««.o  fcej 

"Come,  tli6n.}  ym  mart  nm  ftjr It* 


,  ...V..,   jv„  luuso  run  lor  u. " 

Ho  Mixed  the  Senator's  right  arm.     The  lit- 
tie  Domino  clnng  to  hi.  other.     Away  they 


24 


THE  DOIIkJE  CLUB;  OR,  ITALt  IN  MDCCCLDC 


started.  It  was  a  full  ran.  A  shout  arose.  So 
arises  the  shout  in  Komo  along  the  bellowing 
Corso  when  the  horses  are  starting  for  the  Car- 
nival races.  It  was  a  long,  loud  shout,  gather- 
ing and  growing  and  deepening  as  it  rose,  till 
it  burst  on  high  in  one  grand  thunder-clap  of 
sound. 

Away  went  the  Senator  like  the  wind.  TJie 
dense  crowd  parted  on  cither  side  with  ^  rush. 
The  Ojjcra-house  is  several  hundred  feet  in 
length.  Down  this  entire  distance  the  Senator 
ran,  accompanied  by  Buttons  and  the  little 
Domino.  Crowds  cheered  him  as  he  passed. 
Behind  him  the  passage-way  closed  up,  and  a 
long  trail  of  screaming  maskers  pressed  after 
him.  The  louder  they  shouted  the  faster  the 
Senator  ran.  At  length  they  reached  the  oth- 
er end. 

"lio  yon  see  that  box?"  asked  Buttons, 
pointing  to  one  on  the  topmost  tier. 
"Yes,  yes." 

"  Fly  I  Run  for  your  life  I  It's  your  only 
hope.     Get  in  there  and  hide  till  we  go !" 

The  Senator  vanished.  Scarcely  had  his 
coat-tails  disappeared  through  the  door  when 
the  pursuing  crowd  arrived  there.  Six  thou- 
sand two  hundred  and  twenty-seven  hnman  be- 
ings, dressed  in  every  variety  of  costume,  on 
finding  that  the  runner  had  vanished,  gave  venC 
to  tlieir  excited  feelings  by  a  loud  cheer  for  the 
interesting  American  who  had  contributed  so 
grofttly  to  the  evening's  enjoyment. 

Unlucky  Senator!  Will  it  bo  believed  that 
even  in  the  topmost  box  his  pursuers  faJle^ved 
him  ?  It  was  even  so.  About  an  hour  after- 
ward Buttons,  on  coming  near  the  entrance, 
encountered  him.  His  face  was  pale  but  reso- 
Inte,  his  dress  disordered.  He  muttered  a  few 
words  about  "  durned  /-talian  countesses,"  and 
hurried  out. 

Buttons  kept  company  with  the  little  Dom- 
ino. Never  in  hii  \ife  had  ho  passed  so  agree- 
able an  evening.  He  took  good  care  to  let  his 
companion  know  this.  At  Icngtli  the  crowd 
began  to  separate.  The  Domino  would  go. 
Buttons  would  go, with  her.  Had  she  a  car- 
riage ?  No,  she  walked.  Then  be  would  walk 
with  her. 

Buttons  tried  hard  lo  get  a  carriage,  but  all 
were  engaged.  But  a  walk  would  not  be  un- 
pleasant in  such  company.  The  Domino  did 
not  complain.  She  was  vivacious,  brilliant,  de- 
lightful, bewitching.  Buttons  had  been  trying 
all  the  evening  to  find  out  who  she  was.  In 
vain. 

"  Who  in  the  world  is  she  ?  I  must  find  out, 
so  that  I  may  see  her  again."  This  wa«  his 
one  thought. 

They  approached  the  Strada  Nuom. 

"  Sho  ii  not  one  of  thenol>ili*yj  ftt  i«"y  r^t^!," 
h#  thought,  "  or  she  would  not  live  hero." 
^    They  turned  np  a  familiar  street. 

"  How  exceedingly  jolly  I  She  can't  live  far 
away  from  my  lodgings." 

They  entered  the  Strada  di  San  Bartoloroeo. 

"  Hanged  if  she  don't  lire  in  the  lamo  street !" 


A  strange  thought  occurred.  I^^ras  soon 
confirmed.  They  stopped  in  frOnt  of  Buttons's 
own  lodgings.  A  light  gleamed  over  the  door. 
Another  flashed  into  the  soul  of  Buttons.  The 
Domino  took  off  her  mask  and  turned  her  faco 
uptoButtons.  That  face,  dimpled,  smilini;,  be- 
witching ;  flashing,  sparkling  eyes ;  little  montli 
with  its  rosy  lips  I 

"  Dolores  /" 

' '  Blessed  saints,  and  Holy  Virgin  I , .  Is  it  pos- 
sible that  yon  never  suspected  ?"       ,;  ^, 

"  Never.  How  could  I  when  I  tbo«^it  you 
were  dressed  like  a  dragoon  ?"        /      ,' 

"And  you  never  passed  so  happy  an'*re;f! 
ing;  and  you  never  had  so  fascinating  am] 
charming  a  partner ;  and  you  never  heard  such 
a  voice  of  music  as  mine ;  and  yon  can  never 
forget  me  through  all  life ;  and  you  never  can 
hope  to  find  any  one  equal  to  me !"  said  Do- 
lores, in  her  usual  laughing  volubility. 
„  "Never!"  cried  Buttons. 

"  Oh  deor !  I  think  you  must  love  me  very 
much." 

And  a  merry  peal  of  laughter  rang  up  the 
stairs  as  Dolores,  evading  Buttons's  arm,  wliich 
that  young  roan  had  tried  to  pass  about  her 
waist,  dashed  away  into  the  darkness  and  out 
of  sight. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

ADVKNTtTREB  AND  MISADVEMTURE^. — A  ■»'ET  CnOT- 
TO  AND  A  BOILING  LAKE. — THE  TWO  FAIR 
SPANIARDS,  AND  THE  DONKEY  RIDE. 

The  Grotto  of  Fosilippo  is  a  most  remarkable 
place,  and,  in  the  opinion  of  every  intelligent 
traveller,  is  more  astonishing  than  even  tlic  Hoo- 
sac  Tunnel,  which  nobody  will  deny  except  tlio 
benighted  Bostonian. 

The  city  of  Pozzuoli  is  celebrated  for  two 
things;  first,  because  St.  Paul  once  landed 
there,  and  no  doubt  hurried  away  as  fast  as  ho 
could ;  and,  secondly,  on  account  of  the  im- 
mense number  of  beggars  that  throng  around 
the  unhappy  one  who  enters  its  streets. 

The  Dodge  Club  contributed  liber&Ily.  The 
Doctor  gave  a  cork-screw ;  the  Senator,  a  blode- 
less  knife ;  Dick,  an  old  lottery  ticket ;  Buttons, 
a  candle-stump ;  Mr.  Figgs,  a  wild-cat  bank- 
note. After  which  they  all  hurried  away  on 
donkeys  as  fast  as  possible. 

The  donkey  is  in  his  glory  here.  Nowhere 
else  does  he  develop  such  a  variety  of  forms— 
nowhere  attain  such  an  infinity  of  sizes — nowhere 
omit  so  impressive  a  bray.  It  is  the  Bray  of 
Naples.  "It  is  like  the  thunder  of  the  night 
when  the  cloud  bursts  o'er  Cona,  and  a  tlion- 
sand  ghosts  shriek  at  once  in  the  hollow  wind." 

There  is  a  locality  in  this  region  which  the 
nTfffjpi^tii  ni»n«d  *ft«r  jt  nurtain  warm  repon 
which  no  refined  person  ever  permits  himself  to 
mention  in  oi^  day.  Whateror  it  may  hsvo 
been  when  some  Roman  Tityrus  walked  pipe  in 
mouth  along  its  shore,  it<  preient  condition 
renders  it«  name  lingnlarly  appropriate  and 
felicitous.    Here  the  party  unused  themsclrci 


,vJi|b&^i&«^^ 


^ 


THE  DODGE  CLUB^  OB,  ITALY  IN^CCCLDT.' 


with  a'lunch  of  figs  and  oranges,  which  they 
gathered  indiscriminntely  from  orchards  and 
gardens  on  the  road-side. 

There  was  the  Lake  Lncrine.  Avemo  and 
the  Elysian  Fields  were  there.  The  ruins  of 
Caligula's  Bridge  dotted  the  surface  of  the  sea. 
Yet  thp  charms  of  all  these  classic  scenes  were 
eclipsed  in  the  tourists'  eyes  by  those  of  a  num- 
ber of  pretty  peasants  giris  who  stood  washing 
clothes  in  the  limpid  waters  of  the  lake. 

It  was  in  this  neighborhood  that  they  found 
the  Grotto  of  the  Cumican  Sibyl.  They  follow- 
ed the  intelligent  cicerone,  (irmed  with  torches 
into  a  gloomy  tunnel.  The  intelligent  cicerone 
walked  before  them,  with  the  air  of  one  who  had 
something  to  show.  Seven  stout  peasants  fol- 
lowed after.  The  cavern  was  as  dark  as  possi- 
ble, and  extended  apparently  for  an  endless  dis- 
tance. 

After  walking  a  distance  of  about  two  miles 
according  to  the  Senator's  cakuLition,  they  camo 
to  the  centre  of  interest.     It  was  a  hole  in  the 
wall  of  the  tunnel.     The  Americans  were  given 
to  understand  that  they  must!«nter  here 
"But  how?" 
'How?    Why,  on  the  broad  backs  of  the 

Its.   who  nil    stnnrl    nnl:>.l-    ./r.- :_^ 


25 

latter  looked  its  anxious  as  his  tiBmbling  boar- 

Do'n'f""'''^*"^'   ''°*'"®*^'  "^•■"''!  Do"'tI 
"  Diavo-lol"  muttered  tlw  Italian. 
And  in  the  next  instant  plump  went  the  Sen- 

that  baffles  (Inscription.  The  Senator,  rising 
from  his  unexpected  bath,  foaming  and  sputter- 
ing, the   Italian   praying   for  forgiveness,  the 

The  end  of  it  was  that  they  all  left  as  soon  as 
possible,  and   thfS  Senator  indignantly  waded 

with  tl^e  unfortunate  bearer,  whom  the  Senator 
refused*,  pay,  formed  a  beautifully  appropriate 
termination  to  their  visit  to  this  clS^? 
The  Senator  was  so  disturbed  by  this  niisad- 
venture  that  his  wrath  did  not  subside  until  his 
trowsers  were  thoroughly  dried.  This  how 
ever,  was  accoraplislied  at  last,  under  the' warm 
sun,  and  then  ho  looked  around  him  with  his 
usual  complacency. 

The  next  spot  of  interest  which  attracted 
them  was  the  Hall  of  the  Subterranean  Lake 

In  tnia  nln<«A  ftiAvw   :„   -    • 


x.>,„.      „uj,  „n  me  oroaa  backs  of  the  them  was  the  Hall  of  fi.»  e  V, -""-i^i^cu 

stout  peasants,  who  all  stood  politdy  offering  In  t^irnU^  ,t,„^  ,•         "  S°bte„anean  Lake, 

their  humble  services."     The  guide  went  firs?  «  h  1 1     k"  .  •  **  a  cavern  in  the  centre  of 

n.... ...:.L ,  fcumo  went  nrst.  a  hill,  which  is  approached  bv  a  nassam.  nf  =/.,«« 

1o,  got  on  the  back  of  considerable  length   nnii^.K?*^!^  "/*"""» 


...-., .„  ■,„.,. 1.CB.       i„e  guiae  went  first. 

Buttons,  without  more  ado,  got  on  the  back  of 

the  nearest  Italian  and  followed.     Dick  came 

next ;  then  the  Doctor.     Mr.  FIggs  and  the 

Senator  followed  in  the  same  dignified  manner 

They  descended  for  some  distance,  and  finally 

came  to  water  about  three  feet  deep.     As  the 

roof  was  low,  and  only  rose  three  feet  above  the 

water,  the  party  had  some  difficulty,  not  only  in 

keeping  their  feet  out  of  the  water, 

but  also  in  breathing.    At  length  they 

came  to  a  chamber  about  twelve  feet 

square.     From  this  they  passed  on  to 

another  of  the  same  size.     Thence  to 

another.     And  so  on.. 

Arriving  at  the  last.  Bearer  No.  1 
qnictly  deposited  Buttons  on  a  raised 
stone  platform,  whiA  fortnnditely 
arose  about  half  an  inch  above  the 
water.  Three  other  bearers  did  the 
same.  Mr.  Figgs  looked  foriornly 
about  him,  and,  being  a  fat  man, 
seemed  to  grow  somewhat  apoplectic. 
Dick  beguiled  the  time  by  lighting  his 
pipe. 

"  So  this  is  the  Grotto  of  tlio  Cu- 

maan  Sibyl,  is   it?"  gaid   Buttons. 
Then  all  I  can  say  is  that—" 
What  ho  was  going  to  say  wag  lost 

by  a  loud  cry  which  interrupted  him 

and  startled  all.     It  came  from  the 

other  chamber. 

Swwtofr^  WidTJick. " — 

It  was  indeed  his  well-known  voice. 
There  was  a  plash  and  a  gpoan.  Im. 
mediately  afterward  a  man  staggered 
into  the  room.  He  was  deathly  pale, 
and  tottered  feebly  under  the  tromen- 
doui  weight  of  tho  Senator.     The 


considerable  length,  and  in"  the  subterranean 
cavern  a  pool  of  water  boils  and  bubbles.  The 
usual  crowd  of  obliging  peasantry  surrounded 
them  as  they  entered  the  vestibule  of  this  inter- 
esting  pince  It  was  a  dingy-looking  chamber, 
out  of  which  two  narrow  subterranean  passages 
ran.  A  grimy,  sooty,  blackened  figurtJ  stWKl 
before  tliem  with  torches.  .    , 


BABM  nl— I>|fl|>r. 


THE  DODdE  CLUB;  OB,  ITALY  EJ  MDCCCLIX. 


"Follow!" 

This  vraa  all  that  ho  condescended  to 
Bay,  after  lighting  his  torches  and  dis- 
tributing them  to  his  visitors.  Ho 
stalked  off,  and  stooping  down,  darted 
into  the  low  passage-nay.  The  cicerone 
followed,  then  Buttons,  then  Dick,  then 
the  Senator,  then  the  Doctor,  then  Mr. 
Figgg.  The  air  was  intensely  hot,  and 
the  passage-way  grew  lower.  More- 
over, the  smoke  from  the  torches  filled 
the  air,  blinding  and  choking  them. 

Mr.  Figgs  faltered.  Fat,  and  not  by 
any  means  nimble,  he  came  to  a  pause 
about  twenty  feet  from  the  entrance, 
and,  making  a  sudden  turn,  darted  out. 

The  Doctor  was  tall  and  unaccustom- 
ed to  bend  his  perpendicular  form. 
Half  choked  and  panting  heavily  ho  too 
gave  up,  and  turning  about  rushed  out 
after  Mr.  Figgs. 

The  other  three  went  on  bravely. 
Buttons  and  Dick,  because  they  had 
long  since  made  dp  their  minds  to  see 
every  thing  that  presented  itself,  and 
tlio  Senator,  because  when  he  started  on 
an  enterprise  he  was  incapable  of  turn- 
ing back. 

After  a  time  the  passage  went  sloping 
steeply  down.  At  the  bottom  of  the 
declivity  was  a  pond  of  water  bubbling 
and  steaming.  Down  this  they  ran. 
Now  the  slope  was  extremely  slippery, 
and  the  subterranean  ch»i|^bcr  was  but 
faintly  illuniinated  by  the  torches.  And 
;8p.  it  tmine  to  pass  that,  as  the  Senator 
ran  down  after  the  others,  they  had 
barely  reached  the  bottom  when 

TTtunip  ! 

At  once  all  turned  round  with  a  start. 
Not  too  quickly ;  for  there  lay  the  Senator,  on  his 
back,  sliding,  in  an  oblique  direction,  straight 
toward  the  pool.  His  booted  feet  were  alreadv 
in  tho  seething  waves  j  his  nails  were  dug  into 
the  slippery  soil ;  he  was  shouting  for  help. 

To  grasp  his  hand,  his  collar,  his  leg— to  jerk 
him  away  and  place  him  upright,  was  the  work 
of  a  shorter  time  than  is  taken  to  tell  it. 

The  guide  now  wanted  them  to  wait  till  he 
boiled  an  egg.  The  Senator  remonstrated,  stat- 
ing that  he  had  already  nearly  boiled  a  leg. 
The  Senator's  opposition  overpowered  the  wishes 
of  the  others,  and  the  party  proceeded  to  return. 
Pale,  grimy  with  soot,  panting,  covered  with 
huge  drops  of  perspiration,  they  burst  into  the 
chamber  where  the  others  were  waiting— first 
Buttons,  then  Dick,  then  the  Senator  covered 
with  mud  and  slime. 

TJie  latter  gentleman  did  not  answer  much  to 
the  eager  inquiries  of  his  friends,  but  maintained 
JLsolenm  silence,  The-two  forsaer  loudly  and 
Tohibly  descanted  on  the  accumulated  horrors 
of  the. subterranean  way,  the  narrow  passage, 
tho  sulphurous  air,  the  lake  of  boiling  floods. 

In  this  outer  chamber  their  attention  was  di- 
nfeted  to  a  number  of  ancient  relics.    These 


TnUHI- 1 


are  offered  for  sale  in  such  abnndanpcMliat  they 
may  be  considered  staple  articlcsWf  commerce 
in  this  country.  < 

So  skillful  are  the  manufacturers  that  they  can 
produce  unlimited  supplies  of  the  followiiif;  arti- 
cles, and  many  others  to(ynumcrous  to  mention: 

Camican  and  Oscan  culn« ;         ; 
r>ltto     and  ditto  ntatiiottcg;  | 
Ditto    and  ditto  rlngo  ; 
Ditto     and  ditto  bracelets ;  ' 
Ditto    and  ditto  imaf;e«! ; 
Ditto    and  ditto  toilet  artioleii 
Ditto     and  ditto  raFcn  : 
Ditto     and  ditto  liaslu; 
Relica  of  Parthenope ; 
Ditto  of  Bain ; 
Ditto  of  Mlaenum ; 
Ditto  of  Piratiim; 
Ditto  of  Ilerculaneumt 
Ditto  of  Pompeii; 
Ditto  of  Capra-a  ; ' 
Ditto  of  Capua ; 
Ditto  of  Ciimie — 

And  other  places  too  numerous  to  mention ) 
all  supplied  to  inrder^  all  of  which  are  eaten  1^  - 
rust,  and  warranted  to  be  covered  by  the  canker 
and  the  mould  of  antiquity. 

The  good  guide  earnestly  pressed  some  inter- 
esting relics  upon  their  attention,  but  withont 
marked  inccess.     And  now,  as  the  honr  of  din- 


TH^  DODGE  CLUB  J  OB,  ITALY  IN  ^DCCCLIX. 


ner  approached,  they  mode 
the  best  of  their  way  to  a 
neighboring  inn,  which  com- 
manded a  fine  view  of  the 
bay.  Emerging  from  the 
chamber  the  guide  followed 
them,  offering  his  wares. 

"Tell  me,"  ho  cried,  inn 
sonorous  voice,  "  oh  most  no- 
ble Americans !  how  mpch 
will  yon  give  for  thi6  most 
ancient  vaso  ?" 

"  Un'  mezzo  carlino,"  said 
Dick. 
"  Un'  mezzo  carlino  I  I  .'" 
The  man's  hand,  which  had 
been  nplifted  to  display  the 
vase,  fell  downward  as  he  said 
this.   His  tall  figure  grew  less 
and  lcs»  distinct  ns  they  went 
farther  away ;  but  long  after 
he  was  out  of  sight  the  phan- 
tom of  his  reproachful  face 
haunted  their  mi.tds. 

After  dinner  they  went  out 
on  the  piazza  in  front  of  the 
hotel.  Twp  Spanish  ladies 
were  there,  whose  dark  eyes 
produced  an  instantaneous  efl"cct  upon  the  im- 
pressible heart  of  Buttons. 

They  sat  side  by  side,  leaning  against  the  stone 
balustrade.  They  were  smoking  cigarettes, 
and  the  effect  produced  Ijy  waving  their  pretty 
hands  as  they  took  tho  cigarettes  from  their 
mouths  was,  to  say  the  least,  bewildering. 

Buttons  awaited  his  opportunity,  and  did  not 
have  to  wait  long.  Whether  it  was  that  they  were 
willing  to  give  the  young  American  a  chance,  or 
whether  it  was  really  unavoidable,  can  not  *o 
Mid  but  certainly  one  of  the  feir  Sjlaniards 
found  that  her  cigarette  had  gone  out.  A  pret- 
ty look  of  despair,  and  an  equally  pretty  gesture 
of  vexation,  showed  at  once  tho  state  of  things 
Upon  which  Buttons  stepped  up,  and  with  a  bow 
that  would  have  done  honor  to  Chesterfield,  pro- 
duccd  a  box  of  scented  allumettes,  and  lighting 
one  gravely  held  it  forward.  The  fair  Spaniard 
smiled  bewilchingly,  and  bending  forward  with- 
out hesitation  to  light  her  cigarette,  brought  her 
rosy^lips  into  bewildering  proximity  to  Buttons's 

It  was  a  trying  moment. 

Ae  amiable  expression  of  the  ladies'  faces, 
combined  with  the  softly-spoken  thanks  of  tho 
lady  whom  Buttons  first  addressed,  encouraged 
mm.  The  consequence  was,  that  in  about  five 
mmutes  more  he  was  occupying  a  seat  opposite 
hem  chatting  as  familiarly  as  though  he  were 
an  old  plUymate.  Dick  looked  on  with  admira- 
tion ;  the  others  with  envy. 

Ari*"'". '"  *••*  '""""'^  ^°«*  "  happen,"  asked 

Si^il",  I.  ""'  ^"''»'»  know,  the  lingo  of 
wery  body  he  meets?" „ 

C^'iS"  .*'?1''  *"'''  ''•''  w'd  Dick.  "These 
Untinental  languages  nrq  all  alike;  *now  one, 
Md  you've  got  the  key  to  tho  others -tha 


27 


A  TRTnca  MOMENT, 


''uese'"  ^''""'^'  ^'°"""'   ^'"'"''*''  ""'^  ^°""- 
"And  look  at  him  now!"  cried  the  Senator 

his  eye  beaming  with  cordial  admiration. 

.,  T,  '^°"  ""y  «">»  'ook  at  him  V  sighed  Dick. 
Iwo  such  pretty  girls  as  these  won't  turn  no 

again  ma  hurry.     Spaniards  too  ;  I  always  ad- 

mired   them,"    And  ho  walked  down  to  the 

shore   humming  to   himself  something  about 

"the  girls  of  Cadiz." 

The  ladies  informed  Buttons  that  they\ero 
.travelling  with  their  brother,  and  hnd>^en 
through  Kussia,  Germany,  England,  France, 
and  were  now  traversing  Italy ;  did  not  like  the 
threo  hrsumcntioned  countries,  but  were  charm, 
ed  with  Italy. 

Their  nahete  was  delightfuk  Buttons  found 
out  that  the  name  of  one  was  Lucia,  and  the 

°',  •",.  u   •.  •^'"■"'°  '"■°  "f'"™  '">  Jid  not  know 
which  he  admired  most ;  but,  on  the  whole,  mt"h. 
er  inclined  to  tho  one  to  whom  ho  had  offered  " 
tho  light — Ida. 

Ho  was  equally  frank,  and  let  tliem   know 
las  name,  his  country,  his  creed.     They  wore 
shocked  at  his  creed,  pleased  with  his  country 
and  amused   at    his   name,  which   they   ptol 
nounced,  "SenorBo-to-ncs." 

After  about  an  hour  their  brother  came.  He 
was  a  small  man,  very  active,  and  fidbof  vivac- 
ity.  Instead  6f  looking  fiercely  at  the  stran- 
ger, ho  shook  hands  with  him  vei^  cordially 
Before  doing  this,  however,  ho  took  ono  short' 
quick  survey  of  his  entire  person,  from  his  felt 
hat  down  to  his-Congress  boots.     Tho  const, 


--— Q.>-~   uuuiD.     Alio  conse- 

qnence  wfB  Ihaf  Bnttonriileserteaiiis  compan- 
ions, and  went  off  with  the  ladies. 

Dick  took  the.  lead  of  the  party  on  the  return 
home.     They  viewed  the  conduct  of  Battens 


A 


28 


I 


i 


THE  DODdE  CLJJB  ;  OB,  ITALY  IN  MDCCCLDC 


8ENAT0B  AND  DONKEY. 


with  displeasure.     The  Senator  did  not  show 
his  nsual  serenity. 

The  party  were  all  ridinp;  on  donkeys,  ^^o 
do  this  on  tne  minute  animals  which  the  Nea- 
politans furnish  it  is  necessary  to  se/it  one's  self 
on  the  stern  of  the  animal,  and  draw  the  legs 
well  up,  so  that  they  may  not  trail  on  the  ground. 
The  appearance  of  the  rider  from  behind  is  that 
of  ft  Satyr  dressed  in  the  fashion  of  the  ..nine- 
teenth century.  Nothing  can  be  more  ridicu- 
lous than  the  sight  of  a  figure  dressed  in  a  frock- 
coat  and  beaver  hat,  and  terminated  by  tlie  legs 
and  tail  of  a  donkey. 

As  it  was  getting  late  the  party  hurried.  The 
donkeys  were  put  on  the  full  gallop.  First  rode 
the  guide,  then  the  others,  last  of  whom  was  the 
Senator,  whoso  great  weight  was  a  sore  trial'  to 
the  little  donkey. 

^They  ncared  Pozznoli,  when  suddenly  the 
Senator  gave  his  little  beast  a  smart  whack  to 
hasten  his  steps.  The  donkey  lost  all  patience. 
With  ft  jump  he  leaped  forward.  Away  he 
went,  far  ahead  of  the  others.  The  saddle, 
w^iose  girth  was  rather  old,  sli|>ped  off.  The 
Senator  held  on  tightly.  In  vain !  Just  as  ho 
rounded  a  comer  formed  by  a  projecting  sand- 
bank tlio  donkey  slipped.  Down  went  the  rider ; 
dow^  went  the  donkey  also — rider  and  beast 
flounilering  in  the  dusty  road. 

A  merry  peal  of  ill-suppressed  laughter  came 
from  the  road-side  as  he  rolled  into  view.  It 
cftmo  friijm  a  carriage.  In  the  carriage  were  the 
^-rr^there,  too,  wa«  Buttons.  - . - 


\ 


CHAPTER  IX.      . 

A^DRIV^  INTO  THE  COUNTRY.-^A  FIGITt  WITH  A 
VETTITRINO. — THE  EFFECT  OF  EATING  "HARD 
BAILED  EGOS."— VHAT  THEY  SAW  AT  P.«8TUM 
—FIVE  TEMPLES  AND  ONE  "  MILL." 

To  hire  a  carriage  in  Naples  for  any  length 
of  time  is  by  no  means  an  easy  tiling.  It  is 
necessary  to  hold  long  commune  with  the  pro- 
prietor, to  exert  all  the  wiles  of  masterly  diplo- 
macy, to  circumvent  cunning  by  cunning,  to  ex- 
crt  patience,  skill,  and  eloquence.  After  a  de- 
cision has  been  reached,  there  is  but  one  way  in 
which  you  can  hold  your  vettnrino  to  his  "bar- 
gain, and  that  is  to  bind  him  to  it  by  securing 
his  name  to  a  contract.  Eveiy  vettnrino  has  a 
printed  form  all  ready.  If  he  can't  write  liis 
name,  he  does  something  equally  binding  and 
far  simpler.  He  dips  his  thumb  in  the  ihk-bot. 
tie  and  stamps  it  on  the  paper.  If  that  is  not 
his  signature,  what  else  is  it  ? 

"Thus,"  said  one,  "  Signer  Adam  signed  the 
marriage-contract  with  Signora  Eva." 

^fter  incredible  difficulties  a  contract  had 
been  drawn  up  and  signed  by  the  homy  thumb 
of  a  certain  big  vettnrino,  who  went  by  the 
name  of  "  II  Piccolo."  It  was  to  the  effect  that, 
for  ft  certain  specified  sum,  II  Piccolo  should 
take  the  party  to  Piestum  and  back,  with  a  de- 
tour to  Sorrento. 

It  was  a  most  delightful  morning.  All  were 
in  the  best  of  spirits.  So  they  started.  On 
for  miles  through  interminable  streets  of  houses 
that  bordered  the  ciKularahoKi  throughiiF 
of  sheep,  droves  of  cattle,  dense  inasses  of  hu- 
man beings,  through  which  innumerable  ca- 
le<!he8  darted  like  meteors  amid  the  stars  of 
heaven.  Here  came  the  oxen  of  Southern  Italy, 
stately,  sftlemn,  long-homed,  cream-colored; 
there  marched  grcat^rores  of  Sorrento  hogi-' 


THE  DODGE  CLUB  ;  OR,  ITALY  IN  MDCCCCJX. 


the  hog  of  hogs— a  strange  but  not  ill-favored 
animal,  thick  in  hide,  leaden  in  color,  hairless 
OS  a  hippopotamns.     The  flesh  of  the  Sorrento 
hog  bears  the  same  relation  to  common  pork 
that   "Lubin's  Extrait"  bears  to  the  coarse 
icont  of  a  country  grocery.     A  pork-chop  from 
the  Sorrento  atiimal  comes  to  the  palate  with 
the  force  of  a  new  rerclation  ;  it  is  the  highest 
possibility  of  pork — the  apotheosis  of  the  pig ! 
Long  lines  of  macaroni-cooks  doing  an  enor- 
mous business ;  armies  of  dealers  in  anisette ; 
crowds  of  water-carriers  ;  throngs  of  fishermen, 
carrying  nets  and  singing  merry  songs—"  Ecco 
mi!"  "Ecco  la!"— ppssible  Massunicllos  every 
man  of  them,  I  assure  you,  Sir.     And— envel- 
oping all,  mingling  with  all,  jostling  all,  busy 
with  the  busiest,  idle  with  the  idlest,  noisy  \r^hh 
the  noisest,  jolly  with  the  jolliest,  the  fat,  oily, 
swarthy,  rosy— (etc.,  for  further  epithets  see 
preceding  pages)— fMzarom  ! 

Every  moment  produces  new  effects  in  the 
ever-shifting  scenes  of  Naples.  Here  is  the  re- 
verse of  monotony ;  if  any  thjng  becomes  weari- 
some, it  is  the  variety.  Here  is  the  monotony 
of  incessant  change.  The  whole  city,  with  all 
its  vast  suburbs,  lives  on  the  streets. 

The  Senator  wiped  his  fevered  brow.  Ho 
thought  that  for  crowds,  noise,  tumult,  dash, 
hurry -skurry,  gayety,  life,  laughter,  joyance, 
and  all  thot  incites  to  mirth,  and  all  that  stirs 
the  soul,  even  New  York  couldn't  hold  a  candle 
to  Naples. 
Rnbclais  ought  to  have  l)een  a  Neopolitan. 
Then,  as  the  city  gradually  faded  into  tlio 
country,  the  winding  road  opened  up  before 
them  with  avenues  of  majestic  trees — overhang- 
ing, arching  midway-  forming  long  aisles  of 
shade.  Myrtles,  that  grew  up  into  trees,  scent- 
ed  the  air.  Interminable  groves  of  figs  and 
oranges  spread  away  Up  the  hill,  intermingled 
with  the  darker  foliage  of  the  olive  or  cypress. 

The  mountains  come  lovingly  down  fo  bathe 
their  feet  in  the  sea.  The  road  winds  among 
them.  There  is  a  deep  valley  around  which 
rise  lofty  hills  topped  with  white  villages  or 
ancient  towers,  or  dotted  with  villas  which  peep 
forth  from  amid  dense  groves.  As  far  as  the 
eye  can  reach  the  vineyards  spread  awav.  i 
Not  as  in  France  or  Germany,  miserable  sandy  ' 
fields  with  naked  poles  or  stunted  bushes ;  but 
vast  extents  of  trees,  among  which  the  vines 
leap  m  wild  luxuriance,  hanging  in  long  fes- 
toons from  branch  to  branch,  or  intertwininc 
with  the  foliage.  :^  _ 

"I  don't  know  how  it  is,"  said  the  Senator, 
but  I  ra  cussed  if  I  feel  as  if  this  hero  country 
was  ground  into  the  dust.  If  it  is,  it  is  no  bad 
thmg  to  go  through...the  mill.  I  don't  much 
wonder  that  these  /talians  don't  emigrftte.  If 
rowned  a  farm  in  this  neighborhood  I'd  stand 
a  good  deal  of  squeeain'  before  I'd  sell  out  and 
go  anywheres  else." 

At  evening  they  reached  Salerno,  a  wntering- 

placeon  the  sea-coast,  and  Naples  in  miniature. 

There  is  no  town  ih  Italy  without  its  opera- 

Hooie  or  theatre,  and  among  the  most  \1vid  and 


most  precious  of  scenic  delights  the  pantomime 
commends  itself  to  the  Italian  bosom.  Of 
course  there  wns  a  pantomime  at  Salerno.  It 
was  a  mite  of  a  house ;  on  a  rough  calculation 
tlurty  feet  by  twenty  ;  a  double  tier  of  boxes ; 
a  parquette  about  twelve  feet  square ;  and  a 
stage  of  about  two-thirds  that  size. 

Yet  behold  what  the  ingenuity  of  man  can 
I  accomplish!  On  that  stage  there  were  per- 
!  formed  all  the  usual  exhibitions  of  human  pas- 
1  sion,  and  they  even  went  into  the  production 
I  of  great  scenic  displays,  among  which  a  great 
storm  in  the  forest  was  most  "prominent. 

Polichinello  wns  in  his  glory  I     On  this  occa- 
sion the  joke  of  the  evening  was  an  English 
,  traveller.     The  ideal  Englishman  on  the  Con- 
tinent is  a  never-failing  source  of  merriment. 
The   presence  of  five  Americans   gave  addi- 
tional piquancy  to  the  show.     The  corpulcnti 
I  double-chinned,    red-nosed   Englishman,   with 
knee-breeches,  shoe-buckles,  and  absurd  coat, 
stamped,  swore,  frowned,  doubled  up  his  fists', 
knocked  down  waiters,  scattered  gold  right  and 
left,  wns  arrested,  was  tried,  was  fined ;   but 
came  forth  unterrified  from  every  persecution, 
\  to  rave,  to  storm,-  to  fight,  to  lavish  money  as 
before. 

How  vivid  were  the  flashes  of  lightning  pro- 
duced by  toueliing  oflT  some  cotton-wool  soaked 
in  nkoliol !  How  terrific  the  peals  of  thunder 
;  -odnced  by  the  vibrations  of  a  piece  of  sheet- 
iron  :  Whatever  was  deficient  in  mechanical 
apparntus  was  readily  supplied  by  the  powerful 
imagination  of  the  Italians,  who,  though  they 
had  often  seen  all  this  before,  were  not  at  all 
weary  of  looking  at  it,  but  enjoyed  the  thou-  , 
sandth  repetition  as  much  as  the  first. 
Those  merry  Italians ! 

There  is  an  old,  old  game  played  by  every 
vetturino. 

When  our  travellers  had  returned  to  the  ho- 
tel, and  were  enjoying  themselvei  in  general 
conversation,  the  vetturino  bowed  himself  in. 
He  was  a  good  deal  exercised^n  his  mind. 
With  a  great  preamble  he  came  to  the  point : 
As  they  intended  to  start  early  in  the  morning, 
he  supposed  they  would  not  object  to  settle  their 
j  little  bill  now.  : 

I      "  W'A^.'"    shouted   Buttons,  jumping    np. 
I  "  What  «11?     Settle  a  bill?     We  settle  a  bill  P 
Are  you  mad  ?" 

I  "  Your  excellencies  intend  to  settle  the  bill, 
of  conrse,"  sai4  the  vetturino,  with  much 
phlegm. 

"    "  Our  excellencies  never  dreamed  of  any 
snob  thing." 
/'Not  pay  9,    Ha  !  ha !     You  jest.  Signer." 
•J  "  Do  you  see  this?"  said  Buttons,  solemnly  ^- 
^'ing  the  oontractr^ 


ilo. 


pMdiKinj 

j[H^lI  ?"  responded  II  \ 
^^miat  is  this  ?" 
"  Our  contract." 

"  Do  yoB  know  what  it  is  that  yon  have  en- 
gaged  to  do  ?" 

"To  take  you  to  Paistum." 

"  Yes  J  to  Fcestum  and  back,  with  a  detour 


A 


80 


THE  DODGE  CLUB ;  OB,  ITALY  IN  MDCCCLIX. 


to  Sorrento.  Moreover,  yon  engnge  to  supply 
ns  with  three  meals  a  day  and  lodgingii,  for 
lUl  of  which  we  engage  to  pay  a  certain  sum. 
What,  then,"  cried  Buttons,  elevating  his  voice, 
"  in  the  name  of  all  the  blessed  saints  and  apos- 
tles, do  you  mean  by  coming  to  us  about  hotel 
bills?" 

"  Signer,"  said  the  vetturino,  meckhv  "  when 
I  made  that  contract  I  fear  I  ias  too  sanguine." 

"Too  sanguine  1" 

'^And  I  have  changed  my  mind  since." 

"  Indeed  ?"     ► 

"  I  find  that  I  am  a  poor  man." 

' '  Did  you  just  find  that  out  ?" 

"And  that  if  I  carry  out  this  it  will  ruin 
me." 

"Well?" 

"  So  you'll  have  to  pay  for  the  hotel  expenses 
yourselves,"  said  II  Piccolo,  with  desperation. 

"I  will  forgive  this  insufferable  insolence,", 
said  Buttons,  mnjestically,  "on  condition  that 
it  never  occurs  again.  Do  you  see  that  ?"  he 
cried,  in  louder  tones. 

And  he  unfolded  tlje  contract,  which  he  had 
been  holding  in  his  hand,  and  sternly  pointed 
to  the  big  blotch  of  ink  that  was  supposed  to 
be  II  Piccolo's  signature. 

"  Bo  you  see  that  f"  he  cried,  in  a  voice  of 
thunder. 

The  Italian  did  not  speak. 

"  And  that  t"  he  cried,  pointing  to  the  sig- 
nature of  the  witness. 

The  Italian  opened  his  moolh  to  speak,  but 
w&s  evidently  nonplused. 

"You  are  in  my.power !"  said  Buttons,  in  n 


rc-^T^rsT 


DO  TOi;  ua  TUAVr* 


fine  melodramatic  <6ne,  and  with  a  vivacity  of 
gesture  that  was  n6t  without  its  effect  on  tlio 
Italibn.  I^e  fielded  the  contract,  replaced  it  in 
his'breast-pidickot,  and  slapped  it  with  fearful 
emphasis.  Every  slap  seemed  to  go  to  the 
heart  of  II  Piccolo. 

"  If  you  dare  to  try  to  back  out  of  tliis  agree- 
ment  I'll  have  you  up  before  the  police.  I'll 
enforeo  the  awful  penalty  that  punishes  the 
non-performance  of  n  solemn  engagement.  I'll 
have  you  arrested  by  the.  Royal  Guards  in  tlie 
name  of  Ilia  Majesty  the  King,  and  cause  yon 
to  be  incarcerated  in  the  lowest  dungeons  of 
St.  Elmo.  Besides,  I  won't  pay  yftu  for  the. 
ride  thus  far." 

With  this  last  remark  Buttons  walked  to  the 
door,  and  without  another  word  opened  it,  nnj 
motioned  to  II  Piccolo  to  leave.  The  vctturido 
departed  in  silence. 

On  the  following  morning  ho  made  hikap- 
pearance  as  pleasant  as  though  nothing  hml 
happened. 

The  carriage  rolled  away  from  Shlemo. 
Broad  fields  stretched  away  on  every  side. 
Troops  of  villagers  marahcd  forth  to  their  In- 
bor.  As  they  went  on  they  saw  women  work- 
ing in  the  fields,  and  men  lolling  on  the  fences. 
"Do  you  call  that  the  staff  for  a  free  coun- 
try ?"  cried  the  Senator,  whose  whole  soul  rose 
np  in  arms  against  such  a  sight.  "  Air  these 
things  men  ?  or  can  such  slaves  ns  these  wom- 
en seem  to  be  give  birth-  to  any  thing  but 
slaves  ?'' 

"  Bi-avo  !"  cried  Buttons. 
The  Senator  wos  too  indignant  to  say  more, 
and  so  fell  into  a  fit  of  musing. 

"Dick,"  said  Buttons,  after  a  long  pnusc, 
"you  are  as  pale  as  a  ghost.  I  believe  you 
must  be-  beginning  to  feel  the  miasma  from 
these  plains." 

"  Oh  no,"  said  Dick,  dolefully ;  "  something 
worse." 

"What's  the  matter?" 
"Do  you  remember  the  eggs -we  had  for  din. 
ner  last  evening  ?" 
"Yes." 

"  That's  what's  the  matter,"  said  Dick,  with 
a  groan.  "  I  can't  explain ;  but  this,  perhaps, 
•will  tell  thee  all  r  feel."         '     ,» 

He  took  from  his  pocket  a  paper  and  handed 
it  to  Buttons.  Around  the  margin  were  drawn 
etchings  of  countless  fantastic  figures,  illustrat* 
ing  the  following  Tines : 

A  NIGHTMAKK  £l 

"  Qorgotu,  and  hydrat,  and  ehinurat  dire." 

BT  ▲  VICTIM. 

Egi];i!    Egga!!    t^ssUI 

Hard  boiled  eggB  for  teat 
And  oti  1  tlie.koiTlble  nightmare  dream 

They  brotight  to  luckteaa  me  I 
The  hIppopotamuB  came  j  " 

He  Mt  upon  my  chest : 
The  hlppopotamna  roared  "  Til  apot  klm  I"  oi 

He  trampled  upon  my  breaat. 
The  big  Iguanodon  hnnchod 

And  rooted  In  under  me: 
The  big  Ignanodon  raised  by  that  pin  o'  done 

Overdone  rggi  for  tea. 


t  to  say  more, 


THEDODGE^CLUBiOB,ITALYINMDCCCLIX.  '    3^ 

taken  ap  with  a  deep  calculation,  that  the  Sena- 
tor  wa,  jitartlod  by  a  .ndUcn  noiie. 
Turning  hastily  he  saw  .ometliing  that  made 

pUce  where  the  noiw  arose.  Buttons  and  Dick 
were  surrounded  by  a  cmwd  of.  fierce-looking 
Z:»n  ^0"  making  very  threatening  dcm! 
onstrations.  There  were  at  least  fifteen  A. 
ho  Senator  ran  up  from  one  dinK:tion,  so^iime 
"Pf^^/IK?"  fl  "^  doctor  from  another 
.  What  IS  this  ?'•  cried  the  Senator,  bursting 
m  upon  the  crowd.  "urnwug 

to„t'.''f^  '' «'""  '"^.  "'"''''"K  '"»  fl"  in  But- 
lemlj  """"ping  and  gesjiculatiDg  vio-  > 

"Those  men  sayvwe  roust  fay  five  nlantreii 
each  .0  them  for  stalling  abortheir  E„T 
and  Buttons  has  told  this  big  fellow  that  h^  wi 
give  them  five >icks  each.     There'll  be  some 
kind  of  a  fight      They  belong  to  the  Camo^^ 
Dick  said  all  this  in  a  hurried  under-tone. 
Camorry,  what's  that— brigands  ?" 
"AUthesai^."  * 

"They're  not  armed,  anyhow." 
Ju«  at  this  moment  Buttons  said  sotncthing 
which  seemed  to  sting  theJtalians  to  the  souL^ 
^With  a  wild  shout  they  rushed  forward!    Th'e'^ 
lid«or  drew  out  his  revolver.     Instantly  Dick 
snatdl^  It   from   him,  and  rushing  forward 
1^0^"  "'""''"'•     Noneoflhcmwei 

fi  11.^^1^  ""''"  ^^  "'^^'  'n  Italian.      "The 
fisht  iB  between  this  big  fellow  and  my  friend 

thro""g\rm."  '""  '"''''''^  ^'"  ""  -^  """« 

^  J!!^  ^i"*"'.'?"  *"*  «=""•"«•     Buttons  in- 
cXn?    Th'l^  1-'""^'^  °^  ••'•  «°«''  ^"^^  and 

At;„7  "^'""""l''*"^'^  '^"''  »  8rim  smile. 
Atone  end  were  the  Senator,  the  Doctor,  Mr. 

F.RBs;  nt  the  other  the  Italia^  ruffians.    In  the 

t^?m  n-  J*"  •".'  u"."""  •■'»  •''«  antagonist.    Near 
them  Dick  jnth  his  pistol! 

■rho  scerie  that  followed  had  better  be  de- 

scribed  in  Dick's  own  wonls,  as  he  penci£ 

them  in  h.s  mtmorandum-book,  from  time  to 

To '   aT"^  ",  •'u""T  ''^''°"'  ^i«»  h"  pistol 
also.    Afterward  the  description  was  retouched  : 


The  ichtliTouimii  tried 

■|'o  roll  1110  up  In  a  boll:  '?*'"SS 

While  .11  il,«  u,r«e  were  grinning  at  mi*" 

And  pounding  me,  bad  and  all.  ^ 

Bin  I  hip  I  hurrah  I 

It  wax  a  Utile  Uaek  pig,  ^ 

Aii'J'h  '>ull-fro(f,  ^d  a  bobUiW  dog- 

All  of  tlioni  danclnS  •  Jig. » 

And  oh,  the  makeat  the  inakea  I 

And  the  boa  constrictor  too' 
And  the  cobra  c.p.llo_a  terrlbU.  fellow- 

Camo  to^7  horrified  view. 

8nake>  and  horrible  beaita. 
Frog,  pig,  and  dog 

Rollod  iffle  about  like  a  log.  """"o  me, 

The  little  blno  derlla  camo  on ; 

Thev  rode  on  a  needle'a  point ; 
And  the  big  glfaffe,  with  mathqiatlo  laugh. 

And  legi  all  out  of  Joint.  "  ' 

Bat«  crawled  Into  my  eara. 

Hoiking  about  In  my  brain ; 
And  griazly  beara  rode  up  oo-HBuST^ 

And  then  rode  down  again. 
An  antediluvian  roared. 

In  the  fdim  of  a  Brahmlo  bull : 
And  a  Patajonlan  aqueezod  an  onldn, 

Ulllng  my  aching  eye^  fulL 
The  three  blue  botllea  that  ut 

Upon  the  htatorieal  atonea 

*^  'M'*'  "'"''"•  diddle  "-two  on  a  fiddle. 
The  other  one  on  the  bouea.  ^ 

"W^ool  whool  whool 

Get  up,  git  up,  you  beauty  I  ' 
Here  Mme  the  ahaved'  monkeya,  a-rldlng  on  don- 
Freah  from  Bobberty  Shooty." 

,  Tliey  ralaed  me  njcln  the  air. 

Ited.  »ody,  and  all, 
Ahd  carried  me  aoon  to  the  man  la  the  moon 

At  the  alege  of  Scbaatopol.  ' 

Down,  down,  down, 

Kound,  round,  round,       -i 

/nrf^'r"'  '';!!'*'  "*  "J"  o'  the  world; 
And  oh,  no  bottom  I  found.  ' 

Down,  dowit,  down,  T 

Whirl,  whlri,  whirl, 

^Hu^'t'Sitei't^  "^uV,:'"  ■*■="■«  '"o  ■"""H 

;    Hesmokedmy  favorite  pipe. 
He  blew  k  cloud  of  amoke, 

Ani^  '!1*  °",',"'"'  h>*  PorcLie  inout; 
And  JiUgglng  him,  I  awoke.  *      ' 

.  "  Wliy,  Dick,"  cried  the  Senator,  "  what  pro- 
cions  nonsense!"  .  ""i  pro- 

«  ^'Tf  ^intended  to  be  so,"  said  Dick. 

X  It  nljt        ^'°"  ""'^^  *"  '^''"  P"  on  an  idee, 
^u  most  have  some  moaning." 

.   "Not  a  bit  of  it.     It  hos'  no  meaning  •  that 

«,  n6  more  than  a  dream  or  a  nightmarf.'"     "* 

of  nl.      ■'""'■  ""'^  '^*^''  *"  ''i^'uss  tlie  nature 

ioT^'  ^'"  ^"'  '""''^•'"'y  interrupted  by^ 

"  The  Temples !" 
caltiT '^  "!^;' ^"^l"""  "  one  of  the  most 


moTt,  and  Italian  party  eaUed  U?wa  '^""^ 
^M^^i^l^'T  ^f"t'  ">  •*"*"««  •«  «"•     But- 

"M^on  t«ch  peeper,  one  oa  the  „^r,  and  Zl  mZ 

leMirar^nT^TK*^"''^'':,  ^hey  strolled  care-    '^"."n.nmuaed  bStnot'excTtS:    o-n^imSd^d™,^ 

Cnt,     W"'  "™"»°  chief  attractions   ?r''<^V.''%^'^«*"«»'^<^^^^^^^ 

It^tllS'  f'""  ""J^'V"'  -hrino  of  Neptune  \  >^iC^^t%\o'^^  "'  *" 
«v«.  r^  !*''«  standing  with  head  thrown  back.  I    H  ^o^^^imb^^ 


si 


«-«,  _    ,         "—"B  "'"' "ouu  inrown  bnplc        "^  nuuim. — nimoie  to 

Te.  and  month  open^  wide,  and  thought^Si  [  ^^^S&  ^I^r^^^.^.^^^ 


the  Jugular,  whloh  agMa 

the  aerateh.  Beppo  bitdl* 
one  niuesthed  and  Unghlng. 
•  faint  otteopt  to  get  Into 


^*-- ' 


THK  DODGE  £LUO|  OR,  ITALY  IM  MDCCCLIX. 


^ 


r^ni 


"N"  M^ 


^i^"^'^ 


eilILL  A.r  1-.B8TLM. 


Dnttong.  N»  feo.  '^ried  a  little  npunlni;,  wltf^  V-m  mim- 
miirily  ended '  bj  a  cannonade  frum  Uuttonr  directly  in 
bit  coniHenaqce. 

Uh  ft)«nd.l— Forelfrncra.  wild.  Yelling  to  Ihdr  man  to 
go  in.  (Doa'(  nndentand  a  single  oAo  of  thexules  of  the 
I'.  R.  Very  1  benighted.  Need  lill»slonarlc».)  Evinced 
•trodg  deterntlnatlon  to  go  in  themnelvm,  bnt  were  clieck- 
ed  by  attitnde  of  referve,  who  threntcned  to  blow  out 
brajne  offit^^l^n  that  interfered.  Ucppo'a  fare  ningnl- 
fi«<|  con«lder«Dty.  Appearance  not  at  aH  prepoiveii'ing. 
^Itclt  dintreaai^  bat  furioui.  Hade  a  bound  at  Biittonn, 
*lio  calmly,  a(id  without  any  apparent  effort,  met  him 
with  a  terrific  iippor  cut,  which  made  the  Italian's  gigan- 
tic frame  tremble  like  a  ship  under  the  strake  olf  a  big 
,  ware.  He  tottered,  and  swung  his  arms,  tryiag  to  regain 
his  baUnee,  *hen  another  annihlUtor  most  cleanly  ad- 
ibinlBlered  b^  Dut^ns  laid  him  low.  A'great  tomult  rcee 
amnAg  the  Jbreiguen.  Beppo  laypanting  with  uo  df, 
terminallon/to  come  to  the  scratch.  At  the  ezplratieta 
of  Q<tual  timp,  opponent  not  appearing,  Buttons  wa4 
proclaimed /victor.  Beppo  very  much  maalied.  Foreign- 
ers very  ereatiy  cowed.  After  waiting  a  MjKl  "me 
Buttons  r^umed  his  garments  and  walked  M^wili  liis 
MendsL. 


•-.  A(iet  the  victory  tho  travellers  left  Pastam 
OB  their  return. 
>  The'  r6ad  that  tumi  off  to  Sorren^  is  the 
■t  beaatiflil  in  the  world.  It  winds  along 
with  innumerable  tumiags,  climbing 
|diit|g,Jnto  Talleys,  twining  around 
^  ""  '  Ko'Kf  of  the  prettiest 
on,  ivy-covered  ruins,  frown- 
towers,ia^  elegant  villaf<. 
ento  smileifffiW'IF&m  a  val]ey 
fcrbial  for  beau^  where,  within  its 
^Uer  of  Kills,  neithertheJiot  blast  ofmidsum- 
mer  nor  the  cold  winds  of  winter  can  ever  dis- 
turb its  repose.  This  is  the.  valley  of  perpetual 
spring,  wher^  fruits  forevcr'now,  and  tho  sea- 
sons all  blend  together,  so  thn'-the  same  orchard 
shows  trees  in  blossom  and  bearing  fruit. 


CHAPTER  X. 


OK  THE  WATSn,  WHERE  BUTTONS  SEES  A  LOST 
IDEA  AND  OIYBS  CHASE  TO  IT,  TOOETHER  WITH 
THE  HEART-SICKENtNO  RESULTS  TUEREOF. 

On  the  following  morning  Buttons  .and  Dick 
went  a  little  way  oi^t  of  town,  and  down  the 
stQcp  clifT  toward  tho  shore. 

It  was  a  classic  spot.  Here  was  no  lest  a 
plnco  than  the  cave  of  Polyphemus,  where  llo- 
,mer,  at  least,  may  have  stcrad,  if  Ulysses  didn't. 
And  hero  is  the  identical'stbue  with  which  the 
giant  was  wont  to  block  up/the  entrance  to  his 
:P*avern. 

Tho  sea  roJ'ed  hgJM«j.uSaAway  down  to  the 
"m^t  was  Vesuv4!||^|Hn|Jl^in  wlfich  the 
eye  took?  in  the  w1i3BMBM|M|||B  of  the  shj)| 
lined  with  whi^iw|^EBlWpBckgr9undf 
mountains,  till  tni(WMHi™>^MKd  in  bold.prdm- 
ontories.    ^ 

Opposite  was  the  Isle  of  Capri. 

Myriads  of  white  sails  flashed  across  the  sea. 

One  of  these  arrested  the  attention  of  But- 
tons, and  so  absorbed  him  thftt  ho  stA^od  fixed- 
ly at  it  for  half  an  hour  without  moving. 

At  length  an  exclamation  burst  fro\ni  hUp : 

"  By  Jove  1     It  is !     It  is  I"  \ 

"What  IS?     What  is?"  \ 

•'The  Spaniards!" 

"Where?" 

"In  that  boat."  '_ : 

"  Ah  1"  said  Dick',  coolly,  looking  at  the  oV 
J«ct  pointed  out  by  Buttons. 


It  was  an  English  sail-bofit„with  a  small  cab- 
in and  an  immense  sail.  In  the  stern  wen)* 
gentleman  and  two  ladies.  Buttons  was  Confi- 
dent that  theywere  the  Spaniards. .  .  » 


w 


-rtlE  DODGE  CLUB;  (Mt ITALY  lN|bcCCUX. 


TIIS  ai-ANUUlS. 


"  Well,"  said  Dick,  "  whafg  the  use  of  gct- 
ting'so  excited  obout  U  ?" 
"Why,  I'm  going  buck  to  Naples  by  water  I" 
"Are  you?     Then  I'll  go  too.     Sholl  we 
leavo  the  others  ?" 
"  Certainly  not,  if  theywant  to  come  with  us. " 
.Upon  inquiry  they  found  that  tho  others  had 
»  strong  objection  to  going  by  sea.     Mr.  Figgs 
preferred  tho  ease  of  the  carriage.     The  Doctor 
thought  tho  sea„air  injurious.     The  Senator  had 
the  honesty  to  confess  that  ho  was  afraid  of  sea- 
sickness.     They  would  not  listen  to  persuasion, 
but  were  all  resolutely  bent  on  keeping  to  the 
carriage. 

,^«lfons  exhibited  a  foverisli  haste  in  search- 
ing after  a  boat.  There  was  but  little  to  choose 
from  among  a  crowd  6f  odd-looking  fishing-boats 
that  crowded  the  shore.  However,  they  se- 
lected the  cleanest  from  among  them,  anfl  soon 
the  bo.it,  with  her  broad  sail  spread,  wm  dart, 
ing  over  the  sea.  '     -t        -s 

The  bo.it  of  which  they  went  iq  pnrsnit  was 
far  away  over  pear  the  other  shore,  taking  long 
tack,  acros.  the  bay.  Buttons  headed  his  toat  so 
M  to  mejft  the  other  on  its  rBtnm  tads. 

It  was  a  magnificent  scene.  After  exhaiftt. 
t'ng  every  shore  view  of  Naplct,  there  is  nothing 
I'l^e  taking  to  tho  water.  Every  thing  then  aiv 
IHiars  .„  a  new  light.     The  far,  winding  cities 


•    purple  Apennines,  the  ^ky  JS tS^tt^'^'l^'fj l^''^^^^^  »?»  ^'^,-' 


.......1     •         . »'  ""'  ">"«J  viiiaKes,  ine 

Eno  ''  "*°  '^^^  "'"^  ''"'  '■"'^"'"B 

^  Th'''''^  ")!*""  ""*^'"  ^"P'^"  supreme  In  beanW. 
fnnt/!?  '  «"""'»Jn«twn8  Of  scenery  that  are 
fqiind  there  majte  rivalry  impossible.    .For  if 


^  33 
you  will  ^t  have  so  liquid  ati  atmosphere  •  if 
you  have  a  shore  with  equal  beauty  of  outline, 
and  equal  pjice  in  it.  lonrf  sweep  6f  towering 
headland  and- retreating  slop,,,  you  will  not  have 
so  deep  a  purple  on  the  distant  hills.  Above 
all,  nowhere  else  on  earth  has  Nature  placed  in 
the  very  centre  of  so  divine  a  scene  thd  contnut- 
cd  terrors  of  thd  black  volcano. 

Watching  a  chase  is  exciting;  but  taking 
I  part  init  IS  much  more  so.     Buttons  had  nmdo 
th|  most  scientific  arrangements.     Ho  had  cal. 
:  culnted  that  at  a  certain  point  on  the  opp(»kito 
shore  the  other  boat  would  turn  on  a  new  faik 
I  and  tllatif  he  steered  to  his  boat  to  a  poln|  aboul 
Thalf-way  over,  ho  would  me.«  them,  withouCp- 
pearing  to  bo  in  pursuit.     He  accordinriy  felt  so 
elated  at  the  idea  that  ho  burst  forth  into  mnn 
\  |l'he  oiher  bout  at  length  had  passed  well  over 
ider  tho  shadow  of  the  land.     It  did  not  turn 
further  and  further  over,  and  still  it  did  noL 
chaniio  Its  conrse.     Bnttoos  still  kept  the  course    ' 
which  ho  had  first  chbsen;  but  finding  that' he 
was  getting  far  out  of  tho  way  of  tho  other  b«at 
ho  was  forced  to  turn  the  head  of  his  boat  closer 
to  the  wind,   and   sail  jlowly,  watching   the 

There  was  an  island  Immediately  ahead  of 
the  other  boat.     What  was  his  dismay  at  see-     ' 
iiig  It  gracefully  pass  beyond  the  outer  edge 
of  tho  island,  turn  behind  it,  and  vanish.     Ho 
struck  the  taffrail  furiously  with  Ms  clenched 
hand.     However,  there  was  no  help  for  it :  so 
changing  his  course,  he  steered  in  a  straight  lino     . 
after  the  other,  to  where  it  had  disappeared 

Now  that  the  boat  watf  out  of  sight  Dick  did 
not  feel  himself  called^n  to  watch.  So  ho  went 
for,»-ard  into  tho  bow,  and  made  himself  a  snug 
berth  where  he  laid  down ;  and  lighting  his 
pipe,  looked  dreamily  out  through  a  cloud  of 
smoke  upon  tho  aiarmmg  scene.  Tho  tossing 
of  the  boat  and  tho  laiy  flapping  of  the  sails 
had  a  soothing  infllience.  His  nerves  owned 
the  lulling  power.  I^ia  eyelids  grow  heavy  and 
gently  descended. 

Jhe  wind  and  waves  and  islands  and  #ca  ^nd 
sky,  all  mingled  together  in  a  confused  maks,  • 
came  Jjgfore  his   mind.     He  was   sailing  >n 
I  *='''"*'*'?"^  chasing  Spanish  ladies  through  tha  •  -^^ 
,  sky.     The  drifting  currents  of  the  air  bore  them 
[rosistlessly  along   in   wide   and   never-ending 
curves-upward  in  spiral  movements  toward  tho     / 
senith ;  and  then  oflf  in  ever-incrjasing  speed,  / 
with,  ever-widening  gyrations,  towig-d  the  su^ 
set,  whero  the  clouds  grew  red,  and  lazaibni ' 
grinned  from  behind—  // 

A  sudden  bang  of  the  huge  sail  stnjeft'by  the 
wind,  a  wild  creaking  of  the  boom,  Airid  a  ^rnart       » 
dash  of  spray  over  the,boWs  ajj^into  his  fAce 
w^ed  Mm^irom  bis  slnmhei^'f'  pe^tarted 


Hi 


■,>i% 


von  flnj  -1..  u      •:■"■■■'  ""i'"«ioie.    .i)or  it    boat  was  nowhere  to  bo  » 
you  find  el«,whero  an  equally  beautifnl  bay,  [ready  headed  back  agSn! 


mg  over  the  waters  with  an  expression  of  bitte** 
vexation.     They  had  passed  the  out»rpoiht  of 
the  island,  and  had  caught  "a  swift  current,  « 
chopping  s^a,  and  a  brisk  freeze.     The  other  , 
boat  was  nowhere  to  be  seen.     Buttons  had  al-  ' 


*•>.,. 


•  V 


u 


THfc.DOftGE  Cl^UBj  OR,  ITALY  IN  MDCCCLIX. 


"  I  don't  see  tho  <)ther  boat,"  Baid  Djick. 

Button*  without  a,  word  pointed  to  tlie  left. 
There  Bho  was..  She  had  i;ono  quietly  nround 
the  island,  and  had  taken  the  channel  between 
it  nnd  tho  shore.  All  tho  time  t)mt  she  had 
been  hidden  she  w^s  steadily  increasing  tho 
distance  Iwtwocn  them. 

'■There's  no  help  for  it,"  said  Dick,  "but  to 

keep  straight  after  them." 

^    Buttons  did  not  reply,  but  leaned  back  with 

.  a  sweet  expression  of  patience.     The  two  boats 

kept  on  in  this  way  for  a  long  time ;  but  the 

one  in  which  our  friends  had  embarked  was  no 

match  at  all  for  tho  one  they  were  pui-suing. 

•  At  every  new  tack  this  fact  l)ccame  more  pain- 

fiilly  evident.    Tho  only  lioixs  for  Buttons  was 

to  regain  by  his  superior  nautical  skill  what  he 

«4%i(;ht  lose.     Tliose  in  the  other  boat  had  but 

'.little  skill  in  sailing,     These  at  length  became 

;,a^nre   that  they  were  followed,  and  regarded 

'  their  pursuers  with  earnest  attention.     It  did 

--  riot  stem  to  halve  any  effect. 

"  They  know  we  are  after  them  at  last !" 
said  iJick. 

"I  wohder  if  they  can  recognize  us?" 

"If  they  do  they  have  sharp  eyes.  I'll  l)e 
hanged  if  I  can  recognize  them  I  I  don't  sec' 
how  you  can," 

"Instinct,  Dick — instinct!"  said  Buttons, 
with  animation. 

"  What's  that  flashing  in  their  boat?" 

"That?"  said  Buttons.  "It's  a  spy-glass. 
I  didn't  notictfil  before." 

"  I've  seen  irfor  the  last  Imlf-hour."        * 

' '  Theii^iey  must  recognize  us.     How  stranjje 


that  they  don't  slacken  a  little  1  Perhaps  we 
are  not  in  full  view.  I  will  sit  a^^ittlo  more  out 
of  the  shade  of  tho  sail,  so  that  they  can  recog- 
nize me." 

Accordingly  Buttons  moved  otit  to  a  more 
conspicuous  place,  and  Dick  allowed  himself  to 
be  mjffo  visible.  Again  the  flashing  brass  Wiis 
seenr  in  the  boat,  and  they  could  plainly  jier. 
ceive  that  it  was  passed  from  one  to  the  otlier 
while  each  took  a  long  survey. 

"They  must  be  able  to  see  ns  if  they  have 
any  kind  of  a  glass  at  all."         < 

"I  should  think  so,"  said  Buttons,  dolefully. 

"  Are  you  sure  they  are  th6  S))aniards  ?" 

"Oh!  quite." 

"Then  I  roust  say  they  might  be  a  little 
more  civil,  and  ^ot  keep  us  racing  ofter  them 
forever !" 

"Oh,  I  don't  know ;  I  suppose  they  wouldn't 
like  to  sail  close  up  to  us."  ^' 

"  They  needn't  sail  up  to  us,  but  they  might 
give  us  a  chance  to  hail  them,."        \ 

"  I  don't  think  tho  man  they  have  with  them 
looks  like  Seiior  Francia." 

"  Francia  ?  Is  that  his  name  ?  He  certain- 
ly looks  larger.     He  is  larger." 

"Look!" 

As  Buttons  spoke  the  boat  ahead  fell  rapidly 
to  leeward.  The  wind  had  fallen,  and  a  cur- 
rent which  they  had  struck  upon  bore  tlictn 
away.  In  the  eflTort  to  escape  from  the  current 
the  boat  headed  toward  Buttons,  nnd  when  tlic 
wind  again  arose  she  continued  to  sail  toward 
them.  As  they  came  nearer  Button's  face  ex- 
hibited a  strnngc  vnriety  of  expressions- 


%:, 


"a  tuociuko  r.-.uoxsl" 


ft*' 


They  met. 


THE  DODGE  CLUB ;  OR,  ITALY  IN  MDCCCLIX. 


\ 


85 


CHAPTER  XL 


In  the  other  bont  sat  two  English  ladies  and  '  was  fimLT,^'°"f'''«  ^  ""°  "^  ^^''^^'^  "»»«''« 
.  tall  gen.  eman.  who  eyed  the  two  young  men  Z  tSed  \7'; »""?""  r'"^'^'"'}^  f"^''  '"" 
fixedly,  with  a  "stony  British  stare '•  I      n  '  y''^""^-     He  turned.   .1,  was  Dick. 

«  A  thousand  pardons  !"  said  Buttons,  risin.  '  so  Wscer'.J^T'f "  ^"  ""'  '"'''«'  "^  ""^ 
and  bowmp.     -i  mistook  ^      ^     ae     with   !;.»..       "'°.y°'»'»g  ipan  was  convulsed 

quainlances."  ^  '°""'  "•=-    !'"'  '«Mghter.     Hw  features  wereworking  his 

Whereupon  the  other.  Ibiled  in  a  friendlv    Xch'hST'  "H""  '""^  '°  "'"''P«^  something, 
way,  bowed,  and  said  something.     A  few  c"  m     nn  1  J«        ^^  '' .P'"'""'""*  ''™'''«>'»  «"^ing. 
monplaees  were  interchanged,  and  the  bit   h^s VfJ^?     ?*r'?  ^"  "^'^^-     A'  »""  l"*  «t"<^k 
drifted  away  out  of  hearing      '  ^T  I  "rv  t„        "'r^i"  ''"  """"'» <""!  bowed  down 

.eo^  low,  while  h.s  whole  frame  shook.     Some 

otho«  T'l'T"  ?■"■  ^y  '°*'''«d  scandalised, 
vitn^  «'>"<=k°d,  others  angry.  Buttons  fel 
vexed.     At  bust  Dick  raised  his  face  and  rolled 

OF  UI3  EscAi-E.  tore  lis  handkerclnef  out  of  his  pocket,  while 

It  was  not  much  after  ten  in  the  mnm.-n™  ,°  ""^  ^''ook  with  the  most  painful 

when  Buttons  and  Dick  returned      oTZT   '^°7"''"""  <*f  •""gl»ter.  ^'""" 

ing  the  hotel  they  found  Mr.  Figgs  and  tte  solit^r  V^^^^'  is  sucl,  a  convulsion  in  a 
Doctor,  who  asked,  them  if  they  had  seen  le  ^.Z^^  '•  n"  "  '='>"'•«''.  """W  worBhipers  ; 
Senator.  Jo  which  they  replied  by  putTng  tl  c^L'T^JT'^^^  «•"••»  «^o"hipers  of  another 
same  question  to  their  questioners  '  rf    '    °1:  """'"  ""^  '"  suspected  of  offering  de- 

He  had  not  been  seen  since  they  had  all  been  '  w7l^  /"'"'''     ^°  ''  '""  '"=«'•     ^'«>P'«  n^^'" 
toijother  last.     Where  was  he  ?  ■  ^^  j,^'j|^  '*''°  J'°""S  ""^n,  and  darted  angry  looks 

him,b^st^lll!eya^wis^ed^ThL"^  ''  'hat  had  so  excited  two 

•t  hand,  as  it  was  about  time  for  riiem  ™ leave  nff"^  ,"'  ""'"*  "*'"'  ^^  "°  """"»  i-cJ'ned  to 
tne  town  The  vetturino  was  aTrdy'^g  rfiers?  '"  ""^  °''^'  "'^'""^  '"  "««»<>- 
S;;i'l^E„Vir  --  ~-Sr'^'-  -they  looked  up  to  the  o.a„. 

.^'f  MtKi-^st:; !  Sr  ??r^^  -  -  -  - 

ho  sofas  Buttons  and  Dick  strolled  about  the  '  th«  m  1  If  "'^•' '""'  "">  '"'»<*'«  *<''''«1  by 
town.  Hearing  strains  of  music  as  thev  passed  On  Td:^.''  '''  "'  "n*^  *  "P"*^^  '•"  ">e  ehoir'^ 
the  cathedral,  they  turned  in  there  to  LCto    til  nl3.^  .J!""  V"""  """•»'- «?'«=«  not  more 

he  serv  ce.  Why  there  should  be  serv  ce  and  Sc«".S  .;^"'  ^'V^'"'  ""•>  "  ""^  *"  »»>» 
full  service  too,  they  could  not  imagine.     '         I  sThV„  ^k.."^  "T  "'•'  "«""*  **"*"»  P'«»uced 

"Can  it  be  Sunday.  Dick  ?"  iini,l  n r         ""**''  °"  'bem. 

gmvely.  ^'  ""="  ^    •""»  Buttons,  I      It  ,vas  the  Senator.     He  stood  there  erect 

Who  can  tell?-  exclaimed  Dick,  lost  in  '  faT »n"f       °f  .course,  with  confusion  in   his 
.ler.  «-K,  lost  m   face   and   ve.xation  and  bewilderment.      The 


wonder.  ,  „,„„* 

The  cathedral  was  a  small  one,  with  nave  ^Sn?fh''™  ""' *"""«''"''""  *"^'°"i«bing  p^". 
.nd  transept  as  usual,  and  in  the  Italian  Go,  he  '  But  thn  In?' '"  """^^  V''"=*'  »'  """b  «  thne. 
•^yle.  At  the  end  of  the  nave  stood  tl  S  '  Jnd  he  h^H  T  ^P°""«  •^«""'y  '»'  belp. 
a^tar,  which  was  now  illuminated  with  wax-cr  i  w«,  in  i  •        **"  '.''*'"  ""'*'■•  »"''  *"  bis  soul 

the  opposite  end  of  the  tran'Tept  waJ  a  smSS  I  ?ar  for^S  '  I  «^"'"?^P'*J«eted  his  head  as 
door.  The  chureh  was  moderately  fiUed  pt  IhJT  "*  !!■  ^r^'  ''•""""*'•  »°«l'l'"J.  »"  J 
ably  there  were  as  manvpeoDle  them  n^  uL  I  .J  ^f"!*  *"''""«  bi*  «ip»,Tiolently  as  certain 
had.  They  knelt  on  "Hr  with  thei  C  '  ^^''"'*  <'»«'b  people  do,  wlio  eonve^rse  by  s^Tch 
towarf  the  .Itar.  FindingXTave  .ome&  '  ^d  bv^H'"  k""''  T  ""'•""''"d  what  wo4  are 
cmwded,  Button,  and  Dick  went  at^und  to  "  But  tlJT  °'  "*" '""'"" '"  "^""8  "'om. 
*»«MUthe  end  of  the  tmnsept, Tnd  onLMlllf'  k''"''  '"  ""*"  ">*  ^»''°'  '«"' 
f°»;  A  »fp  space  was  emptV  as  far  aS^«^t?f  .T*"*  "^  ,"•"""«  Bifn.ac«ri5nr 
j-nctipn  with  the  nave.  ImothisthetworounrSX'"  a  '"■*.' u  ^'"°'  «"«»'•  "N"tre 
men  entered,  very  reverentlv  nnT  n-T ^  "^        ™*-      ■*'  '"''b  'be  apparition  was  so  over. 

near  to  the  ^laee'w^ere  th^'othor  loZTZ  l^ff  *  ^'  ""'"f  ^"'^"^  "»'  »'«"'»"«^ 
M  Of  thonght.  called  up  ^tl^-!^  [  ^ -'  s^^tr  tSt  tj^^tf 


6 


THE  DODGE  CLUB ;  OR,  ITALY  IN  MDCCCLIX. 


36 

organ-loft  was  watching  them  with  his  hungry 
glance,  ready  the  moment  that  they  looked  up 
to  be^in  his  grimaces  once  more. 

"That  poor  Senator!"  thought  Buttons; 
"  how  did  he  get  there  ?  Oh,  how  did  he  get 
there  ?" 

Yet  how  could  he  bo  rescued  ?  Could  he  be  ? 
No.  Ho  must  wait  till  the  service  should  be 
over.  **   _   , 

Meanwhile  the  young  men  mustered  sufficient 
courage  to  look  up  {igain,  and  after  a  mighty 
struggle  to  gaze  upon  the  Senator  for  a  few 
seconds  at  a  time  at  least.  There  he  stood, 
projecting  forward  his  anxious  face,  making 
faces  as  each  one  looked  up. 


im  MNATOIL 


could  not  help  doing  often,  the  Senator  would 
repeat  his  mouthings,  and  nods,  and  becks,  and 
looks  of  entreaty.  The  consequence  was,  that 
the  people  thought  the  stranger  was  making 
fkices  at  them.  Three  hundred  and  forty-sercn 
honest  people  of  Sorrento  thus  found  themselves 
shamefully  insulted  in  their  own  church  by  a 
barbarous  foreigner,  probably  an  Englishman, 
no  doubt  a  heretic.  The  other  four  hundred 
and  thirty-six  who  knelt  in  the  nave  knewnoth. 
ing  bbout  it.  They  could  not  sec  the  organ- 
loft  at  all.  The  priests  at  the  high  altar  could 
not  see  it,  so  that  they  were  uninterrupted  in 
their  duties.  The  singers  in  the  organ-loft  siiw 
nothing,  for  the  Senator  wos  concealed  from 
their  view.  Those  therefore  who  saw  him  were 
the  people  in  the  transept,  who  now  kept  stnr- 
ing  fix«ily,  and  with  angry  eyes,  at  the  man  in 
the  loft. 

There  was  no  chance  of  getting  him  out  of 
that  before  the  service  was  over,  and  Buttons 
saw  that  there  might  be  a  serious  tumult  when 
the  Senator  came  down  among  that  wrathful 
crow^.  Every  moment  made  it  worse.  Those 
^ifiifthe  nave  saw  the  agitation  of  those  in  tlic 
traVisept,  and  got  some  idea  of  the  cause. 

At  last  the  service  was  ended ;  the  Eingcrs 
departed,  the  priests  retired,  but  the  congrega- 
tion remained.  Seven  hundred  and  eiglitv- 
three  human  beings  waiting  to  take  venpcmicc 
on'  the  miscreant  who  Iind  thrown  ridicule  on 
the  Holy  Father  by  making  faces  ot  the  fnilliful 
as  they  knelt  in  prayer.  Already  a  murmur 
arose  on  every  side. 

"A  heretic!  A  heretic!  A  blasj  homer  1 
He  has  insulted  us!" 

Buttons  saw  that  a  bold  stroke  alone  could 
'save  them.  He  burst  into  the  midst  of  the 
throng  followed  bj'  Dick. 

"  Fly  !"  he  cried.  ''  Fly  for  your  lives  1  It 
is  a  madman!     Fly!     Fly!'' 

A  loud  cry  of  terror  arose.     Instantaneous' 
conviction  flashed  on  the  minds  of  all.     A  mad- 
man !     Yes.     Ho  could  be  nothing  else. 

A  panic  arose.  Tho  people  recoiled  from 
before  that  terrible  madman.  Buttons  sprang 
up  to  the  loft.  He  seized  the  Senator's  ami 
and  dragged  him  down.  The  people  fled  in 
horror.  As  tho  Senator  emerged  he  saw  seven 
hundred  and  eighty-three  good  people  of  Sor- 
rento scampering  away  like  tho  wind  across  the 
square  in  front  of  tho  cathedral. 

On  reaching  tho  hotel  ho  told  his  story.  Ho 
had  been  peering  about  in  search  of  useful  in- 
fohnotion,  and  had  entered  tho  cathedral.  After 
going  through  evSry  port  he  went  up  into  the 
organ-loft.  Just  then  the  singer*  came.  In- 
stead of  going  out  like  a  man,  he  dodged  them 
from  some  absurd  cause  or  other,  with  a  half 


Now  the  people  in  the  immediate  vicinity  of 
the  two  young  men  had  noticed  their  agitation 

as -„^ 

liad  looked  tip  to  iefl  the  cinie  of  it.   "Tfiey  too  i  ing.  _  ,  t^.  ,      . 

.""  the  Senator.     Othcri  again,  seeing  their  j  him.     At  last  ho  saw  Buttons  and  Dick  enter, 


has  already  been  stated,  and,  moreover,  they  j  idea  that  he  would  get  mto  trouble  for  intrnd- 

. . ^ •_ . .'  __  _ .-.. ,  rty\    -    1-— ■_-!-_    1_.M.   -.*.-.».jij1    till     ^Mrtinrt    »t   Mfflfltflf 


nuDivt~ 


neighbors  looking  up,  did  tho  same,  until  at  last   and  tried  to  make  signals, 
all  in  the  transept  wore  itaring  up  at  the  odd-         "  Woll  "  uid  Bnttoi 
looking  itnngor. 
As  Buttons  and  Dick  looked  up,  which  they 


Well,"  said  Buttons,  "wo  had  better 
leave.  Tlio  Somntvliians  will  be  around  ben 
soon  to  see  the  maniac.     The;  wUl  find  out  all 


iiJf.  ^  ' 


THE  DODGE  CLUB;  OR,  l^AtY  IN  MDCCCtlX. 


ibont  him,  and  mok?  iia  Ecqnainted  with  Lynch 
low."  .  , 

In  a  quarter  of  an  hour/taioro  they  were  on 
their  way  back  to  Naples.,/ 


-^ 


I 

CHAPl^EB   XII. 


EBBCULANEUM  AND  ^MPEII,  AND  ALL  THAT  TUE 
BIGHT  OP  THOSE  FAMOUS  PLACES  PItODUCED  ON 
THE  MINDS  OP  TliE  DODOE  CLUB. 

TiiEY  had  ali-Qttdy  visited  Herculaneam,  but 

the  only  feeling  Avhich  had  been  awakened  by 

the  sight  of  that  ill-fated  city  was  one  of  un- 

mitigated  disgust.     As  honesty  was  the  chief 

characteristic  ki  the  whole  party,  thev  did  not 

hfesitate  to  express  themselves  with  the  utmost 

fr^dom  on yihis  subject.     They  hoped  for  bet- 

Jg^ngs  f/om  Pompeii.     At  any  rote  Pompeii 

f^P^bovo/ground ;  what  might  bo  there  would 

be-psibla:     No  fuss  with  torches.     No  hum- 

I .  v'^''3k'"B  A''**  lanterns      No  wandering  through 

I       hng  bl«ck  passages.      No  mountains  bringing 

forth  mice. 

Tliehr  expectations  were  encouraged  as  they 
walked  up  the  street  of  Tombs  leading  to  the 
Herci/laneum  Gate.  Tombs  were  all  around, 
any  Quantity,  all  sizes,  little  black  vaults  full  of 
pigeon-holes.  These  they  narrowly  examined, 
and  when  the  guide  wasn't  looking  they  filled 
th^ir  pockets  with  the  ashes  of  the  dead. 
"Strange,"  quoth  the  Senator,    musingly. 


87 

"tjiat  these  aiicient  Pompey  fellers  should  pick 
on;t  this  kind  of  »  way  of  getting  buried.  This 
must  bo  the  reason  why  people  speak  of  urns 
and  ashes  when  they  speak  of  dead  peojile." 

They  walked  through  theVTiJla  of  Diomedes. 
They  were  somewhat  disappointed.  From 
guide-books,  and  especially  from  the  remarka- 
bly well-Rot-up  Pompeian  court  at  Sydenham 
Palace,  Buttons  had  been  led  to  expect  some- 
thing  far  gi-ander.  But  in  this,  the  largest 
house  in  the  city,  what  did  he  find  ?  Mites  of 
rooms,  in  fact  closets,  in  which  even  o  humble 
modern  would  find  himself  rather  crowded. 
There  was  scarcely  a  decent-sized  apartment  iit 
the  whole  establishment,  as,  they  all  indignant' 
ly  declared.  The  cellars  wpre  more  striking. 
A  number  of  earthem  vessels  of  enormous  size 
were  in  one  comer. 

"  What  arc  these  ?"  asked  the  Senator. 
"Wine  jars."'  \ 

"What?"  \ 

"  Wine  jars.  They  didn't  use  wooden  casks." 
"The  more  fools  they.  Now  do  voii  mean 
to  say  that  wooden  casks  are  not  infinitely  more 
convenient  than  these  things  that  can't  stand 
up  without  they  are  leaned  against  the  wall  ? 
Pho!" 

At  one  comer  the  guide  stopped,  and  point- 
ing down,  said  something. 

"  What  does  ho  say  ?"  asked  the  Senator. 

"  He  says  if  you  want  to  know  how  the  Pom- 
peians  got  choked,  stoop  down  and  smell  that. 


Tii.iiA  nr  pinimimt 


83 


THE  DODGE  CLU6;  OR,  ITALY  IN  MDCCCLIX. 


m 
m 


rn£w  I 

Erery  body  who  comes  here  is  expected  to  smell 
this  particular  spot,  or  he  can't  say  that  he  has 
seen  Pompeii." 

So  down  went  the  five  on  their  knees,  and 
np  again  faster  than  they  ^nt  down.  With  one 
universal  shont  of:  "  Phew-w-w-w-w-h-h-h !  1 1" 

It  was  a  torrent  of  sulphuroas  rapor  that  they 
inhaled. 

"Now,  I  sappose,"  said  the  Senator,  as  soon 
as  he  could  speak,  "  that  that  there  comes  di- 
rect in  §  bee-line  through  a  subterranean  tun- 
nel right  strqight  from  old  Vesuvius." 

"Yes,  and  it  was  this  that  suggested  the 
famous  scheme  for  extinguishing  the  volcano." 

"How?     What  famous  scheme ?" 

"Why,  an  English  stock-broker  came  hero 
last  year,  and  smclled  this  place,  as  every  one 
must  do.  An  idea  struck  him.  He  started 
up.  Ho  ran  off  without  a  word.  He  went 
straight  to  London.  There  he  organized  a 
company.  They  propose  to  dig  a  tunnel- from 
the  sea  to  the  interior  of  the  mouni^im  Wheil 
all  is  ready  they  will  let  in  the  water.  There 
will  bo  a  tremendous  hiss.  The  volcano  will 
belch  out  steam  for  about  six  weeks ;  but  the 
Ksult  will  bo  that  the  fires  will  be  put  out  for- 
ever." 


~  From  the  Villa  of  Diomedes  ihtj  -wmit,  to  the 
gate  where  the  guard-house  is  seen.  Buttons 
told  the  story  of  the  80i\tinel  who  died  there  on 
duty,  embellishing  it  with  a  few  now  features 
of  an  original  character. 

"Now  that  may  bo  all  very  well,"  said  the 
Senator,  "bat  don't   ask  mo  to  admire  that 


chap,  or  tho  Roman  army, 
or  the  system.  It  was  all 
hollow.  Why,  don't  you  sec 
the  man  was  a  blockhead  ? 
He  hadn't  scn^e  enough  to 
SCO  thit  when  the  whole 
place  was  going  to  the  dogs, 
it  was  no  good  stopping  to 
guard  it.  He'd  much  better 
have  cleared  out  and  saved 
ious  life  for  the  good 
country.  Do  you 
suppose  a  Yankee  would  act 
that  way  ?" 

"  I  should  suppose  not." 
"Thht  man,  Sir,  was  a 
machine,  and  nothing  more. 
A  soldier  must  know  some- 
thing else  than  merely  obey- 
ing orders." 

By  this  time  they  Imd 
passed  through  the  gate  nnd 
stood  inside.  The  strfct 
opened  before  them  for  a 
considerable  dist.nnce  with 
houses  on  each  side.  In- 
cluding the  sidewalks  it 
mipht  have  been  almost 
twelve  feet  wide.  As  only 
the  lower  part  of  the  walla 
of  tho  honses  was  standing, 
the  show  that  they  made  was 
not  imposing.  There  was  no  splendor  in  the  ar- 
chitecture or  the  material,  for  the  style  of  the 
buildings  was  extremely  simple,  and  they  were 
mode  with  brick  covered  with  stucco. 

After  wandering  silently  through  the  streets 
the  Senator  at  length  burst  forth : 
"  I  say  it's  an  enormous  imposition !" 
"  What  ?"  inquired  Buttons,  faintly. 
"Why,  the   whole   system   of  Cyclopedias, 
Panoramas,  Books  of  Travel,  Woodbridge's  Ge- 
ography, Sunday-school  Books — " 
"  What  do  you  mean  ?" 
"I  mean  tho  descriptions  they  give  of  this 
place.     The  fellows  who  write  about  it  get  into 
the  heroics,  and  what  with  their  descriptions, 
nnd  pictures,  and  moralizing,  you, believe  it  is 
a  second  Babylon.     It  don't  seem  possible  for 
any  of  them  to  tell  the  truth.     Why,  there  iia't 
a  single  decent-sized  house  in  the  place.    Ob, 
it's  small!  it's  small !" 

"  It  certainly  might  1)0  larger." 
"  I  know,"  continued  the  Senator,  with  a 
majestic  wave  of  his  hand — "I  know  that  I'm 
expected  to  find  this  hero  scene  very  impressive ; 
but  I'll  be  hanged  if  I'm  satisfied.  Why,  in  tho 
name  of  Heaven,  when  they  give  us  pictures 
of  the  place,  can't  they  make  things  of  the  right 
«t«ff?  Whf,  Vys  seen  «  hmidred'  picturts  of. 
that  gate.  They  make  it  look  like  a  triumph- 
ant arch ;  and  now  that  I'm  here,  dum  mo  if  I 
can't  touch  the  top  of  it  when  I  stand  on  tip- 
too." 

In  all  his  walk  the  Senator  found  only  one 
thing  that  pleased  him.     This  was  the  cole- 


.  J.:,-k 


'.""iT^ 


I 

LuIb; 


THE  DODGt:  CLub;  OB,  ITALY  IN  MDCCCLK. 


brnted  Pompcian  institution  of  a  sikftp  nn(]w  the 
dft'elling-liouso. 

"  Whenever  I  see  any  signs  of  any  thing  like 
trade  among  these  ancients,"  said  lie,  "  I  re- 
spect them.  And  what  is  more  satisfactorv 
than  to  see  a  bake-shop  or  an  eating-saloon  in 
the  lower  story  of  a  palace  ?" 

Their  walk  was*terminafed  by  the  theatre  and 
ampliitheatro.  The  sight  of  these  were  more 
satisfactory  to  the  Senator. 

"  Didn't  these  fellows  coma  it  uncommon 
strong  thou;;h  in  the  matter  of  shows  ?"  he  ask- 
ed, with  considerable  enthusiasm.  "Hey? 
Why,  wo  haven't  got  a  single  travelling  circus, 
menagerie  and  all,  that  could  come  anyway  near 
to  this.  After  all,  this  town  might  have  looked 
well  enough  when  it  was  all  bran-new  and 
painted  up.  It  might  have  looked  so  then; 
but,  by  thunder!  it  looks  any  thing  but  that 
now.  What  makes  me  mad  is  to  see  every 
traveller  pretend  to  get  into  raptures  about  it 
now.  Raptures  be  hanged !  I  ask  yon,  as  a 
sensible  man,  is  there  any  thing  here  equal  to 
any  town  of  tbo  same  population  in  Massachu. 
setts?" 


89 

Although  the  expectations  which  he  had 
formed  were  not  quite  realized,  vet  Buttons 
fou^d  much  to  excite  interest  after  the  first  dis- 
appointment had  passed  away.  Dick  excited 
the  Senator's  disgust  by  exhibiting  thoso  rapt- 
ures  which  the  latter  had  condemned. 
I  The  Doctor  went  by  the  Guide-book  altogeth- 
er, and  regulated  his  emotions  accordingly. 
Having  seen  the  various  pkces  enumerated 
there,  he  wished  nt>  more.  As  Buttons  and 
Dick  wished  to  stroll  further  among  the  houses 
the  other  three  waited  for  them  in  the  amphi- 
theatre, where,the  Senator  beguiled  the  time  by 
giving  his  "  ideo"  of  an  ancient  show. 

It  was  the  close  of  day  before  the  farty  left. 
At  the  outer  barrier  an  official  pofitely  exam- 
ined them.  "The  resulfof  the  examination  was 
that  the  party  was  compelled  to  disgorge  a  num- 
ber of  highly  interesting  souvenirs,  consisting 
of  lava,  mosaic  stones,  ashes,  plaster,  marble 
chips,  pebbles,  bricks,  a  bronze  hingC,  a  piece 
of  bone,  a  small  rag,  a  stick,  etc. 

Tiio  official  apologized  with  touching  polite- 
ness: "It  was  only  a  form,"  he  said.  "Yet 
ho  must  do  it.     For  look  yon,  Signori,"  and 


A  man  ih  roarui. 


40 


THE  DODGE  CLUB\  OR,  ITALY  IN  MDCCCLIX. 


hero  lie  sTirnggod  «p  hi»;i^hoal(lor«,  rolled  his  ] 
eyes,  and  puffed  qnt  his  lips  in  a  way  that  was 
possible  to  none  Wit  iin  Italian,  "wens  it  not, 
thus  tho  entire  city  would  be  carried  away  piece^ 
meal!" 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

VBSUTirS.— WONDERFUL  ASCENT  OP  THE  CONK.— 
WONDEHFUL  DESCENT  INTO  TUB  CRATER. — AND 
MOST  WONDERFUL  DISAPPEARANCE  OF  MR. 
FIOOS,  AFTER  WHOM  ALL  HIS  FRIENDS  QO,  WITU 
TUEIR  LIVES  IN  THEIR  HANDS.— GREAT  SENSA- 
TION AMONO  SPECTATORS.      •_ 

To  every  visitor  to  Nnploi  the  most  promi-  ^ 
ncnt  object  is  Vesuvius.  Tlio  huge  form  of  the  | 
volcano  forever  stands  before  him.  The  long 
pennon  of  smoke  from  its  crater  forever  floats  , 
out  triumphantly  in  'the  air.  Not  in  the  land-  | 
scape  only,  but  in  nil  tho  picture-shops.  In  j 
these  estiiblishmcnti  they  really  seem  to  deal  in 
nothing  but  prints  and  paintings  of  Vesuvius. 

It  was  a  lovely  morning  when  a  carriage, 
filled  with  Americans,  drew  up  at  an  inn  near 
the  footof  the  mountain.  Ttiero  were  guides 
without  number  waiting,  like  Jxaats  of  prey,- to 
fall  on  them  ;  and  all  the  horses  o^Re  countrj- — 
a  wonderful  lot — an  amazing  lot — alcan,  cranky, 
raw-boned,  ill-fed,  wnll-eycd,  ill-natured,  sneak- 
ing, ungainly,  half-foundered,  half-stan-ed  lot ; 
afilicted  witli  all  tho  diseases  that  horse-flesh  is 
heir  to.  There  were  no  others,  so  but  little 
time  was  wasted.  All  wore  on  an  equal  foot- 
ing. To  have  a  preference  was  out  of  tlio 
question,  so  they  amused 'themselves  with  pick- 
ing out  tho  ugliest. 

Whontho  horses  wore  first  brought  out  Mr. 
Figgs  looked  uneasy,  and  made  some  mysteri- 
ous remarks  about  walking.  He  thought  sucli 
nags  were  an  imposition.  Ho  vowed  they  could 
go  faster  on  foot.  On  foot !  The  others  scout- 
ed the  idea.  Absurd  I  Perhaps  he  wasn't  used 
to  such  beasts.  Never  mind.  He  mustn't  bo 
proud.  Mr.  Figgs,  however,  se^cd  to  have 
reasons  which  were  strictly  private,  and  an- 
nounced his  intention  of  walking.  But  the 
others  Avould  not  hear  of  such  a  thing.  They 
insisted.  They  forced  him  to  mount.  This 
Mr.  Figgs  at  length  accomplished,*thongh  he 
got  up  on  the  wrong  side,  and  nearly  pulled  his 
horse  over  backward  by  pulling  at  the  curb- 
rein,  shouting  all  the  time,  in  tones  of  agony, 
"Who-a!"  ° 

At  Ifength  tlWy  all  set  out,  and,  with  few  in- 
torraptions,  arrived  at  a  place  half-way  up  the 
Mountain  called  Tho  Hermitage.  Here  they 
rested,  and  leaving  their  horses  behind,  walked 
on  over  a  barren  region  to  the  foot  of  the  cone, 
AH  around  was  the  abomination  of  desolation. 
"Xhiggy  rocks,  huge,  disjointed  massea  of  shat- 
tered lavn-blocks,  cooled  off  into  the  most  gro- 
tesque shapes,  mixed  with  ashes,  scorin,  and 
pumice-stones.  The  cone  towered  frowningly 
above  their  heads.  Looking  up,  the  aspe<!t  was 
not  enticing.  A  steep  slope  ran  up  for  an  im- 
menio  distance  till  it  touched  the  smoky  canopy. 


On  one  side  it  was  covered  with  loose  sand,  but 
in  other  places  it  was  a\^  ovdrlaid  with  imsses 
of  lava  fragments.  The  undertaking  seemed 
prMligions. 

The  Senator  looked  up  with  a  weary  smile, 
but  did  not  falter;  the  Doctor  thought  tlicy 
would  not  be  able  to  get  up  to  tho  top,  and  pro- 
posed returning ;  tho  others  declined ;  where- 
upon the  Doctor  slowly  sauntered  back  to  the 
Ilermitagc.  Mr.  Figgs,  whom  the  ride  Imd 
considerably  shaken,  expressed  a  desire  to  as- 
cend, but  felt  doubtful  about  his  wind.  Diik 
assured  him  ihai  he  would  find  plenty  when  ho 
got  to  the  top.  The  guides  also  came  to  hii 
relief.  Did  ho  want  to  go?  Behold  them. 
They  had  chairs  to  carry  him  up  or  straps  to 
pull  him.  Their  straps  were  so  mode  tliat  they 
could  envelop  tho  traveller  and  allow  him  to  bo 
pulled  comfortably  up.  So  Mr.  Figgff  grace- 
fully  i-esigncd  himself  to  the  guides,  who  in  a 
short  time  had  adjusted  tlieir  straps,  and  led 
him  to  the  foot  of  the  cone. 

Now  for  the  ascent. 

Buttons  went  first.  Like  a  jrDung  chamois 
this  youth  bounded  up,  leapiijg'  from  rock  to 
rdck,  and  steering  in  b,  straight  line  fsr  tho 
summit.  Next  the  Senator,  who  mounted  rIow- 
ly  and  pcrsevcringly,  as  though  he  had  a  solemn 
duly  to  iKjrfornji,  and  was  determined  to  do  it 
thoroughly.  Then  came  Dick.  More  fitful. 
A  few  steps  upward ;  then  a  rest ;  then  a  fresh 
start ;  followed  by  another  rest.  At  lengtli  he 
sat  down  about  one-third  of  the  way  up  and 
took  a  smoke.     Behind  him  Mr.  Figgs  toiled 


00^ 


■^  4? 


mi  Asa«.NT  or  vuiuvius. 


'^^\ 


cone,  a  waste  o 


V- 


THE  DODGE  CLUB;  OR,  ITALY  IN  MDCCCLIX. 


41 


up,  palled  by  the  panting  guides.  Throe  stout 
mon  in  front — two  others  boosting  from  behind. 
A  longr'  description  might  be  giyon  of  this  rti- 
markablo  ascent.  How  Mr.  Figgs  aggravated 
the  guides  almost  beyond  endurance  by  mere 
force  of  inertia.  Having  committed  himself  to 
them  ho  did  it  thoroughly,  and  not  by  one  single 
act  of  exertion  did  he  lessen  their  labor.  They 
pulled,  pushed,  and  shouted ;  then  they  rested  ; 
then  thoy  rose  again  to  pull,  to  push,  to  shout, 
and  to  rest  as  before;  then  they  implored 4iim 
in  the  most  moving  'terms  to  do  something  to 
help  them,  to  put  one  fi>ot  before  the  other,  to 
brace  himself  firmly — in  short,  to  do  any  thing. 

In  vain.  Mr.  Figgs  didn't  understand  a 
word.  Ho  was  unmovublo.  Then  they  threat- 
ened to  drop  him  and  leave  him  half-way.  The 
throat  was  disregarded.  Mr.  Figgs  sat  on  a 
stone  while  they  rested  and  smiled  benignantly 
at  thorn.  At  last,  maddened  by  his  impassi- 
bility, they  screamed  at  him  and  at  one  an- 
other with  furious  gesticulations,  and  then  tear- 
ing off  the  straps,  they  hurried  up  the  slope, 
leaving  him  on  the  middle  of  the  mount  to  take 
care  of  himself. 

If  might  b3  told  how  the  Senator  toiled  up 
slowly  but  surely,  never  stopping  till  he  had 
gained  the  summit ;  or  how  Buttons,  who  ar- 
rived there  first,  spent  the  time  in  exploring 
the  mysteries  of  this  elevated  region;  or  how 
Dick  stopped  every  twenty  paces  to  rest  and 
smoke ;  how  he  consumed  mhch  time  and 
much  tobacco;  and  how  he  did  not  gain  the 
summit  until  twenty  minutes  after  the  serene 
"face  of  the  Senator  had  confronted  the  terrors 
of  the  crater. 

Before  these  three  there  was  a  wonderful 
scone.  Below  them  lay  the  steep  sides  of  the 
cone,  a  waste  of  hideous  ruin — 


"  Kock!<,  crnR*.  and  moundii  eonfunedly  hurled, 
Tho  frngmeiifc)  of  a  ruined  world." 

Boford  them  was  the  crater,  a  vast  abyss,  the 
|(Ottom  of  which  was  hidden  from  sight  by  dense 
clouds  of  sulphurous  smoko  which  forever  as- 
cended. Far  away  on  the  other  side  rose  the 
opposite  wall  of  the  abyss— black,  rocky  cliifs 
that  rose  precipitously  upward.  The  side  on 
which  thoy  stQod  sloped  down  at  a  steep  angle 
for  a  few  hundred  feet,  and  then  went  abruptly 
downward.  A  mighty  wind  was  blowing  and 
carried  all  the  smoke  away  to  the  opposite  side 
of  the  crater,  so  that  by  getting  down  into  tho 
shelter  of  a  reck  they  wore  quite  comfortable. 

Tlio  view  of  the  country  that  lay  beneath  was 
superb.  There  lay  Naples  with  ite  suburbs, 
extending  for  miles  along  .the  shore,  with  Per- 
tici,  Castellamaro,  and  the  vale  of  Sorrento. 
There  rose  tho  hills  of  Baiae,  the  rock  of  Ischia, 
and  the  Isje  of  Capri.     There  lay  gountleaa 


■nncyards,  ffeldrTorever  green,  groves  of  o(«ngo 
and  flg-trees,  clusters  of  palms  and  cypresses. 
Mountains  ascended  all  around,  with  many 
heighu  crowned  with  castles  or  villages.  There 
lay  the  gloriou  Bay  of  Naples,  the  type  of  per- 
fect beauty.  Hundreds  of  white  sails  dotted 
we  mtense  blue  of  its  surface.    Ships  wore 


there  at  anchor,  and  in  full  sail.  Over  all  was 
a  sky  such  as  is  seen  only  in  Italy,  with  a  depth 
of  blue,  which,  when  seen  in  paintings,  seoms 
to  the  inexperienced  eye  like  an  exaggeration. 

The  guides  drew  their  attention  from  all  this 
beauty  to  a  solid  fact.  This  was  the  cooking 
of  an  egg  by  merely  burying  it  in  tho  hot  sand 
for  a  few  minutes. 

Buttons  now  proposed  to  go  down  into  tho 
crater.     The  guides  looked  aghast. 
"  Why  not  ?" 

"  Impossible,  Signer.     It's  death." 
"  Death  ?     Nonsense  !  come  along  and  show 
us  the  way." 

5' The  way?  There  is  no  way.  No  ono 
ever  dares  to  go  do\vn.  Where  can  wo  go  to  ? 
Do  you  not  see  that  beyond  that  point  where 
the  rock  projects  it  is  all  a  precipice  ?" 

"  That  point  ?     Well,  that  is  the  very  spot  I 
wish  to  go  to.     Como  along." 
"  Never,  Signer." 
"Then  I'll  go." 

"  Don't.  For  the  sake  of  Heaven,  and  in  tho 
name  of  the  most  Holy  Mother,  of  St.  I'eter  in 
chains,  of  all  the  blessed  Apostles  and  Martyrs, 
the  glorious  Saints  and—" 

"  Blessed  Botheration, "  cried  Buttons,  abrupt- 
ly  turning  his  back  and  preparing  to  descend. 

"  Are  you  in  earnest,  Buttons  ?"  asked  Dick. 
"  Are  you  really  going  down  ?" 
"  Certainly." 
"  Oh,  then  I'll  go  too." 
Upon  this  the  others  warned,  rebuked,  threat- 
ened, remonstrated,  and  begged.    In  vain.    The 
Senator  interposed  the  authority  of  years  and 
wisdom.     But  to  no  purpose.      With  mucli. 
anxiety  he  sat  on  tho  edge  of  the  crater,  look- 
ing for  the  result  and  expecting  a  tragedy. 

The  slope  down  which  they  veuturod  was 
covered  with  loose  sand.  At  each  step  tho 
treacherous  soil  slid  beneath  them.  It  wag  a 
mad  and  highly  reprehensible  undertaking. 
Nevertheless  down  they  went— further  and  fur- 
ther. The  kind  heart  of  tho  Senator  felt  a  pang 
at  every  step.  His  voice  sounded  mournfully 
through  tho  rolling  smoko  that  burst  through  a 
million  crevic9S,  and  at  times  hid  the  advent- 
urers from  view.  But  down  they  went.  Some- 
times they  slid  fearfully.  Then  they  would 
wait  and  cautiously  look  around.  Sometimes  tho 
vapors  covered  them  with  such  dense  folds  that 
thoy  had  to  cover  their  faces. 

"If  they  ain't  dashed  to  pieces  they'll  be  suf- 
focated— sure!"  cried  the  Senator,  starting  up, 
and  unable  to  control  his  feelings.  "I  can't 
stand  this,"  he  muttered,  and  he  too  stepped 
down. 

The  guides  looked ^n  in  horror.  "Your 
blood  will  bo^ivyow  o*|i  heads !"  they  criei 
As  the  Senator  descended  the  smoke  entered 
his  eyes,  mouth,  and  nostrils,  making  him  cough 
and  sneexe  fearfully.  The  sand  slid  ;  the  heat 
under  the  surface  pained  his  feet ;  every  step 
made  it  worse.  However,  ho  kept  on  bravely. 
At  length  he  reached  the  spot  where  the  others 
wore  standing. 


Ill 

ill 


43 


THE  DODGE  CLUB ;  OR,  ITALY  IN  MDCCCLIX. 


IIIK  nrSOKNT  OK  VEBDV1C8. 


At  the  foot  of  the  declivity  was  nn  angular 
rock  which  jutted  out  for  about  twelve  feet.  It 
was  about  six  feet  wide.  Its  sides  went  down 
precipitously.  Tho  Senator  walked  painfully 
to  where  they  were  standing.  It  was  a  fearful 
scene.  All  around  arose  tho  sides  of  tho  crater, 
black  and  rocky,  perpendicular  on  all  sides,  ex- 
cept tho  small  slope  down  which  they  had  just 
descended — a  vast  and  gloomy  circumference. 
But  tho  most  terrific  sight  lay  beneath. 

The  sides  of  tho  crater  went  sheer  down  to  a 
great  depth  enclosing  a  black  abyss  which  in  the 
first  excitement  of  the  scene  tho  startled  fancy 
might  well  imagine  extending  to  the  bowels  of 
the  earth  from  which  there  camo  roHuig  up  vast 
clouds  dense  black  sulphurous  wnich>(it  times 
completely  encircled  them  shutting  out  every 
thing  from  view  filling  eyes  nose  mouth  with 
-fumos  of  brimstone  forcing  then|  to  hold  the 
^ils  of  their  coats  or  tho  skirts  it's  all  tho 
same  over  their  faces  so  as  not  to  bo  altogether 
suffocated  while  again  after  a  while  a  fierce 
blast  of  wind  driving  downward  would  hurl  the 
smoke  away  and  dashing  it  against  the  other 
side  of  tho  crater  gathf  r  it  up  in  dense  volumes 


of  blackest  smoke  in  thick  clouds  which  rolled 
up  the  flinty  cliffs  and  reaching  tho  summit 
bounded  fiercely  out  into  tho  sky  to  pass  on  and 
bo  seen  from  afar  as  that  dread  pennant  of  Ve- 
suvius whichis  the  sign  and  symbol  of  its  mas- 
tery over  tho  earth  around  it  and  the  inhabit- 
ants thereof  ever  changing  and  in  all  its  changes 
watched  with  awe  by  fearful  men  who  read  ia 
those  changes  their  own  fate  nqw  taking  heart 
OS  they  see  it  more  tenuous  in  its  consistency 
anon  shuddering  as  they  see  it  gathering  in 
denser  folds  and  finally  awe-stricken  ond  all 
overcome  as  they  see  tho  thick  black  cloud  rise 
proudly  up  to  heaven  in  a  long  straight  col- 
umn at  whose  upper  termination  tho  colossal 
pillar  gpitiads  itself  oufand  shows  to  tlfo  start- 
led gaze  the  dread  symbol  of  the  cypress  tree 

the  herald  of  earthquakes  eruptions  and 

=—^Therc— I  flatter  mygglf  thatiaJhaji 

of  description  it  would  not  be  easy  to  beat  the 
above.  I  just  throw  it  off  as  ray  friend  Tit- 
marsh,  poor  fellow,  once  said,  to  show  what  I 
could  do  if  I  tried.  I  have  decided  not  to  put 
punctuation  marks  there,  but  rather  to  let  each 
reader  supply  them  for  himself.    They  are  oft- 


-<-, 


THE  DODGE  CLUB  j  OB,  ITALY  IN  MDCCCI^IX.  • 


en  in  the  way,  particalarly  to  the  writer,  when 
ho  has  to  stop  in  the  full  flow  of  a  description 
and  insert  them — 

But— 

Wo  left  our  friends  down  in  the  crater  of  Ve- 
Biivius.  Of  course  they  hurried  ont  as  soon  as 
they  could,  and  mounting  the  treaclierous  steep 
they  soon  regained  the  summit,  where  the  guides 
had  stood  bawling  piteously  all  the  time. 

Then  came  the  descent.  It  was  not  over  the 
lava  blocks,  but  in  another  place,  which  ww 
covered  with  loose '  sliding  sand.  Away  they 
started. 

Bijttons  ahead,  went  with  immense  strides 
down  the  slope.  At  every  step  the  sliding  sand 
canied  him  about  ten  feet  further,  so  that  each 
step  was  equal  to  about  twenty  feet.  It  was 
lijje  flying.  But  it  was  attended  by  so  many 
falls  that  the  descent  of  Buttons  and  Dick  was 
8Ccomi)lishcd  as  much  by  sliding  and  rolling  as 
by  walking. 

The  Senator  was  more  cantious.  Having 
fallen  once  or  twice,  he  tried  to  correct  this 
tendency  by  walking  backward.  Whenerer  ho 
found  himself  falling  he  would  let  himself  go, 
and  thus,  on  his  hands  and  knees,  would  let 
himself  slide  for  a  considerable  distance.  This 
plan  gave  him  immense  satisfaction. 

"  It's  quite  like  coasting,"  said  he,  after  he 
had  reached  the  bottom ;  "  only  it  does  come  a 
little  hard  on  the  trowsers." 

On  their  arrival  at  the  Hermitage  to  their 
surprise  they  saw  nothing  of  Mr.  Figgs.  The 
Doctor  had  been  sleeping  all  the  time,  but  the 
landlord  said  he  had  not  been  that  wav.     As 


48 

they  knew  that  the  neighborhood  of  VesuTiiis 
was  not  always  the  safest  in  the  world,  they  all 
went  back  at  once  to  search  after  him. 

Arriving  at  the  foot  of  the  cone  they  went 
everywhere  shouting  his  name.  There  was  no 
response.  They  skirted  the  base  of  the  cone. 
They  walked  up  to  where  he  had  been.  Th«y 
saw  nothing.  The  guides  who  had  thus  fur 
been  with  them  now  said  they  had  to  go.  So 
they  received  their  pay  and  departed. 

"  Of  nil  the  mean,  useless,  chicken-hearted 
dolts  that  ever  I  see,"  said  tlie  Senator,  "  tliey 
are  the  wust!" 

But  meanwhile  there  was  no  Figgs,  Thcv 
began  to  feel  anxious.  At  last  Buttons,  who 
had  been  up  to  where  Mr.  Figgs  was  left, 
thought  he  saw  traces  of  footsteps  in  the  sand 
tliat  was  nearest.  He  followed  these  for  gome 
time,  and  at  last  shouted  to  the  others.  The 
others  went  to  where  he  was.  They  saw  an 
Italian  with  him — an  ill-looking,  low-browed 
rascal,  with  villain  stamped  on  every  feature. 

"  This  fellow  says  he  saw  a  mon  who  an- 
swers the  description  of  Figgs  go  over  in  that 
direction,"  said  Buttons,  pointing  toward  the  p^t 
of  the  mountain  which  is  furthest  from   th« 


^■:;v." 


/ 


wiiinui'6  riuus? 


sea. 

"There?     What  for?'' 
«' I  don't  know." 
"  Is  there  .any  danger?" 
"  I  think  so— Figgs  may  have  had  to  go — 
who  knows?" 

"  Well,"  said  the  Senator,  "  we  must  go  after 
him." 

"What  arms  have  you?"  said  the  Doctor. 
"  Don't  show  it  before  this  rascal." 
"  I  have  a  bowie-knife,"  said  Buttons. 
"So  have  I,"  said  Dick. 
"  And  I,"  said  the  S9nator,  "  nm  sorrv  to  say 
I  that  I  have  nothing  at  ^11." 
I      "  Well,  I  suppose  we  must  do,"  said  the  Doc- 
tor.     "My  revolver  is  something.     It  is  a  dou- 
ble revolver,  of  peculiar^  shape." 

Without  any  other  thout;ht  they  at  once  pre- 
pared to  venture  into  a  district  that  for  all  tliev 
knew  might  swarm  with  robbers.  They  hail 
only  one  thought,  and  that  was  to  save  Figgs. 
"  Can  this  man  lead  us  ?"  asked  Dick, 
'^e  says  he  can  take  us  along  where  he  saw 
Figgs  go,  and  perhaps  we  may  see  some  people 
who  can  tell  us  about  him." 

"Perhiips  wo  can,"  said  the  Senator,  grimlv. 

They  then  started  off  with  the  Italian  at  their 

head.     The  sun  was  by  this  time  within  an 

hour's  distance  from  the  horizon,  and  they  had 

no  time  to  lose.    So  they  walked  rapidly.     Soon 

I  they  entered  among  hills  anfd  rocks  *of  lava, 

i  where  the  desolation  of  the  suitounding,  coun^' ' 

I  try  began  to  be  modified  by  Yegptatibri.     It  was 

j  quite  difficult  to  keep  their  reAoning,  so  as  to 

j  know  in  what  direction  they  were  going,  bat 

tliey  kept  on  nevertheless. 

I     All  of  them  knew  that  the  errand  was  a  dan- 

'  gcrous  one.     AH  of  them  knew  that  it  would 

,  be  better  if  they  were  armed.     But  no  one  said 

any  thing  of  the  kind.     In  fact,  they  felt  snch 


,/ 


THE  DODGE  bLUB;  OB,  ITALY  IN  MDCCCLIX. 


44 

oonfldence  in  their  own  pluclc  nnd  resolution 
that  they  hod  no  doubt  of  success. 

At  length  they  came  to  a  place  where  trees 
were  on  each  side  of  the  rough  path.  At  an 
opening  here  three  men  stood^  Buttons  iat 
once  accosted  them  and  told  liiji  errand.  They 
looked  at  the  America*?  wHh  a  sinister  smile. 

"  Don't  be  afraid  of  BS,^Mnid  Buttons,  quiet- 
ly. "  We're  armed  with  revolvers,  but  we  won't 
hurt  you.  Just  show  us  where  our  friend  is, 
for  we're,  afraid  ho  has  lost  his  way." 

At  this  strange  salutation  the  Italians  looked 
puzzled.  They  looked  at  tlicir  guns,  and  then 
at  the  Americans.  Two  or  three  other  men 
came  out  from  the  woods  at  the  same  time,  nnd 
stood  in  their  rear.  At  length  as  ninny  as  ten 
men  stood  around  them. 

"What  arc  you  staring  at?"  snid  Buttons 
again.  "Yon  needn't  look  so  frightened. 
Americans  only  use  their  revolvers  against 
thieves." 

The  Doctor  at  this,  apparently  by  accident, 
took  out  his  revoh-cr.  Standing  a  little  on  one 
side,  he  fired  at  n  large  crow  on  the  top  of  a 
tree.  The  bird  fell  dead.  He  then  fired  five 
other  shots  just  by  way  of  amusement,  loughing 
nil  the  time  with  the  Senator. 

"  You  see,"  said  he—"  ha,  ha— we're  iw  a  fix 
—ha,  ha— and  I  want  to  show  them  what  a  re- 
Tolver  is  ?" 

"But  you're  wasting  all  your  shot." 
"  Not  a  bit  of  it.  See  !" 
And  saying  this  ho  drew  a  second  chamber 
from  his  pocket,  and  taking  the  first  out  of  the 
pistol  inserted  the  other.  Ho  then  fired  anoth- 
er shot.  All  this  was  the  work  of  a  few  mo- 
ments. He  then  took  some  cartridges  and  filled 
*he  spare  chamber  onc(j„more.  > 

The  Italians  looked  on  this  display  in  great 
astonishment,  exchanging  significnnt  glances, 
particularly  when  the  Doctor  changed  the  cham- 
bers. The  Americans^  on  the  contrary,  took 
good  care  to  manifest  complete  indifference. 
The  Italians  e^^dently  thought  they  were  all 
armed  like  the  Doctor.  Naturally  enough,  too, 
for  if  not,  why  should  they  venture  here  nnd 
talk  so  loftily  to  them  ?  So  they  were  puzzled, 
and  in  doubt.  After  a  time  one  who  appeiired 
to  be  their  leader  stepped  aside  with  two  or 
three  of  the  men,  and  talked  in  a  low  voice,  aft- 
er which  he  came  to  Buttons  and  said : 
"  Come,  then,  and  we  will  show  you." 
«'Goon." 

The  Captain  beckoned  to  his  men.  Six  of 
them  went  to  the  rear.  Buttons  saw  the  ma- 
nreuvre,  and  burst  into  roars  of  laughter.  Tiic 
Italians  looked  more  puzzled  than  ever. 

"  Is  that  to  keep  us  from  getting  away  ?"  he 
_i;ried— "  ha,  ha,  hn,  ha,  ha !     Well,  well !" 

"He's  putting  a  guard  behind  ns.    Langli 


like  fury,  boys,"  said.Buttons,  in  English 
Whereupon  they  all  roared,  the  tremendous 

laughter  of  the  Senator  coming  in  with  fearful 

effect. 

"  There's  nothing  to  laugh  at,"  said  the  man 

who  appeared  to  be  captain,  very  sulkily. 


"  It's  evident  that  yon  Italians  don't  under, 
stand  late  improvements,"  said  Buttons.  "  Buj 
come,  hurry  on." 

The  Captain  turned  and  walked  ahead  sullen- 
ly- 

"  Ii'g  all  very  well  to  laugh,"  said  the  Doctor, 

in'a  chcer$nl  tone  ;  "but  supjiose  those  devils 
behind  us  shoot  us."  '     , 

"I  think  if  they  intended  to  do  that  the  Cnp- 
tain  would  not  walk  in  front.  No,  they  want 
to  take  us  alive,  and  make 'us^  pay  a  heavy  ran- 
som." 

After  this  the  Club  kept  up  an  inccBsai)i^cliiff» 
ter.  They  talked  over  tlieir  situation,  biit^oulj 
as  yet  decide  ujwn  nothing.  It  gre\y  tilaEls  at 
length.  The  sun  went  down.  The  usua^^ piil 
twilight  came  on.  ;,<„  vi - 

"  Dick,"  said  the  Doctor,  "  when  il^<ft|ilHik 
enough  I'll  give  you  my  pistol,  so  that  yo^  mny 
show  off  with  it  as  if  it  were  yours."      "»    , 

"  All  right,  my  son,"  soid  Dick. 

Shortly  after,  when  it  was  quite  dark,  the 
Doctor  slipped  the  pistol  into  the  sidc-pockct  of 
Dick's  coat.  At  length  a  light  appeared  before 
thcpi.  It  was  an  old  ruin  which  stood  upon  an 
eminence.  Where  they  were  not  a  soul  of 
them  could  tell.  I«ck»declared  that  he  smelt 
salt  water.  ■■  ^n»' 

The  light  which  Oj|y  saw  came  from. the 
broken  win(\pw8  of  a  dilapidated  hall  belonniiij; 
to  the  building.  They  went  up  some  crumbling 
steps,  nnd  the  Captain  gave  a  peculiar  knock  at 
Ithe  door.  A  woman  ojicned  it.  A  bright 
!  light  streamed  out..  Dick  paused  for  a  mo- 
I  ment,  and  hx)k  the  Doctor's  pistol  from  Bis 
'  })ocket.  Ho  held  it  up,  and  iiretcnded  to  ar- 
range the  chamber.  Then  he  carelessly  put  it 
i  ill  his  poi'ket  again. 

!      "You  haven't  bound  them?"  snid  the  woman 
!  who  opened  the  door  to  the  Cniitiiin.  » 

j      "  Meaning  us,  my  joy  ?"  snid  Buttons,  in  Ital- 
ian.     "  Not  just  yet,  I  believe,  and  not  for  some 
1  time.     But  how  do  you  all  do  ?" 
I      The  woman  stared  hard  at  Buttons,  nnd  then 
'  at  the  Cnptain.     There  were  eight  or  ten  women 
;  here.     It  was  a  large  hall,  the  roof  still  entire, 
i  but  with  the  plaster  all  gone.      A  bright  firo 
i  burned  at  one  end.     Torches  burned  around. 
On  a  stool  near  the  fire  was  a  familiar  form— 
'  a  portly,  well-fed  form— with  a  merry  face— a 
I  twinkle"  in  his  eye— a  pipe  in  his  mouth— calm- 
i  ly  smoking— apparently  quite  at  home,  though 
'  his  feet  were  tied- in  short,  Jlr.  Figgs ! 
"  Figgs,  my  boy !" 

One  universal  shout  and  the  Club  surrounded 
their  companion.  In  an  instant  Buttons  cut  his 
bonds. 

i      "  Bless  yon— bless  yon,  my  children  '.'    cried 

Figgs.     "  But  how  the  (rrincipal  of  Evil)  did 

•  ysn  get  here?     These  are  brigands.     I've  just^ 

'  been  calculating  how  heavy  a  bill  I  would  haro 

to  foot." 

j  The  brigands  saw  the  release  of  Figgs,  ana 
I  stood  looking  gloomily  at  their  singular  prison-i 
'  crs,  not  quite  knowing  whether  they  were  pris- 
!  oners  or  not,  not  knowing  what  to  do.     Eachl 


THE  DODGE  CLUB;  OR,  ITALY  IN  MDCCCLEL 


d  ahead  sullcn- 


mcmbcr  of  tlio  Club  took  tho  most  comforta- 
ble scat  ho,  could  find  near  tho  fire,  and  began 
talking  vehemently.  a»*lcnly  BIttons  jump- 
ed np.  \ 

"A  thousand  pardons  — I  really  forgot  that 
tlmro  were  ladies  present.  Will  you  not  sit 
here  and  givoHs  the  honor  ofjour  obmpnny  ?" 
lie  made  a  profound  bow  anZ^ looked  at 
ievcral  of  theni.  They  looked  puzzled,  then 
pleased  ;  then  they  all  began  to  Wtter. 

"  Signor  makes  himself  very  much  at  home  " 
said  one,  at  length.  ,  ' 

"And  where  could  there  bo  a  pleasantcr 
place  ?  This  old  hall,  this  jolly  old  fire,  and 
this  delightful  company!" 

Anothe»<l)ow.     The  Captain  looked  very  sul- 
len  siill.     He  was  evidently  in-deep  perplexity. 
"Come,  cheer  up  there!"  said  Buttons.    "We 
won't  do  you  any  liikrm  ;  we  won't  even  com- 
plain to  tho  authorities  that  we  found  our  friend 
here.     Cheer  up-!     Have  you  any  thing  to  eat, 
most  noblo  Captain?"         ' 
The  Cajjtain  turned  awayV- 
Mean^^iUo  Figgs  had  told  tho  storv  of'  his  ' 
capture.    After  resting  <br  a  while  on  the  slope 
he  prepared  to  descend,  but  seeing  sand  further 
away  ho  went  over  toward  it  and  descended 
there.     Finding  it  very  dangerous  or  difficult 
to  go  down  straight  he  made  the  descent  ob- 
liquely,'>flo  that  when  he  reached  tho  foot  of  tho 
cone  he  was  far  away  from  the  point  ot  which 
he  had  started  to  make  the  ascent.      Arriving 
there,  ho  sat  down  to  rest  aftj-r  his  exertions. 
Some  men  came  toward  him)  but  ho  did  not 


45 

I  think  much  about  it.    Suddenly,  bef((ro  ho  knew 
what  wos  up,  he  found  himself  a  priiner.     He 
j  had  a  weary  marFh,>and  was  just  eelting  com- 
fortable as  they  canlo  in. 
\     As  they  sat  round  the  fire  they  fbund  it  very 
I  comfortable.     Like  many  evenings  in  Italv,  it 
j  was  damp  and  quite  chilly.     Thoy  laughed  and 
I  talked,  and  apj.earcd  to  bo  any  thing  but  c:i|>- 
tivcs  in  a  robber's  holj.  ,>  The  Captajn  had  been 
I  out  for  some  time,  and  at  length  returned.     Ho 
was  now  very  cheerful.     Ho  came  laughingly 
up  to  tho  fire. 

"Well,  Siguori  Americani,  what  do  vou  think 
;  of  your  accommoilation?" 
I      "  Delightful :  cliarming  •"  cried  Buttons  and  ' 
Dick. 

j       "  If  the  ladies  would  only  deign  to  smile  on 
'  us — " 

I       "Aha!    You  are  a  great  man  for  tho  liilics!" 
:  said  the  Captain. 

"  Who  is  not  ?"  said  Buttons,  sentciitiinisrvn 
I      After  u  few  pleasant  words  tho  Cajitain  left 
[  again. 

"Ho  has  some  scheme  in  his  villainous  head,"   - 
said  Buttons. 

"To  drug  us,"  said  tho  Doctor. 
/,"Tosehd  for  others,"  said  Dick. 

"  To  wait  till  we  sleep,  and  then  fall  on  us," 
said  Mr.  Figgs.  «x 

"  Well,  gentlemen,"  sold  tho  Senator,  draw- 
ing himself  up,  "  we're  more  than  n  match  for 
them.  Why,  what  are  these  brigands?  Is 
there  a  man  of  th^m  who  isn't  n  poor,  misew- 
ble,  cowardly  cuss  ?     Not  one.     If  we  are  capt- 


MB.  I  IMS, 


40 


THE  DODGE  CLUB ;  6r,  ITALY  I^  MDCCCLIX. 


Tni  LADIES. 


nrcd   by  such  ns  tlicso  wc  dcseno   to  be  cap- 
tives nil  our  lives."     ," 

''  If  we  don't  got  off  soon  we'll  have  a  good 
round  sum  to  pay,"-  said  Mr.  Figgs. 

"  And  that  I  object  to,"  siiid  Buttons ;  "  for, 
I  promised  my  Governor  solemnly  that  I  wouldn't 
spend  more  than  a  certain  sum  in  Europe,  and 
I  won't." 

"For  my  part,"  said  the  Doctor,  "I  cant 
afford  it." 

"  And  I  would  rather  use  the  amount  which 
they  would  ask  in  somo  other  way,"  said  Dick. 

"That's  it^  boys!  You're  plucky.  Coin! 
We'll  li.x  their  flints.  The  American  eagle  is 
soaring,  gentlemen — let  him  ascend  to  the  ze- 
nith. Go  it!  But  mind  no^v— don't  bo  too 
hasty^  Lot's  wait  for  a  time  to  see  further  de- 
velopments." 

",  Richard,  my  boy,  will  j-on  occupy  tj»c  time 
by  singiijig  a  hymn?"  continued  the  l^nator. 
'*  I  see  a  guitar  there. " 

Dick  quietly  got  up,  took  the  guitar,  and, 
tuning  it,\begi;in  to  sing.  The  brigands  were 
still  in  n  state  of" wonder.  The  women  looked 
shy.  Most  of  the  spectators,  however,  were' 
grinning  n\  the  eccentric  Americans.  Dick, 
played  and  ^ang  a  great  quantity  of  songs,  all 
of  a'comic  charactjlt. 

The  Italians,  were  fond  of  music,  of  course. 
Dick  had  a  g^od  voice.  Most  of  his  songs  had 
choruses,  and  the  whole  Club  joined  in.  The 
Italians  admiricd  most  the  nigger  songs.  "  Oh, 
Susannah!"  wAs  greeted  with  great  applause. 
So  was  "  Doo-dah  ;"  and  the  Italians  themselves 
joined  energetically  iii  the'  chorus.  But  the 
song  that  they  loved  best  was  •"  Olo  Virginny 
Shore."  This  they  called  for  over  and  oyer, 
and  as  they  had  quick  ears  they  readily  caught 
tlie  tune ;  sd  that,  finnlly^  wlicn  Di^k^  at  their 


earnest  request,  sang  it  for  the  seventh  time, 
they  whistled  the  air  i|ll  through,  and  joined  in 
with  a  thunderin;;  chorus.  The  Captain  came 
in  at  the  midst  of  it,  and  listened  with  great  de- 
light. After  Dick  had  laid  down  his  instro- 
mcnt  he  approached  the  Americans. 


"  Well,  olo  boss,"  said  the  Senator,  "won't 
you  take  an  arm-chiur  ?" 

"What  is  it?"  said  the  Captain  to  Buttons. 

"  He  wants. to  know  if  your  Excellency  will 
honor  Wm  by  sitting  near  him." 

The  Captain's  eye  sparkled.  Evidently  it 
met  lils'^jies.  'The  Americans  sow  his  de- 
light. 

"I  should  feel  Tionorcd  by  sitting  beside  tlic 
illustrious  stranger,"  said  he.  "  It  was  what  I 
came  to  ask.  And  will  you  allow  the  rest  ot 
these  noble  gentlemen  to  sit  here  and  partici- 
pate in  your  amusement  ?" 

'J  The  very  thing,"  said  Buttons,  "which  we 
have  been  trying  to  get  them  to  do,  but  they 
won't;  Now  we  are  as  anxious  as  «ver,  but 
still  more  anxious  for  the  Indies.'' 

"Oh,  the  ladies! "said  the  Captain;  "they 
are  timid." 

Saying  this  he  made  a  gesture,  andnve  of 
life  men  came  up.  The  whole  six  then  sat  with 
the*  five  Americans.  The  Senator  insisted  that 
tlie  Captain  should  sit  by  his  side.  Yet  it  wns 
singul&r.  ^Each  one  of  the  men  still  kept  his 
gun.  No  notice  was  token  of  this,  however. 
The  policy  of  the  Americans  was  to  go  in  for 
utter  jollitj'.     Tlicy  sat  thus  : 

TlielCaptain. 

■*     The  Senator. 
Bandit  Number  1.  i. 

'  Mr.  Figgs. 

Bandit  Number  2. 

The  Doctor. 
Bandit  Number  3. 

Dick. 
Bandit  Number  4. 

Buttons. 
Bandit  Number  6.  ^1 

Five  members  of  the  Club.  Si*  bandits.  In 
addition  to  these,  four  others  stood  armed  at 
the  door.     The  women  were  at  a  distance. 

But  the  sequel  must  bo  left  to  another  chap- 
ter. 


I 


would  not  h 


THE  DODGE  CLUB ;  OR,  ITALY  IN  MDCCCLi;!, 
CHAPTER  XIV. 


4T 


cnator,  "won't 


aptain;   "tlicy 


BAamriCBNT  ATTITUDK  OF  TBB  SEMATOR  ;  BRII^ 
LIANCY  6r  BUTTONS  ;  AND  I'LUCK  OF  TUB  OTII- 
11}  MEMBEK8  OF  THB  CLUII :  BY  ALL  OF  WUICU 
TUB  0KBATE8T  BFI?B0T8  AHE  I'KOBUCED. 

"  Dots,"  laid  tb»  Senator,  aisuming  a  gay 
tono,  "  it's  ovidont  theso  nucali  have  planned 
thU  arrangement  ta  attack  us ;  but  I've  got  a 

J  plan  by  which  we  can  turn  thp  tables.  Now 
laugh,  all  of  you."  A  roar  of  laughter  arose. 
"  I'll  Icll  it  in  a  minnte.  Whenever  I  stop',  you 
•II  laugli,  80  that  they  may  not  think  that  we  are 
plotting."  Anofher.roar  of  laughter.  "But- 
tons, talk  Italian  aa  hard  *as  you  can;  pro- 
tend to  translate  what  I  am  s&ying ;  ipako  up 
•omctliing  funny,  so  as  to  get   them    Inugli- 

/  ing;    but  take  good  ciro  to  listen  to  what  I 

"  All  right,"  said  Buttons. 

"Ho!  ha!  ha!  ha!  ha!"  said  the  others. 

Now  the  Senator  began  to  divulge  his  plan 
and  Buttons  began  to  talk  Italian,  pretending  to 
translate  what  the  Senator  said.  To  do  this 
required  much  quickness,  and^a  vivid  imagina- 
tion, with  a  sense  of  the  ndiculous,  and  many 
other  qualities  too  numerous  to  mention.  For- 
tunately Buttons  had  all  these,  or  elaethe  Club 
would  not  have  acted  precisely  as  it  did  act ; 
and  perhaps  it  might  not  have  been  able  to 
move  along  in  the  capacity  of  a  Club  any  longer, 
in  which  case  it  would,  of  course,  have  had  no 
furtljuyc  adventures ;  and  then  this  history  would 
not  have  been  written;  aiid  whether  the  world 
would  have  been  better  off  or  worse  is  more  than 
I  can  SUV,  I'm  sure. 


[Wku  UM  Snutor  Midi] 
'•  Uoya,  look  at  th«M  a«r. 
■h,  one  oo  Quh  alile  o(  ui. 
They  here  arrnngml  luine 
■Ignitl,  (nd  wheit  It  la  giren 
theywUliipriDRBtui.  Ixmk 
•h«rp  for  your  llTe^  knit  be 
ready  to  do  what  I  lay. 
Huttoni,  llaten,  and  when 
you  domt  hear  limk  at  me, 
and  I'll  refloat  It." 

tC(u6._"Hal  ha  I  ha! 
ha  I  lia!"] 

"  My  Idea  la  to  turn  the 
tabic*  on  tliOM  vanulota. 
They  put  thenuelvM  In  our 
powers  What  tlfey  have 
arranged  for  thenuolvea  will 
do  for  ua  Jual  aa  well  aa  If 
we  planned  It  all  In  fact,  ^ 
If  we  hail  tried  we  could  not 
have  adjuftod  the  pCeMut 
company  Iwtter." 

rC/u6._"UaI  ha  I  ha  I 
ha!  hal»] 

"Lbteu  now,  Buttqna. 
Wo  will  arrange  a  algnal, 
nml  at  a  certain  word  we 
will  fall  on  our  neighbor* 
nnd  do  with  them  ao  they 
propoae  doing  with  u*.  Uut 
flrat  let  u*  arrange  carefully 
aliout  the  algnal;  for  every 
thing  depend*  on  that" 


rC/u»._"Ua!  ha!  hal 
ha!  hal"] 

"  FiMt,  wo  muat  keep  up 
our  uproar  and  merriment 
to  aa  gri'at  an  extent  as  we 
can,  but  not  very  long.  Let 
It  be  wild,  mad,  bolaterou*. 
but  abort  It  will  diatnct 
Iheae  ragaboni<a,  and  throw 
them  off  their  guard.  The 
flrat  tiling  on  the  pro- 
grammov  then,  i*  merri- 
ment Ijiugh  aa  Joud  and 
•long  0*  you  can." 


[What  Battoa*  aald  ha  uld.] 
"He  lay*,  moat  nbble 
Captain,  aail,  gentlemen, 
that  ho  la  deaperataly  han- 
py ;  that  he  can't  get  what 
he  want*  to  oat.  He 'gen- 
erally eata  drieil  aiiake*,  and 
the  aiipply  he  brought  from 
the  Oreat  Ainvriean  decert 
la  ezhauateil ;  he  want* 
morti,  anil  will  have  It" 
[HenaatlOQ   among    ban- 

"  lie  «aya  he  wouldn't 
have  come  out  here  to-day, 
but  had  a  little  difficulty 
Juat  before  he  Jolued  our 
party.  Ha  waa  luodlug 
from  the  Ameriean  ahlp  at 
c  war,  and  on  atepplnig  on 
ahore  a  man  trod  on  hia  foot, 
whereupon  he  put  him  into 
the  water,  and  held  him 
there  till  lie  wa*  dn>wned.'* 

rilandit*  looking  more  re- 
spectfully.] 

"It  make*  him  feel 
arouaed,  he  raya,  when  ha 
think*  how  odd  that  guld* 
looked  at  him  when  ha 
made  him  go  down  into  tha 
crater  of  Veauvlua;  gava 
him  Ave  minute*  to  aay  hli 
prayer*,  and  then  lifted  him 
up  In  the  air  and  pitched 
him  down  to  the  bottom. 
He  thlnka  he  ia  falling  atiU." 

[ilandil*  exchange  KUn> 
cea.] 

"He  doean't  know  bat 
what  he'll  have  a  little 
tmuble  about  a  prleat  ha 
killed  laat  night  He  w*« 
in  a  church,  and  waa^walk- 
ing  about  whistling,  when 
a  prieat  came  up  and  order- 
ed lilm  out;  wheranpoa  ha 
drew  hi*  revolver,  and  pat 
all  alx  of  the  bullet*  In  tlia 
priest'*  head.'* 


^ 


M 


*»£' 


tm 


^* 


48 


THE  bODQE  CLUB  J  Oft,  ITALY  IN  MDCCCLIX. 


[Whftt  the  Senator  uU.] 
[au».— "Hal    hal    h»l 
ha  I  hal"] 

"The  next  thing  la,  to 
have  tome  Binging.  They 
BMm  to  like  our  glorloui 
national  songa.  Give  theqi 
aoiae  of  themr-  Let  tlie  firat 
one  be  '  Old  Virginny.' " 


[What<Bii<toiu  Mid  ha  laid.] 
CBandita  cross  tlienuelves, 
and  look  aeiioiis.] 

'*  Ue  heard  tlmt  the  prle«t 
waa  not  dead.  Aii  lie  always 
makea  Hure  work,  ho  Intonda 
to  look  in  in  the  morning, 
and  if  he'a  alive,  he'll  cut 
hia  throat,  and  make  all  hla 
attendnnta  dance  to  the  tune 
of 'Old  Virgiuny.'" 


[C7«!>.-"Ha:    hal  ha  J 
hal  ha!"] 

Buttons  had  to  work  on  that  word  "  Old 
Virginny;"  for  tlie  quick  ears  of  the  Italians 
had  caught  it.     Bandits  cross  themselvci^  again. 

Captain. — "  I  don't  believea  word  of  it.  It's 
impossible." 

Bandit  No.  C. — "  He  looks  like  it,  any  way." 

In  fact,  the  Senator  did  look  like  it.  His 
hair  tinged  to  an  unnatural  hue  by  the  sulphur 
of  Vesuvius,  his  square,  determined  javr^  his 
heavy,  overhanging  brow,  marked  him  as  one 
who  was  capable  oCany  desperate  enterprise. 


[W)>a>  »«>  Senator  laid.] 
"Next  and  last,  Dick, 
yon  are  to  sing  'Yankee 
boodla.!.  You  knov  the 
worda  about  'coming  to 
town  riding  on  a  pony.' 
Yon  know  that  ver^  ends 
with  an  Italian  word. ,  I  am 
particular  about  thb,  for  you 
might  sing  the  wrong  verse. 
Do  you  undeTBtand,  all  of 
your  If  BO,  wink  your  eyei 
twice." 


[The  CInb  all  winked 
twice.    Then,>aa  nenal : 

"Ha!  ha!  hal  hal 
ha!"] 

"  Look  at  me.  There  are 
alz.  I  will  take  two;  each 
of  you  take  one — the  man  on 
your  right,  remember.  At 
Dick,  in  singing,  comes  to 
that  word,  each  o('  you  go 
at  your  man.  Iluttons,  you 
hear,  of  coune." 


[CI116.— "Hal    bat  ha! 
hal  haf] 


"Boys,  arrange  in  yonr 
mindi  what  to  do.  Grab 
the  gun,  and  put  year  man 
down  backward.  I'm  al- 
moat  aahamed  of  the  game, 
It'a  so  easy.  Look  at  theae 
boobiea  by  me.  They  are 
like  children.  No  inuacle. 
The  fellows  at  the  end  won't 
dare  to  shoot  for  fear  of 
wounding  their  own  men. 

C/n».-'llal  hal  lial 
hal  hal"] 


[What  BultJ>iu  laid  he  lald.] 

"He  aays  there  is  no 
danger  for  him,  however, 
for  foreignen  are  in  terror 
of  the  tune  of  'Yankee 
Doodle.'  If  he  were  arrest- 
ed by  the  Government,  the 
American  Admiral  would  at 
once  tend  ashore  a  file  of 
marines  with  an  'ultima- 
tum,' a  'Colurablnd,'  a 
'  spanker  boom,'  a  '  Wcb- 
tter'a  Unabridged,'  and  a 
*  brachycatalectic'  to  de- 
mand Ilia  aurrender  at  the  1 
canuon'a  mouth."  { 

[Great  sensati'm  among 
the  bandita  at  the  formida- 
ble arms  of  American  ma- 
rines.} 

"  Thi-ylhink  in  town  that 
he  is  the  Devil,  bcrause<  ho 
haa  killed  seven  men  in 
duels  since  he  came,  and 
haa  never  been  wounded. 
People  don't  know  the  great 
American  invention,  worn 
next  the  skin,  which  makea 
the  body  impervious  to  bul- 
lets." 

ICaptaiti,  aneering.— "I 
don't  believe  iu" 

Bandit  No.  8.—"  I  don't 
know.  Tliey  invented  the 
revolver,  if  I  only  luul 
900!"] 

"  He'a  made  up  his  mind 
to  go  and  lake  pan  in  tho 
war  in  l/imbardy.  He  will 
raiae  a  band  of  Americans, 
all  clothed  in  the  great  shot- 
proof  shirt,  and  armed  Willi 
revolvera  JIke  oura,  that 
shoot  twelve  timea,  and  have 
bullets  like  bomb-shiellf, 
that  bunt  inside  of  a  man 
and  bjow  him  (0  pieces." 


^Captain,  coldly. — "That  crow  didn't  blow 

— -fiBm)»i.#=*tJlr  yei  It  dWr   Irwn<Sj1c,  and 
yea  didn't  notice.    Go  get  it  to-morrow,  exam- 
ine it,  and  yon  will  find  traces  of  the  exploded  ' 
■bell.'*  I 

.  Bands*  No.  4.— "Santa  Maria!  What  lies 
thif  giant  tell*  his  friends !  and  they  all  laugh. 
They  don't  believe  him." 


Bandit  No.  1  .—"Well,  that  revolver  is  enough 
for  me  ;  and  they  all  have  them." 

The  above  conversation  was  all  carried  on 
very  rapidly,  and  did  not  take  up  much  time. 

At  once  the  Club  proceeded  to  carry  out  the 
Senator's  plan.  First  they  talked  nonsense, 
and  roared  and  laughed,  and  perfected  their 
plan,  and  thus  passed  about  ten  minutes.  Then 
Buttons  asked  the  Italians  if  they  wished  more 
music.  '       ■  ^ 

"Answer,  gallant  Captain  of  these  Kings 
of  the  Road.  Will  you  hear  our  foreign 
songs  ?" 

"Most  gladly,"  said  the  gallant  Captain. 
"  There  will  yet  be  time  before  we  get  our  sup- 
per." 

A  sinister  gleam  in  his  eye  as  he  said  this 
about  .the  supper  did  not  escape  the  notice  of 
Buttons.  Thereupon  he  handed  the  guitar  to 
Dick,  and  the  latter  began  to  sing  once  more 
the  strains  of  "  Ole  Virginny."  Tlie  Italians 
showed  the  same  delight,  and  joined  in  a  roar- 
ing chorus.  Even  the  men  by  tho  door  stood 
yelling  or  whistling  as  Dick  sang. 

Lastly,  Dick  struck  np  the  iinal  song.  The 
hour  laid  come ! 

"  Y'ankee  Doodle  came  to  town 

To  buy  himself  a  pony,  ^ 

Stuck  a  feather  in  his  jiat 
And  called  It — llaeearoni  /" 

As  the  song  began  each  man  had  quietly 
braced  himself  for  one  grand  effort.  At  tho 
sound  of  the  Bist  word  the  effect  was  tremen- 
dous. 

The  Senator  threw  his  mighty  arms  round 
the  Captain  and  the  other  bandit.  They  were 
both  small  men,  as  indeed  Italians  are  general- 
ly, and  beside  his  colossal  frame'  they  were  like 
bo^'s  to  a  grown  man.  He  held  them  as  in  a 
vice,  and  grasping  their  hands,  twisted  tliem 
back  till  their  guns  fell  from  their  grasp.  As 
ho  hurled  the  affrighted  ruffians  to  the  floor, 
the  guns  crashed  on  the  stone  pavement,  one  of 
them  exploding  in  its  fall.  He  then  by  sheer 
strength  jerked  the  Onptain  over  on  his  face, 
and  threw  the  other  man  on  'him  face  down- 
ward. This  done  ho  sat  on  them,  and  turned 
to  see  what  the  others  were  doing. 

Buttons  had  darted  at  No.  6  who  wns  on  hit 
right,  seized  his  gun  and  thrown  him  backward. 
He  was  holding  him  down  now  while  the  fellow 
was  roaring  for  help. 

Dick  had  done  abont  tho  same  thing,  but  had 
not  yet  obtained  possession  of  tho  gun.  IIo 
was  holding  the  Doctor's  pistol  to  the  bandit's 
head,  and  telling  him  in  choice  Italian  to  drop 
his  gun,  or  ho  would  send  him  out  of  the  world 
with  twelve  bullets. 

"The  Doctor  was  all  right.  He  was  calmly 
seated  orBiindIt  No.  8,  Willi  one  hand  holdtnir' 
the  bandit's  gun  pointed  toward  the  door,  and 
the  other  grasping  the  ruffian's  throat  in  a  death- 
like clutch.  The  man's  face  was  black,  and  lie 
did  not  move. 

Mr.  Figgs  had  not  been  so  sneccssfbl.  Being 
fat,  he  had  not  been  quick  enongb.     He  wu 


■fe'i 


^ji^u4i4i^> 


THE  DODGE  CLUB;  OB,  ITALY  IN  MDCCCLIX. 


Ill  song.     The 


holding  tho  bandit's  gun,  and  aiming  blows  at 
his  foce. 

"Doctor,"  said  the  Senator,  "  jour  maVs  all 
nght.     Cjivo  It  to  Figgs's  man." 

The  Doctor  sprang  up,  seized  Figgs's  man  by 
the  throat,  just  as  he  staggered  back,  and 
brought  him  down. 

The  whole  thing  had  been  done  in  an  incred- 
ibly short  time.  Tho  robbers  had  been  taken 
by  complete  surprise.  In  strength  they  were 
far  inferior  to  their  assailants.  Attacked  as  they 
were  so  unexpectedly  the  success  of  the  Ameri- 
cans was  not  very  wonderful.  The  uproar  was 
tremendous.  The  women  were  most  noisy 
At  first  all  were  paralyzed.  Then  wild  shrieks 
rang  through  the  hall.  Tliey  yelled,  they  shout- 
ed, they  wrung  their  hands. 

Tho  four  bandits  at  the  end  of  the  hall  stood 
for  a  moment  horroi«struck.  Tlien  they  raised 
their  guns.  -But  they  dared  not  fire.  They 
might  shoot  their  own  men.-  Suddenly  Dick 
who  had  got  tlie  gun  which  he  wished,  looked 
at  the  door,  and  seeing  the  guns  levelled  he 
fired  the  revolver.  A  loud  scream  followed 
One  of  the  men  fell.  The  women  rushed  to 
take  care  of  him.     The  other  tiiree  ran  oflT. 

"Doctor,"  said  the  Senator,  "have  you  a 
rope?     Tie  that  man's  hands  behind  him  " 

The  Doctor  took  his  handkerchief,  twisted  it 
and  tied  tho  man's  hands  asjueatly  and  as  firm- 
ly as  thqugh  they  were  in.  hiadeuffs.  He  then 
went  to  Buttons,  got  a  hantflcerchief  from  him 
and  tied  up  his  man  in  the  same  way.  Then 
Dick's  man  was  bound.  At  that  moment  a 
bullet  fired  tlirough  one  of  the  windows  grazed 
the  head  of  Mr.  Figgs. 

gtia'rf"'''"  *"''*  "'"  ^"'"°'"'  "^°  °"'  """^  ''^''P 

Dick  at  onco  obeyed.     The  women  screamed 
and  ran  as  he  came  along. 

Then  tho  two  men  whom  the  Senator  had 
captured  were  bound.  After  a  while  some 
pieces  of  rope  and  leather  straps  wore  fouiitl  by 
Buttons.  With  fhese  all  the  bandits  were  si 
cured  more  firmly.  Tho  men  whom  the  Sena- 
tor  had  captured  were  almost  lifeless  from  tho 
^mendous  weight  of  his  manly  form.  They 
n^de  their  captives  squat  down  in  one  corner. 
White  the  others  possessed  themsclvos  of  their 
guDs^nd  watched  them.  Tlie  wretches  look- 
^  fri^enod  out  of  their  Wits.  They  were 
Neapohtims  and  peasants,  weak,  feeble,  nerve- 
less,  \  ' 

.nn!^'*  "°T*  **•  ^'*  "'■'"  •«'<'  the  Senator, 
contemptuous>,  as  ho  looked  at  the  slight  fig! 
»««..  "TheyVapoor  lot-,mall,  no  mu«:le. 
no  spirit,  no  nothing."  * 

The  poor  wretcb^t  now  began  to  whine  and 


49 


««„'.' °^o  *'"'"'•"  ""^  <"^«^'  »PP«ftHng  to  But- 
tons.    "Spare  our  livesi"     '   "^     « 

At  that  the  whole  crowd  of  women  came 
moaning  and  •creaming. 
"  Back  f'taid  Buttons. 

w«m-    Spare  our  husbands  1" 


"Back  all  of  you !  Wo  won't  hnrt,  any  one 
If  you  all  keep  quiet."  gt  ; 

The  women  went  sobbing  back  again.  The 
Uoctor  then  went  to  look  at  the  wounded  man 
by  the  door.  The  fellow  was  trembling  and 
weeping.     All  Italians  weep  easily.  - 

The  Doctor  examined  him  and  found  it  was 
only  a  flesh  wound.  The  women  were  full  of 
gratitude  as  the  Doctor  bound  up  his  arm  after 
probing  the  wound,  and  lifted  the  man  on  a  rude 
couch.  From  time  to  time  Dick  would  look  in 
at  the  door  to  see  how  things  were  going  on. 
1  ne  held  was  won. 

"Well,"  said  the  Senator,  "the  other  thiee 
have  probably  run  for  it.  They  may  bring 
otiiers  back.  At  any  rate  we  had  better  hurry 
off.  We  are  armed  now,  and  can  be  safe.  But 
what  ought  we  to  do  with  these  fellows  ?" 

"  Nothing,"  said  Buttons. 

"Nothing?"  ,. 

I' No.  They  probably  belong  to  the 'Camor- 
ra,  a  sort  of  legalized  brigandage,  and  if  we 
had  them  all  put  in  prison  they  would  be  let  out 
the  next  day." 

' '  Well,  I  must  say  I'd  rather  not.  They're  a 
mean  lot,  but  I  don't  wish  them  any  harm. 
Suppose  we  make  them  take  ns  out  to  the  road 
within  sight  of  the  city,  and  then  let  them  eo?' 

"Well."  ^ 

The  others  all  ogreed  to  this. 

"  Wo  had  better  start  at  once  then." 

«'  For  my  part,"  said  Mr.  Figgs,  "I  think  we 
had  much  better  get  something  to  eat  before  we 
go." 

Pooh !    We  can  get  a  good  dinner  in  Na- 
ples.    Wo  may  have  the  whole  country  around 
us  if  we  wait,  and  though  I  don't  care  for  my. 
self,  yet  I  wouldn't  like  to  see  one  of  you  fall 
boys."  ' 

So  it  was  decided  to  go  at  once.  One  man 
still  was  senseless.  He  was  left  to  the  caie  of 
the  womenwafler  being  resuscitated  by  the  Doq, 
tor.  The  Captain  and  four  bandits  were  taken 
oway. 

"Attend,"  said  Buttons,  sternly.  "Yon 
must  show  us  the  nearest  way  to  Naples.  If 
you  deceive  us  you  die.  If  you  show  us  our 
way  we  may  perhaps  let  you  go." 

The  women  all  crowded  around  their  hn». 
bands  screaming  and-yelling.  In  vain  Buttons 
told  them  there  was  no  danger.  At  lest  he 
said — 

"You  come  along  too,  and  make  them  show 
us  the  way.  You  will  then  return  here  with 
them.     The  sooner  the  better.     Haste !" 

The  women  gladly  assented  to  this. 

Accordingly  they  all  started,  each  one  of  th« 
^moricana  carry ing^a  gas- ja^  one  hand^ 
holding  the  arm  of  a  bandit  with  the  other. 
The  women  wont  ahead  of  their  own  accord, 
eager  to  put  an  end  to  their  fears  by  getting  rid 
of  such  dangerous  guests.  After  a,  walk  of 
about  half  an  hour  they  came  to  the  public  road 
which  ran  near  to  the  sea. 

"  I  thought  I  smelt  th^  sca-air,"  said  Dick. 

They  had  gone  by  the  otheriide  ofYMavini. 


.iki.. 


THE  DODGE  CLUB;  OK,  ITALY  IN  MDCCCLIX 


60 

"  This  is  the  road  to  Naples,  Signori,"  said 
the  women. 

"  Ah  !  And  you  won't  feel  safe  till  you  get 
the  men  away.  Very  well,  you  may  go.^  We 
can  probably  take  care  of  ourselves  now." 

The  wonlen  poured  forth  a  torrent  of  thanks 
and  blessings.  The  men  were  then  allowed  to 
go,  and  instantly  vanished  into  the  darkness. 
At  first  it  was  quite  dark,  but  after  a  while  the 
moon  arose  and  they  walked  merrily  along, 
though  very  hungry.  '^ 

Before  they  reached  their  hotel  it  was  about 
one  o'clock.  Buttons  and  Dick' stayed  there. 
As  they  were  all  sitting  over  the  repast  which 
they  forced  the  landlord  to  get  for  them,  Dick 
suddenly  struck  his  hand  on  the  table. 

"  Sold !"  he  cried. 

••What?" 

"  They've  got  our  handkerchiefs." 

"  Handkerchiefs  !"  cried  Mr.  Figgs,  ruefully, 
«« why,  I  forgot  to  got  back  my  purse." 


BOLD. 

"Your  purse!  Well,  let's  go  out  to-mor- 
row— " 

•'Pooh!  it's  no  matter.  There  were  only 
three  piastres  in  it.  I  keep  my  circular  bill  and 
larger  money  elsewhere." 

"Well,  they've  made  something  out  of  us 
after  all.  Three  piastres  and  five  handker- 
chiefs." 

The  Senator  f lowned.  ' '  I've  n precious  good 
mind  to  go  out  there  to-morrow  and  make  them 
disgorge,"  said  he.     "I'll  think  it  over." 


CHAPTER  XV. 


DOLORSB  OVOJt  MORB.— A  PLBAgAHl'  toBVHuil- 
TION.— BUTTONS  LBAHN8  MOBB  OF  HIS  TOUWa 
FRIBNQ. — AFFECTINO  FAREWBLL. 


As  the  CInb  intended  to  leave  for  Rome  al- 
most immediately,  the  two  young  men  in  the 
Stndo  di  San  Bartollo  were  prepared  to  settle 
with  their  landlord. 

When  Buttons  and  Dick  packed  up  their 


modest  valises  there  was  a  general  excitement 
in  the  house ;  and  when  they  called  for  their 
little  bill  it  appeared,  and  the  whole  family 
along  with  it.  The  landlord  presented  it  with 
a  neat  bow.  Behind  him  stood  his  wife.  On 
his  left  the  big  dragoon.  And  on  his  right 
Dolores. 

Such  was  the  position  which  the  enemy  took 

up. 

Buttons  took  up  the  paper  and  glanced  at  it. 

"What  is  this?" 

"Your  bill." 

"My  bill?" 

"  Yes,  Signore." 

"  Yes,"  repeated  Dolores,  waving  her  little 
hand  at  Buttons. 

Something  menacing  appeared  in  the  atti- 
tude and  tone  of  Dolores.  Had  she  changed  ? 
Had  she  joined  the  enemy  ?  What  did  all  this 
mean  ? 

"  What  did  yon  say  you  would  ask  for  this 
room  when  I  came  here  ?"  Buttons  at  length 
asked. 

"I  don't  recollect  naming  any  price,"  said 
tlie  Itindlord,  evasively. 

"  I  recollect,"  said  Dolores,  decidedly.  "  He 
didn't  name  any  price  at  all." 

"Good  Heavens !"  cried  Buttons,  aghast, and 
totally  unprepared  for  this  on  the  part  of  Do- 
lores, though  notliing  on  the  part  of  the  land- 
lord could  hare  astonished  him.  In  tlie  brief 
spoce  of  three  weeks  that  worthy  had  been  in 
the  habit  of  telling  him  on  an  average  about 
four  hundred  and  sevonty-scven  downright  lies 
per  dny. 

"You  told  me,"  said  Buttons,  witH  admira- 
ble calmness,  "that  it  would  be  two  piastres  a 

"  Two  piastres  I  Two  for  both  of  you  1  Im- 
possible !     You  might  as  well  say  I  was  in-  ' 

sane."  ... 

"  Two  piastres !"  echoed  Dolores,  m  mdifj* 
nant  tones— "only  think!  and  for  this  mag- 
nificent apartment!  the  best  in, the  house— ^c- 
gantly  furnished,  and  two  gentlemen  !  Why, 
what  is  this  that  he  means  ?"  / 

"  Et  tu  Brute !"  sighed  Buttons.  j 

"Signore!"  said  Dolores.  / 

"Didn't  he,  Dick?"  / 

"He  did,"  said  Dick;  "  of  course  he  did. 
"Oh,  that  vomicciuolo  will  sny  any  thing, 
said  Dolores,  contemptuously  snapping  her  fin- 
gers in  Dick's  face. 

"  Why,  Sinogre.  Look  yon.  How  is  it  pos- 
sible? Think  what  accommodations  I  Gaxe 
upon  that  bed!  Gaxe  upon  that  furniture! 
Contemplate  that  prospect  of  the  busy  street!^ 
"  Why,  it's  the  most  wretched  room  in  town, 
xncd  ButtOTrt.  *'^I've  been  ashamed  tor"  "" 
friends  here."  . 

"  Ah,  wretch !"  cried  Dolores,  with  flashing 
eyes.  "You  well  know  that  you  were  nerei 
so  well  lodged  at  home.  This  miserable !  Thu 
a  room  to  be  ashamed  of!  Away,  Amencw 
savage!  And  your  friends,  who  are  they  ?  1» 
you  lodge  with  the  laxaroni  ?" 


THE  DODGE  CLUB;  OR,  ITALY  IN  MDCCCLIX. 


iving  her  little 


"  You  said  that  yoa  wonW  charge  two  pi- 
aitrca.  I  will  pay  no  more ;  no,  not  half  a 
carlino.  JJpw  dare  you  send  me  a  bill  for 
.  eighteen  piastres?  I  will  pay  you  six  piastres 
for  the  th|fee  weeks.  Your  bill  for  eighteen  is 
a  cheat.     I  throw  it  away.     Behold  !" 

And  Buttons,  tearing  the  paper  into  twenty 
fragments,  scattered  them  over  the  floor. 

"Ah!"  cried  Dolores,  standing  before  him, 
with  her  arms  folded,  and  her  face  all  aglow 
with  beautiful  anger;  "you  call  it  a  cheat"  do 
you  ?  You  would  like,  would  you  not,  to  run 
off  and  pay  nothing?  That  is  the  custom,  I 
•appose,  in  America..  But  you  can  not  do  that 
in  this  honest  country." 

"  Signore,  you  may  tear  up  fifty  bills,  but  you 
inu8t  pay,"  said  the  landlord,  polltelv. 

"If  you  come  to  travel  yon  should  bring 
money  enough  to  take  you  along,"  said  Dolores. 
\     "Then  I  would  not  have  to  take  lodgings 
It  only  for  a  Sorrento  beggar,"  said  Buttons, 
imewhat  rudely. 

They  are  too  good  for  an  American  beg- 
_  |r,"  rejoined  Dolores,  taking  a  step  nearer  to 
him,  and  slapping  her  little  hands  together  by 
way  of  emphasis. 

"Is  this  the  maid,"  thought  Buttons,  <'that 
hung  sotendcrl^on  my  arm  at  the  masquerade  ? 
the  sweet  girl  who  has  charmed  so  manv  evcn- 
'"n^ith  her  innocent  mirth  ?  Is  this  "the  fair 
yo«(fe  creature  who — " 

"  Are  you  going  to  pay,  or  do  you  think  you 
CM  keep  us  waiting  forever?"  cried  the  fair 
young  creature,  impatiently  and  sharplv. 
"  No  more  than  six  piastres,"  replied  Buttons. 
"  Be  reasonable,  Signore.  Be  reasonable," 
laid  the  landlord,  with  a  conciliatory  smile  • 
"and  above  all,  bo  calm— be  calm.  Lof  us 
have  no  contention.  I  feel  that  these  honor- 
«ble  American  gentlemen  have  no  wish  but  to 
act  justly,"  and  he  looked  bcnignantly  at  his 
family.  •■ 

"  I  wish  I  could  feel  the  sarao  about  these 
Italians,"  said  Buttons. 

"  You  will  soon  feel  that  these  Italians  are 
determined  to  have  their  due,"  said  Dolores. 

"They  shall  have  their  due  and  no  more." 

"Come,  Buttons,"  said  Dick,  in  Italian,  "  let 
ni  leave  this  old  rascal." 

"Old  rascal?"  hissed  Dolores,  mshing  np 
toward  Dick  as  though  she  would  tear  his  eyes 
out,  and  stamping  her  little  foot.  "  Old  ras- 
cal !    Ah,  piccolo  Di-».vo-lo  1 " 

"Come," said  the  landlord;  "I  have  affec- 
tion for  yon.  I  wish  to  satisfy  you.  I  have 
•Iways  tried  to  satisfy  and  please  yon." 

"  The  ungrateful  ones !"  said  Dolores.  "  Have 
we  not  all  been  as  friendly  to  them  as  we  never 
were  before  ?    And  now  they  try  likn  vijM.rg  to 


SI 


*S*^ 


i 


rrn 


4\ 


TWO  l>IA8TBE«l 


"  Kniif  ni.**- 

"Peace,  Dolores,"  said  the  landlord,  majes- 
^'r.  "Let  US  ain«  very  friendly.  Come, 
Rood  American  gentlem.n,  let  ni  have  peace. 

What  now  will  you  pay  ?" 

"  Stop  r  cried  Dolorei.  «'  Do  yon  bargain  ? 
Why,  they  will  try  and  make  you  take  a  htlf- 


oarlinc  for  the  whole  three   weeks.      I  am 
ashamed  of  you.     I  will  not  consent." 

"How  much  will  yon  give?"  said  the  land- 
lord, once  more,  without  heeding  his  daughter. 

"  Six  piastres,"  said  Buttons. 

"  Impossible  I" 

"  When  I  came  here  I  took  good  care  to 
have  it  understood.  You  distinctly  said  two 
piastres  per  week.  You  may  find  it  very  con- 
venient to  forget.  I  find  it  equally  convenient 
to  remember." 

"  Try— try  hard,  and  perhaps  you  will  re- 
member  that  we  offered  to  take  nothing.  Oh 
yes,  nothing— absolutely  nothing.  Couldn't 
think  of  it,"  said  Dolores,  with  a  multitude  of 
ridiculous  but  extremely  pretty  gestures,  that 
made  the  little  witch  charming  even  in  her  rag- 
cality.— "Oh  yesj  nothing  "—a  shrug  of  the 
shoulders— "  we  felt  so  honored  "—spreading 
out  her  hands  and  bowing.—"  A  great  Ameri- 
can !— a  noble  foreigner!"— folding  her  arms, 
and  strutting  up  and  down.—"  Too  much  hap- 
piness  !"— here  her  voice  assumed  a  tone  of  most 
absurd  «a«asm.— "  We  wanted  to  entertain 
them  all  the  rest  of  our  lives  for  nothing  "—a 
ridiculous  grimace— "or  perhaps  your  sweet 
conversation  has  been  sufficient  pay— ba  ?"  and 
»h«  pointed  her  little  ro»y  toper  finger  »rBs 
tons  «•  though  she  would  transfix  him. 

Buttons  sighed.  "Dolores!"  said  he,  "I 
always  thought  yon  wore  my  fViend.  I  didn't 
think  that  you  wonld  turn  against  me." 

"Ah,  infamous  one!  and  foolish  tool  Did 
yon  think  that  I  could  erer  help  yon  to  cheat 
my  poor  parenU  ?    Wu  thii  the  rauon  why 


THE  DODGE  ClfUB;  OBi  ITALY  IN  MDCCCLIX. 


62 

yon  souglit  me  ?  Dishonest  one  I  I  am  only 
an  innocent  girl,  but  I  can  understand  your  vil- 
lainy." 

"  I  think  you  understand  a  great  many 
things,"  ^id  Buttons,  moarnfully. 

"And  to  think  that  one  would  seek  my 
friendship  to  save  his  money  !" 

Buttons  turned  ftway.  "  Suppose  I  stayed 
here  three  weeks  longer,  how  much  would  you 
charge  ?"  he  asked  the  landlord. 

That  worthy  opened  his  eyes.  His  face 
brightened. 

<^ Three  weeks  longer?  Ah— I— Well— 
Fertiaps— " 

"Stop!"  cried   Dolores,  placing  her  hand 

oveir  her  father's  mouth — "  not  a  word.     Don't 

you  understand  ?     He  don't  want  to  stay  three 

'  minutes  longer.     He  wants  to  get  you  into  a 

new  bargain,  and  cheat  you." 

"  Ah !"  said  the  landlord,  with  a  knowing 
winlf.  "But,  my  child,  you  are  really  too 
harsh.     You  must  not  mind  her,  gentlemen 


sider  the  'American  the  same  flesh  and  blood. 
They  believe  that  "  le  bogues  "  is  a  necessary 
part  of  the  education  of  the  whole  Anglo-Saspn'' 
race,  careful  parents  among  that  people  being 
intent  upon  tlireo  things  for  their  children,  to 
wit: 

(1.)  To  eat  Bosbi/ani  Bi/lek,  but  especially 
the  former. 

(2.)'  To  use  certain  profane  expressions,  by 
which  the  Continental  can  always  tell  the  An- 
glo-Saxon. I 

(3.)  To  STRIKE  FBOM  THE  SHOnLDEn  1  !  ! 

Consequently,  when  Buttons,  followed  by 
Dick,  advanced  to  the  door,  the  landlord  and 
the  "  brave  soldier  "  slipped  aside,  and  actually 
allowed  them  to  pass. 

Not  80  Dolores. 

Shq  tried  to  hound  her  relatives  on ;  she 
stormed ;  she  taunted  them ;  slio  called  them 
cowards ;  she  even  went  so  far  as  to  run  after 
Buttons  and  seize  his  valise.  Whereupon  tliat 
young  gentleman  patiently  waited  without  a 
She^s  only  a  willful  young  girl— a  spoiled  cliild   word  till  she  let  go  her  hold.     He  then  went 


— a  spoiled  child." 

"Her  language  is  a  little  strong,"  said  But- 
tons, "  but  I  don't  mind  what  she  says." 

"You  may  deceive  my  poor,  kind,  simple, 
honest,  unsuspecting  father,"  said  she,  "but 
you  can't  deceive  me." 

"Probably  not." 

"  Buttons,  hadn't  wo  better  go  ?"  said  Dick ; 
"  squabbling  hero  *on't  benefit  us." 

"  Well,"  said  Buttons,  slowly,  and  with  a 
lingering  look  at  Dolores, 

But  as  Dolores  saw  them  stoop  to  take  their 
valises  she  sprang  to  the  door-way. 

"  They're  going !  They're  going !"  she  cried. 
"  And  they  will  rob  us.     Stop  them." 

••Signore,"  said  Buttons,  "here  are  six  pi- 
astres. I  leave  them  on  the  table.  You  will 
get  no  more.  If  you  give  Ine  any  trouble  I  will 
summon  you  before  the  police  for  conspiracy 
against  a  traveller.  You  Qan't  cheat  me.  You 
need  not  try." 

So  saying,  he  quietly  placed  the  six  piastres 
on  the  tablq,and  advanced  toward  the  door. 

"  Signore!  Signore  1"  cried  the  landlord,  and 
he  put  himself  in  his  way.  At  a  sign  from 
Dolores  the  big  dragoon  came  also,  and  put 
himself  behind  her. 

"  Yon  shall  not  go,"  she  cried.  "  You  shall 
never  pass  through  this  door  till  you  pay." 

"  Who  is  going  to  stop  us  ?"  said  Buttons.      ^ 

"  My  father,  and  this  brave  soldier  who  is 
arme.d,"  said  Dolores,  in  a  voice  to  which  she 
tried  *te  give  a  terrific  emphasis. 

"  T^cn  I  beg  leove  to  say  this  much,"  said  ! 
Buttons  ;  and  he  looked  with  blaiing  eyes  full 
,in  the  face  of  the  "  brave  so^ier."     ''  Lam  not  j 
^i  TnraTB  ioTdier,'^  SwiT  Snrn«*«rniod ;  but  my  i 
friend  and  I  have  paid  our  bills,  and  we  are 
going  through  that  door.     If  you  dare  to  lay 
10  much  as  the  weight  of  your  flnger  on  me  I'll 
■how  yon  how  a  roan  can  use  liis  lists." 
'     Now  the  Continentals  have  a  great  ond  a 
wholesome  droad  of  the  English  fist,  and  con< 


on  his  way. 

Arriving  at  the  foot  of  the  stairway  he  look- 
ed badk.  There  was  the  slender  "form  of  the 
young  girl  quivering  with  rage. 

"  Addio,  Dolores !"  in  the  most  mournful  cf 
voices. 

"Scelerato!"  was  the  response,  hissed  out 
from  the  prettiest  of  lips. 

The  next  morning  the  Dodge  Club  left  Na- 
ples. 


TBI  muva  aouHia. 


'h^\^ 


THE  DODGE  CLUBj  OE,  ITALY  IN  MDCCCLIX. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

DICK  BBLATB8  A  PAMILT  LEOENS. 


"  DiCK,"  said  the  Senator,  is  they  rolled  over 
the  road,  "  spin  a  yarn  to  beguile  the  time." 
Dick  looked  modest. 
The  rest  added  their  entreaties. 
"  Oil,  well,"  said  Dick,  "  since  you're  so  very 
urgent  it  would  bo  unbecoming  to  refuse.     A 
story  ?     Well,  what  ?     I  will  tell  you  about  my 
maternal  grandfather. 

"My  maternal  grandfather,  then,  was  once 
out  in  Hong  Kong,  and  had  saved  up  a  little 
money.     As  the  climate  did   not  agree  with 
him  his  thought  he  would  corae  home ;  and  at 
■  length  an  American  ship  touched  there,  on  board 
of  which  he  went,  and  he  saw  a  man  in  the 
galley;  so  my  grandfather  stepped  up  to  him 
and  asked  him : 
•,"Ai-e  you  the  mate  ?' 
"'No.     I'm  the  man  that  boils  the  mate,' 
said  the  other,  who  was  also  an  Irishman. 
."So  he  had  to  go  to  the  cabin,  where  ho 
found  the  captain  and  mate  writing  ot(l,  clear- 
ance papers  for  the  custom-house. 

"'Say,  captain,  will  you   cross  the  sea  to 
plow  the  raging  main  ?'  asked  my  grandfather. 

" '  Oh,  the  ship  it  is  ready  and  the  wind  is 
fair  to  plow  the  raging  main  1'  said  the  captain. 
Of  course  my  grandfather  at  once  paid  hjs  fare 
without  asking  credit,  and  the  amount  was  three 
hundred  and  twenty-seven  dollars  tliirtv-nine 
cents. 

"Well,  they  set  sail,  and  after  going  ever 
•0  many  thousjjnd  miles,  or  hundred— I  forget 
which,  but  it  don't  matter— a  great  storm  arose, 
a  typhoon  or  simoon,  perhaps  both ;  and  after 
slowly  gathering  up  its  energies  for  the  space 
of  twenty-nine  days,  seven  hfturs,  and  twenty- 
three  minutes,  without  counting  the  seconds,  it 
burst  upon  them  at  exactly  forty-ti^o  minutes 
past  five,  on  the  sixth  day  of  the  week.  Need 
.  Tsay  that  day  was  Friday  ?  Now  my  grand- 
father saw  all  the  time  how  it  was  going  to  end ; 
and  while  the  rest  were  praying  and  shrieking 
he  had  cut  the  Ushings  of  the  ship's  long-boat 
and  stayed  there  all  the  time,  having  put  on 
board  the  nautical  instruments,  two  or  three 
fish-hooks,  a  gross  of  lucifer  matches,  and  a 
Muco-pan.  At  last  the  storm  struck  the  ship, 
M  I  have  stated,  and  at  the  first  crack  away 
went  the  vessel  to  the  bottom,  leaving  my  gtand- 
faihcr  floating  alone  on  the  surface  of  the 
ocean. 

"My  grandfather  navigated  the  long-boat 
fifty-two  days,  three  hours,  and  twenty  minutes 
by  the  ship'*  chronometer ;  caught  |)Ienty  of 
finii  with  his  fish-hooks;  boiled  sea-wate/in  his 
«Mce-pan,  and  boiled  all  the  wit  away,  making 
T»  nto  in  "the  bottom  of  thelwet,  which  ii  a 
wry  good  place,  for  the  fire  can't  bnm  tBrough 
without  touching  the  water,  wWch  it  can't  bpm  ; 
•nd  finding  plenty  of  fuel  in  ifae  boat,  which  he 
gradually  dismantled,  taking  first  the  thole-pids, 
«hon  the  scaU,  then  the  UflWl,  and  so  on .  This 
•ort  of  thing,  though,  could  not  last  forever,  and 


63 

at  last,  just  in  thp  nick  of  time,  ho  came  across 
a  dead  whale. 

"It  was  floating  bottom  upward,  covered 
wi  A  barnacles  of  very  large  size  indeed ;  and 
wh^re  his  fins  projected  there  were  two  little 
coves,  one  trt  each  side.  Into  the  one  on  the 
lee-side  he  ran  his  boat,  of  which  there  was 
nothing  left  but  the  stem  and  stern  and  two 
side  planks.  4 

"My  grandfather  looked  upon  the  whale  as 
an  island.     It  was  a  very  nice  country  to  one 
who  had  been  so  long  in  a  boat,  though  a  little 
monotonous.     The  first  thing  that  he  did  was 
to  erect  the  banner  of  his  country,  of  wliich  he 
happened  to  have  a  copy  on  his'  pocket-hand- 
kerchief; which  he  did  by  putting  it  at  the  end 
of  an  oar  and  sticking  it  in  the  ground,  or  the  ' 
flesh,  whichever  you  please  to  call  it.     He  then 
took  an  observation,  and  proceeded  to  make 
himself  a  hou^e,  which  he  did  by  whittling  np 
the  remains  of  the  loing-boat,  an^^had  enough 
left  to  moke  a  table,  a  chair,  and  a"  boot-jack. 
So  here  he  stayed,  quite  comfortable,  for  forty- 
three  days  and  a  half,  taking  olaervations  all 
the  time  with  great  accuracy;  and  at  the  end 
of  that  time  all  bis  house  waa  gone,  for  he  had 
to  cut  it  up  for  fuel  to  cook  bis  meals,  and  noth- 
ing was  left. but  half  of  the  boot-jack  and  the' 
oar  which  served  to  uphold  the  banner  of  his 
country.     At  the  end  of  this  time  a  ship  came 
up. 

"  The  men  of  the  ship  did  not  know  what  on 
earth  to  make  of  this  appearance  on  the  water 
where  the  American  tfag  was  flying.  So  they 
|)ore  straight  down  toward  it. 

"  '  I  see  a  sight  across  the  sea,  hi  ho  cheerly 
men !'  remarked  the  captain  to  the  mate,  in  a 
confidential  manner. 

'"Methinks  it  is  my  own  conntrie,  hi  ho 
cheerly  men  I'  rejoined  the  other,  quietly. 

"  '  It  rises  grandly  o'er  the  brine,  hi  he  cheer- 
ly men !'  said  the  captain. 

" '  And  bears  aloft  our  own  ensign,  hi  ho 
cheerly  men  I'  said  the  mate. 

''As  the  shipcame  up  my  grandfather  placed 
both  hands  to  his  mouth  in  the  shape  of  a  speak- 
ing-trumpet, and  cried  out:  «  Ship  ahoy  across 
the  wave,  with  a  way-ay-ay-ay-av !  Storm 
along  r 

"To  which  the  captain  of  the  ship  respond- 
ed through  his  trumpet :  'Tis  I,  my  messmate 
bold  and  brave,  with  a  way-ay-ay-ay-ay  I  Storm 
along." 

"At  this  my  grandfather  inquired:  'What 
vessel  are  you  gliding  on  ?  Pray  tell  to  me  its 
natne.' 

' '  Ahd  the  captain  replied :  '  Our  bark  it  is  a 
whaler  bold,  and  Jones  the  captaiii's  name.' 

"  Theroupea  the  detain  oamo'oB  boaidtiw"^ 


wha^  or  on  shore,  whichever  you  li^e— I  don't 
knof  wliich,  nor  does  it  matter— he  cttne,  at 
any.>rate.  My  grandfather  shoqk  hands  with 
1  him  and  asked  him  to  sit  down.  But  iW'cap- 
tain  declined,  saying  be  prefbrred  standing 

"  '  Well,'  said  my  grandfather, '  I  called  on 
yon  to  see  if  yon  would  like  to  buy  a  whaU.' 


A|i|' 


S4 


THE  DODGE  CLUB ;  OR,  ITALY  IN  MDCCCLIX. 


iinviNO  A  irnALx. 


"  Wa'al,  yeg,  I  don't  mind, 
myself.' 

«' '  What'll  you  give  for  if*' 
« '  What'll  .you  take  for  it  ?' 
M' What'll  you  give?' 
"'What'll you  take?' 
"« What'll  yon  giv6?' 
•"What'll you  take?' 
fgive?' 


rm  in  that  line 


'What'll  yon 


give  ?' 
take?' 
give  ?' 
take?' 


take  ?' 
give?' 
take?' 

"  Twenty-five  minutes  were  taken  up  in  the 
repetition  of  this  question,  for  neither  wished  to 
commit  himself.    / 

'  "  '  Have  you  had  any  offers  for  it  yet  ?'  asked 
Captain  Jones  at  last. 

" '  Wa'al,  no ;  can't  say  that  I  have.' . 

"  '  I'll  give  as  mu«h  as  any  body.' 

•' 'How  much ?• 

'"What'll  yon  take?' 

" « What'll  you  give  ?' 

"'What'll  you  take?' 

"'What'll  you  give?' 

" '  What'll  you  take  ?' 

(give?' 
wk»f^ 


give^' 
take?' 
give?' 


"  Then  my  grandfathvr,  after  a  long  delib- 
eration, took  the  cAptain  by  the  arm  and  led 
him  all  around,  showing  him  the  country,  as 
one  may  say,  enlarging  upon  th^ne  points, 
and  doing  as  ail  good  traders  are  bound  to  do 
when  they  finll  themielves  face  to  face  with  a 
outomer. 


give  ? ' 
take?' 
give?' 
take?' 


"  To  which  the  end  was  : 
" '  Wa'ar,  what'll  you  take  ?' 
"'What'll  yon  give?' 
fgive?' 

'"  What'll  you  rg^J*j: 

\ta)teV 

"  '  Well,'  said  my  grandfather,  «I  don't  know 
as  I  care  about  trading  after  all.  I  think  I'll 
wait  till  the  whaling  fleet  comes  along.  I've 
been  waiting  for  them  for  some  time,  apd  they 
ought  to  be  here  soon.' 

"  '  You're  not  in  the  right  track,'  said  Cap- 
tain Jones. 

"  '  Yes,  I  am.* 

"  '  Excuse  me.' 

'"Excuse  me,'  said  my  grandfather.  'I 
took  an  observation  just  before  you  came  in 
sight,  and  I  am  in  lat.  47°  22'  20",  long.  Ifi0» 
15' 55".'' 

"Captain  Jones's  face  fell.  My  grandfather 
poked  him  in  the  ribs  and  smiled. 
•  "'I'll  tell  you  what  I'll  do,  as  I  don't  care, 
after  all,  about  waiting  here.  It's  a  little  damp, 
and  rm  subject  to  rheumatics.  I'll  let  yon  have 
the  whole  thing  if  you  give-in^wenty-fivo  per 
cent,  of  tho»oil  after  it's  barreled,  barrels  and  all. 

"  The  captain  thought  for  a  moment. 
„  "  '-Yott  drivo  »  dose  bargain.*^ 

"  '  Of  course.' 

"  '  Well,  it'll  Bare  a  voyage,  and  that's  some- ^ 
thing.'  , 

' '  •  Something !  Bless  your  heart  1  ain  t  that 
every  thing?' 

"'Well,  I'll  agree.  Come  on  board,  ano 
we'll  make  out  the  papen.' 


THE  DODGE  CLUB  ;  OB,  ITALY  IN  MDCCCLIX. 


■ack,'  said  Cap- 


20",  long.  150° 


'*  So  my  grandfatber  went  on  board,  and  they 
made  out  tho  papers ;  and  the  ship  hauled  up 
alongside  of  the  whale,  and  they  went  to  work 
cutting,  aod  slashing,  and  hoisting,  and  burn- 
ing, and  boiling,  and  at  last,  after  ever  so  long  a 
time-^1  don't  remember  exacjtly  how  long  — 
tha  oil  was  all  secured,  and  my  grandfather,  in 
a  few  month's  afterward,  when  he  landed  at 
Nantucket  and  made  inquiries,  sold  his  share 
of  the  oij  for  three  thousand  nine  hundred  and 
■  fifty-six  dollars  .fifty-six  cents,  which  he  at  once 
invested  in  business  in  New  Bedford,  and  start- 
ed off  to  Pennsylvania  to  visit  his  mother.  The 
old  lady  didn't  know  him  at  all,  he  was  so 
changed  by  sun,  wind,  storm,  hardship,  sickness, 
fatigue,  want,  exposure,' and  otheC  things  of 
that  kind.     She  loi^ked  coldly  on  him. 

" 'Who  are  yon?' 

•"Don't you  know?' 

"'No.'      "^ 

"'Think.'  ^ 

"  '  Have  you  a  ttrawbtrrjon  your  arm  V 
"'No.' 

"  '  Then— you  are— you  are— tou  abe— my 
own — my  long-lost  son!'    . 


^^-^^2^^ 


TOa  LOMO-U>ST  lOX. 


£6 

"  And  she  caught  him  in  her  arms. 

"Hero  endeth  the  first  part  of  my  grnndfa- 
ttiers  adventures,  but  he  had  many  more,  good 
and  bad  ;  for  he  was  a  remarkable  man,  though 
1  say  It;  and  if, any  of  you  ever  want  to  hear 
more  about  him,  which  I  doubt,  all  you've  got 
to  do  IS  io  say  so.  But  perhaps  it's  just  as  well 
to  let  tijo  old  gentleman  drop,  for  his  advent- 
ures wyre  rather  strange;  but  the  narration 
of  them  IS  not  very  profitable,  not  that  I  go  in 
for  the  utilitarian  theory  of  conversation  ;  but  I 
think,  on  the  whole,  that,  in  storv-tclling  fic- 
tion Should  be  preferred  to  dull  facts  like  these, 
and  so  the  next  time  I  tell  a  story  I  will  make 
one  up." 

The  Club  had  listened  to  the  story  with  the 
gravity  which  should  bo  manifested  toward  one 
who  is  relating  family  matters.  At  its  close  the 
Senatorprepared  to  speak.  He  cleared  his  throat: 
"  Ahem !  Gentlemen  of  the  Club !  our  ad- 
ventures, thus  far,  have  not  been  altogether 
contemptible.  We  have  a  President  and  a  Sec- 
retary ;  onj^t  we  not  also  to  havo  a  Recording 
Secretary— ft  Historian  ?"  < 

"  Ay  J"  said  all,  vgry  earnestly. 
"Who,  then,  shall  it  be?" 
All  looked  at  Dick.  . 

"I  see  there  ia  but  one  feeling  among  ns 
all,  said  tho  Senator.  "  Yes,  Richard,  you 
are  the  man.  Your  gift  of  language,  your  fancy, 
your  modesty,  your  fluency—  But  I  spare  you, 
*rom  ti^^  time  forth  yon  know  your  duty." 

Over^me  by  this  honor,  Dick  was  compelled 
to  bQw  his  thanks  in  silence  and  hide  his  blush- 
ing  face. 

"Andnow.'-iaidMr.Figgs, eagerly,  "I want    . 
to  hear  the  Higgins  Story  !" 

The  Doctor  turned  frightfully  pale,  Dick 
began  to  fill  his  pipe.  The  Senator  looked 
earnestly  out  of  tho  window.  Buttons  looked 
at  the  ceiling. 

"What's  the  matter?"  said  Mr.  Fines 

"What?" asked  Buttons. 

''The  Higgins  Story?" 

The  Doctor  started  to  his  feet.  His  excite- 
ment was  wonderful.     He  clenched  his  fist. 

"I  II  quit !  I'm  going  back.  I'll  join  yoa 
at  Rome  by  anotBer  route.     I'll " 

"No,  yon  won't  I  "said  Buttons;  "for  on  a 
journey  likd  this  it  would  be  absurd  to  begin 
the  Higgins  Story."  <»  " 

"  Pooh  I"  spidDick,  "it  would  require  nihe- 
teea  days  at  least  to  get  through  tho  introducto- 
rypart." 

"When,  tfien,  can  I  hear  h?"  asked  Mr. 
Figgs,  in  perplexity. 


■M 


\ 


66 


THE  DODGE  CLUB;  OR,  ITALY  IN  MDCCCLIX. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 


LETTEB 


DICK,   AND    CBITICISM8 
FBIENDS. 


TiiEY  took  lodgings  near  the  Piazza  di  8pag- 
na.  This  is  the  best  part  of  Rome  to  live  in, 
which  every  traveller  will  acknowledge.  Among 
other  advantages,  it  is  perhaps  the  only  clean 
spot  in  the  Capital  of  Christendom. 

Their  lodgings  were  peculiar.  Descrijjtion  is 
qnito  unnecessary.  They  were  not  disAvercd 
without  toil,  and  not  secured  without  warfare. 
Once  in  possession  they  had  no  reason  to  com- 
plain. True,  the  conveniences  of  civilized  life 
do  not  exist  there — but  who  dreams  of  conven- 
ience in  Rome  7 

On  the  evening  of  their  arrival  they  jrere  sit- 
ting in  the  Senator's  room,  which  was  used  as 
the  general  rendezvous.  Dick  was  diligently 
writing. 

"Pick,"  said  Jhe  Senator^  "  what  are  jrou 

about?" 

"  Well,"  said  Dick,  "  the  fact  is,  I  just  hap- 
pened to  remember  that  when  I  left  home  the 
editor  of  the  village  paper  wished  me  to  write 
occasionally.  I  promised,  and  he  at  once  pub- 
lished the  fact  in  enormous  capitals.  I  never 
thought  of  it  till  this  evening,  when  I  happened 


to  find  a  scrap  of  the  last  issue  of  his  paper  in 
my  valise.  I  recollected  my  promise,  and  I 
thought  I  <night  as  well  drop  a  line." 

"  Read  wEat  you  have  written." 

Dick  blushed  and  hesitated. 

"  Nonsense  1  Go  ahead,  my  boy !"  said  But- 
tons. 

Whereupon  Dick  cleared  bis  throat  and  be- 
gan :  > 

•  .  "  ROMB,  M«y  30,  1S:9. 

"  Mb.  Editob,— Rome  la  a  eubjctt  which  Is  neither  un- 
(nterenting  nor  alien  to  tlie  pri'sent  age." 

"  That's  a  fact,  or  you  wouldn't  be  here  writ- 
ing il^'  remarked  Buttons. 

"  lu  Ibokiiig  over  the  pflst,  our  view  Is  too  often  hound. 
ed  by  the  Middle  Age".  We  consider  that  period'  u  Iho 
chaos  of  the  modern  world,  when  it  lay  covered  wilh 
darkneri!,  until  the  Keform  came  and  said,  '1*1  there  Iw 
light  I"" 

"  Hang  it,  Dick !  be  original  or  be  nothiin;." 
"Yet,  If  the  life  of  Jhe  world  begun  anywliere,  it  win 
In  Rome.    Assyria  is  nothing  to  me.    Egjpl  Is  but  a  uptc- 
ti(cle  1" 

"  If  you  only  bod  enough  funds  to  carry  yoa 
there  you'd  change  your  tunc.     But  go  on." 

"  But  Rome  arises  before  nie  as  the  parent  of  the  lolttr 
time?  By  her  tlie  old  battles  between  freedom  aiid,l)t!. 
potii-m  were  foufiht  long  ago,  and  the'  forms  and  principlu 
of  Liberty  came  forth,  lo  pass,  amid  many  vlcisaitucles, 
down  to  tt  new-horn  day." 

"  There  !     I'm  coming  to  the  point  now !" 
"About  time,  I  imagine.     The  editor  will 
get  into  despair." 

"  Tliere  Is  but  one  fitting  approach  lo  Rome.  By  any 
other  roud  the  mnje?ty  of  the  Old  Capital  in  lost  In  the  le*f- 
er  grandeur  of  the  Medieval  City.  Whoever  goes  tiierc  let 
Mm  come  up  from  Napica  and  enter  by  the  JerusoUiu 
Gate." 

"Jerusalem  fiddlesticks  1  Why,  there's  no 
such  gate!" 

"There  the  very  spirit  of  Antiquity  alts  enthroned  lo 
welcome  ihe  traveller,  and  all  the  aolemn  Past  sheds  hti 
influences  over  liia  soul—*' 

"  Excuse  me  ;  tliere  is  a  Jerusalem  Gate." 
"  Perhaps  so— in  Joppa."      s,^^^^ 

"  There  the  Imperial  City  Ilea  In  the  /iiHImlty  of  niin. 
It  Is  tlio  Rome  of  our  dreamii— the  ghoet  of  a  dead  ind 
buried  Empire  hovering  over  ita  own  neglected  grave  I 

"  Dick,  it's  not  fair  to  work  off  an  old  college 
essay  as  Eur^an  correspondence." 

"  Notliing  may  bo  aeen  but  deaoUtion.  The  waste  Csm- 
pnima  atretchea  Ita  aridaurface  away  to  the  Alban  moiiot- 
aina,  uninhabited,  and  forsaken  of  man  and  beast  Fr 
the  dust  and  the  works  and  the  monuments  of  milliom  llj 
here  mingled  In  the  common  corruptton  of  the  tomb,  «nil 
the  life  oAhe  present  age  shrinks  away  In  tenj)r.  UsB 
lln  8  of  lofty  aqueductli  come  alowly  down  from  tlw  Altaa 
hllbi,  but  these  crumbled  aUmee  and  broken  arcbis  tell » 
storv  more  elonuont  than  human  voice.  ,.    .       j 

''The  walirarise  before  us.  but  there  Is  no  city  beyoni 
The  deaolatlon  that  relgna  In  the  Campagna  has  enlawl 
Lre  The  pSaS.  of  Ihlnoblei  the  haunts  of  pleuuitj,  the 
^A«  if  thTnlumtnd.,  the  garrlaon  of  the  "oWler,!-" 
crumbled  to  dust,  and  mingled  topther  In  one  «mm« 
nVln.  The  aoll  on  which  we  treaf,  which  give"  bWl  "J 
rreM,.hruba,and  wild  flowers  without  number,  ta  toUJ 
asseiblage~f  the  dlslnlegraled  atoms  of  stones  and  nwrtu 
that  onc?ait)ie  on  high  In  the  form  of  paUce,  pyTaBl^ot 
■fcmple.'^ 

"  Dick,  I  advise  yon  to  write  all  your  lettcn 
before  you  see  the  places  you  speak  of.  You'w 
no  idea  how  eloquent  you  can  be!" 

"  Now  If  we  paaa  on  in  thia  dIrMUon,  w«  aoon  <:oim|»J 
spot  which  la  the  eentr,  M  the  »»'"-«}«  jfi*^!^ 
most  nf  all  we  muat  look  when  we  leareb  for  the  aouW  « 
much  that  Is  valuable  In  oar  age. 


al  or  be  nothing." 


Why,  there's  no 


ferasalem  Gate." 


THE,,|J(>DGE  CLUBs  OB.li'ALT  IN  MDCCCLIX. 


JL  ^-nUl'i,*??  •  "^S"****  "Pofc    At  one  end  rUei  . 

,.  ^ZT\    '.'.K  '"'"'*'  =  <"•  <"^»'We  "re  «  few  mean  edl. 

f  M^i  Tn^i".''  »  "■  T"™,  "f '»"«"'« ■■"'■" :  •>»  H'e  other 
t  hill  formed  altosether  of  erumblM  atom,  of  bricks,  mor- 
Ur,  and  precloiu  marblMi^  li  themld.t  are  a  few  rooeli 
column,  blackened  by  time  and  expoeh,^  Thr  JSll  li 
deep,  and  in  placea  there  are4>its  wfie^  excavation,  have 
been  made.    KubbUh  lie.  (round ;  blt-of.traw,"nSgS^,'' 


57 


„.... .....»,.u.,c>aTuuuu;  niMoiatra»,nuuKra8jj. 

and  hay,  and  -lecjyAi  leatjter,  and  broken  bott  e«,  au™lj 
*"■"*  A  few  dirty  ahepherd.  pk«  along,  drivlnRlean  and 
D.  «rab le  .heep.  .Further  up  i.  a  cl.«ter  of  wlne^rte; 
with  8tlll  more  curlona  Ko«ie»  and  driven  »-v.«., 

"What  la  this  placef.i-wh«t  Hioao  niin.,  tlie«e  fallen 
mmmmenta,«ieseJioaryarche.,  these  Ivycivered  w«|ls? 

" '  The  Held  of  freedom,  fkcllon.  fame,  and  blood  .  \ 

fi!"".,?  ^r"i'^.  I*»P'"'"  paMloin  were  exhaled.  ^ 

»  rom  the  flni  hour  of  Empire  In  the  bud 

To  that  when  furlher  world,  to  conquer  failed  i 
rS   ."i^  '^'!'"  "^  "nmortal  accent,  glow, 
And  .tUl  the  eIoquH.1  air  breathe.,  bum.  with  Clcel\> 
"Yet  If  you  BO  up«(»«ne  of  those  people  and  ask  thh 

"  Is  that  all  ?"  inquired  Buttons,  as  Dick  laid 
down  Jiis  paper. 

"  That's  all  I've  written  as  yet." 

Whereupon  Buttons  clapped  his  hands  to  ex- 
press  applause,  and  all  the  others  laughincly  fol- 
lowed his  example.  • 

"Dick,"  said   the   Senator,  after  a   pause 
"  what  you  bave  written  sounds  pretty.     But 
look  at  the  facts.     Here  you  are  writing  a  de- 
scription of  Rome  before  you've  seen  any  thine 
of  the  place  at  all.     All  that  you  have  put  in 
that  letter  IS  what  you  have  read  in  books  of 
travel.     I  mention  this  not  from  blame    but 
merely  to  show  what  a  wrong  principle  travellers 
Roon.     They  don't  notice  real  live  facts.     Now 
I've  prqipised  the  editor  of  our  paper  a  letter 
As  soon  as  I  write  it  I'll  read  it  for  you      The 
style  won't  be  equal  to  yours.     But,  if  I  write, 
111  bo  bound  .to  tell  something  new.     Senti- 
ment," pursued  the  Senator,  thoughtfully  "is 
playingithe  dickens  wth  the  present  age.    What 
we  ought  to  look  at  is  not  old  ruins  or  pittures 
but  men-men-ljve  men.     I'd  rather  visit  the 
cottage  of  an  Italian  peasant  than  any  church  in 
the  country.     I'd  rather  see  the  working  of  the 
pohiual  constitution  of  this  'ere  benighted  land 
than  any  painting  you  can  show.     Horsc^hoOs 
before  ancient  stones,  and  macaroni  before  stat- 

T,^^}  [  ^"'  ""^"^  "'"«'  things  show  mo  all 
thehfeof  the  people.  If  I  only  underetood  their 
cursed  ingo,  'said  the  Senator,  with  a  tinge  of 
regret,  I  d  rather  stand  and  hear  them  talk  by 
the  houi;,  particularly  the  women,  than  listen  to 
tne  pootiest  music  they  can  scare  upl" 

iv  '.'/;  'v'^  I*""  «?"'*•"  ""''^  ^'-  F'KB'.  '""ful- 
V,  m  Naples.  1  went  into  a  broker's  shop  to 
change  a  Napoleon.  I  thought  I'd  like  to  see 
their  financial  system.  I  saw  enough  of  it ;  for 
the  scoundrel  gave  me  a  lot  of  little  bits  of  coin 
Uiat  only  passed  fora  few  cents  apiece  in  Naples, 
with  difficulty  at  tha^  and  won't  pas.  here  at 

The  Senator  lAUghed^ 


fenongh  for  you  as  a  traveller.     But  you  don't 
look  at  ell  the  points  of  the  subject.     The  point 
IS  to  write  a  letter  for  a  new8pai)er.    .Now  what 
IS  the  most  successful  kind  of  letter  ?     The  read- 
ers of  a  family  paper  are  notoriously  women  and 
young  men,  or  lads.     Older  men  only  loqk  at 
the  advertiscmohtg  .or  the  news.      What   do 
women  and  lads  care  for  horse-sliocs  and  maca- 
roBi?     Of  course,  if  one  were  to  write  about 
these  things  in  a  humorous  stylo  they  would 
take  i  but,  as  a  general  thing,  they  prefer  to  read 
about  old  ruins,  and  statues,  ;ind  cities,  and  pro- 
cessions,     But  the  best  kind  of  a  correspondence 
18  that,  which  deals  altogdflier  in  adventures. 
^  'That  8  what  takes  thefaThg !     Incidents  of  trav, 
el,  fights  with  ruffians,  quarrels  with  landlords, 
*ipwreckg,    robbery,   odd    scrapes,   laughable 
scenes;   aijd  Dick,  my  boy!    wben  you   write 
again  be  sure  toUll  your  letter  with  events  of 
this  sort." 

"But    suppose,"  suggested    Dick,  meekly, 
'  that  we  meet  with  no  ruffians,  and  there  are  no 
adventures  to  relate  ?" 

"  Then  use  a  traveller's  piivilege  and  invent 
them.  What  was  imagination  given  for  if  not 
to  use?" 

"  It  will  not  do— it  will  not  do, "  said  the  Sen- 
ntor,  decidedly.  "  You  must  hold  on  to  facts. 
Information,  not  amusement,  should  be  your 
aim."  •' 

"  But  information  is  dull  by  itself.  Amuse- 
ment perhaps  is  useless.  Now  how  much  bet- 
ter  to  combine  the  utility  of  solid  infonnation 
with  the  lighter  graces  of  amusement,  fun,  and 
fancy.  Your  pill,  Doctor„is  hard  to  take 
though  its  effects  are  good.  Coat  it  with  sugar 
and  It  8  easy."  " 

What!"  exclaimed  the  Doctor,  suddenly 

to'^mer"'''     "^•™°°' ""'«'?'     Did  you  speak 

The  Doctor  blinked  and  rubbed  his  eyes,  and 
wondered  what  the  company  were  laughing  at. 
In  a  few  minutes,  however,  he  concluded  to  re- 
sunno  his  broken  slumber  in  his  bed.  He  accord- 
ingly retired  ;  and  the  company  followed  his  ex. 
ample. 


mm.,1  ■       \,  "T" "'^ell,  yon  shouldn't 

complain.  Yon  lost  your  Napoleon,  but  gained 
Mpenence  You  have  a  new  wrinkl^.  I  ™i„ed 
.  n«y  wnnkle  too  when  I  g«yo  a  half.N.,,^leon, 
by  mistake,  to  a  wretched  looking  beggarVblind 
of  one  eye.    I  intended  to  give  him  a  centime  " 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

BT.  PETER'S!  — THK  TKAOIC  8TORT  OP  THE  FAT 
MAN  IN  THE  BALL.— HOW  ANOTHER  TRAGEDY 
NEARLY  HAPPENED.— THE  WOES  OP  MEINHERB 
8CHATT.  ^^ 

Two  stately,  fountains,  a  colonnade  which  in 
spite  of  faults  possesses  unequalled  majesty,  a 
vast  piazza,  enclosing  many  acres,  in  whose  im- 
mense area  puny  man  dwindles  to  a  dwarf,  and 
in  theMiilaitte  the  unapproachable  glories  of 

the  l?eate»tcf  wnhly  temple8--«rch  is  tfio  ffraP 
view  of  St.  Peter's. 

Our  party  of  friends  entered  the  lordly  vesti- 

bul(^  and  lifting  the  heavy  mat  that  hung  over 

the  door.way„they  passed  thrtmgh.     There  came 

a  soft  air  laden  with  the  odor  of  incense;  and 

strains  of  music  from  one  of  the  side  chapels 


*' Your  principle,'' Mid  Bu«or»dr  well  T""  "^ '?"«"«/~"'  ""o  »'  the  side  chapel, 
p  ,    saia  uuitons,     does  well   came  echoing  dreamily  down  one  of  the  iTde 


• 


(1. 


68  THE  ^ODGE  CXUB ;  OB,  ITALY  IN  MDCCCLIX. 

aisks      A  glare  of  iunlteht  flashed  in  on  poI»   a  neTor-cea»ing  supply  of  water.     Tt  was  diffl- 

ishcd  marbles  of  a  thousand  colors  that  covered    cult  to  conceive  that  this  was  the  foof  of  a  huild- 

pillars,  walls,  and  pavement.     The  vaulted  ceil- 

inR  blazed  with  gold.     People  strolled  to  and 

fro  without  any  ppparont  object.     They  seemed 

to  be  promenading.     In  different  places  some 

peasant  women  were  kneeling. 

They  walked  up  the  nave.  The  size  of  the 
immense  lediflco  increased  with  every  step. 
Arriving  under  the  dome  thejr  stood  looking  up 
with  boundlc8»  astonishment. 

They  walked  round  and  round.  They  saw 
statues  which  were  masterpieces  of  genius; 
sculptures  that  glowed  with  immortal  beauty ; 
pictures  which  had  consumed  a  life-time  as  they 
grew  up  beneath  the  patient  toil  of  the  mosaic 
worker.  There  were  altars  contnininfl  gems 
•s"  *fequal  to  a  king's  ransom  ;  curious  pillars  that 
cartb  down  from  immemorial  ages  ;  lamps  that 
burn  forever. 

"This,"  said  the  Senator,  "is  about  the  first 
place  that  has  really  come  up  to  my  idee  of  for- 
eign parts.  In  fact  it  goes  dead  beyond  it.  I 
O  acknowledge  its.  superiority  to  any  thing  that 
America  can  produce.  But  what's  the  good  of 
it  all  ?  If  this  Government  really  cared  for  the 
good  of  the  people  it  would  sell  out  the  hull 
concern,  and  devote  the  proceeds  to  railways 
and  factories.  Then  Italy  would  go  ahead  as 
Trovidence  intended."  * 

"My  dear  Sir,  the  people  of  this  country 
would  rise  and  annihilate  any  Govenrment  that 
dated  to  touch  it." 

"Shows  how  debased  they  have  grown. 
TJ^erc's  no  utility  in  all  this.  There  couldn't 
be  any  really  good  Gospel  preaching  here. 

"  Different  people  require  different  modes  of 
worship,"  said  Buttons,  scntentiously. 

"  But  it's  immense,"  said  the  Senator,  as  they 
stood  at  the  furthest  end  and  looked  toward  the 
entrance.  ' ' Ive  been  calc'latin'  ^hat  ypu  could 
range  oJ()i»g,UiJ8  middle  aisle  about  eighteen 
good-sized  Protestant  churches,  and  eighteen 
more  along  the  side  aisles.  You  could  pile 
them  «VP  three  tiers  high.  Yon  could  stow  away 
twenty-four  more  in  the  cross  aisle.  After  that 
you  could  pile  up  twenty  more  in  the  dome. 
That  would  make  room  here  for  one  hundred 
and  flftj-.two  good-sized  Protestant  churches, 
and  room  enough  would  be  left  to  stow  away  all 
their  spires." 

And  to  show  the  truth  of  his  calculation  he 
exhibited  a  piece  of  paper  on  which  he  had  pen- 
cilled it  all. 

If  the  interior  is  imposing  the  ascent  to  the 
roof  is  equally  so.  There  i?  a  winding  path  so 
arranged  that  mules  can  go  np  carrying  loads. 
Up  this  they  went  and  reached  the  roof.  Six 
Drsevwi  acres  of  territory  snatched  from  the 
air  spread  around ;  statues  rose  from  the  edge ; 
all  around  cupolas  and  pillars  arose.  In  the 
centre  the  huge  dome  Itself  towered^  on  high. 
There  was  a  long  low  building  filled  with  peo- 
ple who  lived  jip  here.  They  were  workmen 
whose  doty  it  was  to  attend  to  the  repairs  of 
the  vast  structure.     Two  fountains  poured  forth 


ing. 

Entering  the  base  of  the  central  cupola  a 
stairway  leads  up.  Tliere  is  a  door  which  lends 
to  the  interior,  where  one  can  walk  around  a 
gallery  on  the  inside  of  the  dome  and  look  down. 
Further  up  where  the  arch  springs  there  is  an- 
other. Finally,  at  the  apex  of  the  dome  there 
is  a  third  opening.  Looking  down  through  tliis 
the  sensation  is  terrific. 

UiHin  the  summit  of  the  vast  dome  stands  an 
edifice  of  large  size,  which  is  called  the  lantern, 
and  appears  insignificant  in  comparison  with 
the  mighty  structure  beneath.  Up  this  the 
stairway  goes  until  at  length  the  opening  into 
the  ball  is  reached. 

The  whole  five  climbed  up  into  the  ball. 
They  found  to  their  surprise  that  fl^ould  hold  \ 
twice  as  many  more.  The  Senator  reached  up 
his  hand.  He  could  not  touch  the  top.  They 
looked  through  the  slits  in  the  side.  The  view 
was  boundless ;  the  wide  Campagna,  the  pur- 
ple Apennines,  the  blue  Mediterranean,  appear- 
ed from  difl'erent  sides. 

"  I  feel,"  pid  the  Senator,  "  that  the  conceit 
is  taken  out  of  me.  What  is  Boston  State 
House  tq  this ;  or  Bunker  Hill  monument  1  I 
used  to  see  pictures  of  this  place  in  Woodbridgc's 
Geography ;  but  I  never  had  a  realizing  sense 
of  architecture  until  now." 

"This  ball,"  said  Buttons,  "has  its  historv, 
its  associations.  It  has  been  the  scene  of  suf- 
fering. Once  a  stoutish  man  came  up  here. 
The  guides  warned  him,  but  to  no  purpose.  Ho 
was  a  willful  Englishman.  You  may  see,  gen- 
tlemen, that  the  opening  is  narrow.  How  the 
Englishman  managed  to  get  up  does  not  appear; 
but  it  is  certain  that  when  he  tried  to  get  down 
he  found  it  impossible.  He  tried  for  hours  to 
squeeze  through.  No  use.  Hundreds  of  peo- 
ple came  up  to  help  him.  They  cot^i't.  The 
whole  city  got  into  a  state  of  wild^Ritcment. 
Some  of  the  churches  had  prayers  offered  np 
for  him  though  he  was  a  heretic.  At  the*cnd 
of  three  days  he  tried  again.  Fasting  rfhd 
anxiety  had  come  to  his  relief,  and  he  slipped 
through  without  difficulty." 

"He  must  have  been  a  London  swell,"  said 

Dick. 

«'I  don't  believe  a  word  of  it,"  said  Mr. 
FiggB,  looking  with  an  expression  of  horror, 
first  at  the  opening  and  then  at  his  own  rqjund- 
ity.  Then  springing  forward  he  hurriedly  be- 
gan tp  descend. 

HoppyMr.  FIggsI  There  was  no  danpier 
for  him.  But  in  his  eagerness  to  get  down  h« 
did  not  think  of  looking  below  to  see  if  the,w»^ 
wa&xlear.  And  so  it  happened,  that  as  he  de^ 
scended  quickly  and  with  excited  haste,  h« 
stepped  with  all  his  weight  upon  the  hand  of  » 
man  who  was  coming  up.  The  stranger  shouted. 
Mr.  Figgs  jumped.  His  foot  slipped.  Hii 
hand  loosened,  and  down  he  fell  plump  tO  the 
bottom.  Had  he  fallen  on  the  floor  there  is  no 
doubt  that  he  would  have  sustained  severe  in- 


THE  DODGE  CLUBj  OBr  ITALY  IN  MDCCCLIX. 


l«n  swell,"  Eaid 


jury.     Fortunatel^r  for  himtelf  he  fell  upon  the 
itrangor  and  nearly  crushed  hig  life  out. 

The  stranger  writhed  nnd  rolled  till  ho  had 
got  rid  of  his  hea^  burden.  The  two  men 
simultaneously  started  to  tlicir  feet.  Tlio  stran- 
ger was  a  short  stout  jnan  with  an  unmistaka- 
ble German  facci  He  had  bright  tlue  eyes,  red 
hair,  and  a  forked  red  beard.  Ho  stared  with 
all  his  might,  stroked  his  forked  red  beard  pite- 
ously,  and  then  ejaculated  most  guttural!  v,  in 
tones  that  seemed  to  come  from  his  boots— ^ ' 

"  Gh-h-h-r-r-r-r-r-acions  me  I" 

Mr.  Figgs  overwhelmed  him  with  apologies, 
assured  him  that  it  was  quite  unintentional] 
hoped  that  he  wasn't  hurt,  begged  his  pardon ; 
but  the  stranger  only  panted,  and  still  he  stroked 
his  forked  red  beard,  and  still  ejaculated— 

\"  Gh-h-h-r-r-r-r-r^cioua  mel" 
Four  heads  peered  through  the  opening 
above  J  but  seeing  no  accident  their  owners,  one 
by  one,  descended;  and  all  with  much  sympathy 
asked  the  stranger  if  he  wMkmuch  hurt.  But 
the  stranger,  who  seemed  qu^^  bewildered,  still 
panted  and  stroked  his  beard,  and  ejaculated— 

"  Gh-h-h-r-r-r-r-r-acious  me  t" 

At  length  ho  seemed  to  recover  his  faculties, 
and  discovered  that  ho  was  not  hurt.  Upon 
this  he  assured  Mr.  Figgs,  in  heavy  guttural 
English,  that  it  was  nothing.  He  had  often 
been  knocked  down  before.  If  Mr.  Figgs  were 
a  Frenchman,  he  would  feel  angry.  But  as  he 
was  an  American  he  was  proud  to  make  his 
acquaintance."  He  himself  had  once  lived  in 
America,  in  Cincinnati,  where  he  had  edited 
a  German  paper.  His  name  was  Meinherr 
Schatt.  '  V. 

^  Meinherr  Schatt  showed  no  further  disposi- 
tion to  g9  up ;  but  descended  with  the  others 
down  as  far  as  the  roof,  when  they  went  to  the 
front  and  stood  looking  down  on  the  piazza. 
In  the  course  of  conversation  Meinherr  Schatt 
informed  them  that  fte  belonged  to  the  Duchy 
of'Saxo  Meiningen,  that  he  had  been  living  in 
Rome  about  two  years,  and  liked  it  about  as 
well  as  any  place  that  lie  liad  seen.     He  went 


.59 


every  autumn  to  Paris  to  speculate  on  the 
•^urse^  and  generally  made  enough  to  keep 
Ihm  for  a  year.  He  was  acquainted  with  nil 
the  artisu  in  Home.  Would  they  like  to  bo  in- 
»troducod  to  some  of  thonj  ? 

Buttons  would  bo  most  charmed.  Ho  wguld 
rather  become  acquainted  with  artisU  than  with 
any  class  of  people. 

Meinherr  Schatt  lamented  deeply  the  present 
state  of  things  arising  from  the  war  in  Lom- 
bardy.  A  peaceful  German  traveller  was  scane- 
ly  safe  now.  Little  boys  made  faces  at  him  in 
the  street,  and  shouted  after  him,  "Maledetto 
Tedescho ! " 

Just  at  this  moment  the  eye  of  Buttons  was 
attracted  by  a  carriage  that  rolled  away  frottj 
under  the  front  of  the  cathedral  down  the  piaz- 
za. In  it  were  two  lac^ies  and  a  gentleman. 
Buttons  stared  eagerly  for  a  few  moments,  and 
then  gave  a  jump. 

"  What's  the  matter?"  cried  Dick, 
"It  is!     By  Jove  1     It  is!" 
"What?     Who?" 
"  I  see  her  face !     I'm  off!" 
"Confound  it !     Whoso  face ?" 
But  Buttons  gave  no  answer.      He  5vas  off 
like  the  wind,  and  before  the  others  could  re- 
cover  from  their  surprise  had  vanished  down 
the  descent. 

"What   upon  airth   has   possessed  Buttons 
now  ?"  asked  the  Senator. 

"  It  must  be  the  Spanish  girl,"  said  Dick. 
"  Again  ?  Hasn't  his  mad  chase  at  sea  given 
him  a  lesson?  Spanish  girl!  What  is  he  after  ? 
If  he  wants  a  girl,  why  can't  he  wait  and  pick 
out  a  regular  thorough-bred  out  and  outer  of 
Yankee  stock  ?  These  Spaniards  orelot  the 
right  sort." 

In  an  incredible  short  space  of  time  the  figure 
of  Buttons  was  seen  dashing  down  the  piazza,- 
in  the  direction  which  the  carriage  had  taken! 
But  the  carriage'  was  far  ahead,  and  even  as  he 
left  the  chnrch  it  had  already  crossed  the  Ponte  ' 
di  8.  Angelo.  The  others  then  descended. 
Buttons  was  not  seen  till  the  end  of  the  day^^ 


"OUOtOUl  MSt" 


ISilrfll   if 


THE  DODGE  CLUB;  OR,  ITALY  IN  MDCCCLIX. 


CO 

Ho  then  made  his  appearance  with  a  dejected 

air. 

"  Whnt  luck  ?"  asked  Dick,  as  ho  came  in. 

"  None  St  all,"  said  Buttong,  gloomily. 

"  Wrong  ones  agnin  ?" 

"  No,  Indeed.  I'm  not  mistaken  this  time. 
But  I  couldn't  catch  them.  Thoy  got  out  of 
sight,  and  kept  out  too.  I've  been  to  cvciy 
hotel  in  the  place,  but  couldn't  find  thqm,  It's 
too  bad.'' 

"  Buttons,"  taid  the  Senator,  Bravely,  "  I  ra 
sorry  to  see  a  young  man  like  you  so  infatuated. 
Beware — Buttons— beware  of  wiramin !     Take 


Bewarc-Buttons-beware  of  wiramin!     Take    bioateu  arisiocrai,  u,  ...«..u....c«  .u.  ..„ 
the  advice  bf  an  older  and  more  exjKirionced  ;  bio,  yet   perchance  Worthy   mendicant, 

...  ....  '  l^^^^A    A.fAnW^nv    mn4>a    anil    TTinrn    tn   hn 


CHArTER  xxr. 

HARMONT  ON  THE  PINCIAN  HIIX. — MrSIO  HATH 
CUAKM8.— AMERICAN  MELODIES.— THE  OLOHY, 
Tl|B  POWER,  AND  THE  BEAUTY  OF  YANKEE  DOO- 
DJ.B,  AND  TUB  MEBCENABY  BOf  L  OF  AN  ITAL- 
IAN OBOAN-GBINDEH. 

The  Senator  loved  the  Pincian  Hill,  for  there 
ha  saw  what  he  loved  best;  more  than  ruins, 
more  than  churches,  more  than  pictures  and 
statues,  more  than  music.  He  saw  man  and 
human  nature.  1 

He  had  a  smile  fori  nil ;  of  superiority  for  the 
bloated  aristocrat ;'  of  friendliness  for  tlie  luim- 

IIo 


man.  Beware  of  wimmin.  Whenever  you  see 
one  coming— dodge !  It's  your  only  hjow^  If 
it  hadn't  been  for  wimmin"— and  th<J  Senator 
seemed  to  speak  hiilf  to  himself,  while  his  face 
iissumed  a  pensive  air- "if  it  hadn't  been  for 


.ionged  everjidday  more  and  more  to  bo  able  to 
talk  the  language  of  the  people. 

On  one  occasion  the  Club  was  walking  on  the 
Pincian  Hill,  when  suddenly  they  were  arrested 
by  familiar  sounds  which  came  from  some  place 


^ssumeu  a  pcnsivo  air — "ii  ii  imuu  v  "<-^"  ■>"    "j ■ 

wimmin,  I'd  been  haranguing  the  Lcgislatoor ^not  very  far  away.     It  was  a  barrel-organ;  a 


npw,  instead  of  wearying  my  bones  in  this  be 
nightcd  and  enslaved  country." 


CHAPTER  XX. 

THE  GLORY,  ORANDECR,  BEAUTY,  ANIJ  INFINITE 
VARIETY  OF  THE  PINCIAN  HILL;  NAUKATEU 
AND  DETAILED  NOT  COLIMNARILY  BUT  EX- 
HAUSTIVELY, AND  AFTER  THE  MANNER  OF  IIA- 
BBLAIS. 


loft  and  musical  organ;  but  it  was  playing 
'•  Sweet  Home." 

"  A  Yankee  tune,"  said  the  Senator.  "  L«t 
us  go  and  patronize  domestic  manufacture. 
That  18  my  idee  of  political  economy." 

licachingAlio  spot  they  sow  a  pale,  intellect- 
ual-looking luilian  working  away  at  his  instru- 
ment. 

"  It's  not  bad,  though  that  there  may  not  be 
the  highest  kind  of  musical  instrument." 

"  No,"  said  Buttons  ;    "  but  I  wonder  that 


Oh,  the  Pincian  Hill!- Does  the  memory  of  yon,  an  elder  of  o  church,  can  stand  here  and 
Wiat  place  affect  nil  alike?     Whether  it  docs    listen  toil  " 


"  Why,  what  has  the  church  to  do  with  a 
barrel-organ  ?" 

"  Don't  you  believe  the  Bible  ?" 

"  Of  bourse,"  said  the  Senator,  looking  mys- 
tified. I, 

"  Don't  you  know  what  it  says.on  the  sub- 
ject?" 

"What  the  Bible  says ?    Why  no,  of  course 
not.     It  says  nothing." 
\     "I  beg  your  pardon.     It  says, '  The  sound  of 
kha  grinding  is  low."     See  Ecclesiastes,  twelfth, 
fourth." 

The  Senator  looked  mystified,  but  said  noth- 
ing. But  suddenly  the  organ-grinder  struck 
up  another  tune. 

"  Well,  I  do  declare,"  cried  the  Senator,  de- 
lighted, "  if  it  isn't  another  domestic  melody !" 

It  was  "  Independence  Day." 

"  Why,  it  warms  my  heart,"  he  said,  os  a 
flmh  spread  over  his  fine  countenitirce. 

The  organ-grinder  received  any  quantity  of 
baiocdn,  which  so  oncourBged  him  that  he  tried 
^.  W«90rini4  The  Liiurel   another— "Old  Virginny 
ShS^M'nmy=rHMd-bo&\;iMronMl:n3i.hmm^  "  That's  better  yet,"  lajd  the  Senator.       Hut 

W  Youth,  Hope,  Bi.^y,  V*^:*?)^""  f^„2:  ^- 1  how  on  airth  did  this  man  ttianage  to  get  hold 

Kn^ifip  Fliftw.  Gnatii,  flMliynawK  pKhiW,  ntwiwif,  \j<^va'  |     _    _  ^,, .  •  ^., 

Say».0«frl»in|i«,  I  MIiatlfy^MfflW"'"'''', '*!"'•"''?;''» 
StIUod.,  MoJI^  Ift«i»;  JJtflf  »<«M"m«"  B°y»,  Uj- 
fttda,  Sn»ke»,  Golden  fSatiiett,  Tnrk»,  Purple  H1U«,  Ha- 
curds,  Shln-plMten,  Uoahtyi,  (M  Booto,  Coffee-ro«ilM», 
P«le  Ale,  The  Durt  of  AfteM,  Tlie  Qho«t  of  Rome,  lea 
Ct^,  Uemorio),  Sod»-W^teal|Mpe«'«  a«*!«-B«>lf 


or  not  matters  little  to  the  chronicler  of  this 
veracious  history.  To  him  it  is  the  crown  and 
glory  of  modem  Rome  ;  the  centre  around  which 
all  Rome  clusters.  Delightful  walks!  Views 
without  a  parallel !  Place  on  earth  to  which 
no  place  else  can  hold  a  candle ! 

Pooh— what's  tho  uso  of  talkinjt?  _Contem- 
plate,  O  Reader,  from  the  PincianHill  the  fol- 
lowing : 

The  Tiber,  The  Ciiinpagnn,  The  Aquednctf,  Tr^jan'e 
Column,  Anlonine'B  Pillar,  Tim  Plniia  del  Popoln,  1  he 
Torre  del  Cspltogllo,  The  Uonr  CapltoUne,  The  P»lmtlne, 
The  Quirlnal,  The  VlmiDal,  The  Kw)iiUine,  The  CicllMi, 
The  Aventlne,  The  Vatican,  Tlie  Janlculuin,  St.  Peter  s, 
The  lateran.  The  Stands  for  KdMt  Cheatnnts,  Tlie  New 
York  rimes,  the  lluriy-gurdy«j  The  London  Timet,  Iha 
Raree-shows,  The  Obelisk  of  MAMtc  Pharw>h,  The  Wlne- 
carta,  llarper'ii  Weeklu,  Roman  Beggars, Cardinals,  Mwiks, 
Artiste.  Nuns,  The  New  York  Tribune,  French  soldiers, 
Swiss  Guards,  Dutchmen,  Mosaic-workers,  Planc-trcis, 
Cyprees-treee,  Irishmen,  Propaganda  StudenU,  Goatf, 
i  Fleas,  Men  fmm  Basting,  Patent  Medlcinee,  Swells,  Lager, 
\  Meersciiaum-plpee,  The  New  York  tf«roJd,CroiScs,Ru8tta 
Seats,  Dark-eyed  Ma^d^  BaVt,  Terrapins,  Marble  Pave- 
raents.  Spiders,  Dreamy  Haie,  Jews,  tjosaaeta.  Hens,  All 
the  I'aat,  Rags,  Tho  orlgtpal  Barrel-organ,  The  original 
Organ-grinder,  Bonrbon  WhUky.  CIvlU  Veeehia  Olives 
'Hadrian's  Hausolenin, 


-enHUllB,  vnmak'  ;  — 

■  ■  .'  I  ^     ■■  ■  ■      ■..  ■ yiT I'l'^      — 

>,  inper  eouaiT;^  i^"  iiioms  iuiiub  i  '«■, 

nail  Rots.  Uk-  rm «•>.«••  F    1 


"#i 


Then  came  others.^  They  were  all  Ameri- 
can: "Old  Folks  at  Home,"  "Nelly  BIy,' 
"Suwannee  Ribber,"  "Jordan,"  "Dan  Tuck- 
er," "  Jim  Crow." 

The  Senator  was  certainly  most  demonstra- 
tive, but  all  tho  others  were  equally  aifected. 

Thoso  native  oirs ;  the  dashing,  the  reckless, 


THE  DODGE  CLUB,  X)B,  ITALY  IN  MDCCCLIX. 


h  to  do  with  a 


the  roaringlv-Iiumoroiig,  the 

obstreperously  jolly — they 

show  one  part  of  the  many- 
sided  American  character. 
Not  yet  has  justice  been 

don?  to  the  nigger  song.    It 

ia  not  n  nigger  song.      It 

is  an    American    melody. 

Leaving   eut   thoso   which 

have  iKicn'  tn/nc^  from  Ital. 

Ian  Operas,  how  many  there 

are  which  are  truly  Ameri- 
can in  thcff  cxtrfivi|£nnce, 

their    broad   huniql^  their 

glorious  and  uproarrous  jol- 
lity !    The  words  are  trash. 

The    melodies    are    every 

tiling. 
These  melodies  touched 

the  hearts  of  tlie  listeners. 

American   life  rose  bcforo 

them   as    they   listened. — 

American  life — free,  bound- 
less, exuberant,  broadly-de- 

Tcloping,       self- asserting, 

training   its   characteristics 

from  the  boundless  extent 

of  its  home— jii  continental 

life  of  limitless  variety.    As 

mournful  as  the  Scotch  ;  ns 

recliless  as   the  "Irish ;   as  -' 

wlcmnly  patriMic  as  tlie  English. 

"  Listen !"  cried  tho  Senator,  in  wild  excite- 
ment. 
It  was  "  Hail  Columbia." 
"The  Pincian  Hill,"  said  tho  Senator,  with 
deep  solemnity,  ••  is  glorified  from  this  time 
fortli  and  for  evermore.  It  has  gained  a  new 
cliarm.  The  Voice  of  Freedom  hath  made  it- 
lelf  heard!" 

The  others,  thoagh  less  demonstrative,  were 
no  less  delighted.  Then  came  another,  better 
yet.     "Tho  Star-Spangled  Banner." 

"There!"  cried  the  Senator,  «'ig  onr  true 
national  anthem — the  commemoration  of  nation- 
al triumph ;  the  grand  upsoaring  of  the  victori- 
ons  American  Eagle  as  it  wings  its  everlasting 
flight  through  tho  blue  empyrean  ftway  np  to 
tho  eternal  stars!" 

He  burst  into  tears ;  the  others  respected  his 
emotion. 

Then  he  wiped  his  eyes  and  looked  ashamed 
of  himself— quite  uselessly— for  it  is  a  mistake 
to  suppose  that  tears  are  unmanly.  Unmanly  ! 
The  manliest  of  men  may  sometimes  shed  tear* 
oat  of  his  verj  manhood. 

At  last  there  arose  a  magic  strain  that  pro- 
duced an  effect  to  which  the  former  was  noth 
ing.    It  wMJiJCanlwe  Boodteft— 


61 


The  Senator  did  not  speak.     He  could  not 

!?  1°^''     "*  '""***•  '•'•  *y««  '""'  np*"'  one, 
and  then  another  of  his  companions ;  eves  beam- 

wg  with  joy  and  triumph  — eves  that  showed 

emotion  arising  straight  flrom  a  patriot's  heart 

-eyes  which  seemed  to  say  :  Is  ther«  any  sound 

on  earth  or  above  tho  earth  that  can  equal  this  ? 


OIJ>  VIROINIIT 


I  Yankee  Doodle  has  never  received  justice. 
It  is  A  tune  without  words.  What  are  the  rec- 
ognized words  ?  Nonsense  unutterable  —  tho 
sneer  of  a  British  ofiScer.  But  the  tune !— ah, 
that  is  quite 4in6thsr  thing! 

The  tune  was  from  the  very  Aht  taken  to  the 
national  heart,  and  has  never  ceased  to  be  cher> 
ished  there.  The  Republic  has  jrown  to  be  a 
very  different  thing  from  that  weak  beginninR, 
but  its  national  air  is  as  popular  ns  ever.  Tlw 
people  do  not  merely  love  it.  They  glory  in  it. 
And  yet  apologies  are  sometimes  made  for  it 
By  whom?  By  the  soulless  dilettante.  Tho 
people  know  better:— the  farmers,  the  mechanir 
ics,  tho  fishermen,  the  dry-goods  clerks,  the 
newsboys,  the  railway  stokers,  tho  butchers, 
the  bakers,  the  candlestick-makers,  tho  tij^ers, 
tho  tailors,  the  soldiers,  the  sailors.  Why? 
Because  this  music  has  a  voice  of  its  own,  mora 
c^pressivb  than  words;  the  language  of  the 
soul,  which  speaks  forth  in  certain  melodies 
witith  form  an  utterance  of  unutterable  passion. 

Tho  name  was  perhaps  given  In  ridicule.  It 
was  accepted  with  pride.  The  air  is  rash,  reck- 
less,  gay,  triumphant,  noisy,  boisterous,  care- 
less, heedless,  rampant,  raging,  roaring,  rattle- 
brainish,  devil .  may  -  care-  ish,  plague  -  take  ■  thft. 
1>in(^mon-ish ;  bm  I  solemn,  stern,  ITopeful,  re*-"" 


olute,  fierce,  menacing,   strong,  cantankctont 

(cantankerous  is  entirely  an  American  idea), 

bold,  daring — 
Words  fail. 

Yankee  Doodle  has  not  yet  received  its  Dool- 
Tbe  Senator  had  smiled,  laughed,  sighed, 

wept,  gone  throuj;h  many  variationa  of  fbelini^ 


5S*--33!n»s*.'."ir' 


:— r-    V 


/Jf' 


# 


m 


63 


THE  DODGE  CLUB ;  OB,  ITALY  IN  MDCCCLEC 


He  had  thrown  baiocihi  till  his  pockets  were  ex- 
hausted, and  then  handed  forth  silver.  He  had 
shaken  hands  with  all  his  companions  ten  times 
over.  They  themselves  went  not  qoite  as  far 
in  feeling  as  he,  but  yet  to  a  certain  extent  they 
went  in. 

And  yet  Americans  are  thought  to  be  practi- 
cal, and  not  ideal.  Yet  here  was  a  true  Amer- 
ican who  was  intoxicated — drunk  t  By  what  ? 
By  sound,  notes,  harmony.     By  music  ! 

"  Buttons,"  said  he,  as  the  music  ceased  and 
the  Italian  prepared  to  make  Jiis  bow  and  quit 
the  scene,"!  must  make  that  gentleman's  ac- 
quaintance." 

Buttons  walked  np  to  the  organ-grinder. 

"  Be  my  interpreter,"  said  the  Senator.  *'  In- 
trodnce  me." 

"What's  your  name?''  asked  Buttons. 

"MaffeoClota"        ,    '    - 

•'From  where?" 

"Urbino." 

•'  Were  yon  ever  in  America?" 

'•  No,  Signore." 

"  What  does  he  say  ?"  asked  the  Senator,  im- 
patiently, j 

'*  He  says  his  namq  is  Mr.  Cloto,  and  ho  was 
'hcvei'  in  America." 

"  How  did  you  get  these  tunes  ?" 

"Out  of  my  organ,"  said  the  Italian,  grin- 
ning. 

"  Of  eourse  ;  but  hpw  did  you  happen  to  get 
an  organ  with  such  tunes  ?" 

"  I  bought  it." 

"Oh  yes;  but  how  did  you  happen  to  buy 
one  with  these  tuqes  ?" 

"  For  you  illustrious  American  Signore, 
all  like  to  hear  them." 

"  Do  yon  knov  any  thing  about  tlio  tun^?" 

"Signore?" 

'.'  Do  you  know  what  the  words  ara**^ 
.  *'  Oh  no.     I  am  an  Italian." 
w  "  I  suppose  yon  make  money  out  of  them." 
^Jl^^lBUiko  more  in  a  day  with  t|iese  than  I 
'"•"*■  piliTrfli  week  with othqr  tunes. '*^' 

"  You  lay  up  moiiey,  I  suppose." 

"  Oh  yes.'  la  two  years  I  will  retire  and  let 
my  younger  brother  play  here." 

"These  tunes?" 

"  Yes,  Signore." 

"To  Americans?" 

"Yes,  Signore." 

"  What  is  it  all?"  asked  the  Senator. 

"  Ho  says  that  he  finds  he  makes  money  by 
playing  American  tunes  to  Americans." 

"  Hm,"  said  the  Senator,  with  some  displeas- 
ure ;  "and  he  has  no  sonl  then. to  see  the — the 
beauty,  the  sentiment,  the  grandeur  of  his  to- 
eationl" 

"Not  a  bit — he  only  goes  in  for  money." 


Yf 


"She  Senator  turned  away  in  disgust.  "  Yan- 
kee Doodle,"  he  murmured,  "  ought  of  itself  to 
have  a  refining  attd  converting  influence  on  the 
European  mind  ;  but  it  is  too  debased— yes — 
yet — too  debased." 


CHAPTER  XXn. 

HOW  A  bABOAIN  IS  MADE. —  THB  WILES  OF  THE 
ITALIAN  TBADE8MAN.' —  THE  NAKED  BULKT 
BEOGAR,  AND  THE  JOVIAL  WELL-CLAD  BEO- 
OAR. — WHO  IS  THB  KINO  OF  BEGOABS  ? 

"  What  am  yon  thinking  abont,  Buttons?" 

"Well,  D^,  to  tell  the  truth,  I  have  been 
thinking  that  if  I  do  find  the  Spaniards  they 
won't  have  reason  to  be  particularly  proud  of 
me  as  a  companion.     Look  at  me." 

"  I  look,  and  to  be  frank,  my  dear  boy,  I 
must  say  that  you  look  more  shabby-genteel 
than  otherwise." 

"That's  the  result  of  travelling  on  one  suit 
of  clothes — without  considering  fighting.  I 
give  up  my  theory." 

"  Give  it  up,  then,  and  come  out  a^  a  batter- 

fly." 

"Friend  of  my  soul,  the  die  is  cas^  Come 
forth  with  me  and  seek  a  clothing-store." 

It  was  not  difficult  to  find  one.  They  en- 
tered the  first  one  that  they  saw.  The  polits 
Roman  overwhelmed  them  with  attention. 

"  siiow  me  a  coat, j Signore." 

Signore  sprang  nimbly  at  the  shelves  and 
brought  down  eveiy  coat  in  his  store.  Buttoni 
picked  out  on^  that  suited  his  fancy,  and  tried 
it  on.  ,  ^ 

"What  is  Reprice?" 

With  apn^usion  of  explanation  and  descrip- 
tion tU^  BStnan  informed  him:    "Forty  pias- 

jpriT%ivo  yon  twelve,"  said  Buttons,  quietly. 
>  The  Italian  smiled,  put  his  head  on  one  side, 
rew  down  the  corners  of  his  mouth,  and  threw 
np  his  shoulders.  This  is  the  shruff.  The 
shrug  requires  special  attention.  The  shrug  ii 
a  gesture  used  by  the  Latin  race  for  exprcssinf^ 
a  multitude  of  things,  both  objectively  and  sub- 
jectively. It  is  a  language  of  itself.  It  is,  ai 
circumstances  require,  a  noun,  adverb,  prononn, 
verb,  adjective,  preposition,  interjection,  con- 
junction. Yet  it  does  not  supersede  the  spoken 
language.  It  comes  in  rather  when  spoken 
words  are  useless,  to  copvey  intensity  6f  mean- 
ing or  delicacy.  It  is  not  taught,  but  it  ii 
learned. 

The  coarser,  or  at  least  blunter,  Teutonic 
race  have  not  cordially  adopted  this  mode  of 
human  intercommunication.  The  advantage 
of  the  shrug  is  that  in  one  slight  gesture  it  con- 
tains an  amount  of  meaning  which  othenviae 
would  require  many  words.  A  good  shrupger 
in  Italy  is  admired,  just  as  a  good  conversotion- 
iat  is  in  England,  or  a  good  stump  orator  in 
America.  When  the  merchant  shrugged,  But- 
tons understood  him  and  said : 

' '  You  refuse  ?     Then  I  go.    Behold  me  1" 

"  Ah,  Signore,  how  can  you  thus  endeavor  to 

lake  advatiUgd  of  tfie  neOMltles  of  the  poor?"- 

"  Signore,  I  must  buy  according  to  my  abil- 
ity." 

The  Italian  laughed  long  and  quietly.  The 
idea  of  an  Englishman  or  American  not  having 
much  money  was  an  exquisite  piece  of  humor. 

"  Go  no^  Signore.    Walt  m  little.    I^  »• 


■'  '■'  ■        ♦. 


■:,.y.y 


■    *» 


TTHE  DODGE  CLUB;  OB,  ITALY  IN  MDCCCLIX. 


mfold  more  garments.  Behold  this,  and  this 
You  shall  have  many  of  my  gopds  for  twelve 
piastres.  ' 

"No,  Signoro;   I  must  have  this,  or  I  wi^ 
have  none." 

"  Yoa  are  very  hard,  Signoro.     Think  of  m v 
necessities.     Think  of  the  pressure  of  this  prcs- 
ent  war,  which  wo  poor  miserable  tradesmen 
feel  most  of  all." 
"Then  addio,  Signore;  I  must  depart." 
They  went  out  and  walked  six  paces. 
"  P^s-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-t !"     (Another  little  idea 
of  the  Latin  race.    It  is  a  much  more  penetrat- 
ing sonnd  than  a  loud  Hallo !     Ladies  can  use 
It.    Children  too.     This  would  be  worth  im- 
porting to  America.) 
"P-s-s-s-s-s-s^g-s-t !" 

Buttons  and  Dick  tamed.    Tho  Italian  stood 
•mihng  and  bowing  and  beckoning. 
"Take  it  for  twentyt-foor  piastres." 
"No,  Signore ;  I  can  only  pay  twelve." 
With  a  gesture  of  ruffled  dignity  the  shop- 
Itoeper  withdrew.      Again  they  turned  away, 
ilicy  had  fcarcftly  gone  ten  paces  before  tho 
Mop-kceper  was  after  them : 

"A  thousand  pardons.    But  I  have  concluded 
to  take  twenty." 
"No ;  twelve,  and  no  more. 


Borifirnl,  signore;  only  think." 
I  do  think,  my  friend ;  I  do  think." 
bay  eighteen." 

"No,  Signore." 

"Seventeen." 

"Twelve." 

"  Here.    Como  back  with  me." 
E 


They  obeyed.  The  Italian  folded  the  coat 
neatly,  tied  it  carefully,  stroked  the  parcel  ten- 
derly,  and  with  a  meek  yet  sad  smUe  handed  it 
to  Buttons. 

•'  There— only  sixteen  piastres." 
Buttons  had  taken  out  his  purse.  ^  At  this  he 
hurriedly  replaced  it,  with  an  air  of  vexation. 
I  can  only  give  twelve."  =< 

"Oh.  Signore,  be  generous.  Think  of  mv 
struggles,  my  expenses,  my  family.  You  will 
not  force  me  to  lose." 

"I  would  scorn  to  force  you  to  any  thine, 
and  therefore  I  will  depart." 

"Stop,  Signore,"  cried  the  Italian,  detaining 
them  at  the  door.  "  I  consent.  You  may  take 
It  for  fourteen."  ' 

"For  Heaven's  sake.  Buttons,  take  it,"  said 
Wick,  whose  patience  was  now  completely  ex- 
hausted.    "Take  it." 
"Twelve,"  said, Buttons. 
"Let  me  pay  the  extra  two  dollars,  for  my 
own  peace  of  mind,"  said  Dick. 

"Nonsense,  Dick.  It's  the  principle  of  tho 
thing.  As  a  mtoibcr  of  the  Dodge  Club,  too. 
I  could  not  give  irtore." 

"Thirteen,  good  Signore^  mine,"  said  the 
Italian  piteonsly. 

"My  friend,  I  have  given  my  word  that  I 
would  pay  only  twelve." 

' '  Your  word  ?     Your  pardon,  but  to  whom  ?" 
"To  you." 

"Oh,  thdn,  how  gladly  I  release  you  from 
your  word  1 " 

"  Twelve,  Signore,  or  I  go." 
"lean  not." 

Buttons  turned  away.  They  walked  aIon» 
the  street,  and  at  length  arrived  at  another 
clothier  s.  Just  as  they  Hepped  in  a  hand  was 
laid  on  Buttons's  shoulder,  and  a  voice  cried 
out — 

"  Take  it !     Take  it,  Signoro !" 

"Ah  I     I  thought  so !     Twelve  ?" 

"  Twelve." 

Buttons  paid  the  money  and  directed  where 
It  should  be  sent.  He  found  out  afterward  that 
the  price  which  an  Italian  gentleman  would 
pay  was  about  ten  piastres. 

There  is  no  greater  wonder  than  tho  patient 
waiting  of  an  Italian  tradesman  in  pursuit  of  a 
bargain,  Tho  flexibility  of  the  Italian  con- 
science and  imagination  under  such  circum- 
stances is  truly  astonishing. 

Dress  makes  a  difference.  Tho  very  expres- 
sion of  the  face  changes  when  one  has  passed 
from  shabbiness  into  elegance.  After  Buttons 
had  dressed  himself  i^  his  gay  attire  his  next 
thought  was  what  to  do  with  his  old  clothes, 
"  Como  and  lot  us  dispose  of  them," 
"  Dispose  <rf  th8»r*^ 


Oh,  I  mean  get  rid  of  them.     I  saw  a  man   / 
crouching  in  a  comer  nearly  naked  as  I  came 

up.     Let  us  go  and  SCO  if  we  can  find  him.     I'd 
like  to  try  tho  effect." 

They  went  to  the  place  where  tho  man  had 
been  seen.  He  w^  there  still.  A  young  roan. 
In  excellent  health,  brown,  muKuIar,  litho.   H« 


v?l 


fi(^i^i^^>ittk^(#tf^' ,; 


V 


• ,  M.. 


THE  DODGE  CLUB;  OR,  ITALY  IN  MDCCCLIX. 


G4 

had  an  old  coverlet  around  his  loins — that  was 
all.     lie  looked  up  snlkily. 

•'  Are  yon  not  cold  ?" 

"  No,"  he  blurted  out,  and  turned  away. 

"  A  boor,"  said  Dick.  "  Don't  throw  away 
your  charity  on  him." 

•'  Look  here."  , 

The  man  looked  up  lazily. 
•  "  Do  you  want  some  clothes  ?"  ! 

No  reply. 

"I've  got  some  hero,  ond  perhaps  will  give 
them  to  you."  ! 

The  liian  scrambled  to  his  feet. 

"  Confound  the  fellow  !"  said  Dick.  '^If  he 
don't  want  them  let's  find  some  one  wiio  does." 

"  Look  here,"  said  Buttons. 

He  unfolded  his  parcel.  The  fellow  looked 
indifferently  at  the  things. 

"  Here,  take  tliis,"  and  he  offered  the  panta- 
loons. 

The  Italian  ■took  them  and  slowly  put  them 
on.  This  done,  he  stretched  liimself  and  yawned. 
,       "Take  this." 
*     It  was  his  vest.    . 

The  man  took  the  vest  and  put  it  on  with 
equal  sang  froid.  Again  ho  yawned  and 
stretched  himself. 

"  Hei-e's  a  coat." 

Buttons  held  it  out  to  the  Italian.  The  fel- 
low took  it,  surveyed  it  closely,  fult  in  the  pock- 
ets, and  examined  very  critically  the  stiffening 
of  the  collar.  Finally  he  jmt  it  on.  He  but- 
toned it  closely  around  him,  and  passed  his  fin- 
gers through  his  matted  hair.  Then  he  felt  the 
pockets  once  more.  After  which  ho  yawned 
long  and  solemnly.  This  done,  he  looked  ear- 
nestly at  Buttons'and  Dick.  He  saw  that  they 
had  nothing  more.  Upon  wliich  he  turned  on 
his  heel,  and  without  saying  a  word,  good  or 
bad,  walked  off  w  ith  immense  strides,  turjicd  o 
corner,  ond  was  out  of  sight.  Tlie  two  philan- 
thropists were  left  staring  at  one  another.  At 
last  they  laughed. 

"That  man  is  an  original,"  said  Dick. 

"Yes,  and  there  is  another,"  said  Buttons. 

As  ho  spoke  he  pointed  to  the  flight  of  stone 
steps  that  goes  up  from  the  Piazza  di  Spagna. 
Dick  looked  up.     There  sat  The  Beggar ! 

Anionio! 

Legless,  hatless,  but  not  by  any  means  penni- 
less, king  of  Roman  beggars,  with  a  European 
reputation,  unequalled  in  his  own  profession — 
there  sat  the  most  scientific  beggar  that  the 
world  has  ever  seen. 

Ho  had  watched  the  recent  proceedings,  ond 
caught  the  glance  of  the  young  men. 

As  they  looked  up  his  voice  carao  clear  and 
sonorous  through  the  air  : 

**  O  tnnat  ircfirrnna  ■  ■  O  moflt  noble— O  most 

illustrious  youths— Draw   near — I^ook  in  .pity 


upon  the  object— Behold  legless,  armless,  help, 
less,  the  l)eggar  Antonin  forsaken  of  Heaven^ — 
For  the  love  of  the  Virgin— For  the  sake  of  the 
saints  —  In  the  name  of  humanity  —  Date  mo 
nno  mezzo  baioocho— Sono  |)oooooooooovero— 
Miieraaaaaaaoaabile— Detperrrraoaaaaaado !" 


CHAl'TER  XXIIL 

THE  MANIFOLD  LIFE  OF  THE  CAFE  NCOVO,  AND 
HOW  THEY  RECEIVED  THE  NEWS  ABOUT  MAGEN- 
TA. —  EXCITEMENT.  —  ENTHDSIASM.- TEAKS.— 
EMBRACES. 

Ai-i-  modem  Rome  lives  in  the  Cafe'  Nuovo. 
It  was  once  a  palace.  Lofty  ceilings,  glitter- 
ing walls,  marble  pavements,  countless  tables, 
luxurious  conches,  immense  mirrors,  nil  dazzle 
tho  eye.  The  hubbub  is  immense,  the  confu- 
sion overpowering. 

The  European  mode  of  life  is  not  bod.  Lodg- 
ings in  roomy  opartments,  where  one  sleeps  and 
attends  to  one's  private  affairs ;  meals  oltogctli- 
er  at  the  cafe'.  There  one  invites  one's  friends. 
No  delay  with  dinner ;  no  bodly-cooked  dishes ; 
no  stole  or  sour  bread;  no  timid,  overworn 
wife  trembling  for  the  result  of  new  experiments 
in  housekeeping.  On  the  contrarj-,  one  has: 
prompt  meals  ;  exquisite  food  ;  delicious  bread ; 
polite  waiters;  ond  happy  wife,  with  plenty  of 
leisure  at  homo  to  improve  mind  and  adorn 
body. , 

Tlie  first  visit  which  the  Club  paid  to  the 
Cafe'  Nuovo  was  an  eventful  one.  News  had 
just  been  received  of  the  great  strife  at  Magenta. 
Every  omi  was  wild.  The  two  GaUgnam's  had 
been'  appropriated  by  two  Italians,  who  were 
surrounded  by  forty-seven  frenzied  Enplishmcn, 
all  eager  to  get  hold  of  the  papcre.  The  Ital- 
ians obligingly  tried  to  read  the  news.  Tho 
wretched  mangle  which  they  made  of  the  lan- 
guage, the  impatience,  the  excitement,  and  tho 
pcrj'lexity  of  the  audience,  combined  witli  the 
splendid  self-complacency  of  the  readers,  formed 
a  striking  scene. 

Tlie  Italians  gathered  in  a  vast  crowd  in  one 
of  the  billiard-rooms,  where  one  of  their  num- 
ber, mounted  on  a  table,  was  reading  with  ter- 
rific  volubility,  and  still  more  terrific  gesticula- 
tions, a  private  letter  from  a  friend  at  Milan. 

"  Bravo  I"  cried  all  present. 

In  pronouncing  which  word  the  Italians  rolled 
the  "r"  so  tumultuously  that  the  only  audible 

sound  was — 

B-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-nh! 

Like  tho  letter  B  in  a  ruilwoy  train. 

The  best  of  oil  wos  to  see  the  French.  Thcv 
were  pockil  in  o  dense  moss  ot  the  furthest  ex- 
tremity of  the  Grond  Saloon.  Every  c.ie  was 
talking.  Every  one  was  describing  to  his 
neighbor  tho  minnte  partieulors  of  tho  tremen- 
dous contest.  Old  soldiers,  hoorso  with  ex- 
citement, emulated  the  volubility  of  younger 
ones.  A  thousand  arms  woved  energetically  in 
tho  air.  Every  one  was  too  much  interested  in 
his  own  description  to  heed  his  neighbor.  They 
were  all  talkers,  no  listeners. 

A  few  Germans  were  there,  but  they  sat  for- 
sakcn  and  neglected.  Even  the  waiters  ft^ 
sook  them.  So  they  smoked  the  cignrs  of  sweet 
and  bitter  fancy,  occasionally  conversing  in  thick 
gutturals.  It  was  evident  that  they  considered 
the  present  occasion  oa  a  combined  crow  of  the 
whole  Lotin  roce  over  the  German, 
looked  on  with  impastivo  facett 


So  ther 


■■^'■ 


NCOVO,  AND 
BOUT  MAOEN- 
M. — TEARS.— 


;  crowd  in  one 
of  their  num- 
(ling  with  ter- 
rific gcsticiilu- 
id  nt  Milan. 


THE  DODGE  CLUB;  OR,  ITALY  IN  MDCCCLIX 


Ii5 


HKW8  OP  HAGENTA  1 


Pcrliaps  the  most  stolid  of  all  was  Meinhccr 
Schatt,  who  smoked  and  sipped  coffee  nlternatc- 
ly,  stopping  after  each  sip  to  look  around  with 
mild  surprise,  to  stroke  liis  forked  beard,  and 
to  ejaculate — 

"  Gr-r-r-r-r-r-acious  me  1" 

Him  tlio  Senator  saw  and  accosted,  who, 
making  room  for  the  Senator,  conversed  with 
much  animation.  After  a  time  the  others  took 
«eau  near  them,  and  formed  a  neutral  party. 
At  this  moment  a  small-sized  Rentleraan  with 
black  twinkling  eyes  came  rushinu  past,  and 
burst  into  the  thick  of  the  crowd  of  Frenchmen. 
At  the  sight  of  him  Buttons  leaped  up,  and 
cned :  •  i  > 

"  There's  Francia !     I'll  catch  him  now !" 
Francia  slioutcd  a  few  words  which  set  the 
-■frenchiiiBn  wiM^ 


"The  Allies  have  ent'orod  Milan  1  A  dis- 
patch has  just  arrived!" 

Tlicro  burst  a  shrill  yell  of  triumph  from  the 
insane  Frenchmen.  There  was  a  wild  rushing 
to  and  fro,  and  the  crowd  swayed  backward  and 
forward.  The  Italians  came  ponrinR  in  frpm 
«he  other  room.     One  word  was  sufficient  to 


tell  them  all.  It  was  a  great  sight  t»  see.  On 
ench  individual  the  news  produced  a  different 
effect.  Some  stood  still  as  though  petrified  j 
others  flung  up  their  arms  and  yelled ;  othert 
cheered ;  others  upset  tables,  not  knowing  what 
they  were  doing ;  others  threw  themselves  into 
one  another's  arms,  and  embraced  and  kissed  ; 
otliej-s  wept  for  joy:— these  last  were  Milanese. 
Buttons  w'dg  trying  to  find  Francia.  The 
rnsh  of  the  excited  crowd  bore  him  away,  and 
his  efforts  were  fruitless.  In  fact,  when  he  ar- 
rived at  the  place  where  that  gentleman  had 
been,  he  was  gone.  The  Germans  began  to 
look  more  uncomfortable  than  ever.  At  length 
Meinheor  Schatt  proposed  that  they  should  all 
Ko  in  a  body  to  the  Cafd  Scacchi.  So  they  all 
loft. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

CIIBCKMATB  1 

TiiK  Cafe  Scacchi,  as  its  name  implies,  is  do- 
voted  to  chess.  Germans  imtronizo  it  to  a  great 
extent.  Politics  do  not  enter  into  the  precincts 
sacred  to  Caissa. 


9" 


THE  iJHbGE  OLtJB  ;.0I^  ITALY  IN  MDCCCLIXi 


6S  . 

After  they  had  been  seated  about  an  hour 
Buttons  entered.  'Ho  had  not  been  able  to  find 
Fiancia.  To  divert  his  melancholy  he  proposed 
that  Meinheer  gchatt  should  play  a  game  of 
chess  with  the  Senator.  Now,  chess  was  the 
Senator's  hobby.  He  claimed  to  be  the  best 
player  in  his  State.  With  a  "patronizing  smile 
he  consented  to  play  with  a  tyro  like  Meinheer 
Schatt.  At  the  end  of  one  game  Meinheer 
Schatt  stroked  his  beard  and  meekly  said — 
"  Gr-r-r-acious  meT' 

The  Senator  frowned  and  bit  his  lips.  He 
was  checkmated. 

AnJiher  game.    Meinheer  Schatt  played  in 
a  calm,  and  some  might  say  a  stupid,  jnanner. 
"  Gr-r-r-acious  me!" 
It  was  a  drawn  game. 

Another :  this  was  a  very  long  gam,e.  The 
Senator  played  laboriously.  It  was  no  u^. 
Slowly  and  steadily  Meinheer  Schatt  won  flie 
game. 

When  he  uttered  his  usual  exclamation  the 
Senator  felt  strongly  inclined  to  throw  the  board 
at  his  head.  However,  he  restrained  himself, 
and  they  commenced  another  game.  .  Much  to 
his  delight  the  Senator  beat.  He  ^|nr  began 
to  explain  to  Buttons  exactly  why  it  Was  that 
ho  had  npt  beaten  before. 

Another  game  follOTted.  The  Sifenator  lost 
woefully.  His  defeat  was  in  fact  disgraceful. 
When  Meinheer  Schatt  said  the  oipinous  word 
the  Senator  rose,  and  was  so  overcame  with  vex- 
ation that  hQ  had  not  the  courtesy  to  say^Good- 
night. 

As  they  passed  out  Meinheer/Schatt  was  seen 
staring  after  them  with  his  large  blue  eyes, 
stroking  his  beard,  and  whispering  to  himself— 
"  Gr-r-r-aciouB  me !" 


CHAFER  XXV. 

BCTTONS  A  MAN  OF  ONE  IDEA.— DICK  AND  HIS 
MEASURING  TAPE.— DARK  EYES. — SUSCEPTIBLE 
HEAltT.- TOUNO  MAIDEN  WHO  LIVES  OUT  OF 
TOWN. — GRAND  COLLISION  OF  TWO  ABSTRACTED 
LOVERS  IN  THE  BUBLIC  STREETS. 

Too  much  blame  can  not  be  given  to  Buttons 
for  his  behavior  at  this  period.  He  acted  ns 
though  the  whole  motive  of  his  existence  w.is 
to  find  the  Francias.  To  this  he  devoted  his 
days,  and  of  this  he  dreamed  at  night.  He  de- 
serted his  friends.  Left  to  themseh'cs,  without 
his  moral  influence  to  keep  them  together  and 
give  aim  to  their  efforts,  each  one  followed  his 
own  inclination. 

Mr.  Figgs  spent  the  whole  of  his.  time  in  the 
Cafe  Nuovo,  drawing  got  plans  of  din,ners  for 
each  successive  doy.  The  Doctor,  after  sleep- 
ing till  noon,  lounged  on  the  Fincian  Hill  till 
evening,  when  he  joined  Mr.  Figgs  at  dinner. 
The  Senator  explored  every  nook  and  comer  bf 
Rome.  At  first  Pick  accompanied  him,  but 
gradually  they  diverged  from  one  another  in 
different  pathsx  The  Senator  visited  every 
place  in  the  city,  peered  into  dirty  houses,  exam- 
ined pavements,  investigated  fountains,  stared 
hard  at  the  beggars,  and  I(X>ked  curiously  at 
the  Swiss  Guard  in  the  Pope's  Palace.  He 
soon  became  known  to  the  lower  classes,  who 
recognized  with  a  grin  the  tall  foreigner  that 
shouted  queer  foreign  words  and  made  funny 
gestnres. 

Dick  lived  among  churches,  palaces,  and  ru- 
ins. Tired  at  length  of  wandering,  he  attached 
himself  to  some  artists,  in  whose  studios  lio 
passed  the  greater  part  of  his  afternoons.  He 
became  personally  acquainted  with  nearly  every 
member  of  the  fratemitj-,  to  whom  ho  endeored 
himself  by  the  excellence  of  his  tobacco,  nnd 
his  great  capacity  for  listening.  Your  talkative 
people  bore  artists  more  than  any  others. 

"What  a  lovely  girl!  What  a  look  slio 
gave !" 

Such  was  the  thought  that  bprst  upon  ttie 
soiil  of  Dick,  after  a  little  visit  to  a  little  church 


BVrOBS  AND 


THE  DOTKSE  CLUBS-  OB,  ITAlV  IN  MDCCCLK. 


'  that  Koes  by  the  name  of  Saint  Somebody  qi 
quattri  fontani.  He  liad  visited  it  simply  be- 
cause he  had  heard  that  its  dimensions  exactly 
correspond  with  those  of  each  of  the  chief  piers 
that  support  the  dome  of  Saint  Peter's.  As  ho 
wished  to  bo  accurate,  he  had  taken  a  tape-line, 

•  and  began  stretching  it  from  the  altar  to  the 
door.  The  astonished  priests  at  first  stood  par- 
alyzed by  his  sacrilegious  ihipudence,  but  final- 
ly, after  a  consultation,  they  came  to  him  and 
ordered  him  to  be  gone.  Dick  looked  up  with 
mild  wonder.  They  indignantly  repeated  the 
order. 

Dick  was  extremely  sorry  that  ho  had  given 
offense.     Wouldn't  they  overlook  it?     He  was  \  suit  that  he  had  offered  to "^prim  and  reen 
e.'':!!!?f,r!._"°^^;l"°'  ■'".""^  '^^'  .they  would  i  tleman.     He  concluded  to  leave  Sme  at  of ^. 


forth  a  gold  piece  of  about  twenty  dollars  valao, 
He  held  it  out.  The  priest  stared  at  him  with 
a  look  that  was  appalling. 

"If  you  know—"  faltered  "Di^k— "  any  one— 
of  course  I  don't  mean  yourself— for  from  it— 
but — that  is — " 

' '  Sir, "  cried  the  priest,  "  who' are  you  ?  Are 
there  no  bounds  to  your  impudence?  Have 
you  come  to  insult  me  because  I  am  a  priest, 
and  th6refore  can  not  re venge  myself  ?    Away ! " 

The  priest  choked  with  rage.     Dick  walked  ' 
out.     Bitterly  he  cursed  his  wretched  stupidity 
that  had  led  him  to  this.     HiSlvery  ears  tingled 
with  shame  as  he  saw  the  full  extent  of  the  in- 


be  unwilling.  However,  since  he  had'  begun, 
ho  supposed  they  would  kindly  permit  him  fo 
finish.  '  , 

—"They  would  kindly  do  no  such  thing," 
remarked  ono  of  the  priests,  brusquely.  "  Was 
their  church  a  common  stable  or  a  wine-shop 
'  that  he  should  presume  to  molest  them  at  their 
sbrvices?  If  ho  had  no  religion,  could  ho  not 
have  courtesy?  or,  if  he  had  no  faith  himself, 
could  ho  not  respect  the  faith  of  others  ?" 


Difck  felt  abashed.     The  eyes  6f  all  the  wor-  •  thought  Dick 


But  at  the  Very  moment  when  he  had  made 
this  desperate  resolve  he  saw  some  ono  coming. 
A  sharp  thrill  went  tlirongh  his  heart. 

It  was  She  !  She  looked  at  him  and  glanced 
modestl^away.  Dick  at  once  walked  up  tb 
her. 

"Signorina,"  said  hie,  not  thinbiag  what  a 
serious  thing  it  was  to  address  an  Italian  maiden 
in  the  streets.  But  this  one  did  not  resent  it. 
She  looked  up  and  smiled.     • '  What  a  smile ! " 


shipers  were  on  him,  and;  it  was  while  rolling 
up  his  tape  that  his  eyes  met  tho  glance  of  a 
beautiful  Italian  girl,. who  was  kneeling  oppo- 
site.    Tho  noise  had  disturbed,  her  devotions, 
and  she  had  turned  to  see  what  it  was.     It  was 
a  thrilling  glance  from  deep  black  lustrous  orbs, 
in  which  there  was  a  soft  and  melting  languor 
which  he  could  not  resist.     He  went  out  daz- 
zled, and  so  completely  bewildered  that  he  did  : 
not  think  of  waiting.     After  ho  had  gone  a  few  \ 
l)Iocks  ho  hurried  back.     She  had  gone.     How-  i 
ever,  the  impression  of  her  face  remained.  j 

He  went  so  oftftn  to  the' little  church  that  tho 


,  ■  J'  '  ' 

Signorina, '•he  said  again,  and  fh,en  stopped, 
not  knoi»ring  what  to  say.  -  His  vdiice  was  very 
tremulous,  and  the  expression  of-his  face 'ten- 
der and  beseeching.     His  eyes  told  alj, 

"  ^ignore,"  said  the  girl,  with,a%weet  smile. 
The  ^mile  encouraged  Dick.  -     - 

"Ehom— I  have  lost  my  way.  I— l_cpi,](i 
yon  tell  me  how  I  could  get. to  tho  Piazza  del 
Popolo  ?  I  think  I  might  find  my  way  h6me 
frpm  there." 

Tho  giri^  eyes  beamed  with  a  mischievous 
light. 

"  Oh  yes,  most  easily.      Yon  go  down  that 


KL,     H^^'?'■    •""  ""'^"'8 'hat  he  was   stn,et;  when  you  pis  four  side-strfetry^  turn 
qaiet  knd  order^  they  were  not  offended.    One  to  the  left-the  left-n,member,  and  then  yo™ 

awioT^thT         '  y"  •"'"  •"'  ■^'*"'"'  H  '  "*"=?  ""  ""  y°»  «""«  to  »  '«8^  church  ^th  a 
SrSnci'  ^T*^     •^"^*  to  a  sense  J,  fountain  before  it,  then  you  turn  round  thaVanS 
S  ih  '       ^rr'  ^»y  "'^P'tod  hjra  wi||  you  see  the  obelisk  of  the  Piazza  del  Popolo.'" 
much  POhtehess      The  pnost  delicatel/brougBf       Her  voice  was  the  sweetest  that  Dfck  had 

mZvw      A.  i"""!."^.'"'?"?-     °''^''  •'«»«"«'»  «ver  heanl.  ,He  listened  a.  he  wou  d  lisL  to 
meekly.     At  length  he  asked  the  pritst  if  he   music,  and  did  not  hear  a  singjg  word  tha?  he 


recollected  a  certain  young  girl  with  beautiful 
face,  wonderful  eyes,  and  marvelloiis  appearance 
that  was  worshiping  there  on  tho  d.iy  that  he 
came  to  measure  the  church. 

"Yes,"  Ibid  tho  priest,  toldly. 

Cotild  he  tell  her  name  aind  where  she  lived  ? 

"Sir,"  said  the  pries^  ''I  had  hoped  that 
you  came  here  from  a  higher  motive.  It  will 
do  you  no  good  to  know,  and  I  therefore  decline 
telling  you."  I 

Dick  begged  most  humbly,^ but  the  priest Juu  1 

rerthSlA"     If  1...1.  Tt:-L  —J i rj  t.    ,       i 


resohflite:  At  lust  Dick  reiticmberod  having 
heard  that  an  Italian  was  constitntionnlly  un- 
able to  resist  a  bribe.  Ho  thought  he  might 
tr>-.  True,  the  priest  waa  a  gentleman ;  but 
perhaps  an  Italian  gentleman  Was  differant  from 
•n  English  or  American ;  so  ho  put  his  hand 


in  018  pocket,  and  blushing  violently,  brought  Only  a^ery  little?!' 


comprehended. 

• '  Pardon  me, "  said  he,  « '  but  «'oald  you  ple„ 
to  tell  me  again.  .  I  pan  not  rememfier  all! 
Three  streets?" 

The  girl  laughed  and  repeated  it 

Dick  sighed. 

"I'm  a  stranger  here,  and  am  afraid  that  I 
can  not  find  my  way.     I  left  my  map  at  home. 
If  I  could  find  some  one  who  would  go  with  me  • 
and  show  me." 

He  looko«l  earnestly  at  hcr^  butahe.n 
made  a  movement  to  go. 

"  Are  you  in  a  groat  harry  ?"  said  he. 

"No,  Signore,"  replied  the' girl, sofUf. 

"Could  you— a— a— would  yon  beJpling— 
to— to— walk  a  little  part  of  the  iray  with  me, 
and— show  me  s,  very  little  part  of  the  way— 


THE  DODGE'CLUfi ;  Q«,  ITALY  IN  MbcCCLDL 


AWAY ! 

The  girl  geemed  half  to  consent,  but  mod- 
estly hesitated,  and  a  faint  flush  stole  over  her 
face. 

"Ah  do  I"  snid  Dick.      He  was  desperate. 

"It's  my* only- chance,"  thought  he. 

The  girl  softly  assented  and  walked  on  with 
him. 

"I  am  very  mnch  obliged  to  you  for  jour 
kindness,"  said  Dick.  "It's  very  hard  for  a 
stranger  to  find  his  >vay  in  Rome." 

"But,  Signore,  by  this  tirao  you  ought  to 
know  the  whole  of  our  City." 

"What?     How?" 

"Why,  you  have  been  hero  three  weeks  at 
least." 

"  How  do  you  know  i"  and  the  young  man 
blushed  to  his  eyes.  He  had  been  telUng  lies, 
and  she  knew  it  all  the  time. 

*'  Ohf  I  Mw^  yon  ones  in  tiw  uhurcfa^  and  I 
hare  seen  you  with  that  tall  man.  Is  ho  your 
fether?" 

"  No,  only  a  Mend." 

"  I  saw  yoo,"  and  she  shook  her  little  head 
triumphantly,  and  her  eyes  beamed  with  fun 
and  laughter. 


"Any  way,"  thought  Dick,  "she  ought  to 
ttiiderstandi" 

"And  did  you  see  me  when  I  was  in  tlmt 
littje  church  with  a  measuring  line  ?" 
>  The  young  girl  looked  up  at  him,  her  Inrgo 
eyes  reading  his  very  soul. 
"  "  Did  I  look  at  you?  Why,  I  was  praying." 
"  You  looked  at  me,  and  I  have  iicvcr  for- 
gotten it." 

Another  glance  as  though  to  assure  herself 
of  Dick'8'*Tneauing.^  Tltft»'next  moment  her 
eyes  sank  and  her  face  flushed  crimson.  (Dick's 
hbart  beat  so  fast  that  he  could  not  speak  for 
some  time.  - 

"  Signorc,"  mi  tlyj  yonng  girl  at  last,  "  when 
vou  turn  that  corner  you  will  see  the  Piazza  del 
Popolo." 

1'  Will  you  not  walk  as  far  as  that  corner  ?" 
suid  Dick. 

"Ah,  Signorc,  I  am  afraid  I  will  not  have 
time." 

"Will  I  never  see  you  again?"  asked  he, 
mournfully. 

"  I  do  not  know,  Signorc.  You  ought  to 
tnow."  ' 

A  pause.  Both  had  stopped,  and  Dick  wns 
looking  earnestly  at  her,  but  she  was  looking  ni 
the  ground. 

"  How  can  I  know  when  I  do  not  know  even 
your  name  ?  Let  me  know  that,  so  that  I  niny 
think  about  it." 

"  Ah,  how  yon  try  to  flatter !  My  name  is 
Pepita  Gianti." 

"And  do  yotf  live  far  from  here?" 
"Yes.     I  live  close  by  the  Basilica  di  San 
Paolo  fuori  le  mure." 

"  A  long  distance.     I  was  out  there  once." 
"I  saw  yon." 
Dick  exulted. 

"How  many  times  have  you  seen  me?    I 
have  only  seen  you  onco  before." 
"Oh,  seven  or  eight  times." 
"And  will  this  be  the  last?"  said  Dick,  be- 
I  secchingly. 

I      "  Signore,  if  I  wait  any  longer  the  gates  will 
,  be  shut." 

"  Oh,  then,  before  you  go,  tell  me  where  I 
'  can  find  yon  to-morrow.     If  I  walk  out  on  tlmt 
road  will  I  see  you  ?     Will  you  come  in  to-mor- 
row ?  or  will  you  stay  out  there  and  shall  I  go 
I  there  ?    Which  of  the  houses  do  yon  live  in  ?  or 
'  where  can  I  find  you  ?     If  you  lived  over  on  the 
Alban  Hills  I  would  walk  every  day  to  find  yon^" 
I     Dick  spoke  with  ardor  and  impetuosity.    The 
deep  feeling  which  he  showed,  and  the  mingled 
I  eagerness   and   delicacy  which  he   exhibited, 
seemed  not  offensive  to  his  companion.     Slio 
looked  up  timidly. 

!      "  When  to-morrow  comes  you  will  be  think- 
I  ing  of  iomethiag«l«e— orpoi4Mip»«way^m  those— ^ 
Alban  mountains.      You  will  forget  all  about 
j  me.     What  is  the  use  of  telling  yon  ?     I  ought 
to  go  now."  • ' 

"  I'll  nevcrforgei !"  burst  forth  Dick.    "  Ncv- 

er— never.    Believe  mo.    On  my  soul ;  and  oh, 

I  Bignorina,  it  is  not  much  to  askt"  .    \ 


JL"^  i 


THE  DODGE  CLUB ;  OR,  ITALY  IN  MDCCCLIX. 


"  Confound  U!" 

Buttons  hurriedly  lefk,  and  ran  all  the  way  to 
the  corner,  round  which  ho  passed. 


Bis  ardor  carried  him  away.     In  the  broad. 

•  street  he  actually  made  a  gesture  as  though  ho 

would  take  her  hand.      The  young  girl  drew 

back  blushing  deeply.     She  looked  at  him  with 

a  reproachful  glance. 

"  You  forget — '' 

Wheronpon  Dick  interrupted  hor  with  innu- 
merable apologies. 

"  You  do  not  deserve  forgiveness.  But  f  will 
forgive  you  if  you  leave  me  now.  Did  I  not 
tell  you  that  I  was  in  a  hurry  ?" 

"  Will  you  not  tell  tne  where  I  can  see  rou 
again  ?" 

"I  suppose  I  will  bo  walking  out  about  this 
time  to-morrow." 

"  Oh,  Signorina !  and  I  will  be  at  the  gate." 

"If  you  don't  forget." 

"Would  you  bo  angry  if  you  saw  me  at  the 
gate  this  evening?" 

"Yes;  for  friends  are  going  out  with  me. 
Addio,  Sigijore," 

The  young  girl  departed,  leaving  Dick  rooted 
to  the  sjjot.  After  a  while,  he  went  on  to  the 
Piazza  del  Popolo.  A  thousand  feelings  agi- 
tated him.  Joy,  triumph,  perfect  bliss,  were 
mingled  with  countless  tender  recollections  of 
the  glano^  the  smile,  the  tone,  and  the  blushes 
of  Pepitn.  He  walked  on  with  now  life.  So 
abstracted  was  his  mind  in  all  kinds  of  delicious 
anticipations  that  he  ran  full  against  a  man  who 
was  hurrying  atfuH  speed  and  in  equal  abstrac- 
tion in  the  opposite  direction.  There  was  n  re- 
coil. Both  fell.  Both  began  to  mako  apolo- 
gies.    But  suddenly : 

"Why,  Buttons  I" 

"Why,  Dick r 

"  Where  in  the  world  did  you  come  from  ?" 

"  Where  in  the  world  did  you  come  from?" 

''^  What  are  yon  after.  Buttons  ?" 

"Did  yon  «ee  s  cafrii^  paasing^rbna  t]iu 
comer  ?" 

"  Ko,  none." 

"  You  must  have  seen  it." 

"Well,  I  didn't." 

"  Why,  it  must  haro  jnst  pasted  you." 

"  I  saw  none." 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

CON'SEQUEJJCES  OF  BEING  GALLANT  IN  ITALT, 
WHEBE  THERE  AUE  LOVERS,  HUSBANDS,  DROTU- 
EKS,  FATHERS,  COUSINS,  AND  INNUMERABLE 
OTHER  RELATIVES  AND  CONNECTIONS,  ALL 
READY  WITH  THE  STILETTO. 

After  his  meeting  with  Pepita,  Dick  found 
it  extremely  difficult  to  restrain  his  impatience 
until  the  following  evening.  Ho  was  at  the 
gate  long  before  the  time,  waiting  with  trem- 
bling eagerness. 

It  was  nearly  sundown  before  she  came ;  b"fiF 
she  did  fx)me  at  last.  Dick  wotched  her  with 
strange  emotions,  murmuring  to  himself  aU> 
tibse  peculiar  epithets  which  are  commonly 
used  by  people  in  his  situation.  The  young 
girl  was  unmistakably  lovely,  and  her  grace  aqd 
beauty  might  have  affected  a  sterner  heart  than 
Dick's.    . 

"  Now  I  wonder  if  sho  knows  how  perfectly 
and  radiantly  lovely  she  is,"  thought  he,  as  she 
looked  at  him  and  smiled. 

He  joined  hef  a  little  way  from  the  gate. 

"  So  you  do  not  forget." 

"/forgot !  Before  I  spoke  to  yon  I  tliought 
of  you  without  eeasing,  and  now  I  can  never 
forget  yon." 

"Do  your  friends  know  where  you  are?"  she 
asked,  timidly. 

"  Do  you  think  I  would  tell  them  ?" 

"  Are  you  going  to  stay  long  in  Rome  ?" 

"  I  will  not  go  away  for  a  long  time." 

"  You  ore  an  American." 

"Yes."  , 

"America  is  very  far  awAy." 

" But  jt  is  easy  to  get? there."  ,       . 

"  How  long  will  you  be  in  Borne  ?" 

"fdon'tknow.    A  very  long  time."  .      '   • 

"  Not  in  the  summer?"     - 

"  Yes,  in  the  summer." 

"But  the  malaria.  Are  you  not  afraid  of 
that  ?    Will  your  friends  stay  ?" 

"I  do  not  care  whether  my  friends  do  or 
not." 

"  fiut  you  T*ill '  be  left  alone.  "„ 

"  I  suppose  so."  i' 

"But  what  will  you  do  for  company  ?  It  will 
be  Very  lonely." 

"I  will  think  of  you  all  day,  and  at  evening 
come  td  the  gate."  ^ 

"Oh,  Signore !    You  jest  now ' "^ 

"How  can  I  jest  with  you?"     "  ■ 

"  You  don't  mean  what  you  laj."' 


/ 


^l 


--"Poplla!" 

Pepita  blushed  and  looked  eratwrraMed. 
Dick  hod  called  her  by  her  Christian  name ; 
but  sho  did  not  appear  to  resent  it. 

"You  don't  know  who  I  am,"  she  Mid  at 


last.     "Whydoyoupretendtobetofiriendly?" 
"  I  know  that  yon  are  Pepita,  and  I  don't 


J  vU>^f  >^^*r  '^   ^''^M^'W. 


70 


:t 


ia^  DODGE  CLUB ;  OB,  ITALY  IN  MDCCCLDC, 


want  to  know  any  thing  more,  except  one  thing, 
which  I  am  afraid  to  ask." 

Pepita  quickened  her  pace. 

"Do  not  walk  so  fast,  Pepita,"  said  Dick, 
beseechingly.  "Let  the  walk  be  as  long  as 
you  can." 

"  But  if  I  walked  so  slowly  you  would  never 
lei  me  get  home." 

*'  I  wish  I  could  make  the  walk  so  slow  that 
we  could  spend  a  life-time  on  the  road." 

Pepita  laughed.  "That  would  be  a  long 
time."  ,  . 

It  was  getting  late.  ThAun  was  half-way 
below  the  horizon.  The  sky  Was  flaming  with 
golden  light,  which  glanced  dreamily  through 
the  hazy  atmosphere.  Every  thing  was  toned 
down  to  soft  beauty.  Of  course  it  was  the  sea- 
son for  l(W^r8  and  lovers'  vows.  Pepita  walked 
a  little  more  slowly  to  oblige  Dick.  She  uttered 
an  occasional  murmur  at  their  slow  progress, 
but  still  did  not  seem  eager  to  quicken  her  pace. 
Every  step  was  taken  unwillingly  by  Dick,  who 
wanted  to  prolong  the  happy  time. 

Pepita's  voice  was  the  sweetest  in  the  world, 
and  her  soft  Italian  sounded  more  musically 
than  that  language  had  ever  sounded  before. 
She  seemed  happy,  and  by  many  little  signs 
sh<>wed  that  her  companion  was  not  indifferent 
to  her.  At  length  Dick  ventured  to  offer  his 
arm.  She  rested  her  hand  on  it  very  gently, 
andjpick  tremulously  took  it  in  his.  The  little 
han4  fluttered  for  a  few  minutes,  and  then  sank 
*o  rest. 

Tjie  sun  had  now  set.  Evening  in  Italy  is 
far  different  from  what  it. is  in  northern  lati- 
tudes. There  it  comes  on  gently  and  slowly, 
sometimes  prolonging  its  presence  for  hours, 
and  the  light  will  bo  visible  until  very  late.  In 
Italiif,  however,  it  is  short  and  abrupt.  Almost 
as  toon  as  the  sun  disappears  the  thick  shad- 
ow^ come  swiftly  on  and  cover  every  thing.  It 
wai  so  at  this  time.  It  seemed  but  a  moment 
aftdr  sunset,  and  yet  every  thing  was  growing 
indistinct.  The  clumps  of  trees  grew  black ; 
the/houses  and  walls  of  the  city  behind  nil  faded 
injlo  a  rtiass  of  gloom.  The  stars  shone  faintly. 
There  was  no  moon.  , 

^      "  I  will  be  very  late  to-night,"  said  Pepita, 
timidly. 

"But  are  you  much  later  than  usual?" 
U;"Oh,  very  much!" 

'  "  There  is  no  danger,  is  there  ?  But  if  there 
is  you  are  safe.  I  can  protect  you.  Can  you 
trust  me  ?" 

"Yes,"  said  Pepita,  in  a  low  voice. 

It  was  too  dark  to  see  the  swiftly-changing 
color  of  Pepita's  face  as  Dick  murmured  some 
words  in  her  ear.  But  her  hand  trembled 
lently  oa  Dick  heldlt.  She  did  not  say  a  woi 
'  Lrcsponso.  Dick  stood  stilLfbr  a  moment 
begged  her  to  answer  him.  She  made  an 
and  whispered  some  indistinct  syllables.  WherS' 
upon  Dick  called  her  by  every  endearing  name 
that  ho  could  think  of,  and Hasty  foot- 
steps!     Exclamations!     Shouts!     They  were 


fellows,  magnified  by  the  gloom.    Pepita  shriek- 
ed. 

"Who  are  you?"  cried  Dick.  "Away,  or 
I'll  shoot  you  all.     i'ra  armed." 

"Boh !"  said  one  of  the  men,  contemptuously. 

"  Off!"  cried  Dick,  as  the  fellow  drew  near. 

Ho  put  himself  before  Pepita  to,  protect  her, 
and  thrust  his  right  hand  in  the  breast-pocket 
of  his  coat. 

"Who  is  that  with  yon?"  said  a  voice. 

At  the  sound  ofjfue  voice  Pepita  uttered  a 
cry.  Dartiq:  from  -behind  Dick  she  rushed  up 
to  him. 

"It  is  Pepita,  Lnigi !" 

"  Pepita !     Sister !     What  do  yon  mean  by  " 
tliis  ?"  said  the  man  hoarsely.     "  Why  arc  you 
so  late?     Who  is  this  man  ?" 

"An  AmeVican  gentleman 'who  walked  out 
as  far  as  this  to  protect  me,"  said  Pepita,  burst- 
ing into  tears. 

"An  American  gentleman!"  ^id  Luigi,  with 
a  bitter  sneer.  "  He  came  to  protect  you,  did 
he  ?  Well ;  we  will  show  him  in  a  few  min- 
utes how  grateful  wo  are." 

Dick  stood  with  folded  arms  awaiting  the  re- 
sult of  all  this. 

"Luigi!  dearest  brother!"  cried  Pepita,  with 
a  shudder,  "  on  rily  soul — in  the  name  of  tho 
Holy  Mother — he  is  an  honorable  American 
gentleman,  and  he  came  to  protect  me." 

"  Oh  !  we  know,  and  we  will  reward  him." 

"Luigi!  Luigi!"  moaned  Pepita,  " if  you 
hurt  him  I  will  die !" 

"Ah!  .Has  it  come  to  that?"  said  Luigi, 
•bitterly.  " "  A  half-hour's  acquaintance,  and  you 
talk  of  dying.  Here,  Pepita;  go  home  witli 
Ricardo." 

"I  will  not. ^■''l -will  not  go  a  step  unless  ydu 
let  him  go." 

"  Oh,  wo  will  let  him  go !" 

"  Promise  mo  you  will  not  hurt  him." 

♦'Pepita,  go  home!"  cried  her  brother, 
sternly. 

"I  will  not  unless  you  promise." 

"Foolish  girl!  Do  you  suppose  we  are  go- 
ing to  break  the  laws  and  get  into  trouble? 
No,  no.  Come,  go  home  with  Ricord*  I'm  go- 
ing  to  the  city." 

Ricardo  came  forward,  and  Pepita  allowed 
herself  to  be  led  away. 

When  sh^  was  out  of  sight  and  hearing  Lui- 
gi approached  Dick.  Amid  the  gloom  Dick  did 
not  see  tho  wratli  and  hate  that  might  have  been 
on  his  face,  but  the  tone  of  his  voice  was  pas- 
sionate and  menacing.  He  prepared  for  the 
it. 

"  That  is  my  sister. — Wretch !  what  did  you 
can  ?" 
I  swear — " 

Pence-!— Wajvillg-ve  you  caus&to  remen 
her  her." 

Dick  saw  that  words  and  exenges  were  useless. 
He  thought  his  hoar  had  come.  He  resolved  to 
die  game.  Ho  hadn't  a  pistol.  His  manoeuvre 
of  putting  his  hand  ih  his  pocket  was  merely  in- 


sorroanded!  Twelve  men  or  more>— stout,  Strong  <  tended  to  deceive.     I'he  Italians  thought  that 


y 


,& 


Pcpita  shriek- 


THE  DODGE  CLUBj  OH,  ITALY  IN  MDCCCLlf. 


iwaitjng  tlio  re- 


stcp  unless  ydu 


Pepita  allowed 


if  ho  had  one  he  would  have 
.  done  more  than  mention  it. 
He  would  at  least  have  shown 
It.  He  had  stationed  him- 
self under  a  tree.  The  men 
were  before  him.  Luigi  rush- 
ed at  him  like  a  wild  benst. 
Dick  gave  him  a  tremendous 
l)low  between  his  eyes  that 
knocked  hira  headlong. 

"You  can  kill  me,"  ho 
shouted,  "but  you'll  find  it 
hard  work!" 

Up  jumped  Lnigi,  full  of 
fury;  half  a  dozen  others 
rushed  simultaneously  at 
Dick,  lie  struck  out  two 
vijjorous  blows,  which  crash- 
ed against  the  faces  of  two  of 
tbem.  Tho  next  moment  ho 
wns  on  tho  ground.  On  the 
ground,  but  striking  well- 
aimed  blows  and  kicking  vig. 
orously.  IIo  kicked  one  fel- 
low completely  over.  Tho 
brutal  Italians  struck  and 
kicked  him  in  return.  At 
last  a  tremendous  blow  de- 
scended on  his  head.  lie 
sank  lenselcss. 

When  ho  revived  it  was 
intensely  dark.  IIo  was 
covered  with  painful  bruises. 
His  head  ached  violently. 
He  could  see  nothing.  Ho 
arose  and  tried  to  walk,  but 
soon  fell  exhausted.  So  ho 
crawled  closer  to  tho  trunk 
of  the  tree,  and  groaned  thcro 
in  his  pain.  At  last  ho  fell 
into  a  light  sleep,  that  was 
ranch  interrupted  by  his  suffering. 

He  awoke  at  early  twilight.  Ho  was  stiff  and 
lore,  but  very  nruch  refreshed.  His  head  did 
not  pain  so  eScessively.  He  heard  the  trickling 
of  water  near,  and  saw  a  brook.  There  he  went 
and  washed  himself.  The  water  revived  him 
greatly.  Fortunately  his  clothes  were  only 
slightly  torn.  After  washing  the  blood  froin 
iis  face,  and  buttoning  his  coat  over  his  blood- 
stained shirt,  and  brushing  tho  dirt  from  his 
clothes,  he  ventured  to  return  to  tho  city. 

He  crawled  rather  than  walked,  often  stop- 
ping to  rest,  and  onco  almost  fainting  from  ut- 
ter weakness.  But  at  last  ho  reached  tho  city 
nnd  managed  to  find  a  wine-cart,  the  only  vehil 
clo  that  he  could  see,  which  took  him  to  his 
'Mgings.  He  reached  his  room  before  any  of 
the  othcrg  were  up,  and  went  to  bed. ' 


AN  DCTEBBUPnoif. 


'      CHAPTER  XXVII.  f 

""^^Sl,™"  ^'°^  UST.-BAPTUBE  OF  BCTT0N8 
AT  MAKING  AN  IMPORTANT  DISCOVEBr. 

Gbeat  was  the  surprise  of  all  on  the  follow- 
ing  morning  at  finding  that  Dick  was  confined 
to  his  bed.     All  were  very  anxious,  and  even 
Buttons  showed  considerable  feeling.     For  as 
much  as  a  quarteMf  an  hour  he  ceased  thitokinU 
about  tho  Spaniards.     Poor  Dick!     What  on 
earth  was  the  matler?     Had  he  fever?     No 
Perhaps  it  was  tho  damp  night-air.    He  should 
not  have  been  out  so  late.    Where  wns  he  ?    A 
confounded  pity!      The  Doctor  felt  his  pulse. 
There  was  no  fever.      The  patient  was   very 
pale,  and  evidently  in  great  pain.      His  com- 
plaint was  a  mystery.      However,  tho  Doctor 
^commended  perfect  qaiet,~and  hoped  ttatr»= 
fewMays  would  restore  him.     Dick  said  not  a 
word  about  the  events  of  tho  eveiiing.      He 
thought  it  would  do  no  good  to  tell  them.     He 
was  m  great  pain.     Hig  body  was  black  with 


.  ~  .    •  -—    ""-J     nos    UIUUK    Willi 

frightful  bruises,  and  the  depression  of  his  mind 
was  as  deep  as  tho  pain  of  his  body. 
Tho  others  w«nt  ou^  at  their  usual  hour. 


73 


THE  DODGE  CLUB ;  OB,  ITAiT  IN  MDCCCLIX. 


The  kind-hearted  Senator  remained  at  home  all 
day,  and  sat  by  Dick'i  bedside,  sometimes  talk- 
ing, sometimes  reading.  Dick  begged  him  no(t 
to  pnt  himself  to  8o\much  inconvenience  on  liiii 
account ;  but  such  language  was  distasteful  to 
the  Senator.  '"*  ;. 

"My  boy,"  he  gai(]f,  "I  know  that  you  would 
do  as' much  for  me.  Besides,  it  is  o  far  greater 
pleasure  to  do  ony  thing  for  you  than  to  walk 
about  merely  to  grotify  myself.  Don't  apolo- 
gize, or  tell  me  that  I  am  troubling  myself. 
Lenvo  mo  to  do  as  I  please." 

Dick's  grateful  look  expressed  more  than 
words. 

In  a  few  days  his  pain  had  diminished-,  and 
it  was  evident  that  ho  would  be  out  in  a  fort- 
night or  so.  The  kind  attentions  of  his  friends 
affected  him  greatly.  They  all  spent  more  time 
than  ever  in  his  room,  and  never  cai|»e  there 
witliout  bringing  him  some  llttk  trifle,  such  as 
grapes,  oranges,  or  other  fruit.  The  Senator 
hunted  nil  over  Borne  fof  a  book,  and  found 
Victor  Hugo's  works,  whicli  he  bought  on  a  vent- 
ure, and  had  the  grtitiBcaiion  of  seeing  that  it 
was  acceptable, 

All  suspected  something.  The  Doctqr  had 
concluded  from  tlie  fir||  that  Dick  had  met 
with  an  accident.  They  liad  too  much  driicacy 
to  question  him,  but  made  many  conjectures 
among  themselves.  The  Doctor  thought  that 
he  liad  been  among  some  ruins,  and  met  with  a 
fall.  Mr.  Figgs  suggested  that  ho  might  have 
been  run  over.  Tljir  Senator  thought  it  was 
soma  Italian  epidemic.  Bdttons  was  incapable 
of  tliinking  rationally  abput  any  thing  just  then. 
He  was  the  victim  of  a  monomania :  the  Span- 
lards  ! 

About  a  week  after  Dick's  adventure  Bj 
tons  was  strolling  abont  on  his  nsual  otfcst, 
when  he  was  attracted  by  a  largo  crowj^-ftround 
the  Cliiesa  di  Gesu.  Tlie  splendiU^uipages 
of  the  cardinals  were  crowded  abointhe  princi- 
pal entrance,  and  from  the  interior  sounds  of 
.''■fiiu'sic  came  floating  magnificently  down.  But- 
tons Avent  in  to  see  what  was  going  on.    A  vast 


crowd  filled  the  clinrcb.  Priests /n  gorgeoni 
vestmonta  officiated  at  tho  high/isltar,  which 
was  alfablaze  with  the  light  of  enormous  wax- 
candle*.  The  gloom  of  the  interior  was  hciglii- 
encd  by  the  clouds  of  incense  that  rollc,d  on 
high  far  witliin  the  vaulted  ceiling. 

The  Pop«L.waa  (here.  In  one  of  the  ail  join- 
ing chambers  he  was  performing  a  ccrcnionr 
which  sometimes  takes  place  in  this  church. 
Guided  by  instinct,  Buttons  pressed  his  way 
into  the  chamber.  A  number  of  people  filled 
it.     Suddenly  he  uttered  an  exclamation. 

Jait  as  His  Holiness  was  rising  to  leave,  But- 
tons saw  the  group  that  had  filled  his  thoughts 
for  weeks. 

The  Spaniards !  No  mistake  this  time.  Ami 
he  had  been  right  all  along.  All  his  efforts 
had,  after  all,  been  based  on  something  tangi- 
ble. Not  in  vain  had  he  had  so  many  w.ilks, 
runnings,  chasings,  searchings,  strolls,  so  many 
hopes,  fears,  desires,  discouragements.  He  was 
right!  Joy,  rapture,  bliss,  ecstasy,  delight! 
There  they  were :  the  little  Don — this  Donna— 
IDAl 

Buttons,  lost  for  a  while  in  the  crowd,  and 
pressed  away,  never  lost  sight  of  the  Spaniards. 
They  did  not  see  him,  however,  until,  as  thcy^ 
slow'ly  moved  out,  they  were  stopped  and  greoji' 
ed  with  astonishing  eagerness.  The  Don  s))6ok 
hands  cordially.  The  Donna — that  is,  the  eld- 
er sister— smiled  sweetly.  Ida  bliwMcd  and 
cost  down  her  eyes.  ,<' 

Nothing  could  bo  more  gratifvifig  than  this 
reception.  Where  had  he  be^  ?  How  long 
in  Homo?  Why  had  they  not  met  before? 
Strange  that  they  had  not^iten  him  about  the 
city.  And  had  he  really  been  here  three  wcebj 
Buttons  informed  them  that  ho  had  seen  them 
several  times,  but  at  a  distance.  He  had  been 
at  all  the  hotels,  but  liad  not  seen  their  names. 

Hotels !  Oh,  they  lived  in  lodgings  in  the 
Palazzo  Concini,  not  far  from  *lie  Piazza  del 
Popolo.  And  how  much  longer  did  he  intend 
to  stay  ?— Oh,  no  particular  time.  His  friends 
enjoyed  themselves  here  very  ^uch.     He  did 


rooB  piout 


w  . 

|THE  DODGE  CLUB ;  OB,  ITALY  IN  MDCCCLn£ 


not  know  exaetljr^hcn  they  would  leave.  How 
long  would  they  ^'renmin  ?— They  intended  to 
leave  for  Florence  iOn  the  fullowinR  week.— Ah  I 
He  was  thinking;of  leavinp  tor  the  anrae  place 
at  about  the  samfi  timei>  Whereupon  the  Don 
expressed  a  polity  hope  that  they  might  aee  one 
another  on  the  Janm«^. 

By  this  timcf'  the  crowd  hod  diminlghed. 
They  looked  ori  while  the  Popo  entered  his 
•tatc-coach,  nnrf  with  strains  of  mnsic,  and 
prancing  of  htorses,  and  array  of  dragi 
drove  magnlA^ontly  away. 

The  Don  Mimed  to  Buttons :  WeiJfd  ho  not 

accompany  tHem  to  their  lodgingiT?     Thoy  were 

jart  «bontrpturninK  to  diniwe:    If  he  were  dig-, 

-engaged  tljfey  should  bejxt&it  happy  to  have  the 

honor  of  jiis  compopyr 

ButtcjliS  tried  very  hard  to  look  as  though 
be  WMO  not  mad  with  eagerness  to  oteept  the 
inviurtion,  but  not  very  sncccssfully.     Tho  car- 
mf^  drove  off  rapidly.     The  Don  and  Buttons 
Cjrf  one  seat,  the  ladies  on  the  other. 
/    Then  tho  face  of  Ida  as  she  sat  opposite ! 
'    Such  a  face !     Such  a  smile  !     Such  witchery 
in  her  expression!     Such  music  in  her  laugh! 
At  any  rhte  so  it  seemed  to  Buttons,  and  that 
ii  all  that>  i«  needed. 

On  through  tho  streets  of  Rome;  past  the 
PMt^co,  round  tho.column  of  Antoninus,  up 
the  Corso,  until  at  last  they  stopped  in  front  of 
an  jramonse  edifice  which  had  once  been  a  pal- 
ace. The  descendants  oi  the  family  lived  in  a 
remote  comer,  an4  their  poverty  compelled  tliem 
to  let  out  all  the  remainder  as  lodgings.  This 
is  no  uncommon  thing  in  Italy.  Indeed,  there 
are  so  mony  ruined  nobles  in  tho  country  that 
those  aro  fortunate  who  have  n  shelter  over 
their  heads.  Buttons  remarked  this  to  the 
Don,  who  told  some  stories  of  theso  fallen  no- 
bles.  Ho  informed  him  that  in  Naples  their 
laundress  was  said  to  be  the  last  scion  of  one 
of  the  most  ancient  families  in  tho  kingdom. 
She  was  a  countess  in  her  own  right,  but  had 
to  work  at  menial  labor.  Moreover,  many  had 
mnk  down  to  the  grade  of  peasantrv,  and  lived 
maqnalor  on  lands  which  wore  onco'  the  estates 
of  their  ancestors. 

Buttons  spent  the  evening  there.  The  rooms 
were  elegant.  Books  lay  oround  which  showed 
a  cultivated  taste.  Tho  young  man  felt  him- 
m  m  a  realm  of  enchantment.  The  jov  of 
meeting  was  heightened  by  their  unusual  com- 
paiwnce.  During  tho  evening  be  found  out 
•11  about  tliem.  Thoy  lived  in  Cadiz,  where 
the  Don  was  a  merchant.  This  was  their  first 
♦Hit  to  Italy. 

They  all  had  fine  pciyeptions  for  tho  bcauti- 
ful  m  art  or  nature,  and,  besides,  a  keen  sense 
of  the  ludicrous.  So,  when  Buttons,  growing 
-  f"***u"*CftU vCfT  toltt  tnOTYr~iiboQt  ^tf f.  Kinrs's 
•dveature  in  the  ball  of  St.  Peter's,  they  were 
greatly  amused.  He  told  abont  tho  adventures 
of  all  Ins  friends.  He  told  of  him«j|f  s  all  about 
the  chase  in  Naples  Bay,  and  his  pursuit  of  their 
«rriago  from  St.  Peter's.  Ho  did  not  tell  them 
that  he  had,  done  this  more  than  onco.     Ida 


73 

was  amused;  but  Buttons  felt  gtatiffed  at  see- 
ing a  littlo  confusion  on  her  face,  as  though  she 
was  consciona  of  tho  real  cause  of  such  a  per- 
severtng  pursuit.  She  modestly  evaded  his 
glanco,  and  sat  at  a  littlo  distance  from  tho 
others.  Indeed,  she  said  but  little^during  the 
whole  evening.  W 

When  Buttons  left  ho  felt  like  a  spiritual  be- 
ing. Ho  was  not  conscious  of  treading  on  any 
materia]  earth,  but  seemed  to  float  along  through 
lanted  nir  over  the  streets  into  his  lodgings, 
and  so  on  into  the  realm  of  dreams. 


CHAPTi^i  XXVIII. 

WHAT  KIND  OF  A  MTTEB  THE  SENATOR- WROTE 
FOB  THE  "NEW  ENGLAND  PAWtlOT,"  WIIICU 
SHOWS  A  TRUE,  LIBERAL,  UNBIASED,  PLAIN  UN- 
VARNISHED  VIEW  OF  ROME.  ' 

•'Dick,"  said  the  Senator,  as  he  sat  with  him 
in  bis  room,  "Pve  been  thinking  over  your  tone 
of  taind,  more  liarticulariy  as  it  oppeors  in  those 
letters  whiqh  you  write  home,  such  as  you  read 
the  other  day.     It  Is  a  surprising  thing  to  mo 
how  a  young  man  with  your  lisual  good  sense 
keenness  of  perception,  and  fine  education  cnii 
allow  yonrself  to  bo  so  completely  carried  awny  • 
by  n  mawkish  sentiment.     Whot  is  the  uso  of 
nil  these  memories  and  funcics  and  hysterical 
emotions  that  you  talk  about?     In  one  phico 
you  call  yourself  by  tho  absurd  name  of  '  A 
Pansivo  Traveller.'     Why  not  bo  honest  ?     Bo 
a  sensible  American,  exhibiting  in  your  thought 
and  in  nil  your  actions  the  effect  of  democratic 
principles  and  stiff  republican  institutions.    Now 
I'll  read  you  what  I  have  written.     I  think  tho 
matter  is  a  littlo  nearer  the  mark  than  vour 
flights  of  fancy.     But  perhaps  you  don't  care 
just  now  about  hearing  it  ?" 

"  Indeed  I  do ;  so  read  on,"  said  Dick. 
"  A«  I  have  travelled  consldenible  In  lulv,"  anld  th« 

S^^fil  .*'i''  "/'■.fy*'  *''•''  "P*"'  I '""'«  «""«  W™  "f  th' 
crmntry  and  of  the  general  oondition  of  tho  farming 

The  Senator  stopped.  "  I  forgot  to  say  that 
this  is  for  the  New  England  Patriot,  published 
in  our  villngejVon  know." 

Dick  noddgd.     The  Senator  resumed  : 

n,™ISfi„"°'Ii''  "'""kably  rich.  Even  where  there  are 
SfiWM"  '?*'  "re  well  wooded.  So  if  the  field,  hwk 
v..i„;  I  ""  "i"T"-,"-lnK.  What  b  .iirpri-lng  U  .he  ciiltl- 
f„r™?V  ?i*  ^.'"'I'i'!"  "■"'' "  '*''•'"  "'8'"  have  used  when 
1^^  J  f'iS  <•"*,""«>  to  turn  up  the  ground  o.italdo  the 
K.^^'.^^"" '  ''"™r  *'"*  "'^  P^-b^bly  Invented 
\^^S^ .'  ""P"''''  •"  "W  R™»n  that  p,^ple  talk  about, 
a  nl  JJ^i  IS^tl"  ,""''.!''*•  "'  dralnlnR  clear.  For  here  I. 
a  place  called  the  Pontine  Mareh,  beaiieliul  son,  iiirroimd- 
moirt  ent^el      ~'"'fyi  •O'l  yet  they  let  It  go  to  w.uite  al- 

i„  "iF''1  '^J!""  5™  ',**''•    *">«  ■'<"'«'  of  their  bad  farm- 
ta^He*  In  thin.     For  tho  n.en  loll  and  .moke  on  the  fence*. 


*W"*'    A"i>«tl"S«poopl9»«nttobefree. 

'They  wear  leatherTetjgfn*,  abort  breechon,  and  Jack. 

fiU'ii.  ..tT''  "'them  w«r  *ooden  .hoen.    The  women  of  the 

Zt  ..^»  i''"^f  kind  rfoiitlandhh  headfdrew,  which  If 

iw/iSMi  "'  "■"•■'''  ■'^''8  It  would  be  bOltm-  for  their 
own  worldly  prHpcrity, 

.nlUHu  **!!'*  "?  J*"?'  ^'^  '•"'^  'n  the  eheit,  with 
.plendid  action.  I  don't  believe  any  other  countiV  can 
•bow  .udi  cattle.    The  pig.  am  ceMaluly  the  berti  em  Mw 


.V* 


(L'^'^S.'IW.^'.^if-''   ■ 


w.».,l^- 


THE  bODOE  CLUB;  OB,  ITALY  IN  BJDCCCLIX. 


by  a  Ions  chalk.  Their  chopi  bciiit  all  crcatioi£  A  ftrlend 
of  mine  has  ma^e  80108  nketchesl  ^hlch  I  will  give  to  the 
Lyceum  on  my  return.  They  ex\ilblt  the  SorrenN)  pig  la 
various  attitud^ 

"The  honoi, on  the  contrary,  are  poor  iffarra.  I  have 
yet  to  see  the  first  decent  horse.  iTbe  animals  employed 
by  travellers  gttnerally  are  the  loveiiit  of  their  spedee.  The 
■hoes  which  the  horeeg  wear  are  of  a  singular  shape.  I 
enn't  describe  them  in-writing,  but\they  look  more  Ukaa 
flat-iron  than  any  thing  el»e. 

"  I  paid  it  visit  to  t'ompcU,  and  oQ  coming  back  I  i>aw 
some  of  the  carta  of  the  country.  They  gave  one  a  deplor. 
able  idea  of  the  sUte  of  the  useful  arts  in  this  place. 
Scientific  fanning  is  out  of  the  question.  If  fine  pbnta- 
tlons  are  teen  it's  Nature  does  It        \ 

"  Vlney(«rd8  abound  everywhere. ,  Wine  is  a  great  sta- 
pleof  the  country.  Yet  they  don't  tx'fon  much  after  all. 
In  fact,  the  foretoi  cominerce  is  comparatively  trifling. 
Chestnuts  and  oln'^  nrfe  raised  In  iiifmense  quantities. 
The  chestnut  is  otfea^entinl  to  the  Italian  as  the  potato  is 
to  the  Irii-hmaK^A  failipro  la  the  cmp  is  attended  with 
the  same  disaetaus ;  oonseqrif  nces.  They  dry  the  nuts, 
grind  them  into  «  kind  of  flour,  and  make  them  intocakes. 
I  tasted  one  and  found  it  abominable.  iY«  Iheso  peopl^ 
eat  it  with  garlic,  and  grow  fat  on  U.  Chestnut  b 
oil  instead  of  butter,  wine  Instead  of  .tea,  i^d  you  ha; 
Italian  meat  V  j^ 

"  It's  a  fine  country  for  flrnlt    I  found  Oaeta  anrroni 
ed  by  orange  groves.    The  figis  an  Important  article  in  the 
economy  of  an  Italian  liousenold.  \ 

"I  have  been  in  Kome  three  weeks  Mai^y  people  take 
raueh  interest  In  this  pUce,  though  quite  unri^nessarlly.  I 
do  not  think  it  Is  at  all  equal  to  Iloaton.  Yet  I  tinve  taken 
great  pains  to  examine  the  place.  The  streets  are  narrow 
and  crooked,  like  tiKMe  of  Boston.  They  ai^  extremely 
dirty.  There  are  no  sidewalks.  The  gnttVr  is  in  the 
middle  of  the  strrrt.  The  people  empty  theiif  slops  from 
their  windows.  The  pavements  are  bad  and  very  slippery. 
The  accumulatioB  of  filth  about  the  rtreeU  i*  Immense, 
dptlniige  Is.'not  gooil.    Xhcy  actuslly  use  nnfrold  drain 


which,  they  t«ji  me,  was  made  tliive  (IiouiiMid  yeafs 

"  Gas  has  only  been  recently  Intradoced.  I  n^erstahd 
that  a  year  or  two  ago  the  streets  were  lighted  Dnr  miser- 
able contrivances,  consisting  of  a  mean  oil  lamp  swung  from 
tlio  middle  of  a  rope  stretched  across  the  street.     \ 

"  The  shops  are  not  worth  mentloninR.  Thera  are  no 
magnificent  Dry-gooit  Storm,  such  a«  I  hars  seen'  by  the 
huudred  in  Boston;  no  Bardwar*  ^tortt;  no  MUtial 


(ijl>Ie>   ^ef  are  lsrg<>, 


Patmt  Medteine  E^floei;  no  signW  ent^toc.ln  itrt, 
at  all.  "  j",'"| 

"The  houses  are  very  uncomipfl 
and  built-in  the  form  of  a  sqiii^;;, 
flats.    If  it  is  cold  they  havAJlaii 
are  no  stoves.    I  have  suffered^ 
evenings  since  I  have  been  hen 
home.    I  hi^ye  asked  for  a  fire,  bj|[  . 
was  a  poisonous  fire  of  charcoal  In-'^  c 

"  Some  of  their  public  bnlldlngs  are  i 
make, tlie  population  comfor^bljj    Inf  ..., 

erally  are  ill-cared  for.  H^  are  the  wretched  Jeir»,»»lio 
live  in  a  filthy  quarter  o(  the'^ty  crowded  together  like 
pigs.  , 

"  The  people  pass  the  most  of  their  time  in  coflee-honies. 
They  are  an  idle  set— have  nothing  in  the  world  to  do,  <It 
Is  still  a  mystery  to  me  bow  they  live. 

"  The  fact  is,  there  arc  too  many  soldiers  nnd  priwtn 
Now  it  Is  evident  that  these  gentry,  being  non-prodiicfn, 
must  be  supported  directly  or  indirectly  by  the  prndiiccre.. 
This  Is  the  cause,  I  suppose,  of  tiro  poverty  of  a  great  psit 
of^lfe  population. 

rglDg  Is  rednced  to  a  science.    In  this  I  confess  tm 
iMats  the  American  all  to  pieces.    The  Amerino 
not  seeij,  nor  ear  heard,  the  devices  of  an  lullu 
,'ar  to  get  aloni^ 

I  hare  seen  them  In  great  crowds  waiting  outside  oft 
monastery  for  their  dinner,  which  consists  of  huge  bowb 
of  porridge  given  by  the  monks.  Can  any  thing  be  more 
Tulnoas  to  a  peoplef  .        ,  ^    j 

"  The  only  trade  that  I  could  discover  after  a  loUg  and 
patient  search  iTaa  the  trade  in  brooches  and  toys  whlcU 
are  bought  a«  euricsltiea  by  travellers.  ' 

"  There  are  nothing  but  churches  and  palaces  whererer 
yougow  Borne  of  these  palac«s  are  queer-louklnKcnnce™. 
There  Isift  one  in  the  whole  lot  equal  to  some  of  the  Flra 
Avenue  houses  in  New  York  In  point  of  real  genuine  styte 

"Tlieie  has  been  too  much  money  spent  In  churches,  tirt 
too  little  on  houses.    If  it  amounted  to  any  thing  It  would 


holteio tiWIjIinrtlironly'tfllHlrliirtfien  twimwwtsss 
idle  fondnets for  mnsle  and  pictures  and  such  like.  If  wqr 
tore  down  nine-tenths  of  their  churches,  and  tumMthem 
into  school-houses  on  the  Now  ICngland  system.  It  woou 
not  be  bad  for  the  rising  generation. 

"The  newnpapers  which  they  have  are  miserable  tbnp 
—wretched  little  sheets,  full  of  lies— no  adfertbementi,  w 
news,  no  nothing.  I  got  a  friend  to  translate  for  me  wM 
pretended  to  be  the  lateet  AmericMt  newf   Itwuatoi- 


"That'gall,"gfl 


ilfCiL 


THB  DODOE  CLUB  ^  OB,' ITALY  IN  MDCCCLIX 


ItcUon  a  murdon,  diieb,  nllwty  McUaota,  aoditMaliMt 
entaioai. 

f'l  don't  ace  wlitt  hope  then  h  for  IhU  unfortunata 
axintnr ;  I  don't  retlljr.  The  peoiile  have  sone  <n  n  long 
la  their  preunt  counc  thiit  they  are  now  about  iaoorrigl. 
He.  If  the  entiro  population  were  to  emlgrata  to  tha 
Wettcrn  HUtw,  and  mix  up  with  the  people  tbeiv,  It'Dlsht 
|ie>>Mible  for  their  doacandanli  In  the  coutm  of  tube  to 
tmount  to  Komcthing,  r^ 

'•  I  don't  we  any  hope  exoept  perhapa  In  one  plan,  which 
vonld  be  no  doubt  impoAnlbla  for  tliaw  lasy  and  dreamr 
lUlhna  to  carry  ouf.  It  U  tliU:  Let  this  poor,  broken, 
down,  bankrupt  Oovemment  make  an  Inrentory  of  it* 
Thole  stock  of  Jewell,  gold,  genu,  pictures,  and  sutuea.  I 
gndentand  that  the  nobility  throughout  Kurope  woiild  be 
willing  to  pay  Iramoiwe  auniH  of  monuy  for  these  emamenta. 
If  Uioy  are  fooh  onougli  to  do  no,  tlien  In  Jieaven's  name 
let  them  iMTu  the  chance.  Clear  out  the  whol^  stock  of 
nil)bUli,  and  lot  thn  hard  cosh  come  In  to  Icplace  It 
That  would  be  a  good  beginning,' with  something  tangible 
lotUrtiWini.  I  am  told  that  the  ornaments  ot  8t.  Peter's 
Csthedral  coal  ever  so  many  nOmmt  of  dollars.  In  the 
name  of  goodness  why  not  sell  oulthe  etoek  and  realize  lik 
ilaad  of  laaulng  thoae  ntgged  notes  for.twenty-flve  cehl*'' 
which  circniate  among  the  people  here  at  a  diaoount  of  alAut 
nrenty-nre  per  cent,  t  V  ' 

"Then  let  them  run  a  Villmad  north  to  Florence  and 
mth  to  Naplea,  It  wouhT  oped  pp  a  Bne  tract  df  country 
wilch  Is  cajiaUajifaEBWIng  grain ;  It  Would  Up  the  gnat 

.  .  V  jf «_  ■    ^  '"^  originate  a  waat  trade  lu-OO, 
.Jdrledfhilta.  ^     *  '       ^     ^-     ' 

^_^  country  "aiDund  Rome  U  uninhabited,  but  not 
barren,  It  la  sifkljf  in  summer-tlmp,  but  If  tliere  was 
^population  on  it  who  would oultlvatu  It  properly  I  calcu- 
Uta  thj  malaria  wouBl  wanlah.  Just  as  the  fc-Vor  and  ague 
lo  ftom  jHany  Western  dUtricta  In  our  country  by  the 
nine  ageiielea.  I  calculate  tliat  rogion  could  be  mad^  one 
of  Ibe  ni«^t  fortllo  on  tills  round  earth  If  occupied  by  kn 
iDdiatrious  claaa  of  cmlgrahta, 

»  But  tlioro  U  a  large  space  InaMe  Uie  wiata«f  the  city 
wWcli  could  be  turned  to  tiie  best  of  purpae<%>  •      "' 


n 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

TOT  LONBLT   OKI    AND  HIS    OOMFORTIR  — ^nv 
^       TRUB  MIDIOINB  »OB  A  BICK  MAN. 

Dick  vrat  alono  fn  hii  ebamber.  Confine- 
ment to  his  room  was  bad  cnonRh,  but  what 
wai  tbat  in  comparigon  with  the  deaolation  of 
«onl  that  afflicted  him?  Pepita  w*s  always  in 
his  thouKhts.  The  brfght  moment  was  alone 
remembered,  and  the  block  soquol  could  not  ef- 
face her  image.  Yet  his  misadronture  showed 
jhances  of  feeing  Inf  again  were 
But  hew  could  he  give  licr 
soon  be  leaving  for  Florence.- 
hover  to  see  her  ajjatn— the 
tender,  the —    A   faint 


"Tlie  pinoo  which  uj»d  to  be  the  lt»mi^TO»ilm  Is  ex- 
•ctly  calculated  to  bo<ffie  terminus  of  the  rallr^  wiilol? 
I  have  suggested.  A  eoniniodloua  dupAt  mild'^  mUdfi 
ud  the  dour-way  might  bo  worked  up  out  of-thoWh  of 
Tittu,  which  now  stands  bloclcing  up  tlie  way,  and  Is  of  no 
ntthly  use. 

"The  amount  of  cnimbllng  stones  and  old  mined  walls 
tliit  they  leave  about  tliU  ipiarter  of  tlio  city  Is  astonish- 
log,    It  ought  not  to  be  so. 

"What  the  GoTeniinent  ought  to  do  after  being  put  In 
fusils  by  the  process  mentioned  aWe  Is  tills: 

"Tlie  Government  ought  to  tear  down  all  tho.'e  uaDlght- 
\j  haapa  of  atone  and  erect  factories  and  Industrial  sciiooU 
Tilers  la  plenty  of  materUI  to  do  it  with.  For  InsUncp 
take  tiie  old  ruin  called  the  CiJllHouni.  It  U  a  fact,  arrivod 
•t  by  elaborate  calculation,  thot  the  entire  contents  of 
IhU  concern  are  amply  aiifflcient  to  conatnict  no  leas 
Mian  one  hundred  aud  fitly  handsome  faeu»i«s,  each  two 
hundred  feet  by  seventy-live.  . 

*Tho  factories  being  buUt,  they  coiil^  be  devote.1  to 

Uie  productloo  of  the  finer  tissues.    Silks  and  velvets 

tould  be  produced  here.    Olass-ware  of  all  kinds  could  be 

made.    'There  la  a  fine  Itallaa  ebty  that  mokoa  nice  cupj 

-  and  crocks. 

"I  could  also  snggeat  the  famons  Boman  cement  as  an 
tddllionalartldeofMport  The  Catooomba  under  the  dty 
nmU  be  put  to  aome  direct  practical  use. 

"1  have  hastUy  put  out  these  few  Ideas  to  ahow  What  a 
llDeral  and  enlightened  policy  might  efliiet  even  Inauch 
ta  impromlalng  place  aa  Rome.  Jt  ia  not  prebaUe,  Itow- 
ew.that  my  acheme  wo-ld  meet  with  favor  hei*  The 
Madlng  classes  in  this  city  are  such  an  Incurable  set  of  old 
Bglffl  that,  I  veiily  believe,  rather  than  do  what  I  have 
•nggesuid,  theywould  choose  to  have  the  earth  open  beneath 

plc«ares,musenms,  palaces,  ruins  and  all  ^ 

<.'.a*°"„°"'.*''?*»''"°"'«»''''>loh  will  work  some 
%.  Supposj  Rossi*  should  sell  us  her  part  of  America! 
Mn  .ell  us  Cuba,ltaly  give  us  Rome,  •turkey  aTwanS 
ortwo-themrhatf  Butfll  keep  this  for  another  Irtlen" 

"Thags  all.'^Mid  thn  Sonntpr, 


Dick's  face  was^rawn  up  into  the  sbrangest 
expression.  He  did  not  say  any  thing,  how- 
wer.  The  Senator  calmly  folded  up  his  paper, 
•'!»!;«'»», thoughtful  air  took  up  his  hat. 

Tm  going  to  that  Coliseum  agiiJn  to  meas- 
ure a  place  I  fqigot,"  said  he. 

Upon  which  he  retired,  Reaving  Dick  alone. 


,     __,«P.,^   .  Dick,  without  rbing  from 
his  choMfr/ 

A  ferorfio  entered.  She  was  dressed  in  black. 
A  thick  veil  hid  her  fe^ures,  but  her  bent  flfeure 
denoted  ago  and  weariness.  Site  slowly  closed 
the  door. 

"Is  it  here  where  a  young  American  lives 
with  this  name  7" 

She  held  out  a  cjtfd.  It  was  his  name,  his 
card.  lie  had  only  given  it  to  one  peracin  in 
Rome,  and  that  on^  was  I'cpita.  ( 

"  Ob  I"  cripd  Dick,  rising,  his  whole  cxprcs-" 
sion  changing  from  sadness  to  eager  and  bo- 
WMchiiy^-hopo,  "  oh,  if  you  know  where,  she  is 
^i?#»h*rel  may  fln4hor-rr"/''f  .^ 

The  female  raised  her  form,  then  with  a  band 
that  trembljcd  excessively  she  slowly  lifted  her 
veil.  It  Vas  a  fa«!o  not  old  and  Wrinkled  but 
young  nnd  lovely,  with  tearful  eyes  downcast, 
and  cheeks  suffused  with  blushes. 

With  an  eager  cry 'Dick  boui^a^^m  his 
'£Hoir  nnd  caught  her  in  his  nrmsflnflBa  word 
WHS  spoken.  He  held  her  in  a  sTO^^mbrace 
ns  though  he  would  not  let  her  go.  -  At  last  iio 
drew  hor  to  a  sent  beside  him,  still  holding  her 
in  his  arms. 

"  I  could  npt  stay  away.  I  led  you  into  mis- 
fortiujc.  Oh,  how  you  have  sufl'orcd  J  You 
are  tliin  and  wan.  ,,  What  a  wretch  am  I ! 
When  you  see  ma  jio  mord  will  you  foraive 

TOO?"  '  *^ 

"  Eorgrtj  1"  and  Dick  replied  in  a  more  ert-\ 
phatic  way'-than  words  afiiird.  ^\ 

\  "They  would  not  let  mo  leave  the  house  fSr 
t<n  days.  They  told  mo  if  I  ever  dared  ttf  see 
you  again^  they  would  kill  you.  .  So  I  knew  you 
wero  not  dead.  But  I  did'  not  know  how  they 
had  beaten  you  lil^o  day  Iticardo  told  me  all. 
To  think  of  yonf(nta|pd  fighting  so  gallantly. 
Four  of  them  were  so  bruised  that  they  have 
not  yet  recovered.  To-day  Luigi  went  to  Civlto 
Vecchia.  He  told  me  that  if  F  dared  to  go  tS 
Rome  hft^would^ send  Tne  to  »  eonvenf.  Butt" — 
disobeyed  bira.     I  could  not  rest.     I  had  to 

come  nnd  see  how  you  were,  nnd  to — bid 

adieu — " 

"Adieu!  bid  adieu ?— never.     I  will  not  let 
yon-"  ^ 

,"Ah,  now  you  talk  wildlj^P^iiL^epita, 
moumfolly,  "  for  yon  know  wo  must  pBr" 


'       .it  1 


'  t 


) 


'■■\.     ,«^ 


76 


THE  DODGE  CLUB;  OB,  ITALY  IN  MDCCCLK. 


"We  shall  not  part." 

"I  will  have  to  go i home,  and  you  can  not 
follow  me." 

"  Oh,  Pepita,  I  can  not  gtvo  you  up.  You 
shall  be  mine — now — my  wife — and  come  with 
me  home — to  America.  And  we  shall  never 
again  have  to  part." 

"  Impossible,"  said  I'epita,  as  big  tear-drops 
fell  from  her  eyes.     "Impossible!" 

"  Why  impossible  ?" 

"  Luigi  would  track  us  to  the  end  of  the 
world." 

"  Track  us !  I  would  like  to  see  him  try  it !" 
cried  Dick  in  a  fury.  "I  have  an  acconnt°to 
settle  with  him  which  will  not  be  pleasant  for 
Iiim  to  pay.  Who  is  he  to  dare  to  stand  be- 
tween mo  and  you  ?  As  to  following  me — 
Well,  I  have  already  given  him  a  8|)ccimcn  of 
wliat  I  am.  I  would  give  a  year  of  my  life  to 
have  him  alone  for  about  half  an  hour." 

"  You  wrong  him,"  cried  Pepita,  earnestly. 
"  Ygiu  wrong  him.  You  must  not  talk  so.  He 
is  not  a  bravo.  He  is  my  brother.  He  has 
been  like  a  father  to  me.  Ho  loves  mo  dearly, 
and  my  good  nAmo  is  dearer  to  him  than  life. 
He  is  so  good  and  so  noble,  dear  Luigi'!  It 
was  Ilia  love  for  me  that  blinded  him  and  made 
him  furious.  He  thought  you  were  deceiving 
us  nil,  and  would  not  listen  to  yon." 

"  But  if  he  were  so  noble  would  he  have  at- 
tacked one  unarmed  man,  and  he  at  the  head 
of  a  dozen?" 

"I  tell  you," cried  Pepita,  "you  do  not  know 
him.  He  was  so  blinded  by  passion  that  ho 
had  no  mercy.  Oh,  I  owe  every  thing  to  him  ! 
And  I  know  how  good  and  noble  he  is  !" 

"  Pepita,  for  your  sake  I  will  forgive  him 
every  thinftj' 

"  I  can  not  stay  longer,"  said  Pepita,  making 
an  effort  to  rise. 

"Oh,  Pepita!  you  can  not  leave  mo  foV- 
evor."  « 

Pepita  fell  weeping  into  his  arms,  her  slen" 
dcr  form  convulsed  with  emotion. 

"You  shall  nQt." 

"  I  must — there  is  no  help." 

"  Why  must  you  ?  Can  vflii  not  fly<*itli  me  ? 
What  prevents  you  from  bc^;  mine?  Let  us 
go  and  be  united  in  the  little  church  where  I 
saw  you  first." 

"  Impossible  !"  moaned  Apita. 

"Why?"  ^^, 

"Because  I  could  not  do  you  such  injustice 
You  have  your  father  far  a>Vay  in^raorica. 
You  mi;;;ht  offend  bin)." 

"  Bother  my  fath«i5>"  cried  Dick 

Pepita  looked  shocked. 

"  I  mean — ho  would  allow  mo  to  do  any  tliVng 

:ifccdv««t^glary-in  it.  becftusa  I  did  it,     Hfl^ 


I 

lunc 


P 


"  Is  there  no  hope  ?" 

"  No — not  now." 

"Not  now?  And  when  will  there  be  ?  Can 
it  be  possible  that  you  would  give  me  up? 
Then  I  would  not  give  you  ilp !  If  you  do  iiot 
love  mo  I  must  love  you." 

"  Cruel !"  murmured  Pepita. 

"Forgive,"  said  Dick,  penitently.  "Per- 
haps I  am  too  sudden.  If  I  come  back  again 
in  two  or  three  months  will  you  bo  as  hard- 
hearted as  you  are  now  ?" 

"Hard-hearted!"  sighed  Pepita,  tearfully. 
"  You  should  not  reproach  me.  My  troubles 
ore  more  than  I  can  bear.  It  is  no  slight  thing 
that  you  ask." 

"Will  waiting  soften  yon?  'Will  it  make 
any  difference?     If  I  came  for  you — " 

"You  must  not  leave  mo  so,"  said  Pciiita, 
reproachfully.  "  I  will  tell  you  all.  You  will  un- 
derstand me  better.  Listen.  My  family  is  noble." 

"  Noble !"  cried  Dick,  thunderstruck.  lie 
had  certainly  always  thought  her  astonishinply 
lady-like  fpr  a  peasant  girl,  but  attributed  this 
to  the  superior  refinement  of  the  Italian  race. 

"Yes,  noble,"  said  Pepita,  proudly.  "We 
seem  now  only  poor  peasants.  Yet  once  we 
were  rich  and  powerful.  5Iy  grandfather  lost 
all  in  the  wars  in  the  time  of  Napoleon,  and 
only  left  his  descendants  an  honorable  nnme. 
Alas  !  honor  and  titles  are  worth  but  little  when 
one  is  poor.  My  brother  Luigi  is  the  Count  di 
Gianti." 

"  And  yon  are  the  Countess  di  Gianti." 

"  Yes,"  said  Pepita,  smiling  at  last,  and  hap- 
py at  the  change  that  showed  itself  in  Dick. 
"  I  am  Abe  Countess  Pepita  di  Gianti.  Can 
you  understand  now  my  dcarLuigi'a  high  sense 
of  honor  and  the  fury  that  ho  felt  when  he 
thought  iS^t  you  intended  an  insul't^  Onr 
pdlfcrty,  \^Irich  we  can  not  escape,  chafes  liim 
sorely.  If  I  were  to  desert  him  thu*  suddenly 
it  would  kill  him." 

"  Oh,  Pepita!  if  wailing  will  win  >ju  I  will 
wait  for  years.     Is  there  any  hope  ?" 

"  When  will  you  leave  llome  ?" 

"  In  a  few  days  my  frlemls  leave." 

"Then  do  not  stoy  behind.  If  yoirlHo  yon 
can  not  see  ine." 

"  But  if  I  come  again  in  two  or  three  months? 
What  then  ?     Can  I  see  you  ?" 

"  PerhajM,"  said  Pepita,  timidly. 

"  And  you  will  not  refuse  ?  No,  no  !  Yoa 
can  not !     How  can  I  find  you  ?" 

"  Alos !  you  will  by  that  time  forget  all 
about  me."  % 

"  Cruel  Pqpito  !  How  cnn  you 
forget  ?  Would  I  not  die  for  you  ? 
I  find  you  ?" 

1'  The  Padija-Lipiori."  _ 


sny  I  will 
UowM» 


"Who?" 


"  Padro  Li  luori,  at  the  little  church,    the 


would  chuckle  over  it  for  a  month 

"Luigi—"  "^^^  A  r 

"  Pcpitn,  do  you  love  him  iMJttcr  than  mo  ?"^ll  priest— thjs  one  who  spoke  to  you." 

"No,  but  if  I  leave  him  so  it  would  bfcah' 
his  heart.  Ho  will  think  I  am  ruined.  Ho 
will  declare  a  vendetta  against  you,  and  folloii; 
you  to  the  end  of  the  world." 


"  But  ho  w 


II  refuse. 


Ho  hates  mo# 
""Ho  is  a  komX  man.     If  he  thinks  yon  »re 
honorable  he  vill  bo  your  fHcnd.     He  ii  » true 
friend^  me,' 

1 


THE  DODGE  CLUB;  OB,  ITALY  IN  MDCCCLIX. 


3,,'.'.^  Will  see  hinv  before  I  leave  and  tell  him 

There  were  voices  below. 
I'epita  started. 

"They  come.  I  must  go,"  said  she,  drop- 
ping her  veil. 

"  Confound  them  !"  cried  Dick 

"^l(/(i(o.'"  sighed  Pcpita. 

Dick  caught  her  in  hisi  arms.  She  tore  her- 
self away  with  sobs. 

She  was  gone. 

Dick  sank  buck  in  his  chair,  witli  his  eyes 
fi.\ed  hungrily  on  the  door.  "'• 

" Hallo!"  burst  the  Doctor's  voice  on  his 
ears.     "  Who's  that  old  girl  ?     Hey?     Wliy 

i^lli^^atTrelapse  i^iiTnTiook^f  ■  Zr''  rT  Vi°  '"^^  "^  «">-^  ^"^  »« 
You  must  make  a  tofal  cha^n  "e  In  your  Lt-^  Sl/''^  \u  ^  '"^ "  "'"'  °'  ""'  ^''''^  B"^" 
m^m   .,i„,..i„.:„_   .,_:_,-         ."'^  '"  J^"""^  "1"      ;  B»ese.     For  the  student,  ruins  whose  very  dust 


77 
larly  the  ladies.  They  were  perfectly  familiar 
with  all  the  Spanish  painters  and  many  of  the 
Italian.  Buttons  felt  himself  far  inferior'  to 
them  in  real  familiarity  with  Art,  but  he  made 
amends  by  brilliant  criticisms  of  a  transcendent- 
al nature. 

It  was  certainly  a  pleasant  occupation 
youth,  sprightliness,  and  beautn  To'wanW 
all  day  long  through  that  central  world  from 
which  forever  emanate  all  that  is  fairest  and 
raMt  enticing  in  Art,  Antiquity,  and  Religion  ; 
to  have  a  soul  open  to  tlie  reception  of  all  these 
influences,  and  to  have  all  tilings  glorified  by 
Almighty  love ;  in  short,  to  be  in  love  in  Rome. 

Rome  IS  an  inexhaustiMo  store-house  of  at- 
tractions.     For  the  lovers  of  gayety  tlicre  are 


more   stimulating  drink   and   generous   food 
However,  tlie  drive  to  Florence  will  set  you  all 
fright  again." 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

OCCUPATIONS  AND  PEltEGRINATIOXS  OF  DUTTONS. 


IS  eloquent.     For  the  artist,  treasures  bevond 
price.     For  the  devotee,  religion.     How  fortu- 
nate, tiiought  Buttons,  that  in  addition  to  nil 
tins  there  is,  for  the  lovers  of  the  beautiful 
beauty  I  ' 

Day  after  day  tliey  visited  new  scenes.     U|)on 
the  whole,  perhaps,  the  best  way  to  see  the  city 

If  Buttons  had  spent  little  time  in  his  room  '  717  m  "  ''""  "?r  T?*^  ''°^'''  ''''''  """■"•  '^  »« 
before  he  now  spenVHhs.  He  wa  ex,  Ior2  h^f  ^^r"^'  Hand-book,  and,  armed  with 
the  ruins  of  Rome,  the  churches  he  £  To  i  "^  "'"''"'^'  '^"'^  energetically  at  the 
Pilleries,  and  tlie  palaces  unSLw^^^^^^^^^^^  '.'""«   »''"'   '«   mentioned; 

Ho  knew  the  name  of  every  palLe"  ,rc  h  7^^?"'"  '"^  °"''°^''>''  "•«""";  then  throw 
in  the  pl<,ce.  Ho  acquired  fliis  k„o«lo2r,w  '  ^  -^  '^''''■\  ""''  ^°  °''"  "'«  K"-"""*!  "new, 
means  of  superhuman  Sp^licattn  to  "  Murn '^  """'"'"«  '"''''  """•'=^-^'-  ^"^^  ''^^- 
Hand-book  "on.  the  evenings  after  le.iving  his 
wnpanions.     They  were  enthusiastic,  particu- 

CHAPTER  XXXI. 

BUTTONS  ACTS  THE  GOOD  SAMARITAN,  AND  I  IT- 
EBALLY  UNEAIiTUS  A  MOST  UNEXPECTED  VIC- 
cIoUS^'meI"    ^'^''"^^'^^'^   ROBBEKV.-OK-R-K-A- 

To  these,  once  wandering  idly  down  the  Ap- 
pian  Way,  the  ancient  tower  of  Metella  rose  in- 
vitingly.    The  carriage  stopped,  and  ascend- 
ing, they  walked  up  to  the  entrance.     They 
iimrvelled  at  the  enormous  blocks  of  travertine 
of  which  the  edifice  was  built,  the  noble  sim- 
[  j.licity  of  the  style,  the  venerable  garment  of 
ivy  which  hid  the  rnf  ages  of  time, 
i      The  door  was  open,  and   they  walked   in 
Buttons   first;    the   ladies   timidly   following- 
and  the  pon  bringing  up  the  rear.     Suddenly 
a  low  groan  startled  them.     It  seemed  to  come 
from  the  very  depths  of  the  earth.     The  ladies 
gave  a  shriek,  and  dashing  past  their  brother, 
ran  out.     The  Don  pnuscl.     Buttons  of  cour'to 
advanced.     Ho  never  felt  so  extensive  in  his 
life  before.     What  a  splendid  opportunitv  to 
g"°  "J*  exhibition  of  manly  courage  1     So  he 

"'Hiked  on, mid  gliout^-; 

"  Who's  there  ?" 
A  groan ! 

Further  in  yet,  till  ho  carao  to  the  inner 
^  chamber.  It  was  dark  there,  the  only  light 
,  coming  in  through  the  passages.  Through  the 
I  gloom  he  saw  the  figure  of  a  man  lying  on  the 
I  floor  80  tied  that  he  could  not  move. 


mrro.'ie  akh  MDiWAr, 


.  .uffi.' 


V- 


78 


THE  DODGE  CLUB ;  OB,  ITALY  IN  MDCCCLIX. 


"  Who  are  you  ?     What's  the  matter  ?" 
"  Let  me  loose,  for  God's  sake !''  said  n  voice, 
in  thick  Italian,  with  a  heavy  German  accent. 
"Tm  a  traveller.     I've  been  robbed  by  brig- 
ands." 


To  snatch  his  knife  from  hi*  pocket,  to  cut   sanctity  of  their  repose  I 


the  cords  that  bound  the  man,  to  lift  him  to  his 
feet,  and  then  to  start  back  with  a  cry  of  aston- 
ishment, were  all  the  work  of  an  instant.  By 
this  time  the  others  lt(td  entered. 

The  man  was  a  German,  unmistakably.  lie 
stood  blinking  and  staring.  Then  he  stretched 
his  several  limbs  and  i-ubbod  himself.  Then 
ho  took  a  long  survey  of  the  new-comers. 
Then  he  stroked  a  long,  red,  forked  beard,  and, 
in  tones  expressive  of  the  most  profound  be- 
wilderment, slowly  ejaculated — 

"  Gr-r-r-r-acious  me!" 


Then  Meinheer  Schatt  knew  that  they  were 
robbers.  Still  he  indignantly  protested  that  he 
was  an  unoffending  traveller. 

"It's  false  !  You  have  been  mntilating  the 
sacred  sepulchre  of  the  dead,  and  violating  tlio 


And  the, fellow,  thrusting  his  hands  in  the 
prisoner's  pockets,  brought  forth  the  stones  and 
ivy.  The  others  looked  into  his  other  pockets, 
examined  his  hat,  made  him  strip,  shook  his 
clothes,  pried  into  his  boots — in  short,  gave  iiini 
a  thorough  overhaul. 

They  found  nothing,  except,  as  Meinheer  ac- 
knowledged, with  a  faint  smile,  a  piece  of  tlic 
value  of  three  half-cents  American,  which  he 
had  brou^it  as  a  fee  to  the  guide  throngh  tlic 
Catacombs.  It  was  that  bit  of  money  that 
caused  his  bonds.     It  maddened  them.     Thcv 


"  Meinheer  Schatt !"  cried  Buttons,  grasping  :  danced  around  him  in  perfect  fury,  and  asked 
his  hand.  "  How  in  tlie  name  of  woudcr  did  j  what  he  meant  by  daring  to  come  out  and  give 
you  get  here  ?  What  has  happened:  to  you  ?  j  them  so  much  trouble  with  only  tfiat  bit  of  im- 
Wlio  tied  you  up  ?     Were  you  robbed  ?     Were  !  pure  silver  about  him. 

vou  beaten?     Are  you  hurt?     But  come  out  i       "Dog  of  a  Tedescho  I      Your  nation  has 
of  this  dark  hole  to  the  sunshins."  |  Irainpled  upon  our  liberties ;  but  Italy  shall  be 

Meinheer  Schatt  walked  slowly  out,  saying    avenged!    Dog!    scoundrel!    villain  I    Tcdcs- 
'  nothing  to  these  rapid  inquiries  of  Buttons,  j  cho !     Tedes-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-cho!" 
The  German  intellect  is  profound,  but  slow  ;  !      The  end  of  it  was  that  Meinheer  Schatt  was 
mid  so  Meinheer  Schatt  took  a  long  time  to  col- 1  tied  in  a  sin^rulnrly  unconifortablo  position  and 
fcct  his  scattered  ideas.     Buttons  found  that ;  left  there.     Hot  liought  he  had  been  there  about 
lie  was  quite  faint ;   so  producing  a  flask  from    five  hours.     lie  was  faint  and  hungry, 
his  pocket  he  made  him  drink  a  little  precious       Tliey  took  him  home, 
cordial,  which  revived  him  greatly.     After  a  -^ 

long  pull  ho  heaved  a  heavy  sigh,  and  looked  • 

with  a  ])iteons  expression  at  the  new-comers. 
The  kind-hearted  Spaniards  insisted  on  taking 
him  to  tiieir  carriage.  Ho  Yak  too  we.ik  to 
walk.  They  would  drive  him.  They  would 
listen  to  no  refusal.  So  Meinheer  Schatt  was 
safely  deposited  in  the  carriage,  and  told  his 
story. 

He  had  come  out  very  early  in  th»  morning  to 
visit  the  Catacombs.  .   . 

of  the  day  so  at  to  be  back  before  it  got  hot.  j  tended  over  many  parts  of  the  world. 
Arriving  at  the  Church  of  St.  Sebastian  he  i  thought  he  might  Iiave  done  something  in  Cndii. 
found  to  his  disappointjjoiit  that  it  was  not  open  j  "  Your  father  a  ship-owner  in  Boston !  1 
ye(.  So  he  thoughts  would  beguile  the  time  j  thought  you  belonged  to  Now  York,"  said  tiio 
by  vralking  about.     So  he  strolKd  off  to  the  |  Don,  in  surprise. 

tomb  of  Cmcelia  Metella,  which  was  the  most  |      "Oh,"  said  Buttons,  "I  sai^  I  came  frnin 
st^Hing  object  in  view.     Ho  walked  around  it,  j  there.     ThQ  fait  is,  I  lived  there  four  years  nt 
and  broke  off  a  few  pieces  (A  stone.     He  took 
also  n  few  pieces  of  ivy.     These  ho  intended  to 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 

ANOTDEB  DISCOVEnT  MADE  BT  BUTTONS. 

Os  the  evening  after  this  adventure  the  Don 
turned    the  conversation  into  a  new  channel. 
They  all   grew  communicative.     Buttons  fold 
them  that  his  father  was  an  extensive  mcrchnnt 
Ho  clioso  the  earlv  part !  and  ship-owner  in  Boston.     His  business  ex- 

-    ■  ■■He 


carry  away  as  relics.  At  last  he  ventiired  to 
enter  and  examine  the  interior.  Scarce  had 
he  got  inside  than  he  heard  footsteps  without. 
The  door  was  blocked  up  by  a  number  of  ill- 
looking  men,  who  came  in  and  caught  him. 

Meinheer  Schatt  confessed  that  ho  was  com- 
pletely overcome   by  terror.     However,  ho  at 


college,  and  will  live  there  when  I  return. " 
J,  "  And  your  father  lives  in  Boston,"  said  tlie 
Don,  with  an  interest  that  surprised  Buttons. 

"Yes." 

"  Is  his  name  Hiram  Buttons?" 

"Yes,"  cried  Buttons,  cagoriy.     "How  do 
von  know  ?" 

"  My  dear  Sir,"  cried  the  Don,  "  Hiram  But- 
tons  and  I  are  not  flnly  old  business  correspond- 


iBjit  mustgred  sufflclcnt  streiigth  to  osk  wimt.ents.  but  J_h<y)  I  can  add  pcrsoiial  friends." 


The  Don  rose  and  grnsj^J  Buttdiis  c6fdtBflr"~ 
by  the  hand.     The  young  man  was  overcome 
by  surprise,  deliglit,  and  triumph. 

"  I  liked  you  from  the  first,"  said  the  Do». 
"  You  boar  your  character  in  your  face.    I  wm 


they  wanted. 

"  You  arc  our  prisoner !" 

"Why?     Whoaroyou?" 

"  We  are  the  secret  bo<ly-gnard  of  His  Holi- 
ness, appointed  by  the*'Kacred  Council  of  the 


Befcctory,"  said  one  of  the  men,  in  a  mocking  ,  happy  to  receive  you  into  our  society.    But  now 
tone.  ;  I  feel  a  still  higher  pIcMuro,  for  I  find  yon  ait 


THE  DODGE  CLUB ;  OB,  ITALY  I§  MDc'cCLIX. 


B  BY  BUTTONS. 


the  Bon  of  a  man  for  whom  I  assure  you  I  enter- 
tain an  infinite  respect." 

The  Bisters  were  evidently  delighted  at  the 
scene.    As  to  Buttons,  he  was  overcome. 

Thus  far  he  often  felt  delicacy  ijhout  his  po- 
sition among  them,  and  fears  of  intruding  occa- 
sionally interfered  with  his  enjoyment.  His 
footing  now  was  totally  different;  and  the  most 
punctilious  Spaniard  could  find  no  fault  with 
his  continued  intimacy. 

"Hurrah  fgr  that  abominahle  old  office,  and  ! 
that  horrible  business  to  which  the  old  gentle- 
man tried  to  bring  me !     It  has  turned  out  the 
best  thing  for  me.     What  a  capital  idea  it  was 
for  the  governor  to  trade  with  Cadiz  !" 

Such  were  the  thoughts  of  Buttons  as  he  went 
liome. 


79 

The  waiter  shrugged  his  shoulders  tiU  they 
reached  the  upper  part  of  his  eara.  The  Sen- 
ator looked  for  a  moment  at  him,  and  saw  that 
he  did  not  understand  him.  He  looked  at  tW 
floor  involved  iu  deep  thought.  At  last  he 
raised  his  eyes  once  more  to  me#  those  of  the 
waitoflk  which  stiU  were  fixed  upon  him,  and 
Nwung  the  palms  of  his  hands  on  his  hips 
threw  hack  his  head,  and  with  his  eyes  still  fix- 
ed  steadffistly  upon  the  waiter  he  gave  utterance 
to  a  long  shrill  gurgle  juch  as  he  thought  the 
frogs  might  give:  ■» 

BpcKCKeic^K  Koai  icoAf^ 

BpeKCK£KCK   Kodf  Kodf. 


CHAPTER  XXXHL 

SptKtKiK  KOlif  Koa^  Kod^. 

In  his  explorations  of  the  nooks  and  comers 
of  Rome  the  Senator  was  compelled  for  some 
time  to  make  his  journeys  alone.  He  some- 
times felt  regret  that  he  had  not  some  inter- 
preter with  him  On  these  occasions ;  but  on  the 
whole  he  thought  he  was  well  paid  for  his 
trouble,  and  he  stored  up  in  his  memory  an  in- 
credible number  of  those  items  which  are  usual- 
ly known  as  "  useful  facts." 

On  one  of  these  occasions  he  entered  a  very 
common  cafe  near  one  of  tlie  gates,  and  as  he 
felt  hungry  he  determined  to  get  his  dinner. 
Ho  had  long  felt  a  desire  to  taste  those  "  frogs  " 
of  which  he  had  heard  so  much,  and  which  to 
his  great  surprise  he  had  never  yet  seen.  On 
coming  to  France  he  of  course  felt  confident 
that  he  would  find  frogs  as  common  as  potatoes 
on  every  dinner-table.  To  his  amazement  he 
bad  not  yet  seen  one. 

He  determined  to  have  some  now.  But  how 
conld  he  get  them  ?    How  ask  for  them  ? 

"Poohl  easy  enough!"  said  the  Senator  to 
himself,  with  a  smile  of  superiority.  "  I  wish 
I  could  ask  for  every  thing  else  as  easily." 

So  he  took  his  seat  at  one  of  the  tobies,  and 
gave  a  thundering  rap  to  summon  the  waiter. 
All  the  cafe  hud  been  startled  by  the  advent  of 
the  large  foreigner.  And  evidently  a  rich  man, 
for  he  was  an  Eqglishman,  as  they  thought.  So 
np  came  the  waiter  with  a  very  low  bow,  and  a 
Terydiny  jacket;  and  all  the  rest  of  the  people 
in  the  c^fcf  looked  at  the  Senator  out  of  the  eor- 
ner  of  their  eyes,  and  stopped  talking.  The 
Nsnator  gawd  wUh  a  calm,  sorane  face  and 
•teady  eye  upon  the  waiter. 

"  Signoro  r  laid  the  waiter,  interrogatively 
^.T.      ^""g  '  '"  Mid  the  Senator,  solemnly, 


OBIKEKEKEX  KOAX  KOAX  I 


.  The  waiter  Stared. 
'■  C»«  vuoltUa  r"  he  repeated,  in  a  faint  voice. 

"Non  capisco." 

"  Gunk  gmg  I  gvnkety  gmk  guug .'" 
V 


fc- 


(Rccurrcnce  must  be  made  to  Aristophanes, 
who  alone  of  articulate  speaking  nifen  has  writl 
ten  down  the  utterance  of  the  common  frog.) 

The  waiter  started  back.  All  the  men  in  the 
cafe'  jumped  to  their  feet, 

"  BpeKtKeKeK  Kodf  /mdf,"  continued  the  Sena- 
tor, quite  patiently.  The  waiter  looked  fright- 
ened. 

"  Will  you  give  me  some  or  not?"  cried  the 
Senator,  indignantly. 

"  Signore,"  faltered  the  waiter.  Then  he  ran 
for  the  caff'-keejigr, 


The  cafu-koeper  came.  The  Senator  repeat, 
ed  the  words  mentioned  above,  though  somewhat 
angrily.  The  keeper  brought  forward  every 
customer  in  the  house  to  see  if  any  one  cooM 
understand  the  language.  ^ 

"  It's  German,"  said  one. 

"  It's  English, "said  another. 


THE  DODGE  CLUB;  OR.  ITALY'm  MDCCCLIX. 

T.T,        n"         I     The  Senator  at  once  poured  forth  all  that  bid 

.» Bah  !"  said  a  third.     '  Y'-^TZ.  ■   for '  been  in  h?s  mind  since  his  arrival.     He  gave  h>, 

..No."  said  a  fo""h» ''i'^»°•'-*'"'2^an   I  opinion  about   the  site,  the  architcjcture,  the 

Carolo  Quinto  said  that  Bohemian  was  the  Ian-    °P'"'°°  .^^     ^i^;  „,  government,  the  beggars, 

J^age  of  the  devil."     And  Nutpbcr  Four  who    dmnMhe  m^n  cu^a  g^^  ^^^^  ^^^  ^^^_ 

^a,  rather  an  intelliRent-look.ng  man,  eyed  the    ^^J  The  n^Wds,  the  priests,  monks,  and  nuns, 

Senator  compassionately.  .   ,  »k„  c^„,  '      "- '^ »....»»  fo™ 

>.  Gunk  gung,  gnnkely^^ng  .'"  c"«d  ^J^ J^-^^: 
tot,  frowning;  for  his  patience  had  at  last  de- 

"  The'lThers  looked  at  him  helplpssW  and 
gome  thinking  of  the  devil,  piously  crossed  them- 
BeWes  Whereupon  the  Senator  rose  in  majes- 
tie  wrath,  and  shaking  his  purse  in  the  face  of 
the  cnfe-keeper,  shouted :      ' 

"You're  worse  than  a  nigger!    and  staiKea 
grandly  out  of  the  place. 


wv 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

^^ET^^^rTHB  SEN.TOB  AND  A  BOMA«  BPY.^ 
GLEE  OF  tilE  POPULACE  '.-HI !  UI . 

He  did  not  asyfor  frogs  again;  but  stiU  he 
did  not  falter  in  lis  examination  .nto  the  life  of 
the  peojae.     Still  he  sauntered  through  the  re- 

Bioter  comers  "f  %"»«' ^^""'^''T. rPh.tto 
other  side  of  the  "Tiber,  or  through  the  Ghetto 
or  amonc  the  crooked  streets  at  the  end  of  the 
C6«™      Few  have  learned  so  much  of  Rome  in 
go  short  a  time.  .  ,- 

On  one  occasion  he  was  "tt'"!?  •"  ^  ^f«' 
If  Vhcre  he  ha-d  supplied  his  wants  in  the  follow- 

'"^•Hfliloff.^!  coffebj"  and  again,  "Hi!  ci- 


Then  be  criticised  the  Government,  its  form,    . 
its  mode  of  administration,  enlarged  upon  its  tyr- 
anny,  condemned  vehemently  its  poli9e  system, 
and  indeed  its  whole  administration  of  every 
«iing,  civil,  political,  and  ecclesiastical. 
1  ^  Waxin"  warmer  with  tlie  sound  of  I.is  own  e  - 
oouence,  he  found  himself  suddenly  but  natural- 
ly  reminded  of  a  country  where  all  this  is  re 
ve»scd.     So  he  went  on  to  speak  about  Freedom 
Kepublicnnism,  the  Rights  of  Man,  and  the  Bal. 
lot-Bffx.     Unable  to  ralk  with  sufBcient  fluen- 
cy while  in  ft  sitting  posture  he  rose  to  his  feet 
and  as  he  looked  around,  seeing  that  all  piesem 
were  staring  at  him,  he  made  up  his  m*pd  to  im- 
prove  the  occasion,     So  he  h-^rangued  the  erovrd 
generally,  not  be^ouse  he  thought  any  of  tl  cm 
ionld  understand  him,  tut  U  was  so  long   !nce 
he  had  made  a  speech  thatrthe  P'««e"'  °PP«[''™! 
ty  was  irresistible.     Besides,  as  he  afteW 
remarked,  he  felt  that  it^^as  a  crisis,  and  «l.o 
Zm  tell  but  that  a  word  spoken  in  season 
micM  produce  some  beneficial  effects. 

He  shook  hands  very  warmly  with  h.s  nc^r 
friend  after  it  all  was  over,  and  on  leaving  h.m 
made  him  promise  to  come  and  see  him  at  his 
lodgings,  where  he  would  show  him  statistics,  etc 
The  Senator  then  returned 

That  evening  he  received  a  visit  Ihe  Sen 
ator  heard  a  hip  «t  his  door  and  called  out 
"Come  in."  Two  men  entered-iU-  ookvng,  or 
rather  malignant-looking,  clothed  m  black. 

Dick  was  in  his  room.  Buttons  out,  lij^gs  id 
n.e  Doctor  had  not -returned  from  niec»e^ 


gar! 'Kr  «hen  his'eve  was  attracted  ^y"   If^,  ^^^^^ /rsiJi^d  'oTshaking  hands  ,vi.h 
^an  at  the  next  tabhi  wfio  was  reading  a  copj    The  ^^  ^.^.^^^_  _^  ^^^  ^^  ^,^^^  ^^„  ^j,^^,  £„. 


^ArLrdor^:::v:;;;:h  he  had  spread  out ,  both  his  victors.  . 
V  ,?  o^'uitiously.     After  a  brief  snn.y  the    gl-sh. 
Senator  walked  over  ^  his  table  and,  with  a 
beaming  smile,  said—    . 

TSet^man  looked  up  and  returned  a  very 

friendly  smile.         ^ 

•'And  how  do  yoTl  do.  Sir f 

.'Very  well,  I  thank  you,"  said  the  other, 
with  a  strong  Italian  accent 

"  Do  -vou  keep  your  health  i  . ,  „,i„ 

"Thank  you,  yes," said  the  other,  evidently 
quite  pleased  at  th.*dv«ices  f  the  Senator 
^  "  Nothing  gives  me  bo  much  P»e»»"«.  »^ 
the  Senator,  "  as  to  come  aeross  an  Itahan  v^ 
understands  English.  You,  Sir,  ye  a  Roman, 
I  presume."  I  y 

"  Sir,  I  am."  ,„„i«v««»4mt 

^«  ">«ri  iawhn,,ihe_6*«M«i^kej«^ 


The  man  to  wnoinTnc  ctc..«."- -i _      ,    _ 

one  who  would  hav^  »tt«='«V"V^"n/r 
him  if  it  had  not  been  f"-^  h'"  •'"°*""^»f  .^n"- 
dish  He  was  a  narrow-headed,  mean-ftekmg 
man,"  with  very  seedy  clothes,  and  a  senrile 

"TKrytL  Romer  he  asked  of  the 
Senator. 


ilig  Excellency,"  said  he,  pointing  to  ilrf 
other,  "  wishes  to  speak  to  you  on  offici.il  Un- 

""  "Happy  to  hear  it,"  said  the  Senator. 

"His  Excellency  is  the_ Chief  of  the  Police, 
and  I  am  the  Interpreter." 

Whereupon  the  Senator  shook  hands  with 
both  of  them  again.  , 

'.proud  to  make  your  acquaintance,  sa^  n^ 
"I  am  personally  acquainted  ^"h  the  Chid 
of  the  B^ton  police,  and  also  of  the  Ch  erf 
the  New  York  ,K,lice,  and  my  "r^"'""-" '"^ 
they  can  stand  more  liquor  than  any  men  lever 
met  with.  Will  you  liquor?" 
"The  interpreter  did  not  ""derstaiid  Jb. | 
Senator  made  an  "P'*»«'«  •8"-  Th«  nu^ 
prgjerLjncntioned  tho  request  to  th^  CJuet^'" 

shook  his  head  coldly.  ,  ..™«.,..— "  nul 

"This  is  formal,"  said  the  Interpretei-  »j 

■^The  Senator's  faee,fla.hed.    ««  f«^"*jvj, 

..Give  him  my  cimpllmonU  then,  andtji 

,im  the  next  time  he  n=f«se.  «  8«"'»««^ 

ir  ho  had  better  do  it  like  a  gentleman.    «"  i 


I 


THE  DOpqE  CLUB;  OB,  ITAT^T  IN  MU^CLIX, 


«1 


tor  iibook  hands  wiH 


*•  il 


^i 


COT  TOD  TUIU! 


my  part,  if  I  cliose  to  be  uncivil,  I  might  say 
that  I  consider  your  Roman  police  very  smail 
potatoes." 

The  Interpreter  translated  this  literally,  and 
thoiigli  the  fijial  expression  was  not  very  jntelli- 
gible,  yet  it  seamed  to  imply  contempt,    -, 

So  the  Chief  of  Police  made  his-commnnica- 
tion  as  sternly  as  possil)le.  Grave  rei^rts  -Jiad 
been  made  about  His  American  Excellency .\ 
The  Senator  looked  surjirised. 

"What  about ?'• 

That  he  was  haranguing  the  people,  going 
about  secretly,  plotting,  and  trying  to  instill  rev- 
olutionary sentimonu  into  the  public  mind. 

"  I'ooh  !"  said  the  Senator. 
,    The  Chief  of  Police  bade   him  ■be  careful. 
He  would  not  be  permitted  to  stir  up  an  excita- 
ble populace.     This  wai  to  give  him  warning. 

"  Pooh !"  said  the^Senator  again. 

And  if  he  neglected  this  warning  it  would  be 
the  wane  for  him.     And  the  Chief  of  Police  ' 
looko.1  unutterable  things.     The  Senator  gazcil 
at  him  sternly  and   somewhat  contemptuously 
for  a  few  minutes. 

"  You're  no  greiit  shakes  anvhow,"  said  he. 

"  Sigrwre  ?"  said  the  Inteq/retcr. 

"  Doesn't  it  strike  yon  that  you  are  talking 
Infernal  nonsense?"  asked   the  .Sonntor  in   a 


'  "ngnlty  argumentatliro  tone  of  voice,  throwing 
we  le«  over  another,  tilting  back  his  chair,  and 
'"luinn  liis  arms. 

"  Your  language  \9  disrospcctful,"  was  the  in- 
uiRnant  reply. 

""Yours  strikes  mo  as  something  of  tho  same 
kind,  tooj^  but  moro-t-it  is  absurd," 


"What  do  yon  mean?"  ^ 

-     "  You  say  I  stir  up  the  l>eople."  *^  "  " 

"  Yes'.     Do  y«u  deny  it  ?"  ' 

"Pooh  !  How  can  a  man  stir  up  tho  people 
when  he  can't  speak  a  word  of  their  language  ?" 

The  Chief  of  Police  did  not  reply  for  a  mo- 
ment, . 

o  'd*!*""  """''  I*vagot  yon  there,"  said  the 
SenaWr,  dryly.     "  Hoy  ?  old  IIoss  ?" 

("Old  Hoss:'  wan  an  epithet  which  he  used 
when  he  was  \ft  a  good  humor.)  He  felt  that 
ho  had  tho  best  ofk  here,  and  his  anger  was 
gone.  He  thcrefi^pcd  his  chair  baqk  further, 
and  plaAd  his  fechrpon  the  back  of  a  chMtlhat 
wiw  in  fFont  of  him.'  J 

"  There  are  Italians  in  Rome  who  spei 
glish,"  was  at  length  thorejoinder. 

"I  wish  I  cduld  find  some  then,"  said  tho 
Senator.  "  It's  worse  than  looking  for  a  needle 
in  a  hay-stack,  they're  so  precious  few." 

"  You  have  met  one." 

"And  I  can't  say  I  feel  over-proud  of  theao. 
quaintancc,"said  the  Senator,  in  his  former  dry 
,tono,  looking  hard  at  tho  Interpreter. 

"At  the  Cafe'  Conacci,  I  mean." 

"Tho  What?     Whole's  that?" 

"  Where  you  were  this  morning." 
r--  -' '  Qh  hn  1  that's  it»<=«h»^  And  was  my  ffleftd 
there  one  of  your  friends  too  ?"  asked  tho  Scn- 
atgr,  as  light  burst  in  upon  him. 

"  He  was  sufficiently  patriotic  to  give  warn- 
ing." 

"  Oh— patriotic  ?— ho  was,  was  ho  ?"  said  the 
Senator,  slowly,  while  Ims  eyes  showed  a  danger- 
ous light. 


THE  DODGE  CLUB  *|)B,  ITALY  IN  MDCCCLI^, 

id  you  fk 


82  . 

"Yes— patriotic.     He  has  wa 
Bomc  time."  ■        u 

"Watched  me  J"  aftd  the  Ijenator  froww 
wra^nfully.         *■' 

s"  Ve».  all  ovpr  Rome,  wlverover  yon  went." 


'i 


The  Senator  inflamed  l^*o  frle 
visit,  iikn4,|teoughk  very  lipily  aboi 
recoUectiolrof  <^«  thiflglii^leil  in  hMmind 
.  That  spy^l  v|t*o  fellow  ijp  humbtfSl*  him. 
Ji^^  had  dot;«J**|f5u«,  tratkeifl^,  p^npS  for 


^re»,  all  overitome,  wnerover  you  weni.         »?^,."»"  "^*^r7j(r"C'    .'■ — 17?  '  ■  ---r- ■- 
Wftehed  me/  dogge#»H«.'   tracked  in«/  <r«#8,  had  A|1*ipfm  into  pdnversatiop,  asked 
Al^*^  .  ^        ■' leering  questl^ttti'-snd  then  given  infd»nfj}ion. 

^^    '  If  there  ,was  any  tikjng  ^||f  "ijh  \|i>t  thC  Sena-  ,| 


'^  And  contoiTii&emiWveJrjftils  tlm«  with  giv- 
ing yo«  wfli-nlndi'  -' 
.\,     "  Very  much  obliged ;  ttft  tell  your  Govern- 
*,ltnent  not  to  liiUlanned.     I  won't  hurt  them." 
"  *"      Upon  this'fljsiljro  visitors  took  'eheir  leave. 


fcr  Joshed  it  wasJW*.  'W  ,  m        ^ 

B#how  conliTsttchil  iwrf-"  be  ).tiBjijb«J! 
That  wtis  the  thought,     ^nisfti^  co^hl  oiii/ 

com©  from  one.  (  'Bhe  wr  ^^d  do  -'*^- 

Btllttttbrc  was  one  jjvhi)  c^d  *»^^nic 
thftkono  was  himself.     Lynch  Inwl, 

"  My  fHyther  was  from  Roeting,  ' 

My  uncle  wns  Jiidgo  Lynch, 
,  ""Bo.  dam  yotir  firo  auilroitMijK, 
'  You  can  not  muke  Mt'tU'XiB." 

The  6enatof  hummed  the  abonrq  elcgdnt  worda 
all  that  evening.  *  l 

He  thought  he'  could  find  ttfellian  yet.  He 
was  sure  he  would  know  himX^jHo  would  dc 
vote  himself  io  this  on  the  next  <»».  The  next 
day  he  went  about  thei  city,  and  dp|enRth  in  the 
afternoon  he  came  to  Pincian  Hilt     There  was 


*        >  .i.i.i-:-j 


THE  DODGE  CLUB ;  OR,  ITAl?^  MDCCCLIX.  '    gS 

jwa   there  as  usual.     The   Senator  j  which  oi^e  is  enabled  to  make  any  other  So 
iself  ,n  a  favorable  position,  in  which  j  what  is  dalled  "Walking  Spanish,- and   pro! 
only  bB  seen  from  one  point,  and  then   pelled  biln  mnirJIv  t.^.J.,  .L  „.:_„"./.? 


watchcid  with  the  eye  of  a-  hawk. 
He,w«*clied  for  about  an  hour;     At  the  end 

of  thf^t^Ae  he  saw  a  face.  It  belonged  to  a 
i*  W'%?'"!  ^^*^  leaning  against  a  post  with 
Ibacfejftirned  toward, the  Senator  all  this  time, 
^vas  Me^ce.'     The  fellow  happened  to  turn 


„   ,  ,  .1  ,„       o  -^f  •"•••"•,    uuu   pro- 

pelled bim  rapidly  toward  the  reservoir  of  tlia 
fountain.'  '       ' 

The  Senator  raised  the  spy  from  the  ground 
*n(l  pitched  him  into  the  pool.  «. 

The  ajr  was  rent  with  acclamations  and  cries 
of  delight. 

As  th^  spy  emerged,  half-drowned,  the  crowd 


i'MlmA        l  r      , — ■■•  ""»'i'^"=" '"  i"«"       -""'"«  spy  emergca,  ha  f-drowned  the  crowd 

g^^ough  round  to  let  the  Senator  see  him.    came  fo^ard  and  would  have  pSloneed  the 
|t»««8  evidently  watching  him  yet.     The  Sen-   delightful  sensation.  proiongea  the 

;  itW/jUked  rapidly  toward  him.  The  man  saw  Not  often  did  thcv  have  a  spy  in  their  hands 
bim  and  began  to  movoTi»«i^dly  away.  The 
Senator  increased  his  pacp.  So  did  the  man. 
The  Senator  walked  still  faster.  So  did'the  man. 
The  Senator  took  long  strides.  The  man  took 
short;,  quick  ones.  It  is  said  that  the  fastest  pe- 
destrians are  those  who  take  short,  quick  steps. 
The  Senator  did  not  gain  on  the  other. 

By  this  time  a  vast  number  of  idlers  had  been 
attracted  by  the  sight  of  th^so  two  men  walking 
a?  if  for  a  wagqr.  At  last  the  Senator  began 
to  rnn.     So  did  the  man ! 

The  whole  thing  was  plain.  One  man  was 
chasing  the  other.  At  once  all  the  idlers  of 
the  Pincian  Hill  stopped  all  their  avocations 
and  turned  to  look.  The  road  winds  down  tlie 
Pincian  Hill  to  the  Piazza  del  Popolo,  and  those 
oh  the  npper  part  can  look  down  and  see  the 
whole  extent.  What  a  place  for  a  race !  The 
qaick-eyed  Itomans  saw  it  all.  .  ', 

"  A  spy !  yes,  a  Government  spy !" 

"Chased  by  an  eccentric  Englishman!" 

A  loud  shout  burst  from  the  Roman  crowd. 
Bat  ft  number  of  English  and  Americans  thought 
differently.  They  saw  a  little  mart,  cha^d 
by  a  big  one.  Some  cried  "Shame!"  Others, 
thinking  it  a  case  of  pocket  -  picking,  cried 
"Stop  thief!"  Others  cried  "Go  it,  little  fel- 
low !    Two  to  one  on  the  small  chap ! " 

Every  body  on  the  Pincian  Hill  rushed  to  the 
ed^re  of  the  winding  read  to  look  down,  or  to 
the  paved  walk  that  overlooks  the  Piazza.  Car- 
riagcs  stopped  and  the  oecuparits  looked  d<)#n. 
French  soldiers,  dragoons,  guards,  officers— all 

And  aw&y  went  the  Senator  J^hd&Hi^'nin 
the  terrified  spy.  Down  thefotg  wav,  and  at 
lengtMhey  came  to  the  M^a  del  Popolo.  .  A 

in''aTsi!'rfK'''''''\ft',''?  '**'P'"-     ^^!  '      P-^^'V'"  «">«  vi*it' was  beneficial  to  Dick 

o2  ^ZZl  i^-^T  """'""I"'*  v6cifer.  Jiink  of  %  as  almost  inielik;  TZsS, 
^n^^<i<i^^^ZI!t^:'^^^i\r.'^'^'''  «'«"'«'''<>'"^-«a'^»'-«"'d,whati,Wer,aheart 
dorwe^fc^wS*  fftlt'-  AH  .""IT""  1  •'"  «>^^"'2i'*«='>  *<">«  %d  her  to  do  her 
nieswIeflKlSr^  AH  the  bale.,  shaj.  towanl  #«ing  him  agii!  Would  itnot 
Down  alon»  thl  P^?     P    » .u       ,  .    ^  '"'"*''  """^  *°  •'""'P'^  *'"'  ""O'  evidont  dp- 

AnMne      fnio  f  !^;>  „^  .V^ff^'""'"  °!   *'_'*:  J*"l '*''^"  ^K°'"«#'".  "'«'<'  ««he?     He 
lenaibr  was  gaining !  ~  At  la 
•quaro.     A  grAit  fountain  of 
forth  there.     The  «py  ran  to  t 
'ho  square,  and  juat  as  he  i*hi.  M.,r. 
"de  <lley  the  Senator's  hahd  clutched 
tail)  I  *  I 


,;  JPAPTER  XXXV. 

TiilfoTHEB  BrFOHT,  AND  BE0IN8  TO 
FEEL  ENCOURAGED. 


.  *i 


Bui  bow  could  ho 


far  bfi^r  to 


return  agaiK, 

himself  away  ?     WonbF  It  _, 

t^main  and  seek  her?.  Hb  conlfi  gd^  djicidc. 
Ha  thought  of  Padre  Ligubri.  He  had  g^fy 
insulted  that  gentlemanyand  tb«  thought  of 
meeting  him  agjiin  mad/  him  feel  blank,     tet 

The  Senator  t/>nir  »».-.,.     •     .u  . "         ^      II®  ''**  *"  *"""*  ^"^  ^^  "'""""  *  Prttector  of 
senator  took  th«  spy  m  that  ,^ay  hy  Pepita,  a  guardian,  .flrhaps,  ijnd  a,  auch  had 

■   '^    ..,.  >.  Jjr  K  .  ,  '. 


«e^° 


.^- 


84 


THE  DODGE  CLUB;  OB,  ITALY  IN  MDCCCLlX. 


inflacnco  over  her  fortunes.  If  he  could  only 
disarm  hostility  from  I'adre  Liguori  it  would 
be  undoubtedly  for  his  benefit.  Perhaps  Padre 
Liguori  would  become  his  friend,  and  try  to  in- 
fluence Pepita's  famU^wn  his  favor.  So  he  de- 
cided OB  going  to  see  Pa^ro  Liguori.  ' 

The  now  turn  which'  had  been  given  to  his 
feelings  by  Pepita's  visit  had  benefited  him  in 
mind  and  body.  He  was  quite  strong  enough 
for  a  long  walk.  Arriving  ot  the  church  ho 
had  no  difficulty  in  finding  Liguori.  The  priest 
advanced  with  a  look  of  surprise. 

"Before  mentioning  tlie  object  of  my  visit," 
said  Diqk,  bowing  courteously,  "I  owe  you  artv^medn>vay  ? 
humble ^pology  for  a  gross  insult.     I  hope  you    wl^ali*^^'* 
will  forgive  me."  ^  i 

■  The  priest  bowed. 

"  After  I  left  here  I  succeeded  in  my  objcjct," 
continued  Dick. 

"I  heard  so," said  Liguori,  coldly. 
"  And  you  have  heard  also  that  I  met  with  a 
tcrfible  punishment    for  my   presupipiion,  or 
whatever  else  you  may  choose  to  call  it." 

"  I  heard  of  that  also,"  said  th'e  priest,  stern- 
ly. "And  do  ybu  complain  of  it?  Tell  me. 
Was  it  not  deserved  ?" 

"  If  their  suspicions  and  yours  had  been  cor- 
rect, then  the  punishment  would  have  been  well 
desened.  But  you  all  wrong  me.  I  entreat 
you.to  believe  me.  I  am  no  adventurer.  I  am 
honest  and  sincere."  -• 

"We  have  only  your  word  for  this,"  said 
Liguori,  coldly. 

"What  will  make  you  bfclieve  that  I  am  sin- 
cere, then?"  said  Dick.  "What  proof  can  I 
give?"  ■       ,  / 

"You  are  safe  in  offering  i>  give  probft  in  a 
case  where  nono-can  be  giv^n."  f 

"I  am  frank  with  you.  Will  you  not  be  so 
with  mo  ?  I  come  to  you  to  try  to  convince  you 
of  my  honesty,  Padre  Liguorf.  I  love  Pepita  as 
truly  and  as  honorably  ns  it  is  possible  f<5r  man 
to  love.  It  was  that  feeling  that  so  bewiWered 
mo  that  I  was  led  Xo  insult  you.  I  went  out 
in  the  midst  of  danger,  and  would  have  died  for 
her.  With  these  feelings  I  can  not  give  her  up." 
"I  have  heard  sentiment  like  this  pften  bc- 
ibrer    W4>at-is  your  mcuning  ?" 

"  I  am  rich  and  of  good  family  in  my  oft'n 
country ;  and  lam  determined  to  liave  Pepit» 
for  my  wife." 
"Your  wife!" 

"Yes,"  said  Dick,  resolutely.     "I  am  hon- 
orable and  open  about  it.     ^^y  story  is  short.     I 
love  her,  and  wish  to  make  licr  my  wife." 
The  expression  of  Liguori  changed  entirely. 
"  Ah  1  Jhis  makes  the  whole  matter  different 
altogether.     I  did  not  know  this  before.     Nor 

dtdiheCountr    But  l>e  js-exeuaabtes     A*tHl- 

den  passion  blinded  fiim,  and  he  attacked  you. 
I  will  tell  you  "—and  at  each  word  the  priest's 


were  their,ina(/(7iorJo»io«.  Poverty  at  last  strip. 
ped  them  of  every  thing,  and  I,  the  last  of  the 
family  dependents,  entered  the  Church.  But! 
still  preserve  my  respect  and  love  for  them. 
You  can  understand'  how  bitterly„  I  would  re- 
sent and  avenge  any  base  act  or  any  wrong  done 
to  them.  You  can  understand  Luigi's  vengeance 
also."     , 

"I  tnought  as  much,"  said  Dick.  "I 
thoughtfyou  were  a  kind  of  guardian,  and  50  I 
came  Jiere  to  tell  you  frankly  how  it  is.  I  lnvo 
her.  I  can  make  her  rich  itnd  happy.  To  do- 
so  is  the  desire  of  my  heart.  Why  should  I  be 
Or  if  there  bo  any  objection, 


manner  grew  more  friendly— "I  will  tell  yon 
how  it  is,  Signore.  The  Giantis  were  once  a 
powerful  family,  and  still  have  their  title.  I 
consider  mysdlf  as  a  kind  of  appanage  to  the 
famil  V,  for  my  ancestors  for  several  generations 


^'  There  is  no  objection— none  whatever,  if 
Pepita  is  willing,  and  you  sincerely  love  her.  I 
think  thatLnij,^  would  give  his  consent." 

"  Then  what  Avouljl  prevent  me  f^bm  marry- 
ing her  at  once  ?" 
"At  once!" 
"  Certainly." 

"You  show  much  ardor  ;  but  still  an  imme- 
diate marriage  is  impossible.  There  arc  vari- 
ons  reasons  for  this,  ki  the  first  pliice,  we  love 
Pepita  too  dearly  to  Idt  her  go  so  suddenly  to 
some  one  wlio  merely  feels  a  kind  of  imimlse. 
We  should  like  to  know  that  tliere  is  some  prot- 
pect  of  her  l)eing  happy.  We  have  cherished 
her  carefully  thus  far,  and  will  not  let  her  po 
without  having  some  security  obout  her  happi- 
ness." ,,  ■  dj-,^ 

"Then  I  will  wait  as  long  as  j|H#likc,  or 
send  for  my  friends^  to  give  you  every  informa- 
tion you  desire  to  have ;  or  if  you  want  me  to 
give  any  proofs,  in  any  way,  about  any  thing, 
I'm  ready." 

"There  is  another  thing,"  said  Liguori, 
"  which  I  hope  you  will  take  kindly.  You  are 
young  a'nd  in  a  foreign  country.  This  siiddcn 
impulse  may  be  a  whim.  If  you  were  to  mar- 
ry pow  you  might  bitterly  repent  it  before  three 
months  were  over.  Under  such  circumstances 
it  would  be  misery  for  you  and  her.  If  this 
happened  in  your  "native  country  yoo  could  be 
betrothed  and  wait.  There  is  also  another  rcii- 
son  why  waiting  is  absolutely  neccssai7.  It  nil! 
take  some  time  to  gain  her  brotherV  consent. 
Now  her  brother  is  poor,  but  ho  might  have 
been  rich.  He  is  a  Liberal,  and  belqngs  to  the 
National  party.  He  hates  the  present  systeia 
liere  myst  bitteriy.  He  tpbk  part  in  tlie  Roirfn 
Republican  movement  a  few  years  ago,  and  was 
imprisoned  after  the  return  of  the  Pppc,  and 
lost  the  last  vestige  of  his  iiroperty  byt^jnfiscn. 
tion.  He  now  dresses  coarsely,  and  declines 
to  associate  with  any  Romans,  except  a  few  who 
are  members  of  a  secret  society  with  him.  He 
ia  very  clnyly  watched  by  the  Government,  so 
that  lie  has  'to  bb,  quiet.  But  he  expectno 
rise  to  eminence  an<i  power,  and  even  wealth, 
before  very  long.  Stf>you  see  he  does  not  look 
upon  his  sister  as  a  tilere  common  cvery.<l»y 
match.  He  expects  to  eftynte  her  to  the  high- 
est rank,  where  she  can  fitid  the  best  in  the 
country  around  her.    For  iiiy  own  part  I  think 


f 


■^< 


THE  DODGE  CLUB;  OR,  ITALY  IN  MDCCCLK^.,^ 


this  IS  doubtful ;  and  if  you  are  in  earnest  I 
should  do  what  I  could  to  further  your  inter- 
est.  But  it  will  take  some  time  to  persuade 
the  Count." 

"Then,  situated  as  I  am,  what  can  I  do  to 
gain  her  ?"  nslied  Dick. 

"Are  your  friends  thinking  of  leaving  Rome 
soon  ?" 

"Yes,  pretty  soon."  > 

"  Do  not  leave  them.  Go  with  them.  Pur- 
sue  the  course  you  originally  intended,  just  as 
thoach  mthikR  liad  happened.  If  "after  your 
tour  is  fthis^ed  you  find  that  your  feelings  are 
as  strong  as  ever,  and  that  she  is  as  dear  to  you 
as  you  say,  then  you  may  return  here." 
"  And  yod-?" 

"  I  think  all  objections  may  bo  removed." 
"It  will  take  some  weeks  to  finish  our  tour  " 
"  Some  weeks  !      Oh,  do  not  return  under 
three  months  at  least." 
"Three  months  !  that  is  very  long!" 
"  Not  too  long.     The  time   will  soon  pass 
•way.     If  you  do  not  really  love  her  you  will 
be  glad  at  having  escaped;  if  you  do  vou  will 
rejoice  at  having  proved  your  sinceritv." 

Some  further  conversation  passed,  after  which 
.  Mek,  finding  the  priest  inflexible,  ceased  to  per- 
sirnde,  and  acceded  to  his  proposal. 


CHAPTER  XXXVI. 

8H0WIN0  HQW  DIFFICULT  IT  IS  TO  GET  A  LACN 
DKES9,  F9R  THE  SENATOR  WANTED  ONE,  AND 
NOT  KNOWING  THE  LANODAOB  GOT  INTO  A 
8CBAPE,  NOT  BT  HIS  OWN  FAULT,  FOK  HE  WAS 
CAREFUL    ABOUT    COMMITTING    HIMSELF   WITH 

tTHE  ladies;  but  PIIAT,  WAS  IT  HIS  FAULT  IF 
TUB  LADIES  WOULD  TAKE  A  FANCY  TO  HIM  ? 

SlONOBA  MiRANDOLINA  BoCCA,  who  Was^thc 

landlady  of  the  house  where  the  Club  were  lodg- 
ing,  was  a  widow,  of  about  forty  years  of  age, 
still  fresh  and  blooming,  with  a  merry  dark  eye'  \ 
and  much  animation  of  features.     Sitting  usuaU 
ly  in  the  small  room  which  tl^lBy  passed  on  the 
way  to  their  apartments,  they  had  to  stop  to 
get  their  k^ys,  or  fo  leave  them  when  they  went 
out  and  Btittons  and  Dick  frequently  stopped 
to  have  a  liHlg'^nyeisation.     The  rest,  not  i 
being  able  to  iMik  It^ian,  co      "" 
selves  with   smith.;   the   Senato 
who  gave  the  most  beaming  oftfi 
going  and  on  returning.     Some 

t!li  ^^,.^Z  •""■  '"  •>'»  irtU«J.„„„^,„uo,.  „,  , 
broken   Eiiolish,  spoken  in  loud  tones  to  the  I 
benighted  but  fascinating  foreigner.     Her  at- 
tention to  Dick  during  his  sickness  increased 
the  Senators  admiration,  andiib|thought  her 
one  of  the  best,  one  of  tbo^H^Ktind-heartodT 
«na  sympathetic  of  beings.         ^^ 

One  day,  toward  the  close  of  their  stay  in 
Bomo,  the  S«,iator  was  in  a  fix.  He  had  not 
T  ""L  '!»»*''"«  "JoP"  Bineo  he  camo  tMKo 
«ty.  He  had  run  thW)ngh  all  his  clean  lin^n 
andcametoniWU  gtand.  Before  leaving  for 
Mother  pl«:o  11^  Ebsolutely  necewaiy  t,  at., 


tend  to  this.  But  how?  Buttons  was  off  with 
the  Spaniards ;  Dick  had  gone  out  w  a  drive. 
No  one  could  help  hit?,  so  he  tried  it  himself. 
In  fact,  ho  had  never  lost  confidence  in  his  pow- 
ers of  making  himself  understood.  It  was  still 
a  fi.\ed  conviction  of  his  that  in  cases  of  neces- 
sity  any  intelligejjt  man  could  make  Ills  wants 
known  to  intelligent  foreigners.  If  not,  there 
IS  stupidity  somewhere.  Had  he  not  done  so 
in  Paris  and  in  other  places  ? 

So  he  rang  and  managed  to  make  the  servant 
understand  that  ho  wished  to  see  the  landlady 
The  landlady  had  always  shown  a  great  admi- 
ration for  tjicr manly,  not  to  say  gigantic  charms 
of  th^  Sertakor.  Upon  him  she  bestowed  her 
brigMtest  smile,  and  the  quick  flush  on  her 
face  and  heaving  breast  told  that  the  Senator 
haxl  made  wild  work  with  her  too  susceptible 
heart. 

So  now  when  she  leai-netl  that  the  Senator 
wished  to  see  her,  she  at  once  imagined  the 
cause  to  be  any  thing  ond  every  thing  except 
the  real  one.  Why  take  that  particular  time, 
when  all  the  rest  were  out  ?  she  thought.  Evi. 
dently  for  some  tender  i)urp086.  Why  send  for 
her  ?  Why  not  come  down  to  see  her  ?  Evi- 
dently  because  he  did  not  like  the  publicity  of 
her  room  at  the  Conciergerie. 

She  arrayed  herself,  therefore,  in  her  bright, 
est  and  her  best  charms;  gove  an  additional 
flourish  toiler  dork  hair  that  hung  wavingly  and 


them 

Icylarly,  ■ 

both  on 

iCs  he  even 

tat  ion  of  ^ 


I'll 
III 


■N" 


% 


86.  TimJ 

Inxuriantly,  and  still  witSout  ■  trace  of  gray  over 
her  forehead ;  look»d  at  herself  with  her  dark 
eyes  in  the  glass  to  see  if  she  appeared  to  the 
best  advantage ;  mA  finally,  in  some  agitation, 
but  with  great  ciBgomess,  she  Mjent  to  obey  the 
summons.      ^' 

Mcaniime  the  Senator  hod  been  deliberating 
h«w  |o.'begiw.  He  felt  that  he  could  not  show 
his  bundl<^0t*^thes  to  so  fair  and  fine  a  creat- 
ure as  t^ra,fed8e  manners  wore  so  soft  and 
wlioso  *inWi|p  pleasant,  lie  would  do  any 
thin"  first.  sfHe  would  try  a  roundabout  way 


j^rUB  5  OR,  ITALY  IN  MDCCCLDC 


"M'c-me— want— ha— hum  — ah!   You 

know — me — gentleman  —  hum — me Gon- 

found  the  luck,"  he  added,  in  profound  vexa- 

j^thglB|tf||MIirandolina,  "la  di  Lei  gen- 

The  Senator  tiymed  his  eyes  all  around,  every- 
where, i»  a  desperate  half-conscious  search  for 
escape  from  an  embarrassing  situation. 

"  Signore  noi  d  aiamo  to/e,  neisiino  ci  senti," 
remarked  the  Signora,  encouragingly.      •^■ 

"Mo  want  to  tell  you  this!"  burst  forth  the 


riSE;:h      >^^hcV=n7tohi;^  ..Cothes-you  know-wnshy- 

?„.!"!l^  ol!i  .K«  i„t.lli..nr«  of  the  ladv  for   washy."     Whereupon  he  elevated  h.s  eyebrows, 


own  pMP  nn<l  'he  intelligence  of  the  lady  for 
a  full apfcoipplete  understanding.  Just  as  he 
hud  conic  to  this  conclusion  there  was  a  timid 
knock  fjt  the  door. 

"  Come  in,"  said  tto  Senator,  who  began  to 
feel'' a' little  awkward  litready. 

"Epermessot"  said  a  soft  sweet  voice,  "  se 
pvo  entrare  f"  and  S^nora  Mirandolina  Kocca 
advanced  into  the  room,  giving  one  look  at  the 
Senator,  and.  then  casting  down  her  eyes. 

"  Umiliasima  serpa  di  Lei,  Signore,  mi  com. 

Butftie  Senator  wa#ina  qithndary.  What 
could  hejlo  ?  Ho*  begin  ?  ?What  gesture  would 
be  the  rirost  fitting  for  a  beginning  ? 

The  pause  began  to  be  embarrassing.     The 
lady,  however,  as  yet  was  calm— calmer,  in  fa^, 
than  when  she  entered.  ' 

So  she  spoke  once  mofe 
'       "  Di  che  ha  Ella  bisogna.JRlustris  aijno  T" 

The  Senator  was  dread^te  ^"'^^flff^^* 
The  lady  was  so  fair  in  his'^lfe  Wn«»1ii9  a 
woman  who  coijld  contemplate^e  fact  of  soiled 
linen?    Never.  j 

".H]«Bn!"8aidhe.  ''    ^-^|^ 

"Mrva  devota,"  said  Signoni^irandolina. 

"Chec'e,  Signore."  "         " 

...Then  looking  up,  she  saw.  the  face  of  the 
•il«nator  all  rosy  red,  turned  toward  her{with  a 

strange  confusion  and  embarrassment  in  his  eyf 

yet  it  was  a  kind  eye— a  soft,  kind  eye. 
"Egli  «  fine  imiamorato  di  ;««;"  murtnu 

the  4p*r,  iw^ring  new  conrai||  aa^she  saw 

timidity  «f  the  other.     "Che  grandezza!    si 
"lijitinaetl,  loud  cnongh  for  the  Senator  to  heaTf 

^t  speaking  as  if  to  herself.     "Che  bellezza  ! 

Ml  galantuomo,  cert^nente—e  qtutt'  e  tnolto  pia- 

eevok." 

She  glanced  at  the  manly  figure  of  the  Sen- 
ator with  a  tender  admiration  ii|,her  eye  which 
she  could  not  repress,  and  which  waa  so  intelli- 
gible to  th»  Senator  that  he  blushed  more  vio- 
lently than  ever,  and  looked  helplessly  aro»nd 
him.   -^  ' 


washy."  Whereupon  ho  elevated  his  eyebrows, 
smiled,  and  brought  the  tips  of  his  fingers  to- 
gcther. 

"  Iq  no^sdchecosa  vtiol  dir  mi.  Jlluitrissimo, 
said  the  Signora,  in  bewilderment. 

"Yon— you— you  know.  Ah?  Wnsliy? 
Hey?  No,  no,"  shaking  his  head,  "  not  washy, 
but  6«<  washy." 

The  landlady  smiled.  The  Senatorj^onr- 
aged  by  this,  Chme  a  step  nearer.       ^^ 

"  Che  cosat  Jl  cuor~me  palpita.  lo  trcmo," 
murmured  La  Kocca. 

She  retreated  a  step.  Whereupon  the  Scnar 
tor  at  once  fell  back  again  in  great  confusion. 

"Washy,  wa^iji?"ho  repeated,  mechanically, 
as  his  mind  was  utterly  vague  and  distrait. 
Uassi-Uuassi  f"  repeated  the  other,  %i^r- 
W,."lrogatively.  .  * 

**'■      h   "Me-"         f.:-. 

"^  "  Til,"  said  8hc,^with  tender  emphasis.  ^ 

-  "  Wee  mounscaf,"  said  he,  with  utter  desper- 
ation. ^ 

The  Signora  shook  her  head.  ' '  Non  capisco. 
Afa' quelle,  balord^ggini  itd  intormentimenle,  che 
sono  ainon  segni  manifestld'amor^f" 

"  Ldon't  undcrstalAmann,  a  single  word  of 

that.tf;        ■        .  ^:  -  , 

.  'Th"4  SignoD^iled.     The  S^^^r  bJoJ^com-  ^ 

■anfro^  my  clothes  washed  somewlere.    Of 
inrse  you  don%  do  it,  but  you  can  tell  me,yoo 
v.^m?" 

lliff'cttp(*CO."  -w» 

Madame,"  said  ho,  feeling  confident  th«t 
she  would  understand  that*  word  at  least,  and 
thinking,  too,  that  it  might  perhaps  ser.e  as  a 
key  to  explain  any  other  words  which  he  might 
append  to  it.  "  My  clothes— I  want  to  getthem 
washed— laundress— washy— soap  and  water- 
clean  'em  all  up— iron  'em— hang  'em  out  to  dry. 

Ha?" 

While  saying  this  he  indulged  in  an  expreo- 
ive  pantomine.  When  alluding  to  his  clothei 
he  placed  his  hands  against  his  chest,  when  men- 


,«.-,-.,  ;i         he  piaceanisnanunnKniiiD.  ."•.."—.,  " - 

^'^    "^ -TxVj.^ i..  j:  .u^^^m^  duMoJ'  fluid  the  ti'>pi"g  the  drying  of  them  he  waved  them  in  the 


Sgrfbra,  "  vergogna  non  vvol  die  tisapease." 

The  Senator  at  length  found  voice.  Ad- 
vancing towtrd  the  lady  ho  looked  at  her  very 
earnestly  nil  as  she  thought  very  piteonsly— 
held  ont  both  his  hands,  then  smiled,  then 
spread  his  hands  apart,  then  nodded  and  smiled 
nd  said — 


air.     The  landlady  comprehended  HBC"  Hw 
not?    When  a  gentleman  places  his  hind  on  bu 

heart,  what  is  his  meaning  ? 

"0  MtigHtxta  damorel"  mnrmnred  ihe. 
"  Ote  cota  cerea,"  she  continued,  lookmg  np 
Umidly  but  invitingly.  ,  ,   *.^ 

The  Senator  felt  doubtful  at  this,  and  in  act 


THE  DODGE  CLURj^OR,  ITALY  IN  IkfDCCGLIX. 


17 


miE  BKNATOB  IN  A   WOUSE  FIX 


«  httle  frightened.  Again  he  placed  his  hands 
on  his  chest  to  indicate  his  clothes ;  he  struclt 
tiiat  manly  chest  forcibly  several  times,  looking 
at  her  all  the  time.     Then  he  wrung  his  hands. 

"■Ah,  Siymre,"  said  La  Rocca,  with  a  molt- 
ing  glance,  "  non  i  d'm^'WdesiHrazione." 

"  Washy,  washy—" 

"Eppurc,  se  Ella  vuol  sffiiuirmi,  non  ce  diffi- 
colia,'  returned  the  other,  with  true  Italian 
frankness. 

"  Soap  and  water—" 

"  Non  ho  il  coroffffio  di  dir  di  no." 

The  Senator  had  his  arms  outstretched  to  in- 
diMte  the  hanging^ut  process.  Still,  however, 
feeling  doubtful  if  ho  were  altogether  nnderl 
«tood,  he  thought  ho  would  try  another  form  of 
pantomime.  Suddenly  ho  fell  down  on  his 
knew,  and  began  to  imitate  the  action  of 
washer-woman  otot  hpr 


J-HlMatghiPft-gringi 


3oj^ 


jpoiinding,  mbbing. 

"0  yrmf  delo  !"  cried  the  Signorn,  her  pity- 
'JR  heart  filled  with  tenderness  at  the  sight  of 
this  noble  being  on  his  knees  before  her,  and,  as 
•no  thought,  wringing  his  hands  in  despair. 

0  gran'  deh  /  Egli  e  innamorato  di  ma  non 
P»> parlor  Italimo  e  coti  nonpuo  dirmelo.' 


Her  warm  hcort  prompted  her,  and  she  ol 
ed  its  impulse.     What  else  could  she  do  ?     csuo 
flung  htipelf  into  his  outstretched  arms,  as  ho 
raised  himself  to  hang  out  imaginary  clothes  on 
an  invisible  Ifiie. 

The  Senator  was  thunderstruck,  confounded, 
bewildered,  shattered,  overcome,  crushed,  stupe- 
fied, blasted,  OTer;vhclmcd,  horror-stricken, 
wonder-smitten,  annihilated,  amazed,  horrified, 
shocked,  frightened,  terrified,  nonplused,  wilted, 
ftwe-struck,  shivered,  astounded,  dumbfounded. 
Jle  did  not  even  struggle.     He  was  paralyzed. 

"  AA,  caritfimo,"  said  a  soft  and  tender  voice 
in  his  ear,  a  low,  sweet  voice,  "  ««  veramenta  me 
aim,  sarto  Us  tua  caritnima  tposa — " 

At  thot  moment  the  door  opened  and  But- 
tons walked  in.  In  an  instant  he  darted  out. 
The  Signora  hurried  away. 


^ed. 


'  ■AddiofMhiiima,carimmap{6ja  /"  she  sigh. 

The  Senator  was  still  paralyzed. 

After  a  time  he  went  with  a  pale  and  anx- 
ious face  to  s<ja.  Buttons.  That  young  man 
promised  secrecy)  and  when  the  Senator  was 
teJIing  his  stor^  tried  hard  to  look  serious  and 
ayrapathetic.  Jfn  vain.    The  thought  pf  that 


^' 


.'«£.» 


88 


THE  DODGl  CLtm-.OIl,  ITALT  IN  MDCCClS. 


glTT  —  FOLUK9  OF  MODERN  CHiTIfJB.  —  RETN- 
0LD8  AND  BCSKIN.— UOW  FAK  POPULAR  TA8TE 
18  WORTH  ANY  TUINO.— CONCLUDING  8BMAUK8 
OF  A  MISCELLANEOUS  DESCRIPTION. 


fTherel  u  *  bill  of  fare  I  fl»ller  royfelf  th»t  Uio  above 
T1«J   thing    „„^|^  ,„  t»ko  iha  eye.    Il  wm  my  Intcntiou,  on  the  dc 


scene,  and  the  couso  of  it,  ond  the  blunder  that 
had  been  made  overwhelmed  him.  Laughter 
convulsed  him.  At  last  the  Senator  got  up  in- 
dignantly and  left  tlio  room. 

But  what  WHS  he  to  do  now  ?      i  uy:  ""■■»    onuia  to  t«i[o  tne  eye.    i.  w«  »,,  .-j>vmv.v„,  ....  ....  .... 

col  not  be  explained,      llow  eould  he  get  out    {^-^/y'^'x^'il^Jivr^^^^^^^^  V^:^lX 

of  the  house  ?      Ho  would  have  to  pass  her  OS        , ,    ^  contont.  above:  but  afUTwanl,  flndlng  that  tlio 

'         .     ,  ,,,„  ,,,„,  chapter  had  already  j^aclied  the  dliiicnthmi  of  a  goo.!. 

she  sat  at  the  door.  ^JiJd  llook  l)efore  a  quarter  of  il  waa  written,  I  thought 

lie  had  to  call  on  Buttons  again  anU  impioro  ,  ^^^^^  ^^  ^^  ^^^^  inwrt^d  in  this  work  II  would  be  considered 

his  assistance.     The  difficulty  was   so   rcpug-    by  .ome  m  t.K>  long ;  '» '«='.< 'V  J'"»  !S'"°'.''in'l  .""in"? 
Ills  as9isiuiiv.i,.       iuo   u  J  J  ^f  ,^^  Dodge  (lub;  wlilch 

nant,  and  the  matter  so  very  delicate,  that  But-  |  ;;'^j^„"'  *  »*  p.,y,  ^  the  boa  <rf  their  adventure*  dM 

tons  declared  lie  could  not  take   the  reapon- |     ^  j.^^  p,,je  until  after  thl.  peilod:  and  aa  thin  iMho 

iriity    of  BCttlins    it.      It  would    have    to   be  ,  real  character  of ^ihepr^^entwo^k,  I  b«je_fl^^^^^^^^^ 


brouglit  before  the  Club. 

The  Club  had  a  meeting  about  it,  and  many 
jdnns  were  proposed.  The  stricken  Senator 
had  one  plan,  and  that  prevailed.  It  was  to 
lca\WUomo  on  the   following  day. 


real  character  01  me  prwui  -u.»,.  ■■"■■■•,--■'  ,i.  T 
to  enlarge  the  chapter  l^lo  a  book,  which  I  "'''P" I'll''' 
after  I  have  given  to  the  world  hiy  "lli-tory  of  the  Mlc 
nhw)."  "TreStlM  on  Ihe  Greek  I'arttcle-,"  '  tJour'e  p' 
TweTvo  Lectures  on  Modem  lllHlory,"  new  edlUon  of  iho 
"AgnA™nonUnTriologv''  of  .E«hy  u.,wllh  new  r.ad- 
""»  '"  i  lng£  "Harmony  of  Greek  Recent  and  ITwody,'  "  1  xcr- 
lea^«1lome  on  the  following  day.  For  his  ^  d..  in^n-crltJorBegln^^^^^^ 
vart  he  had  made  up  his  mind  to  leave  the  house  J„,«^-  /.Di.MrUUon  on  thi  Symbolical  Nature  of  iho  Mo- 
L  once.  He  woulS  slip  out  as  though  he  in-  \  '^ ^r>o^r,-^^y.^n.^Mc^^^^^ 
tenJcd  to  return,  and  the  others  could  settle  his  ,  {m  ,',^*,YJ*"'  „f  i.,t,„t  MCfllcine*."  "Tmn.action«  of 
bill  nndbrinu  with  them  the  clothes  that  had  j  the  'Saco  A..odatlon  for  the  •'J»»°™"«°',  "f  J'T"" 
"alS  trouble.     He  would  meet  them    '— XVi^b;':?/^^^^^^^^ 

in  tlie  morning  outside  the  gate  of  the  city.  „  „    „rt  of  the  •  Konnebunkport,  Maine,  InltedConKr^^ 

'"'kis  resolution  was  adopted  by  all,  and  the    K.£»>j5-'™:.!^-.r;^^^^^^^^^^ 

Senator,"  leaving  money   to  settle  for  himself,  !  JJ'on.jknow  exnctly  When;  but  «fter  they oome  out  ti.ls 

Tent  a;ay.     lie  passed  hurriedly  out  of  tUe  Ui.pjr^.l.  appea^^^^^^^^^^^^ 

door.     He  dared  not  look.     He  heard  a  soft  ;  ^"^^J^^f^^^t"  M  I  can  «.y  i,,  perhap.  iheyM  Vti.r 

voice  pronounce  the  word  •'  Giaja  .'"     He  fled.    |  „„?,  „'.f,er  *a  li  ha.  no  necc.barjr  connection  wilh  Hie 

Now  that  ona  who  owned  the  soft  voice  after-  ^  foriunee  of  the  ixi^ge  Club.] 
ward  changed  her  feelings  so  much  toward  her  | 


"gioja"  that  opposite  his  name  in  her  house- 
book  she  wrote  the  following  epithets :  /^r- 
lone,  Villano,  Zolicaccio,  liurberonc,  Gaijhoffo, 
Meacliino,  Brkomccio,  Anemalaccio. 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII. 

ITALIAN  TRAVEL,  ROADS,  INN9.— A  GBAND  BREAK- 
DOWN.—AN  ARMY  OF  BEGGARS.— SIX  MEN 
HUNTING  UP  A  CARRIAGE  WHEEL;  AND  PLANS 
OP  THE  SENATOR  FOR  THE  GOOD  OF  ITALY. 

On  the  following  morning  the  Senator  was 

,  picked  up  at  the  gate,  where  ho  had  waited  pa- 

ome.-AHcicntmton/.-rnB  ™^"'^I?.?.',?  ^I^^^^  '  tiently  ever  since  the  dawn  of  day^     His  sent 

—CRITICAL    EXAMINATION    OF    NIEBtlUl    AND     "l-"    J  ,         ,j.      r-innds    WerO    a*0Und   llini. 

srr»r=/ts,us~^™"o:  ;rr"„t  ?iS  on  „„*.,,,.;. 

—  "'  '""'-  t  day '     And  their  carriage  was  ahead  of  that  of 

the  Spaniards.     They  stopped  at  the  sl^me  inns. 


Home. 


CHAPTER   XXXVII. 

-Ancient  mtory.—rn^  prehistohic  era. 


HISTORY  (JP  REPUBLIC. —NATOLEON  a  C.« 
QA,,  "—THE  IMPERIAL  REGIME.- THE  NORTH- 
ERN BARBARIANS.— RISE  OF  TUB  PAPACY.— ME- 

DIJSVAL  ROME.  ^  „  „„ 

TbDOr/Cap/lW.— TRUE  ADJUSTMENT  OF  BOtNDS  OF 
ANCIEVT  CITY.— ITS  PHOBABLE  POPULATION.— 
OcoJoff?/.— EXAMINATION  OF  FORMATION.— TUFA 
TRAVERTINE.—  ROMAN   CEMENT.  —  TERRA-COT 

TA  —Special  consideration  of  Roman  Catacombs 

*^'  '  .....T^T^TiT      -IVIQRMAN. — 


Buttons  was  happy.  . 

The  next  day  came.  At  nine  o  cl6ck  A.n. 
on  the  next  day  there  was  a  singular  scicne : 

A  vettura  with  the  foro-wheel  crushi^d  into 

^^ENT  EXPLORATIONS,  INVESTIGATIONS,  EX-    ,„„d.bank  J  sn*  f  drivcr  gaziBg  upon  the  i(cene 

....„..r.r.v<.    BvnrMATIONS;   AND    KESUSCITA-  !  ^.^j^  ^^  f^j^j^jf  ^. 

The  Senatottricd  most  encrgctically^to  brush 
the  dust  from  his  clothes  with  an  enormous  H 
silk  handkerchief;   the  Doctor  and  Mr.  Figgs 


AMINATIONS,  EXHUMATIONS;  AND  HESUSCITA 
TioNS  —EARLY  CHRISTIAN  HISTORY  SET  ON  A 
TRUE  BASIS.-RELIC8.— MARTYRS.— REAL  ORI- 
GIN OF  CATACOMBS.- TRUE  AND  RELIABLE  EX 
TENT  (WITH  maps). 


TENT  (WITH  MAPS).  '^   silk  hanUKercHiei ,   '""  *'"\'"'      ."     V.,  ™ 

JUmarldon  Art.-im  renaissance.-the  early   ^^^^^  ^  j^^^  ^^  ^^^^  „„t8  in  their  nether  ga^ 
painters:  cimabub,  "'"tto  /erugi>o  Raf-  ^„j  Dick  picked  themselves ui, 

tKI.I.B  8ANZI0,  MICHELANGELO  B'^Q^*^^""^^':. ,    I     _j Tj     .^u»«^  tj,«  WMcIc J 


THE  TRASSPTOUBATidN— THIS  MO»B»  W^W 
CHELAN0EL0.-BELHNI.-8AINT  PETER  8,  AND 
MORE  PARTICUtARLY  THE  COLONNADE.— THE 
LAST     JUDGMENT.- DANTE.— THE    MEDI.BVAL 


and  hutricd^ttt  the  wreck.     ^ — y^rr" 

Tho  emotions  of  the  former  may  bo  conceiTcd.  \ 
The  wheel  was  an  utter  smash.     No  paUbing 


MORE  rAKTiuuLAiviJi   ii»«"  ^^^^ ,  „„.,  1110  wneci  wiw  «•"  uv.w -     • 

LAST   JUDGMENT.  -DANTE.  -THE  MEDIEVAL  thorougli,  no  care  howcvor  tcndcr,  couU 

^TTLfx^  T™- crpTR«0 J  oVI^'^^^^ 

"it,  ^^ciuAN  CBUR%^^^^^    WHAT  EXTENT  U'bofore  them,  behind  which  the  Spam.rd^ 

ROME  INFLUENCED  THIS  DEVELOPMENT.-THB  huhcrto  their  compinions,  had  disappeared  dau 
FOSTERING  SPIRIT  OF  THE  cn^RCH.-ALL  MOD-  previously,  BUd  wcfo  now  rolling  on  ovei 

KRN  ART  CHRISTIAN.— WHY  THI8  WAS  A  NECE3  »u  u         y  " 


THE  pot 


IE  CLUB;  OR,  ITALY  II*  MDCCCLIX. 


the  palin  boj^ond  that  hill  aljl  ignorant  of  this 
disaster.  Eveiy/  moment  separated  them  rooro 
widely  from  tho/dospairing  Buttons.  Conld  he 
have  ;netnmorphosed  himself  into  a  wheel  most 
gladly  would  (te  have  done  it.  lie  had  wild 
thoughts  of  seating  off  on  foot  and  catching  up 
to  them  bcfo^fe-  (ho  next  dny.  But,  of,  course, 
further  rcfleciibn  showed  him  that  walking  was 
out  of  tho  question, 

Dick  looked  on  in  silence.,  Tlicy  were  little 
more  tiian  a  day's  journey  ftom  liome.  Civila 
Castellana/lay  between ;  vot  perhaps  a  wheel 
might  not/ho  got  at  Civita/Castollana.  In  that 
case  a  return  to  Rome  wiul  inevitable.  What  a 
momentous  thought!  mck  to  Home  I  Ever 
since  he  left  he  had  felt  a  profound  melancholy. 
Tho  feeling  of  homesickness  wns  on  liim.  He 
had  amused  himself  with  keeping  his  eyes  shut 
and  fancying  that  ho  was  moving  to  Rome  in- 
stead of  from  it.  He  had  repented  leaving  tho 
city.  Better,  he  thought,  to  have  waited.  He 
might  then  have  seen  Pepita.  The  others  grad- 
ually came  to  survey  the  scene. 

"  Eh  ?  Well,  what's  to  bo  done  now  ?"  said 
Buttons,  sharply,  as  the  driver  camn  along. 
•'  How  long  are  yon  going  to  wait  ?" 

"Signore  Makes  no  allowance '  for  a  poor 
man's  confusion.  Behold  that  wheel !  What 
is  there  for  mo  to  do— unhappy  ?  May  the  bit- 
ter curse  of  tho  ruined  fall  upon  that  miserable 
wheel!" 


"The  coach  ha»  already  fallen  on  it,"  said 
Dick.     "  Surety  that  is  enough." 

"  It  infuriates  me  to  llnd  myself  overthrown 
here." 

"You  could  not  wish  for  n  better  plocc,  my 
Pietro."  * 

"  What  will  you  do  ?"  said  BuHons.  "  Wo 
must  not  w<)3to  time  here.'    Can  we  go  6n  ?" 

"  How  is  that  possible  ?" 

"  Wo  might  get  a  wheei  ui  the  next  town." 

*'  Wo  could  not  find  one  if  we  hunted  all 
through  the  three  next  towns." 

"  Curse  your  Italian  towns!"  cried  Buttons, 
in  n  rage. 

"Certainly,  Signore, curse  themifyou  desire." 

"Where  can  we  get  tliiii  orto  repaired  then?" 

"  At  Civita  Castellaria,  I  hope." 

' '  Back  there !     What,  go  back  ! " 

"  I  nm  not  to  blame,"  said  Pigtro,  with  res- 
ignation. 

"  Wo  must  not  go  back.     We  shall  not." 

"  If  we  go  forward  every  mile  will  make  it 
worse.  And  how  can  we  move  with  this  load 
and  this  broken  wheel  up  that  hiH  ?"  . 

That  was  indeed  a  difficulty.  The  time  that 
had  elapsed  since  the  lamentable  break-down 
had  been  sufficient  to  bring  upon  the  scene  an 
inconceivable  crowd.  After  satisfying  Iheir 
curiosity  they  betook  themselves  to  business. 

Ragged,  4''"'y>  evil -faced,  wicked- eyed, 
slouching,  whining,  impudent — seventeen  wom- 


A 


■\./      f 


'^1^    M 


:Jh>^'Mti^ 


90  THE  DODGE  CLUB;  OB,  ITALY  IN  MDCCCLIX. 

en,  twenty-nine    small    boys,  and    thirty-one        Throe  hours  irere  consumed  in  the  tedious 

men,  without  counting  curs  and  goats.  ,  search.     The  ei  lire  body  of  the  inhabitants  be- 

"  Signo-o-o-o-o-o-oo-o-o-o !  in  the  name  of  came  soon  award  of  the  object  of  tbcir  desires, 

tlio  Ever  Blessed,  and  for  the.  love  of  Heaven."  and  showed  how  truly  sympathetic  is  the  Ital- 

"  Go  to  thunder."     "  For  the  love  of."     "We  ian  nature,  by    iccompnnying  them  wherovijr 

have  nothing,  noMiWNOTHiNO !  Do  you  hear?"  they  went,  and  making  observatioji*  that  were 

"Of  the  Virgin."  flr Aw»y !  Be  off."    "  Give  more  sprightly  t  lairi  iigreeable.  i(^ 

me."     "Go    to   blazes!"     "Me    miserable."       At  first  the  dab  kept  together,  and  made 

"Will    you   be    oflD""     "Infirm,  blind,  and."  their  search  aectmpanicd  by  Pietro;  but  after 

"I'll  brMk  your   skull!"     "Altogcfher  des-  a  time  the  crowi  became  so  immense  that  tliey 

perate."     "If  you  torment  us  any  more,  I'll."  separated,  and  <ontinued   tlieir  search  singly. 

"Only  the  sm-iUest  charltj-."     "Smash  your  This  produced  ijut  slight  improvement. 


abominable  bottle-nose!"  "Oh,  generous  no- 
bles!" "  Don't  press  me,  you  filthy."  "Il- 
lustrious cavaliers !"  "Take  that!  and  if  you 
say  any  more  I'll  kick  you  harder."  "  I  kneel 
before  yorf,  oppressed,  wretched,  starving.  I^t 
•these  tears."  "I'll  make  yon  shed  more  of 
tliem  if  you  don't  clear  out."  "N-n-n-  Sig- 
no-co-o-o!"  "-Away!"  " Behold  a  wretch- 
ed villager  from  the  far  distant  Ticino !"  "You 
bo  lianged !     Keep  off ! "     "Oh,  Signo-o-o-o-o ! 


Oh  per  I'amor  di  Dio  I     Carita !     Caritu-n-a-a    ct ;  or  as  he  stof  pod  at  times  to  look  ar6und  in 

"gno-o-o!    despair,  when  ^' 


— solnmcnte  un  mezzo  baroccho — oh,  Signo-o- 
— datcmi.''  > 

"  rictro  !  Pietro !  for  Heaven's  sake  get  us 
out  of  this  at  once.  Anywhere  —  anywhere, 
so  that  we  can  escape  from  these  infernal  vaga- 
bonds !"       ^^ 

Tlio  result  was,  that  Pietro  turned  his  car- 
riage round.  I^y  piling  the  baggage  well  behind, 
and  watching  the  fore-axle  carefully,  he  con- 
trived to  move  the  vehicle  along.  Behind  them 
followed  the  pertinacious  beggars,  filling  the  air 
with  prayers,  groans,' sigh%  pries,  teara,  lamen- 
tations, appeals,  wailiygs,  and  entreaties.  Thus 
situated  they  made  their  entry  into  Civita  Cas- 
tcllana.  ^ 

Others  might  liitvc  fdtflattcred  at  the  recep- 
tion that  awaited  thc'rtT  They  only  felt  an- 
noyed. The  entire  city  turned  out.  The  main 
street  np  which  they  passed  was  quite  full. 
The  side-streets  showed  people  hurrjing  up  to 
the  principal  thoroughfare.  They  were  tlie 
centre  of  all  eyes.    Through  the  windows  of 


The 


crowd  followed  Ihcir  example.  A  largo  num- 
ber followed  thii  Senator:  walking^ when  he 
walked;  stopping  when  he  slopped;  turning 
when  ho  turned ;  strolling  when  he  Strolled ; 
peering  when  he  pegred  ;  commenting  when  lie 
spoke,  and  mak  ng  themselves  generally  very 
agreeable  and  delightful. 
!  At  every  corn  !r  the  tall  form  of«the  Senator 
might  be  seen  t  a  he  walked  swiftly  with  the 
long  procession   "oUowing  like  a  tail  of  a  com- 


,  *'  He  alMve  the  rest 
In  slmpn  and  Rektulre  proudly  eminent 
Stood  like  a  toi  er.     Ills  form  had  not  yet  lost 
AU  Its  original  1  lightness ;" 

although,  to  tell  he  truth,  his  clothes  had,  and 
the  traces  of  mul  and  du^t  somewhat  dimmed 
the  former  lustre  of  his  garments. 

The  appalling  truth  at  last  forced  itself  upon 
them  that  Civita  Castetia^ia  could  ff  of  furnish 
them-  either^th  a.  new  wheel  or  a  blacksmhh 
who  could  repair  the  hMJIIPn  one.  Whether  tlw 
entire  meehanicil  force  of  the  town  had  gone 
off  to  the  wars  ( r  not  thtfy  did  not  stop  to  in- 
quire. They  bilieved  that  the  citizens  had 
combined  to  disuppoint  them,  jn  hopes  that 
their  detention  night  bring  in  a  little  ready 
money  and  start 
community. 

It  was  at  last  jseon  that  the  only  way  to  do 
was  to  send  Piel  ro  back  to  Home.  To  delay 
"any  longer  ^youll  be  only  a   waste  of  time. 


it  in  circulation  around  the 


the  cafe  the  round  eyes  of  the  citizens  were  vis-  i  Slowly  and  sadly  they  took  up  their  qiyiTtcrs  at 
iblo  on  ihe  broad  stare.  Even  the  dogs  and  the  hotel.  Dick  decided  to  go  back  so  a^  t« 
cats  had  a  general  turn, out^  [hasten  Pietro,  wto  might  otherwise  loiter  on 

Nop  could  they  seek  relief  in  the  seclusion   the  way.     So  thi  i  dilapidated  carriage  h^  to 
of  the  hotel.     The  anxiety  which  all  felt  to  re-   «!t  out  on  its  joui  ney  backward, 
some  thefr  journey  did  not  allb**them  to  rest,    r  Forced  to  endure  the  horrors  of  detention  in 
Titty  at  once  explored  the  entire  city.  one  of  the  dullest  of  Italian  tow«i,  their  situa- 

Was  thtro  »i  carriage-maker  irf  t^e  place 'i"  j  tion  was  dbplbr»b;6.  Mr.  Figgs  %ftis  Ipast  im- 
A  half-hour's  search  showed  fliem  that  there  happy,  for  he  tool  to  his  bed^ndislept  ttr(}ui;li 
was  not  one.  The  next  thing  then  was  to  try  ^  the  entire  period,  with  the  exertion  d.f'j^rtain 
and  find  a  wlieol.  Alwut  this  thexifsll  a  little  :  intervals  which  h(  devoted  to  mc(4)|5Thf>  Doc- 
hopcfnl.     Strange,  indeed,  if  so  common  a  thing  I  tor  sat  quietly  h  r  an  upper  wl|J»^aying 


as  tliiA  could  not  be  obtained 

Yet  strange  as  this  m igh t  bo  it  was  e^cn  so. 
"T?o  wliccl.  was  rorthconiinp.     Tlioy  cfotridTOt 
find  ft  carringe.x)cn,    'J'hcro  was  nothing  but  ^  found  much  to  ir^tcrest  him. 


the  jovil's  tattoo  na  tho^lcdgo  wiJ_ 
blepatiencc.  "*' 

TRo^Scniwor  m  ulted-thnntgh  tJipH 


lustiV 


^  His, busy  brn|n 

two  ancient  "cai^hes,  whoso  wheels  wero  not '  woa  filled  with  Mhcjinei  for  tbo  irnprovfeiriant 
only  rickety  b(it  utterly  disproportfcnod  to  the   of  the  town.  i 

size  of  the  vettnra,  and  any  quantity  of  bulUx-k  I  Now  to*B,loU  ( onid  Ui  made  TaloaWe  5  h6W 
carts,  Which  movft  on  contrivances  that  conld  strangers  coiild  bii  attrnetod ;  how  manufact- 
■carcely  bo  colled  wheels  at  all.      '         "  I  nrca  could  bo  promoted  j  how- hotel*  stortedj 


Mi 
W 


n 


TFIE  DODGE  CLUB  ;  OB,  ITALY  IN  MDCCCLIX. 


how,  sTiopa^dijIjnortdd ;  how  trade  increased; 
how  the  wtloMiiTOHnding  population  enriched, 
cspeciall^i  fi^^HHwrics. 

,     "Why,  nraSflPyifeHc   here   hills,"  8aM  he, ..„_,.„^  ,„  , 

confidentially,  to  Buttons— "  amoBR  these  very   advised  him  not  to 


liills  there  is  water-power  and  excellent  location 
for,  say,— Sillc'-Weaving  mills,  Fulling  ditto.  Grist 
ditto.  Carding  ditto.  Sawing  ditto,  Plastor- 
crushlng  ditto,  I'lanirig  ditto. —Now  I  would 
locate  a  cottoB-inill^v^r  t^ro." 

"  Wljere  would  you  get  your  cotton?"  mnm- 
bleil  niittons. 

j"  Where  ?"  repeated  tfao  Senator.    "  Grow  it 
on  the  Cumpog^a,  of  c$«>-se."    . 

Buttons  passed  tlj^'  Uihe  in  a  fever  of  im- 
patience.      ♦      .      ■'  *  ■ 

For  for  ahead  ifife  Spaniards  were  ^ing  fur- 
ther and  furth«^  away,  no  doubt  wondering  ot 
every  stage  why'#e  did  nowjoin  them. 


•^       '»  .       CIIAl'TER  XX^IX. 

THIUMraXin'  PBOOnEBS  OP  DICK.  —  ofiniARM^S 

4)       FOILKD,— TUB    npDOE    ClitiA  IS   ATTilCKED   BV 

BRIOA>iDg,'ANDlPvEnV  MAN  OP  IT  Cdf  KII8  HIM- 

•El-r  WITH   OLORT.  —  8CRBAM  OF  TUB  AMEKI- 

tiv  Baolb!  _ 

-J?W  IM*  <>n  the-tnrening  of  the  fbHjjwtnr 


91 

ing  of  horses ;  Pietro  ^rove  up  to  the  hotel. 
Most  conspicuous  in  the  turn-out  was  Dick,  who 
was  seated  in  the  coupe,  waving  bis  hat  triuinplj- 
antly  in  the  air. 

The  appearance  of  the  carriage  was  the  sig- 
nSrfor  three  hearty  cheers,  which  burst  irivohm- 
tarily  from  the  three  Americans  oii  the  court- 
yard, irbusing  Mr.  Figps  from  sleep  and  the 
inn-keeper  from  his  usual  lethargy.  One  look 
at  the  hordes  was  enough  to  show  that  thera 
was  no  chance  of  proceeding  further  that  dnv. 
The  poor  beasts  were  covered  with  foam,  niid 
trembled  excessively.  However,  they  nil  felt 
infinite  reli^ff  at  the  prospect  of  getting  awa'j', 
even  though  they  would  have  to  wait  till  the 
following  morning. 

Dick  was  dragged  to  the  dining-room  by  his 
eager  friends  and  fiercely  interrogated.  He  had 
not  much  to  tell. 

'  The  journey  to  Rome  had  been  made  with- 
out any  difliculty,  the  carriage  having  tumbled 
forwai-d  on  its  front  axle  not  more  than  one 
(hundred  and  fifty-seven  times.  True,  when  it 
reached  Kome  it  was  a  perfect  wreck,  the  fmme- 
«:^i'k  being  completely  wrenched  to  pieces ;  and 
the  proprietor  was  bitterly  enraged  with  Pi«tro 
for  not  leaving  the  carriage  at  Civita  Castellana, 
arid  returning  on  hor*backr  for  a  wheel;  but 
Dick  interceded  for  the  i)oor  devil  of  a  driver, 
ani^tho  projirietor  kindly  consented  to  deduct 
the  value  of  the  coach  f^pm  his  wages  piece- 
meal. " 

Their  journey  bark  was  quick  but  uninterest- 
ing.    Dick  acknovyledgod  that  he  had  a  faint 
idea  of  staying  in  Rome,  but  saw  «i  friend  \vlm  , 
mivUo,!  !■;.«  „„,  ,„       jie  imj  ,^,.g^  ^^^  reiiis^ 


aiid  driven  for  a  great  part  of  the  way,  while 
Pietro  had  gpno  inside  and^umbcred  the  sleep 
of  the  just.  ^f 

As  it  was  a  lonely  couOtry,  with  few  inhabit- 
ants, he  had  beguiled  tf»  tedious  hours  of  the 
journey  by  blowing  patriotic  airs  on  an  enor- 
moiis  trombqne,  purclmfcd  b^  him  from  a  miii- 
oellancous ,  dealer  in  Rome.    The    result  had 
been  in  flio  highest  degree  pleasing  to  himself, 
'thougfj,j)erha'p8  a  liltle-  surprising  to  others. 
No  one,  however,  intcrfcred  with  h'ln  'eyceptM 
a  party  of  gen»larmos  who  attempjcd  to  ,ptopW  ' 
him.     They  thought  that  ho  was  a  Garibayi-^ 
no  trying  to  rouse  gtlje  ciinn|ry.     The.  ti/Qta- 
bono  might  have  been  tholfcarufq  of  that  sus^ii- 
cioii.  '1^. 

Fortunately  the  gendarmes,  thoUdi  armed  to  ' 
the  teeth,  were  pot  mounted,  and  «o  ff  w^s  that, 
when  they  attcmutcd  to  arrest  Dick,  th^  JitAifli 
■■lan  lasbK)  bis  Noflies  (o  I'njy,  and,«  lobsening 
the  reins  at  the  sam^lmoment,  bur|r  tlilDugh 
the  litie,  and  bctWo  they  knew  what  he  wis 

about  he  irtsijgay.         ^  ■ 

ITriBd  i^aicy.     TK^^eclioos  died  «way,  ^"^^ 


day  before  Dick>tnado   his   appearance   with    nyii|ud  with^ndarmcrian  curses.     The  6nlv 
i  iclro.  AAnothcf  vottnra  had  beeq  obtained,    l^rn  ilone  wa«  a  bole  made  by  d  bulkt^hrough 
•nu  wm  cjiicks  of  5  long  whip  that  resbundcd   the' coach.     The  only  apparent  effoft  «s  t 
nirough  the  whole #o^n,g*mmonihg  the  ci.tH;  waklnir   of  Pietit).      That   ,worthy,j3Sdc 
wns  to  the  streets,;    wiUi  thunder  of  wheels  '  roused  from  slumberf  jumped  up«<x^. 
OTorthe  i)pvcmcntsj  with  prancing  and  snort-  last  sounds  of  tlie  rifles,  to  see  the  i^o    ' 

*    .    'I'    .         ' '  - '        .  .  -       •"  ,    .    -  ,     ^' 

,''»■'■■■■  •    i  ' ' 


92 


THE  DODGE  CLUB;  OB,  litAXt^IN  MDCCCLIX. 


'iiCK    IN   1118  GLOBT. 


by  the  bullet,  the  fading  forms  bf  the  fmntic 
oiflcials,  nnd  the  nimble  figure  of  the  gnilant 
driver,  who  stood  upright  upon  the  scat  ^vnving 
his  hat  ovei^  his  head,  while  the  horses  dashed 
on  at  a  furious  eallop. 

This  was  all;  ^'Nothing  more  occurred,  for 
Pietro  drove  the  remainder  of  tlie  way,  and 
Dick's  trombone  was  tabooed." 

On  the  following  morning  the  welcome  de- 
parture was  made.  To  their  inexpitesslWe  joy 
they  found  that  the  coaph  was  this  time  a  Mrpng 
one,  and  no  ordinary  event  of  travel  could  de- 
lay them.  They  had  lost  two  daVs,  however, 
oQd  that  was  nb  trifle.  Tlicy  now  entered  upon 
the  second  stage,  and  passed  on  without  diffi- 
culty, 

In  fact,  they  didn't  meet  with  a  single  inci- 
dent worth  mentioning  till  they  came  to  I'eru- 
giiU  Perugia  is  one  of  the  finest  jdaccs  in  Ita- 
ly, and  really  did  not  (jeserve  to  be  overhauled 
so  ternifically  by  the  Papal  troops.  Every  body 
rememberp  that  affair.  At  the  time  when,  the 
Dodge  Club  arrived  at  tliis  city  they  found  the 
Papal  party  in  tho  middle  of  a  reaction.  They 
actually  began  to  fear  th^t  they  had  gone  a  lit- 
tle too  far.  They  wcr«  making  frjetfdly  over^ 
turtp  to  tlic  outraged  citutens.  But  the  latter 
were  implacpble,  stiff !      , 

Whatfunklec^  most  deeply  «a»  the  maddcn- 
.  ing  fact  tlint  tlicse.Swign,  who  were  made  the 
ministers  of  vengeance,  wdrei  par|  of  that  ac- 
cursed, detested,  hated,  shunned,  despised,  ab- 
horred, loaitied,  gxecrated,  eontemptible,  jtu- 
irfd,  thick-hcadetf,  brutal,  gross,  c«iol,  beStial, 
demoniacal,  pcndisli,  and  utterly  abominahia 
race-'/  Terfp/ic/ii— whoso  very  natoe,  when  hi»- 
ed  from  an  Italian  mouth,  o%ptt»»e»  uiiattora- 
He  scorn  and  undying  hate. 


on  easily  over  th6  hills,  they  were  <ralculating 

v,the  tttne'whcn  they  would  reach  Jf"tercncc. 

In  the  disturbed  Itato  of  Italy  at  this/time, 

» 1,,  resulting  froirf  war  and  "|H>lUicftl  eitcitemont, 

.;Rnd  gencrnl  expectation  of  universal  change, 

,    '  tho  ^iitry  wai  filled  wiilvdisordcrj  and  scoun- 


drels  infested  the  roads,  particularly  in  the  Pa- 
pal territories.  Here  the  Gtivennnent,  Ending 
sufficient  employment  for  all.itsenergios  in  tak- 
ing care  of  itself,  could  st-arcoiy  be  expected  to 
take  care  either  of  its  own  subjecte  or  tlie  tinv. 
eller  through  its  dominions.  The  Americans- 
had  heard  several  stories  about  brigands,  l)ut 
had  given  themselves  no  trouble  whatever  about 
fl»om.- 

Now  it  came  to  pass  that  about  fire  miles 
from  Perugia  they  wound  round  a  very  thickly- 
wooded 'mountain,  which  ascended  on  "tlie  left 
far  above,  and  on  the  right  dosccnded  <itiite  ab- 
ruptly into  a  gorge.  Dick  was  outside;  (lie 
others  inpidc.  Suddenly  a  loud  shout,  and  a 
scream  from  Piciro.     The  cferriagfe  stopped. 

Thfe  Inside  jiasscngers  could  see  the  liorscs 

\reanng  and  plunging,  and  Dick,  snatching  whip 

and  reins  from  Pietro,  lashing  them  with  kII 

his  might.     In  n  moment  all  inside  was  in  an 

uproar. 

"  We  are  atttiiked !"  cried  Buttons. 

"The  devil!"  cried  the  Senator,  who,  in  his 
sudden  excitement,"  used  the  first  and  only  pro- 
fane expression  which  his  friends  ever  heard 

him  utter.  .^^ 

1  revolver. 

o  rifles  outside,  and  a 
m  to  surrender. 

.'"  pealed  out  Dick's 
voice  as  loud  as  (Strumpet.  His  blows  /eU 
fast  and  fiirlousiy.  on  the  horses.  Maddened 
by  pain,  the  animals  boandc* forward  for  afeiv 
rods,  and  then  8.wervlng  frum  the  road-side, 
da^ihod 'ftgainiit  the  precipitous  hill,  «1ierc  tho 
coach  stuck,  the  horses  rearing.  . 
'  Through  the  4oor»,  which  ificy  Had  flntiR. 
,opcn  in  order  to  jutnp  out  thii  or cupflits  of  the 
earriQj;e  aaw  the  ieeli0i[.figj."'c''  "f  "wncd  men 


Out  came  the 
"Bang!  bang! 
loud  voipo  called 
'  Andiite   ai 


which  hi 

"A' 

I  (^Km 
zMb/o .'' 


overilirown  and  cursing.     In  a  thorocnt  tliey 

nil  were  odi. 

.     Bang!  and  then — .    ' 

Ba-ba-ba-ba-bft-bang !  went  half  a  doieiJ  n- 
Acs. 

TluMik  Heaven!    pot  one  of  the  Chb  «|» 


S' 


.<■>  t 


*..b. 


f 


THE  DODGE  CtUBj  OR,  ITALY  IN  MDCCCLIX. 


-    g'.rnck.     There  were  twenty  scoundrels  armed 
to  the  teetli. 

The  Doctor  was  as  stiff  as  a  rock.     Ho  aimed 
six  times  as  calmly  fts  thougli  ho  were  in  a  pistol, 
gallery.     Nerve  told.     Six  explosions  roared, 
i  Six  yells  fbllowed.     Six  men  reeled. 

"  I'd  give  ten  years  of  my  lifofor  such  a  pis- 
tol !"  cried  Buttons. 

The  Italians  were  staggered.  Dick  had  a 
Ijowie-khife.  The  Senator  grasped  a  ponder- 
ous beam  that  lie  had  placed  on  tho  coach  jn 
case  of  another  break-down.  Mr.  Fi;;gs  had  a 
razor  whit-h  lie  had  grabbed  from  tlio  store- 
house in  the  Doctor's  pocket.  Buttons  had 
nothing.  But  on  tho  rood  lay  three  Italians 
writhing. 

"Hurrah!"  cried  Butto^ijs.  "Eoad  agnin, 
Doctor.  Come  ;  let's  m'ako  a  rush  and  get  the 
guns  of  these  devils  on  tho  road." 

He  rushed  forward.  The  others  nil  at  his 
side.  Tho  Italians  stood  paralyzed  at  the  effect 
of  the  revolver.  As  Buttons' led  the  charge 
they  fell  back  a  few  paces. 

"Hurrah!  hurrah!  hurr.ah !"  hurst  from 
Buttons,  the  Senator,  and  Dick,  as  each  snatch- 
ed a  rifle  from  the  prostrate  bandits,  and  has- 
tily tore  the  cartridge-boxoH  from  them. 

"Loa(k.up!  load  up!  Doctor!"  cHed  But- 
tons. 

"All  rit;ht,"  said  tho  Doctor,  who  never 
changed  in  his  cool  self-jmsscssion. 

But  now  the  Itolians  with  curses  and  screams 
cime  back  to  tlio  attack.      It  is  absolutely  stu- 
licfying  to  think  how  few  shots  hit  the  mark  in 
the  excitement  of  a  fight,     jlcro  Were  a  num- 
ber of  men  firing  from   n"  distance   of  hardly 
more  than  fotty  paces,  and  not  one  took  effect. 
The  next  moment   the   whole  crowd  were 
upon  them.     Buttons  snatched  Mr.  Figgs'g  ra- 
lor  from  his  grasp  and    used   it   vigiifouslv. 
Dick  plied  his  bowie-knife.   Tho  Senator  wielded 
8  clubbed  riflQ  on  high  as  though   it  were  a 
w.ind,  and  dealt  the  blows  of  n  giant  upon  tho 
heads  of  his  assailants.     All  the  Italians  were 
phy^cally   thejr   inferiors— small,  puny    men. 
Mr.  Figgs  mad6  a  wild  dash  at  tho  first  man  he 
saw  and  seized  his  rifle.    The  figljt  was  spirited. 
Tho  rascally  bri;;|Mtds  were  nearly  thrtjo  times 
a"  numerous,  but  the  Americans  surpassed  them 
in  bodily  strength  and  sjJlrit.    ^ 

CrMh— cmslji-^fell  the  Senator's  rifle,  ond 
down  wont,  two  liwn.  Iliii  gtrdngth  wo«  enor- 
mous—absorbed as  it  had  iKsen  froih  the  gran- 
ite  cliffs  of  the  old  Granite  State.  Two  bnMvny 
feUows  .cited  him  from  behind.  A  thrust  of  his 
elbow  laid  one  low.  Button,  sloshed  tho  wrist 
of  tho  otjier.  A  fellow  threw  himwlf  on  But- 
^"1  ^h^y*  ''OT'e-kpifo  l«i.r  open  his  arm  and 
n!^.;  .v    .,  ""^  "W)ment  Dick'wtnt  dowtvjK!- 1 


03 

brace.  Buttons's  razor  again  drank  blood.  Two 
,  turned  upon  him.  Bang  1  4rent  the  Doctor's 
pi«toI,  sending  ono  of  tljeta.  shrieking  to  tho 
gioimd.  Bang !  once  more,  and  a  f^llew  who 
had  nearly  overpowered  the  breathless  Figgs 
slaggei'ed  back.  Dick  Was  writhing  on  tho 
ground  beneath  the  wc'v^M  of  a  dead  man  and 
a  follow  who  was  trying  to  fuffocuto  him.  But- 
tons was  being  throttled  \iy  three  others  who 
held  him  })owert.!ss,  his  liiz^r  being  broken. 
A  crack  on  Mr.  Figgs's  hipad  laid  him  low. 
Tlie  Doctor  stood  off  at  a  lil|tlc  distfinco  hastily 
reloading. 

j      The  Senator  alone  was  fiee;  but  six  fierce 
fellows  assailed  him.     It  waji  now  as  in  the  old 
I  Homerie.Uuys,  when  the  hor^c  soul,  sustained 
;  by  iroir. nerve  and  mighty  mu$cle,  came  out  par- 
ticularly  strong  in  the  hour  of  conflict. 
I      Tlio  Senator's  form  towerdd  up  like  one  of 
iiis  own  griuiitc  cliffs  in  the  Bjtorm— as  ruggo.l, 
j  as  unconqu^ablo.     His  bloojd  w.is  up !     Tho 
some  hlood   it  was   that  coubed  through  the 
veins  of  Ciomwell's  grim  old  j"  Ironsides,"  and 
afterward   animated   those   sturdy   backwoods- 
men who  had  planted  thomsdlrtes  in  American 
forests,  and  beaten  back  wild)  beasts  and  howl- 
ing savages.  t^*' 

Buttons,  prostrate  on  thd  gronn(^  looked  up, 
gasj)inR  through  the  smoU  and  dust,  as  ho 
struggled  with  his  assailants.  Ifb  saw  the  Sen- 
ator,  his  hair  bristling  out  sthtiglft^vhis  teeth  «et, 
his  eye  on  fire,  his.w[j^}e  expression  sublimed 
by  the  ardor  of  battle.  His  clothps  were  torn 
to  shreds;  his  coat  was  gone,  hijji^iat  nowhere, 
his  hands  and  face  were  coveMAvith  clots  of 
blood  ond  streaks  fi-om  mud,  Oa^,  smoke,  and 
powder.  _  .  v/ 

Tho  eyo  of  Bjittons  took  in  all  this  in  one 
glance.  Tho  next  instant,  with  a  wjdo  sweep  : 
of  his  clubbed  rifle  the.  Senator  [Mt  forth  all  his 
gigantic  strength  in  ono  ta-mlndous  effort, 
'i'lio  shock  was  irresistible.  Down  wont  tho 
SIX  bandits  as  though  a  cannon-ball  had  struck 
thc'm.  The  Senator  leojied  away  to  relieve 
Dick,  and  seizing  his  assailant  by  nji*  and 
Jiecl,  flung  him  over"  tho  cliff.  Then  tearing 
away  anDthcH-  from  Mr.  Figgs's  prostrate  and. 
almost  geiiselcHS  form,  hp  rushed  back  upon 
the  six  men  whom  ho  llad  just  levelled  to  the 
earth. 

Dick  sprang  to  the  relief  of  ButtoniLwho  was  * 
at  his  last  oxtremity.  But  tho  Doctor  was  lie- 
foro  him,  as  cool  as  e.ver.  He  grasped  ono  fel- 
low by  the  throat— a  fitvorito  tri'ck  of. the  Doc- 
tor's, in  which  his  niuUDmical  knowledge  came 
very  finely  into  play  f*    A 

'Off!"  rang  the  Doctor^  voice, 


amh  the  li^ 


uws  ul' DBTOMt  miiitrts..  gut  But. 
mns  rushed  with  his  'razor  to  lescnc  Dick, 
tnwe  men  glured  at  him  with  uplifted  wea|>: 
ons.  Down  came  tho  Senator's  alubbed  rifle 
A  '^_*^'''J«"*'»<»."  •^Pping  their  Weapons  ovur 
«•  cliff.  They  turned  simiritaneooAx  o"  the 
senator,  and  8».p«l  hiin  ia  a  threefold  em- 

, .,  ,  "  '  I, 


The  fellqw  gftspcd  •  curse, 
stant  n  roar  burst  throii 


m. 


Tha  next  in-  * 


j^m 


iShJhsjjJtt  and  tlip 


^  wretch  fell  heovlly  forward,  shot  thr<wgh  tte^ 
j  Jjead,  yvhile  hit  brajjat  were  .pattered  orer  tlio 
I  fa&o  of  Buttons.     The  i)ocior  witli  a  (^  of 
.  his  fist  sent  the  otlier  fallow  reeling  oVtar.    •. '.     ' ', 
,     Buitonp  sprang  up  gasping.     T^«  ItaliM*.  r" 
were  falling  bapk.     Ho  called  to  the  Senator. 


That  man  -of  n^ight  cm*  up. 


Think  Cto^ 


THB  DODGE  CLUB ;  OB,  ITALY  IN  MDCCCLIX. 


94 

they  were  all  alive!     Braised,  and  wounded, 
and  panting— but  alive. 

The  gcowIioR  bandits  (kew  off,  leaving  se*en 
of  their  number  on  thafroad  hort  <k  coifibaf. 
Some  of  the  retreating*  ones  had  been  badly 
treatcd,  and  limped  and  staggered.  The  ClHb 
ji^ceded  to  load  their  rifles. 

The  Doctor  stepped  forward.  Deliberately 
aiming  lie  fireo  iiis  revolver  five  times  in  rapid 
succession.  Before  he.  had  time  to  load  again 
the  bandits  had  darted.into  the  woodd. 

"Every  one  of  tliose  bullets  hit,"  said  tliu 
Doctor  with  unusual  emphasis,  l 

"We  must  get  under  cover  at  oncCj!!  said 
Dick.     ' '  They'll  bo  back  shortly  with  -Aers ! " 

"  Then  we  xnust  fortify  our  position,"  said 
the  Senator,  "  and  wait  for  relief.  As  we  were, 
though,  it  was  lucky  they  tried  a  hand-to-hnnd 
fight  fust.  This  hilksheltei-s  us  on  one  sidc.^ 
There  arc  so  many  trees  that  they  can't  roll* 
stones  down,  nor  can  they  slioot  us.  We'll  fix 
a  barricade  in  front  with  onr  baggage.  We'll 
have  to  fight  behind  a'barriQndo  this  time; 
though,  by  the  Eternal !  I  wish  it  were  hand- 
to-hand  again,  for  I  don't  remember  of  ever 
having  had  such  a  glorious  time  in  all  my  born 
days!". 

The  Senator  'passed  his  hand  over  his  gory 
brow,  and  walked  to  the  coach. 

"  Wlitro's  I'ictro  ?"         .      - 
-    "I'ititro!     Pietro!" 

No  answer. 

"ri-K-TKo!"  '  . 

Still  no  answer.  , ,  ^ 

"riftro!"  cried  Dick,  "if  you  don't  c**fno 
hero  I'll  blow  your — " 

"Oh!  is  it  you,  Signori  ?"  cxcliiimed  IHci^ 
tro's  voice ;  and  that  worthy  appeared  amottg 
the  trees  a  little  way  up  the  hill.  lie  wnsdciul- 
ly  pale,  and  trembled  so  much  that  he  could 
scarcely  spcnk. 

"  Look  lipre  !"  cried  Buttons ;  "  we  are  go- 
ing to  barricade  ourselves." 

"Barricade!" 

"We  can  not  carry  our  baggage  away,  and 
vwc  are  not  going  to  leave  it  behind.     We  ex- 
}iect  to  hav(f  another  battle.."    , 
'IMitro's  face  grew  livid. 

"  You  can  stay  and  help  us  if  you  wish." 
)        Pictro's  teeth  chattered. 

"  Or  you  can  help  ns  far  ipore  by  running  to 
the  nearest  town  and  letting  the  authorities 
know." 

"  Oh,  Signore,  trust  me  1     I  gq." 

"Make- haste,  then,  or  you  may  find  us  all 
murdered,  and  then  liow  will  you  get  >X)ur  fai-es 
•^eh?"  ■'■     '     . 

"  I  go— I  go  i    I  will  run  all  the  way  !" 

"Won't  you  ^ako  a  gun  to  defend  yourself 


riKT<U>. 

^n  rifles,  with  cartridges,  wficl  some  other  useful 
articles.  Four  of  these  men  were  8ton6-dcad. 
They  pulled  their  bodies  in  front  oj  their  place 
of  shelter.  The  wounded  men  tlicy  drew  in- 
side, and  the  Doctor  at.  once  attended  to  thcmj 
while  the  others  were  strengthening  thft  barri- 
<cadc. 

"I  don't  like  pntting  these  here,"  said  ilio 
Senator ;  "  but  it'll  likely  frighten  the  brij.'and.s 
or  make  them  delicate  about  firing  at  us.  'Ilist'a 
my  idee." 

The  horses  were  secured  fast.     Then  the  bog- 
gage  was  piled  all  around,  and  made  iiin  ex- 
cellent barricade.     With  this  and  the  'cajiturcd 
rifles  they  felt  themselves  able  to  cncountcra ' 
small  regiment. 

"Now  let  tiiem  come  on,"  cried  the  Senator, 
"just  as  soon  as' they  damn  please  !  We'll  trv- 
first  the  European  system  of  barricades ;  and 
if  that  don't  work,  then  we  can-fall  back  on  the 
real  originol,  national,  patriotic,  indei)cndcnt, 
manly,  native  American,  triie-blue,  and  alto- 
getherheniic  style!" 

"Whut  id  thJft?"  . 

'  ThcSenatpr  looked  at  the  coiij^nny,  and 
tfeld  oiit  his  clcnclwd  fipt :    •  '•»:       ' 

"Why,  from  behind  a  tj-oe,  in  the  woods, 
like  yoiftgloj^tw  ibi-cfathers  1* 


"  Oh  no  1"  rfi1*l  Pietro,  with  horrori     "  Nrf, 
no!"  ,,  •    (  '  ■     - 

In  a-fow  minutes  hp  had  vanislicd  dmqng,  the 
Itlck  woods.  '      • 

After  stripping  the   prQpK«tp   iWlian*  tho 

-      travollow  found  thomgclvos  itv  poMeMion'of  lo*- 

■     /«  O       ..,  ■        ■    ■     „       .'        .. :., 


■.•/■ 
t 


^•^ 


-I'J 


-■-:■» 


THE  DODGE  CLUB;  OR,  ITALY  IN  MDCCCLIX. 


A' 


BOUT  THE  WONDERS  OP 
I'ljEASANT    ANBCDOTES^ 


CIIAPTpR  XL. 

VUASAJiT  MEDITATION 

'      TOBACCO;    AND  THRB 

BY  AN  ITALIAN  DRIGA 

A  PULL  apiece  at  'tli|^  brandj-flask  restored 
strength  and  freshness  tjo  tho  beleaguered  trav- 
ellers, who  now,  introncilied  behind  their  fortifi- 
cations, awaited  any  attack  which  the  Italians 
tnight  choose  to  make.    , 

"The  /-taUans,"  sail!  tho  §cnjitor,  "are  not 
a  powerful  race'.  .•  By  i>d  means.  Feeble  in 
My-Tio  muscle^-iio  l^rawn..  Above  all,  no 
rekl  plUcL  Buttons,  is j  there  a  word  in  their 
language  that  cxi.resBds  t|ie  exact  idee  otiiluckr" 
,     "No."  '.     j    ■   .  .        ,     . 

"  Or  fjame  t"  1  * 

"}io."  .  I  -  , 

"Orevcnsyitmir" 


",No."        ■  'i'      .     ^       -'■      ' 

"I  thought  not,"  said!  tte  Senator,  calmly. 
They  haven't  the  idee,  and  can't  Have  the 
word.    Now,  it-would  require  a  lather  consid- 
erably crowd  to  deraolisli,  us  »t  tho  present 
time.'  1  ,    • 

.l"?^  '""''  V^"  ^°  %vk>«o  8t»y  hercr 
'"My  deaif  Sir,"  sai.d  Unttons,  ^tfi   mofo 
yghthncssthail  ho  had  shown  for  many  ditys. 
—boUwHkful  llmt  yon  an)  hero  W  ilp  miT 


—  yon  an) 
get  off  »ot^tim<y.  UhA»j(.     These  ffl«lowg  are 
I'Btrtiflg  us,  aiM  the  monlcnt  w«  starr  thev'U 

1  i^^"  "''■  u^^"  """•'^  b6  a'good  marklfw  Ihein 
'n  the  coaoh.    Ko.  we.must  wait  awhile."  .     ' 

«P  to  th^  plc|uing  lnfluonco!ih«t,flowii  from  »ha. 

■  ^      ■  .      ^       ^       . 


pipe-  Is  there  any  thing  equal  to  it?  How 
did  the  ancients  qontrive  to  while  awa^  the 
time  without  it  ?  Had  they  known  its  effects 
how  they  would  have  cherished  it !  Wo  should 
now  be  gazing  upon  the  ruins  of  venerable  tem- 
ples, reared  by  adoring  votaries  to  the  goddess 
Tabaca.  Bftjrs  at  school  would  have  construed 
l^sages  about  her.  Lempriere,  Smith,  An- 
then,  Dnssler,  and  others  would  have  done 
honor  to  her.  Classic  mythology  would  hare 
been  full  of  her .  presence.  Olympian  Jove 
would  haVo  been  presented  to  us  with  this  di- 
vinitjas  hjg-  constant  attendant,  and  a  nimbui 
around  his  Immortal  brows  of  h^r  making.  Bac 
^hus  would  have  had  a  rival,  a  sppcrior } 

Po<Jts  would  have  told" how' Tabaca  went, 
over  the  woi:Id  ftirt  in  cl&ud».thal  but  set  otf 
the  mote  her  splendid  Vadianco.  We  should 
have  known. how  much  Bacchus  had  to  d^jvith 
ra  Bgjcxela;  n  chapter  whicji  will  probably  be  a 
lost  one  in  the  Histery'of  Civilizatbn.  Biit 
that  ho  who  smojkes  should  drink  beer  is  quite 
indisputable.  Whether  \he  Weer  is  to  to  %, 
XX,  XX^ ;  or  whether  the  brewer's  name 
should  hcgin  with  an  A,  as  in  Al«opp,  and  run 
ihrough^the  whole  alphabet,  ending  with  V,  as 
in  Vassar,  may  be' fairly  left  to  individual  con-  ' 
giderati(fli.'  '      '  A^a 


Wljat  noble  Roetry,  njJiat  spirited  od«;,  what 
eloquent  wonds,  Ims  noRtho  \torld  loatbf  the 
ignorance  of  Gitek  and-  Itomah  touching  this 

The  «bove'  remarks  Were  made^^lck  on 
this  opcasion.    "But  Biitton*  Vas  talking  wj|fe' 
the  iroundcd'Italians.       *  %^ 


I 


THE  DCaiGE  CXUB;  OR,  ITALY  IN  MDCCCi;JX. 


96 

The  Doctor  had  beond  up  sbeir  wonnds  and 
BoBotts  bod  foT«*«d  diem  with  a  drop  from  his 
flaK.  Diek  cot  np  «me  tobacco  and  filled  a 
for  each.  After  ail,  the  Italians  were  not 
They  mid  aoacked  than  not  from 
imlice,  bnt  pnrelv  froK  nrofesaoaal  motives. 
Yet,  had  their  eoBinies  beo:  Tedeschi,  no 
nt  of  anenuon  vould  hose  overcome  their 
hate.  Bat  being  Americans,  gay,  easy, 
at  malice,  in  fact  kind  and  rather  agreea-  | 
e.  diey  loftcBed,  yielded  altogether,  and  final- 
ly cnatted  fioniliarly  with  Battons  and  3ick.  j 
They  were  young,  not  worse  in  appeaimoce 
>nhim  the  majaJty  of  men ;  perhaps  not  baa  fel- 
ionn  in  their  social  relations-;  at  any  rate, 
rattier  inclined  to  be  jolly  in  their  present  cir- 
cnmstances.  They  were  qnite  free  in  their  ex- 
pressions of  admiration  for  the  bravery  of  their 
captors,  and  looKed  with  awe  upon  the  Doctor's 
revolver,  which  was  the  first  they  had  ever  seen. 
In  fact,  the  younger  prisoner  became  quite 
communicative.      Thus : 

"  I  was  bom  in  Velletri.  My  age  is  twenty- 
four  years.  I  have  never  shed  blood  except 
three  times.  The  first  time  was  in  Nami — odd 
place,  Nami.  My  employer  was  a  vinedresser. 
The  season  was  dry ;  the  brush  caught  fire,  I 
don't  know  how,  and  in  five  minutes  a  third  of 
the  vineyard  was  coi^umed  to  ashes.  My  em- 
ployer came  cursing  and  raving  at  me,  and 
swore  he'd  make  me  work  for  him  till  I  made 
good  the  loss.  Enraged,  I  struck  him.  He 
seized  an  axe.  I  drew  my  stiletto,  and  —  of 
coarse  I  had  to  run  away. 

' '  The  second  rime  was  in  Naples.  The  affair 
was  brought  about  by  a  woman.  Signore, 
women  are  at  the  bottom  of  most  crimes  that 
ipen  commit.  I  was  in  love  with  her.  A  friend 
of  mine  fell  in  love  with  her  too.  I  informed 
him  that  if  he  interfered  with  me  I  would  kill 
him.  I  told  her  that  if  she  encouraged  him  I 
would  kill  him  and  her  too.  T  suppose  she  was 
piqued.  Women  will  get  piqued  sometimes. 
At  any  rate  she  gave  him  marked  encourage- 
ment. I  scolded  and  threatened.  No  use. 
She  told  mo  she  wm  tired  of  mo ;  that  I  was 
too  tyrannieal.  In  fact,  she  dared  to  turn  me 
off  and  take  tlie  other  fellow.  Maffco  was  a 
good  fellow.  I  was  sony  for  him,  but  I  had  to 
keep  my  word. 
V  "The  third  time  was  only  a  month  ago.  I 
"'tabbed  a  Avnchman,  out  of  pare  patriotism — 
itbe  French,  yon  know,  are  our  oppressors — pnd 
kept  what  I  found  about  him  to  reward  ni#  for 
my  gallant  act.  The  Govemmcni,  however, 
did  not  look  npon  it  in  a  proper  light.  They 
seiit  out  a  detachment  to  arrest  me.  I  was 
caught,  and  by  good  fortlunc  brought  to  an  inn. 
At  night  Tjyas  bound  tiphtly  and  shut  up  in 


"  I  have  no  idea." 

' '  You  would  never  guess.     You^  never  would 
hav«  thought  of  it  yourself." 
•'  Where  did  you  leave  it  ?" 
"In  the  heart  of  the  Captain." 


CHAPTER  XLI. 


FINAL  ATTACK  OV  BEINPORCjMENTS  OF  ^lOANDS. 
— THE  DODGE  CLUB  DEFIES  THEM  AKS'JSEI'ELS 
jTHEIf. — HOW  TO  UAKE  A  BARRICADE.  —  FKA- 
TBRNIZAVION  OF  AMERICAN  EAOLH  AMD  GALLIC 

COCK. — there's  nothing  like  leather. 

"It  is  certainly  a  si^t|J!uliir  position  for  an 
American  citizen  to  be  placed  in,"  said  the 
Senator.  »"To  come  from  a  cotton-mill  to 
such  a  regular  out-and-out  j)iece  of  fighting  as 
this.  Yet  it  seems  to  me  that  fighting  comes 
natural  to  the  American  blood." 

"They've  been  very  quiet  for  ever  so  long," 
said  Mr,  Figgs ;  "perhaps  they've  gone  away." 
"  1  don't  believe  they  have,  for  two  reasons. 
The  first  is,  they  are  robbers,  and  want  onr 
money;  the  second,  they  are  Italians,  and 
want  rievenge.  They  won't  let  us  off  so  easily 
after  the  drubbing  we  gave  them." 

Thus  Buttons,  and  the  others  rather  coin- 
cided in  his  opinion.  For  several  miles  further 
on  the  road  ran  through  a  dangerous  place, 
where  men  might  lurk  in  ambush,  and  pick 
them  off  like  so  many  snip*.  They  rather  en- 
joyed a  g9od  fight,  but  did  not  care  about  be- 
ing regularly  shot  down.     So  they  waited. 

It  was  three  in  the  afternoon.  Fcarfnlly 
hot,  too,  but  not  so  bad  as  it  might  have  been. 
High  trees  sheltered  them.  They  couldjfumi- 
nate  under  the  shade.  The  only  diflRculty  was 
the  want  of  food.  W^hat  can  a  garrison  do  th«t 
is  ill  provided  with  eatables?  The  Doctor's 
little  store  of  crackers  and  cheese  was  divided 
and  eaten.  A  basket  of  figs  and  oranges  fol- 
lowed.    Still  they  were  hupgry. 

"  Well,"  said  Dick,  "  there's  one  thing  we 
can  do  if  the  worst  comes  to  the  worst." 
"What's  that?' 

"Go  through  the  forest  in  Indian  file  bsok 
to  Perugia."    - 

"Tliat's  all  very  well,"  said  the  Senstor, 
stubbornly,  "but  we're  not  going  back.  Ko, 
Sir,  not  a  step  1" 

' '  I'm  tired  of  this,"  said  Battons,  impatiently. 
"Til  go  out  88  scout." 
"I'll  go  too,"  said  Dick. 
"  Don't  go  far,  boys,"  said  the  Senator,  in 
the  tone  of  an  ansions  father. 

>*  No,  not  very.  That  hill  yonder  will  be  » 
good  lookout  place." 

Yes,  if  you  are  not  seen  yourselves.' 


tho  same  room  with  the  soHiers.  "The  inn 
keeper's  daughter,  a  friend  of  mine,  came  in 
for  something,  ami  by  mere  chance  dropped  a 
knife  behind  mo.  I  got  it,  cut  my  cords,  and 
when  tbey  were  all  asleep  I  departed.  Before 
going  I  leh  tho  knife  behind ;  ivnd  where  now,- 
iigilore,  do  you  think  I  left  it  ?" 


th«s«  scoundrels,  and  find  thsj  they  see  us,  wc 
will  fire  to  let  you  know.  If  we  remain  undis- 
covered we  will  come  back  quietly." 

"  Very  well.  But  I  don't  like  to  let  you  go 
off  alone,  my  boys ;  It's  too  much  of  an  exposals. 

"Nonsense." 


You  ncTer  woal4 


n  Indian  file  back 


uttons,  impatiently. 


lid  tho  Senator,  ia 

r. 

ill  jornler  will  be  » 


THE  DODGft  CLUB/;>OR,  ITALY  IN  MDCCCLIX. 


"  I  haro  a  great  mind  to  go4oo.  , 

.        "  No,  no,  you  had  better  gfav  to  ho/d  onr 

place  of  retreat.     We'll  come  back,  you  ino w  " 

"Very  well,  then."  '^ 

The  Senator  gat  himself  doffo  agiin,  and 
■  Buttons  and  Dick  vanished  among  t^e  trees 
An  hour  passed ;  the  three  in  tho  barricade  be- 
gnn  to  feel  uneasy;  the  prisoners  wfre  asleep 
niid  snoring.  p 

■   "  Hang  It, "  VrieJthe  Senator,  "  L^-ish  I  had 
gone  with  tlien» !"     , 

"N^ver  fear,"  said   the  Doctd«il!"  th^  are 


too  niUle  to  be  caught   ust  yet    If   heV  Z  holdin„T> "'"    .T'''  '"  "^'^  ^ 
been  Janght  you'd  have  LJlml^^?.  •'l'^  I  ^l^^^'"^'  to  the _gronnd ;  andtiJ 


been  (janght  you'd  have  heard  ajittle  firing." 

At  ithat  very  moment  the  loud  report  of  a 
rifle  btirst  through  the  air,  followed-  bv  a  scd 
end ;   ttpon  which  a  whole  volley  poured  out 
j  The  thiiee  started  to  their  feet.         ^  i 

"  Th«y  are  found !" cried  the  Senator.     "It's 
pbout  a  inile  away.     Be  ready!",      f 
'   Mr.  F%rg8  had'two  rifles  bv'hii  side,  and  sat. 
looking  ,it  the  distance  with   knitted  brows, 
?Ie  had  received  some  terrific  bruifeos  in  the 
tete  mfilc'e,  but  wag  prepared  to  fight  till  he 
d^ed.     He  had  said  but  little  through  the  day 
Ha  was  not  talkative.     His  courage  was  of'a 
<iniet  order.     Ho  felt  the  solemnity  of  tlie  oc- 
c^ion.     It  was  a  little  different'from  aitting  at 
the  head  of  a  Board  of  bank  dfreitors,  or  shav- 
ing  jiotes  in  a  private  ofBcc.     At  tho  end  of 
about  ten  minutes  there  was  a  crackling  an»<*ne 
the  busies.     Buttons  and  Diok:>ame  tumblin.' 
down  ftito  the  road.  ° 

"  Qet  ready  !     Quick  !     TheVro  here  '" 

"A%eadv." 

"l\i»loadcd?" 

"Yes 


97 

For  two  hpurs  an  incessant  fire  wag  kept  up 
between  tho  , bandits  in  tho  >voods  and  the 
Americans  in  their  retreat.  Nd  damage  was 
done  on  either  side.  ' 

"Those  fellows  try  so  hard  th^  almost  de^ 
serve  to  lick  us;"  said  the  Senator  dryly. 

"  Hark  ."•  cried  Buttons.-       \ ...     " 
Again.  ••  ,  'h       \  " 

-A  cavalry  trumpet !  "  .\    V' 

"They  are  horsemch  !"  cried  JSic\ 


"  We  saw  them  away  down  the  road,  behind  '  it^cT  to°  ^:^  kJ/'h  TT'^T'^''' 
a  grove  of  trees.     We  couldn't  r<.,Ut    »n,l  .Mf  i  •  ,     ^*  ''"*  declined  sending  any 

,M  at  them.      The  whole   ImnTlckrd   Z   V'   '"  """"   •"  ' ''  "''''"'""'  "^  "■«  "-"'^I'er. 

"HowmaVvai^fheZthrmr  •         uZZr^'T  "'fffi     The  gallant  fellow  ^ 

"  Fourteen^"  '  T     '   °"''  ""''' '"''  ^^  ^''«'™.  "^rived  at  tke 

"  ThBv  m..^  Ko  »  '  P'"'^"  "'°*'  Opportunely. 

^ere\%^^\rin..r- J^^^^  i  Jf^^  fo  long  to  get  the  coach  ready 

when  they  left  "\  '    ""''°"""«^   ■"««»    «««'"•     "no  hoi-se  was  found  to  be  so  badly 

i  wounded  that  it  had  to,^  killed.     The  otheii 


!.  i'*!'"',".'"''*  thfe  Doctor ;   "  my  pistol—" 

At  this  moment  tliW  heard  the  noisli  of  foot- 
Meps      A  hand  of  arWd  men  came  in  sight 

,"'"»  cautioMly,  they  examined  tho  barri- 
«.le.  Bang!  It  was  ^,e  Doctor's  revolver. 
fZ^  '^"^  »"°  fc'.'"*'  y«T«-  The  rest  were 
bSe  ""''•  ""'^  ^'"*°  "  '■"'•''  "'  "'« 

Bang!  a  second  shot,  anothV  wounded, 
volley  was  the  answer.  -J^feg-j 


I  were  slightly  hurt.     Tffe  baggage  and  t'runks 

were  riddled  with   bullets.     These  wore  once 

mtoro  piled  up,  the  wounded  prisoners  plac«l 

inside,  and  the  travellers,  not  being  able  to  get 

in  all  together,  took  turns  in  walking.    ■>■• 

I      At  the  next  town  the  prisoners  were  defiv- 

,  ered  up  to  tho  authorities.     The  travcllors  eel, 

•  ebmtcd   their  victory  by  a  grand   banquet,  to 

which  they  invited  the  French  officer  and  the 

goldiers,  who  came  on  with  them  to  this  town 


who  was 
,r     "      ,-.       --■■•,"'""""  1  »""  m«Ml  added: 

Hey  ?"  cried  the  Senator ;  "  water  ttrfev  ?" 
Again  the  sound.     A  dead  silence.   ^1  "list- 
onuig.  .  r 

And  now  the  tramp  of  horie*  wnsi'^ainly 
heard.  The  firing  had  ceased  altogetfttr  since 
the  hrst  blast  of  the  trumpet.  The  banAts  dis- 
apneared.  The  horsemew  drew  nea^  and 
weiK^idently  quite  numerous.  At  last  they 
burst  il^n  the  scene,  and  the  little  gliriAja 
greeted  them  with  a  wild  hurrah.  They  were 
French  dragoons,  about  thirty  in  number 
Prominent  among  them  was  I'ietro,  who  at 
first  stared  wildly  around,  and  then,  seeing  the 
Amenc*ns,  gave  a  cry  of  joy. 

Tlie  travellers  now  came  out  into  the  road 
and  quick  and  hurried  greetings  were  iiitdr- 
chiinged.  The  commander  of  the  troop,  learn- 
ing that  the  bandits  had  just  left,  sent  off  two- 
turds  of  his  men  in  pursuit,  and  remained  with 
the  rest  beiiind. 

Pietro  had  a  long  story  to  tell  of  his  own  do. 
ings.     He  had  wandered  through  the  forest  till 


m 


....-  1.  It.  ,.    .      -■■>.■■■  m  HUB  lown.- 

ignnus jLiproar  prmiltcd.     TTio  TjwficJiriien  were^ST 

e  was  ',  nhi^nint  in  nr.,nni:».A»*„  *_  .i.- »-,  ..   .     . 


"I'Wir  against  tho  barrimHn    "ijlJv  i *"""°!  ^f"""^  prevnuca.      ino  j<',-onchmen  were  px- 

donc^The  birricanL  too  sS""""''  ""  '  ''IZ'''  '"  '^"'"P""'''"''  '»  "■«  K^'l-ntty  of  iZ, 
The  answer  to  thisTa.'^  'I'^ti,,  volley  ^  *'""-'"""'•      '""""  ''*'""""'• 


i  f  if  rT?"-     Th«  bandits  ret\d,.stflg. 
Wrcd,  foil  back,  glifieking,  groaning,  anXc.Ht 

«LTl2T'"y  '''«"•  °"  the  road. -^ 
«lier»  took  inifugo  in  the  woods.  / -"^   >| 


LTiainers,      1  oasts  tollowed. 
'The  Kmpetttr  and  President!^        .      , 
'"  America  and  Fmncc!"  .    ' 

"  Tricolor  and  stnis  I" 
"The  two  ooiinlrios  intertwined !" 
••A  song,  Dick  !"cried  tho  Senator,  who  »k-. 


.«8 


THE  DODGE  CLUB;  OR,.  ITAI.Y  IN' MDCCCtffi.  ' 


n^T., 


kcu  to 


AS  INTFJUIATIOMAL  ArFAlB. 


hear  Dick  sing.     Dick  looked 


ways   lik( 
modest. 

"Strike  up!" 

"What?"  > 

"  The  '  Sc<wdoo  abscook !'  "  cried  Mr  Figgs. 

"  No ;  '  The  Old  Gow  ! '  "  cried  Buttons. 

"'The  Pig  by  t^e  Banks  of  the  JtiverV" 
sitid  the  Doctor. 

"  Dick,  don't,"  said  the  Senator.  "  III  tell 
yon  an  appropriate  song.  These  Frenchmen 
believe  in  France.  We  believe  in  America. 
Each  one  thinks  there  is  nothing  like  Leather. 
Sing  '  Leather,'  then." 

Figgs.  •\ 

Blttons.  C  " 

The  Doctor.  ) 

"  Then  let  it  be  '  Leather,'  "  said  Dick  ;  and 
lie  struck  up  the  following  (which  may  not  be 
obtained  of  any  of  the  mosic  publishers),  to  a 
very  peculiar  tnne : 

I.      '        ',  ■         . 

H'  .\rercuty  I  Pnlrnn  of  mclodjr, 
*  ^     Father  of  Music  nn*l  I.urd, 
Thine  wan  the  vkUl  that  invented 

Itfnalc'a  harmonlouit  chord.  '<* 

8veet  were  the  aounda  that  aroap, 

Sweetly  they  blended  together ;     ^ 
Thiia,  la  the  agea  nf  old, 
Hiulcuroao  out  of— LBATintt 

{fvll  Clutruti  bil  all  the  Company.] 


> 


n. 


'Yes, 'Leather!'" 


"  War  is  a  wonderful  Science, 

Mors  was  it«  patron,  I'm  told , 
How  did  lie  i»8eil  to  accoutre 

Armies  in  battles  of  old  f  ,,,..• , , 

Vith  casque,  and  With  Bllnp,  and  with  shield, 

With  bow-string  and.breiistpluto  together ; 
Thui",  in  the  ages  of  old,  ; 

War  waa  begun  out  of— I<eatiieb  !  * 

t  Then  Ijaithcrl  elng  Leather,  my  bids! 
Mars  and  bis  weapona  of  I.etitlicr  1 
Of  all  the  things  under  tlie  mm,    «. 
Hurrah  I  there  is  nothing  like  Leather  I 

[Extra  ChorvK.l 

>'  Kub  a  dub,  dub! 
Itiib  adiib,  dubil 
Rub  a  dub,  dub  1 1 !  eay  we  I 


in. 

"  Lovo  isWl^lfisslne  <niotIhn, 

All  of  us  know  it  by  lieart ; 
Whenye,  can  you  tell  nw,  anaei 

IvSve's  overpowering  smart  t 
Tipped  with  nn  kdamant  barb, 

Qfacefully  tAfted  with  feather, 
LoVe's  irr^Histible  dart 

Come*  Otofii  a  quiver  of— Leatiikb  I 


-•mien  LwiBoiTsIng  laiittier;  my.lmtel   ■ 
Mercury  I  Music ! !  and  I>ealhcr'. ! ! 
Of  all  the  things  under  tho  sun, 
^  Hurrah  I  tliere  is  nothing  like  Leather ! 

It'xtin  CAortM,  desertptive  of  a  Cobbler  hammiring  oii 
hit  Lapitta^e.'S 

"  Tlien  Rub  a  dub,  dub! 
'  Rub  n  du)s  dub  1 1 

Kub  a  dub,  dub!  1 1  say  wel 


"Then  I^wther !  sing  Ualher,  my  lads  I 
Dartal  and  Distmetlbn  1 1  and  Leatlici<l!l 
Of  all^he  things  under  the  sun,  - 

Hurrah!  tliere  is  notliiog  like  Leather  I 

{Extra  thonl^■^ 

"Rub  «dnh,  dub! 
Buli  >.  dub,  dub  1 


-n 


Bub  a  dub,  dyb! ! !  aay  we! 


nr. 

Oratora  wrote  out  their  apeethca, 
Poets  their  versq  recileil, 

atatcsmen  promulgated  edict",  _ 
Sagt'S  tbair<Viu>uis  Indited. 


^  THE  DODGECLUB;  OR,  ITA^Y  IN  MDCCCLIX, 

Pnrchmen^  my  ladi,  vrai  the  <ftide 

All  ined  to  write  on  together ;  *  - 


Thu«  the  Itepublic  of  Letters 
Sprang  into  life  out  of— Lkatueb  . 
[CAorti*.] 

"Then  Leather!  sing  Leather,  my  lads  I 
Poetry  1  Science  !  I  and  Leather  I  :  ! 
Of  nil  the  things  under  the  i-rin,  r 
lliirrati  I  there  hi  nothing  like  £ 
[Extra  CAortt?.] 

"  Uub  a  dub,  dub  ! 
Kubadub,duli!T 
Rub  a  dub,  dub  1 1 !  8i\y  we !" 


'Iter  1 


CHAPTER  XLII. 

FLOBKNCE.— DESPERATION    OF  DCTTOXS,  OP  MR. 
F10Q8,ANU  OF  TUB  BOCTOlli        , 

Florence,  the  Fair  !— Certainly  it  is  the 
fairest  of  wties.  Beautiful  for  situation  ;  the 
joy  of  the  wholo  earth  !  It  has  n  beauty  that 
^rows  upon  the  heart.  The  Arno  is  the  swbct- 
est  of  rivers,  its  valley  the  loveliest  of  vnloi  • 

luxuriant  .eaUcvs;  r  eh  vineyards ;'  Jovef  ^f  1^^;;^::^^^::^^  T^T:^l 
ohve,  of  orange,  and  of  chestnut;  forests  of  cv- 1  the  shabbx^  irentepi      ThJZ  7,1    .     •        '  \ 

ofthe  distant  Apennines;  innumemblc  white  |  ed  brotherhood  of  artists  a^d  ^""h^rs;  herV 


99 

cnco  alone  can  win  enduring  love.     It  is  onr 
of  the  very  few  which  »  man  can  select  as  a  pdi-.' 
manent  home,  and  never  repent  of  his  decision 
In  fact.  It  is  probably  the  only  city  on  earth  - 
which  ^  stranger  can  live  in  and  mak«|  for  him- 
self a  true  home,  so  pleasant  as  to'makc  desuo 
for  any  other  simply  impossible. 
■  In  Florence  there  is  a  large  English  popula- 
tion, drawn  there  by  two  powerful  attractions. 
The  first  IS  the  beauty  of  the  place,  with  its 
Healthy  climate,  its  unrivalled  collections  of  art 
and   Its  connection  witli  the   world  at  Inrge' 
The  second  is  the  astonishing  cheapness  of  livl 
ing,  though,  alas!  this  is  greatly  changed  from 
former  times,  since  Florence  has  become  the 
capital  of  Italy.     Formerly  a  palace  co(,ld  be 
rented  for  a  trifle,  troops  of  servants  for  aiipthcr 
trifle,  and  the  table  could  bo  furnished  from 
day  to  dflyiwhhirarities  and  delicacies  innuiJier- 
able  for  another  trifle.     It  is,  therefore,  a  paW  ■ 
disc  for  the  respectable  poor,  the  needy  men  W 


villas  peeping  through  the  surrounding  groves  ; 
the  mysterious  ha*^f  the  sunset,  which  tlirows 
.1  softer  chjpm  over  the  scene  ;  the  miignifieent 
cattle;  the  fine  horses;  tlio  bewitching  girls, 
with  thoir  broad  hats  of  Tuscan  straw ;  the 
city  itself,  with  its  gloomy  old  palaces,  iron- 
Crnted  and   massive  jvallcd,  from  the,  ancient 


gather  political  philosophers  of  every  grade. 
It  was  all  tliis  even  under,  the  Grand  ,Diiko  of 
refreshing  memory;  IVMa/tcr  it  will  ba  the 
same,  only,  perhaps;  a  J^Tmorc  so,  under  the 
new  influences  which  ilshalfe acquire  and  e.xert 
as  tjie  metrojiolis  of  a  great  kingdom. 

The  Flprentines  are  the  most  pelished  people 


Mds  .^treet-fighting  noble,  long  sin^^-^^ed    .^ ^Z:"rZ;:^ S^^^^ 

pTI  'Pnlj.     f^rn  p,'"''""  •""•"'''•'  °'  ''"' '  I'>«-«"»nen'-e.  but  it  can  n^t  be  mah^  a'ined 
I.  .1  "''«='' !'«'«'l''^>o™"=°  '  Amid  the  brilliancies  of  Parisian  life  theroTc 

It. s  the  abode  of  peace,  gentleness,  and  kind-    fearful  memories  of  bloodyVevdlp  onrbm^" 

S„h?"'?h^°«^"'  r^  "''"  "  ^'"'  ^'''""'="  ""^  "e'"^'  "n1  blood-thirsty  erueltife  ]L  such 
Club  was  there)  Lve^-  stone  in  its  p.avement.,  events  as  these  mar  the  fair  pa.^es  of  lateXor 
has  a  charm.     Other  cities  mayplcase;  Flor-  '  entine  histon-.     In  fact,  tirf^ea mncf Inci 


moMBCi,  mm  «a»  ntkuro. 


100        *  '  THE  DODGE  CLUB ;  <JR,  ITALY  IN  MDCCCLIX. 


riTTI  PALACE. 


gontlene^ff  of  the  people  have  bcien  perhaps  to  i 
their  disadvantage.  Life  in  Florence  i*  joy.  j 
The  sensation  of  living  is  of  itself  a  pleasure.  | 
Life  in  that  delicious  atmospliere  becomes  a  | 
higher  state  of  being.  It  is  the  proper  homo  | 
for  poets  and  artists.  Those  who  pretend  that  j 
'  there  is  any  thilig  in  America  equal  to  Flor- 
ence, cither  in  climate,  landscape,  or  atmos- ; 
phere,  are  simply  humbugs.  _  Florence  is  uniqnc. 
It  is  tlie  only  Athens  of  the' modern  world.  ; 
The  street?  are  cool  .anA  deliglitful.  Thtf" 
great  liigh  liouscs  keep  oiT  the  ntyn  of  the  sun. 


The  people  love  to  stroll  awnv'thc  greater  part 
of  tlieir  hnppy  days.  TheVloiter  around  the 
comers  or  under  the  porticoes  gatl^ering  news 
and  retailing  the  same.  /Hand-organs  are  gen- 
ernlly  discountenancedy/  Happy  city! 

When  it  is  too  liot/n  tjie  streets  there  is  the 
vast  cathedral^Il  Il/omo— dim,  shadowy,  mas;- 
niflcent,  its  giganlfic  dome  .  surpassed  only  \>\ 
that  of  St.'l'eter'/  And  yet  in  the  twilight  of 
this  sacred  iniei4or,  where  tlicre  dwells  so  mucli 
of  the  ftiystcriotis  gloom  only  found  in  the  Gotliic 
c.ithcdials  of  the  north,  many  find  greater  de- 


,  uaaj   £'A 


B  5    ■  i  i 


rOCNTAIM  or  MKTTONK,  PALAZIO  V£DCU10. 


A  ■ 


.-#:  / 


THE  DODGE  CLUB ;  OB,  ITALY  IN  MDC0CLI3t 


101 


,  light  than  inyil  the  dazzling 
splendor,  the  pofcjip,  and  glory, 
and  majesty  of  the  lioman  tem- 
ple. Beside  jt  rise^  the  Cam- 
panile, as  fair  as  a  dream,  and 
in  appearance  almost  as  un- 
substantial. Not  far  off  is  the 
Baptistery,  with  its  gates  of 
bronze — an  assemblage  of  glory 
which  might  well  suffice  '(ot 
one  city. 

Around  the  piazza  that  in- 
closes these  sacred  buildings 
they  sell  the  best  roasted  chest- 
niits  in  the  world.  Is  it  any 
Wonder  that  Florence  is  so  at- 
^itctivo  ? 

The  Dodge,  Club  obtained 
furnished  npartmenU  in  a  fine 
large  hotel  that  looked  out  on 
th6  l>onte  della  Trinita  and  on 
the  Arno.  Beneath  was  the 
principal  promenade  in  the 
city.  It  was  a  highly  agree- 
able residence. 

No  sooner  had  they  arrived 
than  Buttons  set  out  in  search 
of  the  Spaniards.  Throe  days 
had  been  lost  on  the  road.  He 
was  half  afraid  that  those  three 
d*ys  had  lost  him  the  Span- 
iards altogether.  Three  days  1 
it  was  possible  that  they  had 
jeen  Florence  in  that  time  and 
had  already  left.  '  The  thought 
of  this  made  Buttons  feel  ex- 
*«meTy  nervous.  Hd  spent  the' 
fint  day  in  looking  orer  all  the 


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TH|;  ;pODOE  CLUB  5  OB,  ITALY  IN  MDCCCLIX. 


afternoon  fly  like  lightning.    The  American  "Ea- 
gle waa  never  more  convivial. 

The  Minister  wonld  not  let  him  go.  Ho 
made  him  put  np  at  his  hotel.  He  hod  tlie 
«i(irf«  into  the  highest  Florentine  society.  lie 
wonld  introdace  the  Senator  everywhere.  The 
Senator  wonld  have  an  opportunity  of  secinf; 
Italian  manners  and  customs  such  as  wna  very 
nMj  enjoyed.  The  Senator  was  delighted  at 
the  idea. 

But  Mr.  Fitrgs  and  the  Doctor  began  to  show 
signs  of  wearincsii.  The  former  walked  with 
Dick  through  the  Boboli  gardens  and  confided 
all  his  soul  to  his  young  friend.  What  was  t^ic 
use  of  an  elderly  man  like  him  putting  himself 
to  so  much  trouble  ?  He  had  seen  enough  nf 
Italy.  Ho  didn't  want  to  see  any  more.  He 
would  much  rather  be  safe  at  hcAnc.  Besides, 
the  members  of  the  Club  were  all  going  down 
the  broad  road  that  leadeth  to  ruin.  Buttons 
was  infatuated  about  those  Spaniards.  The 
DocMr  thought  that  he  (Dick)  was  involved  in 
si^me '  mysterions  affair  of  a  similar  nature. 
Lastly,  the  Senatof  was  making  a  plunge  into 
society.  It  was  too  much.  The  ride  over  the 
Apennines  to  Bologna  might  be  iptercsting  for 
two  young  IT  fellows  like  bim  and  Button?,  hnt 
was  unfit  for  an  elderly  ^rson.  Moreover,  ho 
didn't  care  about  going  to  the  seat  of  war.  He 
had  seen  enough  of  fighting.  In  short,  ho  nnd 
the  Doctor  had  made  up  their  minds  to  go  bacl[ 
to  Paris  via  Leghorn  and  Marseiltes. 

Dick    remonstrated,    expostulated,    coaxed. 
But  Mr.  Figgs  was  inflexible. 


hotels  in  the  city.  The  Mcond  in  aeaTching 
through  as  many  of  the  lodging-homes  as  were 
likely  to  be  chosen  by  the  Spaniards.  The  third 
he  spent  in  meandering  diaconsolately  through 
the  caf^s.  Still  there  were  no  signs  of  them. 
Upon  this  Buttons  fell  into  a  profound  melan- 
choly. In  fact  it  was  a  very  hard  case.  There 
seemed  nothing  left  for  him  to  do.  How  could 
he  find  them  out? 

Dick  noticed  the  disqaietnde  of  his  friend, 
and  sympathixed  with  him  deeply.  So  he  lent 
his  aid  and  searched  through  the  city  as  indns- 
trionsly  as  possible.  Yet  in  »pite  of  every  ef- 
fort their  arduous  labors  were  defeated.  So 
Buttons  became  hopeless. 

The  Senator,  however,  had  met  with  friends. 
The  American  MinistetaiKXiirin  happened  at 
that  time  to  be  ijdMW^    ^I'">  ^■^^  Senator 
reooUeeted  a*«iJ^firacquaintance,  and  also  •§ 
~B  tried  coiniwiBloiriir  fm»  ti>rough  many  *  pfc? 
litical  campaign.    The  Minister  received  him 
with  the  most  exnberant  delight.    Dinner,  wine, ' 
feast  of  reason,  flow  of  soul,  interchange  of  latest 
news,  stories  of  recent  adventures  on  both  sides,  I 
laughter,  compliments,  speculations  on  future  j 
futtj  prospects,  made  the  bonrt  of  an  entire  1 


113,J.|.K=S8r      - . 


MTfinM  lllLA>aH)l,T. 


American 'Ea« 


THE  DODGE  CLUBf  OB,  ITALY  IN  WcCLDL 


103 


CHAPTER  XLin. 


WITCHBBT    OF'. A    QUEEN    OP    SOCIETr  -Hl« 
FATE   DESTINED    TO  BE,   AS   HE   TO  "kI  Tt^I 
IAN     COUNTESSES.  -  8ENTIMBNTA  "  CONVERsi" 
TION.  -  POETRY.  -  BEAUTY.  -  M^NUMT  - 
BAPTUBB.-DI8THACTION.-BLI88! 


I^T'"?;-,  P-L^-f  \"'«7*-'''  ^-"♦^''t  .U.C.. 


m  Jh   h  """''!''''"'«?»»   Of  Florentine   society 
miKht  have  led  captive  a  sterner  soul  than  that 
of  the  Senator.     Whether  he  wished  it  or  not! 
he  jvns  overcome.      His  friend,  the  Minister, 
took  hira  to  the  houses  of  the  leaders  of  society 
and  introduced  him  as  an  eminent  American 
statesman  and  moihber  of  the  Senate. 
'  fould  any  recommendation  bo  equal  to  that? 
For,  be  It  remembered,  it  was  the  Revolutionary 
time.     Itepublicanism  ran  high.     America  was 
synonymous  with  the  Promised  Land      To  be  a 
statesman  in  America  was  as  groat  a  dignity  as 
to  be  prince  in  any  empire  on  earth.     Besides. 
It  was  infinitely  more  honored,  for  it  was  popu- 

S™.7^'r?'  "'  ""'  "'"•KSling  people  were 
turned  to  that  country  which  showed  them  an 
example  of  republican  freedom. 

'  -.^'•5  "l?  *"'<"*nti'«»  received  the  Senator 
with  boundless  hospitality,  it  was  because  they 
admired  his  country,  and  reverenced  his  dignity 
They  liked  to  consider  the  presence  of  the 
American  Mmister  and  Senator  as  an  expres- 
sion of  the  good-will  of  the  American  GoCn- 

Tll  .h  .1  ^  -f  ""^  "f^"  '•'"'  diplomatically. 
Ail  that  he  said  was  listened  to  with  the  deep- 
est respect,  which  was  none  the  less  when  they 
<lia  not  compreiiend  a  word.  His  pithv  sen 
toncc,  when  translated  into  Italian,  bicaie  the' 
neatest  epigrams  in  the  world.  His  suggos- 
tions  a.  to  the  host  mode  of  elevating  and  eT 
nching  »ho  country  were  considered  by  one  sot 
«  the  prefoandest  philo«.phy,  and  b/anothc1 
•«  the  keenest  satire.  They  were  determined 
Mioni«,  him  It  was  .  new  «,n«ttion  to  the 
senator  Ho  desired  to  prolong  it.  He  recall 
ed  the  lines  of  the  gpod  Watts : 


"My  willing  iKxil  would  atiiT 
In  auoh  •  frame  u  thb.'* 


He  thought  of  Dr.  Fiinklin  in  Paris,  of  his  «, 
rere  republicanism  amid  the  aristoLtic     fit 

wu  to  that  of  the  august  philosopher ! 

Dtidtot^."i!f'*  '**"?>  '"''*''>  th"  Minister 
ptW  to  the  Senator  added  greatly  to  the  impor- 

STaKT""-,    The  Florentines  rea«.^ed 
d  thi    'Jl"""*'"  *»  »  8»*»  man.     As  a  gen- 


rjil'"'r'"^.P*y'"«*''  WhatwouW 
"^tion  of  an  Englishman  need  to  bo  in 

■Slorf^Vnl**^"j?°°^"''  '^«  British  Em- 
6hlr  n_«  1^:  ie«it»  BeiKe  iKoie  ii 
o«y  one  conclasion.     An  American  SemUor 

rS.*'*  ""  ®"8«*'»  Duke- 
fo^lT  ^'"'"^  """  **•*  'he  masrive 

»Wtht  Arri'cr  •  "^^^  "^'^'-^ 


80 ,  and  that  accounts  for  the  attention  paid  by 
the  American   Embassador.      Ho,  of  course 

Zt^A^-^  «'?'""e«l  in  hi«  office  under  th^ 
next  administration.    After  all,  the  Florentines 

mrr?/"L°'"'''""'*»y-  Amuchwor^ 
man  than  the  Senator  might  be  made  President. 

™  «r  '''^:l  *"{.«="«'««"»  his  name,  or  the 
name  of  ono  like  him,  might  carry  the  votes  of 
some  roaring  convention.    . 

«I^V7  °'  '^^  ^"y'  •''«  So""'"'  ^<^»  the 
subject  of  an  eager  contest  among  all  the  lead- 
ers of  society.  At  length  there  appeared  upon 
«.e  scene  the  great  Victrix  in  a  thousand  cot- 

^.^fifil,  V^u"^-  '*'''«  ""'«"  f«'l  back  dis- 
comfited^ and  the  Senator  became  her  prey. 

The  Countess  di  Nottinero  was  not  exactly  a 

Recamier,  bat  she  was  a  remarkably  brilliant 

woman,  and  the  acknowledged  leader  of  the 

iberal  part  of  Florentine  society.     Of  coun«. 

i^n^r^V^,*""'?""*'*'  P»"J'  ''«'•'  themselveL 
grandly  aloof,  and  knew  nothing  cither  of  her 
or  the  society  to  which  she  belonged 

She  was  generally  known  as  La  Oca,  a  nick- 
name given  by  herenemies,  though  what "  Cica  " 
meant  no  one  could  tell  exactly.  It  was  a  sort 
of  contraction  made  np  from  her  Christian  name. 
Cecilia^  as  some  thought ;  others  thought  it  wai 
the  Italian  word  cica  given  on  account  of  some 
unknown  incident.  At  any  rate,  as  soon  as 
she  made  her  appearance  driving  down  the 
1-ungh  Amo,  with  the  massive  form  of  the 
Senator  ^  her  side,  his  fame  rose , up  to  its 
zenith.  He  became  more  remarked  t(^an  ever, 
and  known  among  nil  classes  as  ^  illustrious 
American  to  whom  belonged  the.  ceftkjnty  of' 
being  next  President  of  the  United  States.' 

Rumor  strengthened  at  it  grew.  Reports 
were  cireulated  which  would  certainly  have 
amazed  the  worthy  Senator  if  he  had  heard 
them  all.     It  was  said  that  he  was  the  special 

Plenipotentiary  Extraordinary  sent  by  the  Ame^ 
loan  Government  as  a  mark  of  their  deep  syni- 
pathy  with  the  Italfln  movement,  and  that  hb 
was  empowered,  at  the  first  appearance  of  a  new 
Government  in  Italy,  to  recognize  it  officially 
as  a  first-class  Power,  and  thus  give  it  the 
mighty  sanction  of  the  United  States 

What  wonder  that  all  eyes  wore  turned  ad- 
miringly  toward  him  wherever  he  went.  Bat 
he  was  too  modest  to  notice  It.  Ho  little  know 
that  he  was  the  chief  object  of  interest  to  every     • 

Yet  it  waa 


His  companions  lost  sight  of  him  for  some 
time.     They  heard  the  conversation  going  on 
ntout  the  sayings  of  the  great  Amcricaife   4k^ 
ula  not  Knnw  at  4\mt  ...i..  :> >    .        .         r 


«"»«d  to  mle. 


m  not  Know  at  first  who  it  was  ;  bat  at  length 

Turil  """"'^  '**  ""'  "'"'■»«'  '*«™ 

La^^  did  her  part  marvellonsly  well.     All 

The  air  nf'..:^ ~  I .  "  T®'*""''  **  ■"'«•.  «Mh<»r8,  political  Phi- 


Listen  to  hi.  Zt,»    ""^.•^'""-   'osopners,  and  beaux  uprit,  of  c 
Listen  to  hu  philo«,phio  con-! lowed  the  example  of  ix.  Cica. 


104  THE  DODGE  CHJB  ;*  OB,  ITALY  IN  MDCtCSCLIX. 

fact  that  by  the  mere  force  of  character,  apart  ]  glance,  her  manner.     Who  can  catch  the  eva- 

"  '  ncscen^  bcanty  of  her  expression  or  the  deep 
tenderness  of  her  well-modulated  voice  ?  Who 
indeed? 

"Does  za  scene  please  you,  my  Senator?" 

•'  Very  lAach  indeed." 

* '  Youar  conntrymcn  haf  tol  me  zey  would  like 
to  stay  here  alloway." 

"  It  is  a  beautiful  place." 

"Didyonaiver  see  any  thin  moairo  loafely?" 
And  the  Countess  looked  full  in  his  face. 

"Never,"  said  the  Senator,  earnestly.  The 
next  instant  heblnshed.  Ho  bad  been  betrnycil 
into  a  compliment. 

The  Countess  sighed. 

"  Helas  I  my  Senator,  that  it  is  not  pnirmittcd 
to  moartals  to  sociate  as  zey  would  Inikc." 

'%^  Your  Senator,'  "  thought  the  gcntlcm.in 
thti(j  addressed ;  "  how  fond,  how  tcndej— poor 
thing|?poor  thing  1" 

"  I  wish  that  Italy  was  nearer  to  the  States," 
said  he. 

"  How  I  adamiar  yonar  style  of  mind,  so  dif- 
fcrente  from  ze  Italiana.  You  are  so  'stronR— 
so  nobilc.  Yet  would  I  laike  to  see  moar  of  zo 
poetic  in  you." 

"I  always  loved  poetry,  marm,",  said  t)ie 
Senator,  desperately,"  » 

"Ah — good — nais — eccelente.     \S^  P'ee' 

at  zat,"  cried  the  Conntcss,  with  mtt«i'fy)iina- 

You  wojJUJhpfe  it  moar  cef  youNincv? 

!S  not  sufficicntcjnusl' 


from  any  adventitious  aids  of  refinement,  the 
Senator  held  his  ofcn  remarkably.  Yet  it  mu^t 
bo  confessed:  that  he  was  at  times  extremely 
puzzled; 

>La  Cica  did  not  speak  the  best  English  in 
the  world ;  yet  that  could  not  account  for  all 
the  singular  remarks  which  she  made.  Still 
less  could  it  account  for  the  tender  interest  of 
her  manner.  She  had  remarkably  bright  eyes. 
Why  wandered  those  eyes  so  often  to  his,  and 
why  did  they  beam  with  such  devotion — beam- 
ing for  a  moment  only  to  fainn  sweet  innocent 
confusion  ?  La  Cica  had  the  most  fascinating 
manners,  yet  they  were  often  perplexing  to  the 
Senator's  soul.  The  little  offices  which  she  re- 
quired of  him  did  not  appear  in  his  matter-of- 
fact  eyes  as  strictly  prudent.  The  innate  gal- 
lantry which  ho  possessed  carried  him  bravely 
along  through  much  that  was  bewildering  to  his 
nerves.  Yet  ho  was  often  in  danger  of  running 
away  in  terror. 

"The  Countess,"  he  tbonglit,  "is  a  most  re- 
markat)lo  fine  woman ;  but  she  does  use  her  eyes 
uncommon,  and  I  do  wish  she  wouldn't  be  quite 
so  demonstrative." 

The  good  Senator  had  never  before  encounter- 
ed a  thorough  woman  of  the  world,  and  was  as 
ignorant  as  a  child  of  the  inonmerable  little 
harmless  arts  by  which  thtf  powerj>f  such  a  one 
is  extended  and  secured.  A.t  last  the  Senator 
came  to  this  conclusion.  La  Cica  was  desper- 
ately in  iQvcwitb  him. 

Sho  appeared  to  be  a  widow.  At  least  she 
had  no  husband  that  he  had  ever  seen ;  and 
therefore,  to' the  Senator's  mind  she  must  be  a 
spinster  or  a  widow.  From  the  general  style  in 
which  she  was  addressed  he  concluded  that  she 
was  the  latter.  Now  if  the  poor  Oca  was  hope- 
lessly in  love,  it  must  be  stopped  at  once.  For 
iio  was  a  niarried  man,  and  his  good  lady  still 
lived,  with  a  very  large  family,  most  of  the  mem- 
bers of  which  had  grown  up. 

Im  Cica  ought  to  know  this.  She  onght  in- 
deed. But  let  the  knowledge  be  given  delicate- 
ly, not  abruptly.  He  confided  his  little  difficulty 
to  his  friend  the  Minister.  The  Minister  only 
laughed  heartily.  ] 

"  But  give  me  your  opinion." 

The  Minister  held  his  sides,  and  laughed  more 
immoderately  than  ever. 
-    "  It's  no  laughing  matter,"  said  the  Senator. 
"  It's  serious.     I  think  you  might  give  an  opin- 
ion." 

But  the  Minister  declined.'  A  broad  grin 
wreathed  his  face  during  all  the  remainder  of 
his  stay  at  Florence.  In  fact,  it  is  said  that  it 
has  remained  there  ever  since. 

The  Senator  felt  indignant,  but  his  coarse 
was   taken.     On   the   following  evening  they 
=T»alked  on  the  bateony  of  foefco'riiobte  resi- 
dence.    She  was  sontiiQental,  devoted,  charm- 
ing. 

The  conversation  of  a  fascinating  woman 
docs  not  look  so  well  when  reported  as  it  is 
when  uttered.     Her  power  is  in  her  tone,  her 


ur«^^Hfec! 
oSannanc< 


Italiano.     Your 
cale  for  poatrjW^ 

"  It  is  not  sq  MTCIangnagc  as  the  /-talion." 

"Ah — no4-not  so  soft.  Very  well.  And 
what  thecnka  ^n  of  ze  Italiano  7" 

"  The  si^test  language  I  ever  heard  in  all 
my  bom  days." 

^  "Ah,  now — you  her  not  heard  much  of  te 
italiano,  my  Senator." 

"I  have  heard  yon  speak  often,"  said  tbo 
Senator,  noively. 

' '  Ah,  you  compliment  I  I  sot  you  was  aboore 
fiattera." 

And  the  Countess  playfully  tapped  his  arm 
with  her  little  fan. 

"  What  Ingelis  poet  do  yon  loafe  best  ?" 

"  Poet  ?  English  poet  ?"  said  the  Senator, 
with  some  surprise.  • '  Oh— why,  marm,  I  think 
Watts  is  about  the  best  of  the  lot !" 

"  Watt  ?  Was  he  a  poet?  I  did  not  know 
zat  He  who  invented  zo  stim-injaino  ?  And 
yet  if  he  was  a  poet  it  is  naturale  zat  you  loafo 
him  best."  , 

"Steam-engine?  Oh  no!  This  one  wan 
minister."  <•  . 

.l^tfAmeeneestaire?    Ah  1  Ml  abbe'?    I  know 
him  not.  Yet  I  haf  read  m(s  of  all  youar  poets." 

"He  made  op  liymna^  inarm,  and  psalmi- 
for  instance:  'Watto'i  0iyino  Hymns  and 
Sjttritual  Song«i^" — -- | ..- 

"  Songs  ?  Spiritnelle  ?  i  Ah,  I  mus  at  once 
procnaire  «e  works  of  Wat^  which  was  fsrorit 
poet  of  mv  Senator." 

"A  lady  of  soph  intelligence  as  yon  wooW 
like  the  poet  Watts,"  sidd  the  Senator,  fl^Dl^ 


.*4,.?a 


HE  DODGE  CLUB;  OR,  ITALY  IN  MDCCCLIX. 


sr  to  the  States," 


aann,",  said  t)ie 


106 


I 


LA  CIOA. 


^' He  is  the  best  known  by  far  of  all  our  pc 


e  Senator,  &nij- 


ets 

"What  ?  better  xan  Sakespeare,  Milton,  Bai 
ron  f    You  much  »urpnis»  me." 
"Better  known  and  better  loved  than  the 

,t  "  i"',,  ^^V'  •"*  P^'^y  •"  known  by  hea 
throush  all  England  and  America  " 

Jn!!!Mf"\"^'*"J  ^hatyou  tell  mo!  ees 
cet  possbll  An  yet  he  is  not  known  here  efen 
by  name     It  would  plees  me  mooch,  my  Sen 

mWattTTn  .«"''"'  """  I""'''*""''-    Know 
you  Watt  ?    1  ell  to  mo  some  words  of  his  which 
I  may  rcmembaire." 
'I  I  have  a  shockinR  bad  memoir." 

thin  rtrri^'.>'?''""y°" "'"'•»»'«"'""«- 
til  n,  IIS  mos  bcaUtful  charm  nait-you  hafa 

noL,  e  jonl-you  mu^bo  affocta  bv  lianty-br 

.e  .deji.    Make  for  a  mo  one  quototione."     ^ 

11ll!^'".*^uL**  ""'"  '>""''  «"*'*he  Sena. 
*^  and  looked  np  imploringly  in  his  face. 

moiJl^T'  ''«''«'\f°°'»»'-  Ho  felt  even 
•M  look  ghowing  a  tender  interest  in  him 


You  whi  not  let  me  refuse  you  any  thing." 

Aha  f  yo,  ara  vera  willln  to  refuse.     It  is 

difficulty  for  9,e   to  excitare  youar  reirards 

^ou  are  fill  with  the  grands  ideL.     nllZte 

Wa«  ?^°"  «pik  for>e  some  f.x,m  your  tZZ 

"Well   if  yon  wish  it  so  much,"  said  the 
Senator,  kindly,  and  he  htesitatcd. 
"  Ah — I  do  wis  it  so  mudi '" 
"Eheml" 

LreTforava  r  ''"'^""'  ""'  ^'''  '^^'^ 

The  only  thing  that  the  Senator  conW  think 

Of  was  ,1.0  verse  which  bad  been  running  i„  |^ 

head  for  ho  last  few  days,  iu  measured  rhythm 

keepinR  time  with  every  occupation  :  ' 

' '  My  willing  soul  would  stay—' "  / 

'iStop  one^Bonwat,"  Mid  timXkmntvmt.    *^^ 

woesh  to    earn  it  from  you  j"  and  she  looked 

£  eyes.  ''"'^  "P"  *""  '"""""y  «'"'PP«^ 

'"Ma  williha  sol  woodft  ata— ^  " 

Senator.'"""  '  '"'■'""'  "  •^"'  P'°'»P'''«»  "'° 


/ 


•\i: 


loe 

'* '  £en  gocha  frtiinas  zees 
inn  sol  wooda  sta  in  socha  fi 
npproprint !  but  could  I  hope 
to  rose  lines,  my  Senator?    \ 

<' '  And  sit  and  sing  liersc 
Senator,  in  a  faltering  voio 
into  a  cold  perapiration  f< 


THE  DOIKftE  CLUB;  OR,  ITALY  IN  MDCCCLtX. 


'^ait— •  Ma  will- 
lees.'  Ah, 
(at  yon  were  true 
ell  ?" 

away,' "  said  the 
and  breaking  out 
fear  of  commit' 


ting  himself  by  such  uncommonly  strong  lan- 

gnngc-  f 

"  '  Ansit  ansin  hassaf  awai,'  "  repeated  the 
Conntess,  her  face  lighting  np  with  a  sweetly 
conscious  expression. 
The  Senator  paused. 
"WeJl?" 

««I— ehemt     I  forget." 
"Forget?    Impossible!'' 
"  I  do  really." 

"Ah  now!  Forget?  I  see  by  youar  face— 
you  dcsnve.     Say  on." 

The  Conntess  again  gently  touched  bis  arm 
with  both  of  her  little  hands,  and  held  it  as 
though  she  would  clasp  it. 

"  Have  30U  fear ?    Ah,  cruel !"  1 

The  Senator  turned  pale,  but  finding  refusal 
impossible, boldly  finished: 

"  '  To  everlasting  bliss ' — there !" 
"'To  affarlastin  blees  thar.'    Stop.     I  re- 
peat it  all :  '  My  williua  sol  wooda  sta  in  socha 
framas  tees,  ansit  ansin  hassaf  awai  to  affitrlastin 
blees  thar.'    Am  I  right?" 

"Yes,"  said  the  %snator,  meekly.  • 
"I  knew  you  war  a  poetic  sole,"  said  th* 
Countess,  confidingly.  "You  air  honesto— 
true— you  can  not  desave.  When  you  spik  I 
can  beliv  you.  Ah,  my  Senator  I  an  you  can 
spik  lis  poetry!— at  soch  a  toimo  1  I  nefare 
knew  befoare  zat  you  was  so  impassione !— an 
you  air  so  artaful !  You  breeng  te  confersa- 
zione  to  beauty— to  poatrj- — to  ze  poet  Watt— 
so  you  may  spik  verses  mos  impassione  I  Ah ! 
what  do  you  mean?  Santissima  madro!  how 
I  wish  yon  spik  Italiano." 

The  Countess  drew  nearer  to  him,  but  her 
approach  only  deepened  his  perplexity. 

"  How  that  poor  thing  does  love  n^p !"  sighed 
the  Senator.  "Law  bless  it!  she  can't  help 
it  —  can't  help  it  nohow.  She  is  a  goner; 
and  what  can  I  do?  I'll  have  to  leave  Flor- 
ence.  Oh,  why  did  I  quit  Buttons!  Oh, 
why—" 

■The  Countess  was  standing  close  beside  him 
in  a  tender  mood  waiting  for  him  to  break  tlio 
silence.  How  could  ho?  Ho  had  been  utter- 
ing words  wliich  sounded  to  hor  like  love  ;  nn4 
phe — "  a  widow !  a  widow  !  wretched  man  that 
lam!" 

There  was  a  pause.  The  longer  it  lasted 
the  more  awkward  the  Senator  felt.  What 
upon  earth  was  he  to  do  or  say?  What  busi- 
Tioss  had  he  to  go  and  qaote  poet0  ta  widows? 
What  an  old  fool  he  must  bo  I  But  the  Count- 
ess was  very  far  from  feeling  awkward.  As- 
suming an  elegant  attitude  she  looked  up,  her 
face  expressing  the  tenderest  solicitude. 
"  What  ails  my  Senator  ?" 
"Why  the  fact  is,  marm— I  feel  sad— at 


leaving  Florence.  1  must  go  shortly.  My  wife 
has  written  snmmoning  me  home.  The  chil- 
drtJiJ  iire  down  with  the  measles." 

Oh,  base  fabrication  I  Oh,  falsQ  Senator '. 
Thoi«  wasn't  a  word  of  truth  in  that  remark. 
Yoa  spoke  so-tjecai^  yon  wished  La  Cir.a  to 
know  .^hat  you  had  a  wife  and  family.  Yet  it 
was  very  ba^y  done. 

La  Clca  changed  neither  her  attitude  nor  hor 
expiessioit  Evidently  the  existence  of  his 
wife,  and  the  melancholy  situation  of  his  un\ 
fortunate  children,  awaked  no  sympathy. 

""But,  my  Senator — did  you  not  sny  you 
wooda  seeng  yousollef  away  to  .ttffarlnstctn 
bclccs  ?'• 

"  Oh,  marm,  it  was  a  quotation-H)nly  a  quo- 
tation." 

But  at  this  critical  juncture  the  conversation 
was  broken  up  by  the  arrival  of  a  number  of 
ladies  and  gentlemen. 

But  could  the  Senator  have  known  ! 
Could  he  but  have  known  how  and  where 
thoss  words  would  confront  him  again  ! 


CHAPTER  XLIV. 

"  MOBERB  niAOORA,  HON  ENIM  IN  CIKLUM  AD- 
8CEN8UBU8  E8."— THE  APOTHEOSIS  OF  THE  SEN- 
ATOR (NOTHING  LE8»— IT  WAS  A  MOMENT  IN 
WHICH  A  MAN  MIGHT  WISH  TO  DIB— THOIOU, 
or  C0CB8E,  THE  8ENATOB  DIDM'T  DIE). 

Strollino  through  the  streets  day  by  dnr 
Buttons  and  Dick  beheld  the  triumph  of  tlio 
Senator.  They  gazed  on  it  from  afar,  and  in 
amazement  saw  their  old  companion  suddenly 
lifted  up  to  a  position  which  they  could  rot 
hope  to  gain.  The  companion  of  nobles— the 
associate  of  btayx  et/triu — the  friend  of  the 
wealthy,  the  great,  and  the  proud  ;  what  in  the 
worid  was  the  causd  of  this  sudden,  this  unpsr- 
alleled  leap  forward  to  the  very  highest  point 
of  honor  ?  Who,  in  the  name  of  goodness,  wni 
that  dashing  woman  with  whom  he  was  alwsjj 
driving  about?  Who  wore  those  fair  ladies 
with  whom  he  was  forever  promenading  ?  I'lain- 
ly  the  chief  people  of  the  land ;  but  how  the  m\t- 
chief  did  he  get  among  them"^?  They  were  be- 
wildered even  though  the  half  of  the  truth  Iwd 
not  begun  to  dawn  upon  their  minds.  Ther 
never  saw  him  to  ask  h{n%  about  it,  and  for 
some  time  only  looked  upon  him  from  a  di^ 
tanoe. 

"  Do  yon  give  it  up  ?"  asked  Buttons. 

"Igiv«itnp." 

"  And  I  too." 

"At  any  rate  the  United  States  might  hsre 
many  a  worse  representative." 

"Bat  I  wonder  how  he  can  get  along.  Ho» 
can  he  manage  to  hold  his  own  among  tfiairw 
fined,  over-cultivated,  fastidious  Florentines; 

"  Qoodnes*  knows !"  .      ^„ 

"  A  common  school  Now  England  edncsttra 
can  acarcely  fit  a  man  for  interconrso  with  pol- 
ished ItalUns.    the  fhiiilto  hills  of  New  Ilaiup- 


THE  DODGE  CLUB ,  OH,  ITALY  IN  MDCCCLDC 


»tu  iniglit  ban 


•hire- hare  never  been  famoos  for  prodacinR 
men  ofTilgh  breeding.  That  ia  not  their  tv^ 
cialty.'i  *^ 


107 


n",™^' rifr! '"^"1'=''?.°°'  "P^k  a   France^il 


Bingle  word  of  any  language  but  hi«  own." 

'•  And  frequently  fails  in  that."  • 

"He  hasn't  the  remotest  glimmering  of  an 
idea  about  Art." 

"  Not  of  the  Fine  Arts,  but  in  the  useful  arts 
Le  IS  immense." 

"lie  looks  upon  Italy  as  he  would  upon  a 


ing  together  into  one  deafening  roar,  and  risine 
on  high  like  tWp  thunder  of  n  cataract : 

"Vittoria!"-<'Vittoriftl"  "Cavrianal"  "li 


.  "Viva  I'ltalia!"  "Viva  Vittorrt 
i!.mmannelol  ilnostroBc!"  "  Viva!""  Viva!  'r 
"Viva  !  I  !"  *  '/ 

Words  like  these  rose  all  around,  mingl^ 
with  thousands  of  similar  exclamations.  -At 
length  there  was  distinguished  one  liiord.  I  It 
was  passed  from  man  to  man,  more  frequently 
uttered,  gathering  as  it  passed,  adding  nc\i  vol- 


field  of  stuftips^a  place  to  be  cleared  ZLn    ""*'«"'' B^l'Tne  ^  "  P^sed,  addin 

np,  bK.ughTSnder  'c.ltLl^  aKde  pi^  i  ITm^Z^.  ""J"  "-r"""^  ^'""^•'' ''» 
ductive."  '  ""^  I  "'  '"*'  *"  <'»'>or  words  were  drowned  in  tljat  one 

grand  word,  which  to  this  rejoicing  mijltitude 


was  the  lyre  of  glorious  victory,  the  promise  of 
endless  triumphs  for  regenerated  Italy  t 

"SoLFEBtNOl"  .  ' 


ductive." 

"Yes,  productivB  in  cotton  factories  and  Yan- 
kee notions." 

"  What  in  the  world  can  keep  up  his  reputa- 
tion among  the  most  poetic  and  least  utiUtari- 
an  people  in  the  world?" 

"There's  the  mystery  I" 

"The  beauty  of  it  is  he  goes  as  much  witli 
the  English  as  with  the  Italians.  Can  he  keep 
nphis  vernacular  among  them  and  siill  preser>e 
the  charm?"- 

"  Well,  whatever  is  the  secret,  I  glory  in  it  I 
believe  in  him.     He  is  a  man.'   A  more  nol  I 
i^e-hearted,  sincere,  upright,  guileless  soul  nov- 
cit  lived.     Besides,  ho  knows  thoroughly  what 
ha  has  gone  over." 

He  is  as  generoM  a  soul  as  ever  lived  "      I 
Yes,  a  stiff  utilitarian  in  theory,  but  in ' 
prad^ice  an  impulsive  sentimentalist."  i 

To  would  legislate  according  to  the  most ' 
narroV  and  selfish  principles,  but  would  lav 
down  bis  life  for  his  friend." 
"  TMnk  of  him  at  Perugia  !" 
"  Yc^i  (he  man  himself  with  his  brave  soul 
«nd  invincible  courage.    Didn't  he  fight  ?    Me- 
thinks  he  did  1"  /  „  ,,  ...  .     ,„    _. 

toward  the  pSazio  Vecchio      Tl^ev   nnH^S     T^  Tedeschx  had  summoned  all  their  ener- 

that  the  busy  .trreMhX^h  "hicf  tVpS  '  SLrhtS"'  '''T'^  '""^'-^ '  '"''^  "'« 
WM  filled  with  an  nnnsnal  mukitiHl«  wh^^  I    •  ^  "*"'^.  *''""''  '^~™  "^y"""!  'he  niount- 

dl  agitated  with  one  gjrerSJidprofo^^^^^^^  •"'""r^  ho- »he  allied  ar- 

cltement,  and  were  .11  hur^i^K  1^0^  di«o  ^  TnTiiL.     "f*^  ."P?  **"''''  ""»*''^«  '=°'«^'« 

Uon.   The  sight  .wakenedTelKreT  They  !  th"e\Sfrr.^r.i^lVlirth''°r"'r  """'' 
went  on  with  the  stroam.    At  overv  .t.n  ih„  \  .  il  ^^  '  '"  "'  '*"  *•"*  P'"">  f*"  ""any 

cwwd  incit«.ed.     At  evw  stwet  nX  th^n     '  ^  ^l  ^^  t"""'''^  """^  *'"'  ^""""^"^  "nd  'he 
poarcd  in  to  join  the  v^mu  t^Jo  ^  I  f^X  ^7  V'"'  T""**  "^  "S"'  '^«'«  "^'^ded 

Confa«Hl  mumnr.  S»"n to  the  kir  H«t.  T?  •"*'  I"  the  glorious  vengeance  of  that  dny 
w<mb  p...*!  IW«n  mTth  S  mouh  K  1?'''  ''°*  7i"»"7  hovered  over  the  invineT 
^  -ni^elligiWe.     TheJ  S^mlX  Zal  »-.-?""!"- "f ''"> '  '""'  ""^  ^edeschi  fled, 


SOLTKniMOl 


«(.k  1.    1.  — " '    wuiu   ouiy   oisui 

mh  broken  sentencet-words  unknown— Cav. 
rtana  -  Mlncio  -  TedMchi-Napolcone-8pi* 
dlttlia.  What  wa.  It  .11  about?  They  could 
l-fu  "I"  ^'^''"''y  wme  mighty  national 
moi  had  occnrred,  wWeb  w«i  of  ovm-whelra. 
iV  imporunce.  For  the  entire  city  had  turned 
«Mnd  now,  as  they  enter«d  the  great  square 
itrH'^  *'  ^"""^  ^'~''**»'  •»  "'on««hinB 


routed,  over  the  river,  no  man  to  cross  it  as 
masters ;  how  the  hopes  of  Italy  arose  immortal 
from  that  one  day's  terrific  slanghtcrt.how  Lib- 
erty was  now  forever  sccnred,  and  3  Kingdom 
of  Italy  under  an  Italian  King. 


^varrtalla!'-    .rvi,.a  E^Igl  NaiwieoWr 

n*  ^.r^'**  '       "  Viva  JUtore  Emmann. 
ele,  Bed'Italia!"  ^'^^ 

•l«ht  bnnt  n'p;;  "SSTriir"  A  ^rZllS '  i  '"  8^1  moment,  of  popular  4citement  pec 
«W  the  -q^rero^kwit  S'S  i^lt  "a?d?he  V'  '""""'';.  '^'^  '^ 
"^    8ho«u  of  .  tbo«.„d  kind.  11 1.1«d"  ^l:  'WtJl'lre.'"""  '"'"  '"^  "*'". 


V-       ^ 


THE  d6DGE  CLUB;  OB,  ITALY  IN  MDCCCLIX. 


TDK  SKNATOIt  SI'E.VKB, 


Buttons  and  Dick  clambered  np  to  the  recess 
of  a  window  and  contemplated  the  scene. 
There  was  the  innumerable  crowd;  swaying, 
embracing,  laughing,  weeping,  ^houting,  cheer- 
ing. High  in  the  air  waved  hundreds  of  ban- 
ners ;  and  the  tri-color  flaunted  in  ribbons  from 
thousands  of  breasts,  or  shone  in  rosettes,  or 
gleamed  in  flowers.  Ever  and  anon  loud  tram- 
pet  blasts  arose  triumphantly  on  high  ;  in  the 
distance  Tictorioni  strains  came  swelling  np 
from  bands  hurried  there  to  express  in  thrilling 
music  what  words  could  never  utter ;  while  nil 
around  the  whole  air  rang  with  the  thunder  of 
cannon  that  saluted  the  triumph  of  Solferino. 

"  Look  there  !     Look  !     Look  ! "  cried  Dick. 

He  pointed  to  the  large  ptfrtico  which  is  on 
the  right  of  the  Palazzo  Vecchio.  Buttons  look- 
ed as  he  was  directed. 

He  saw  a  great  assentblage  of  ladies  and  gen- 
tlemen, the  chief  people  of  the  Tuscan  state. 
From  this  place  those  announcements  had  been 
made  which  had  ?et  the  people  wild  ^yith  joy. 
There  were  beantiful  ladies  whose  flaiHied  faces 
and  suffused  eyes  bore  witrtess  to  their  deep 
t^re  were  noble  gentlemen  whose 
arms  still  wated  in  the  air  as  they  cheered  for 
Italy.  And  there,  high  above  all  others,  rose 
a  familiar  fignre— the  massive  shoulders,  the 
calm,  shriswd,  sqiMre  face,  the  benighnnt  glance 
ind  smile,  which  could  belong  only  to  one  per- 
•on. 


"  The  Senator .'"  cried  Buttons. 

Every  body  was  looking  in  that  direction. 
The  impulsive  crowd  having  celebrated  abstract 
ideas,  were  now  absolutely  hungering  for  some 
tangible  object  upon  which  to  expend  some- 
thing  of  the  warmth  of  their  feelings.  A  few 
who  stood  near  the  Senator  and  were  impressed 
by  his  aspect,  as  soon  as  all  the  news  had  been 
made  known,  gave  expression  and  direction  to 
the  feeling  by  shouting  his  name.  As  they 
shouted  others  took  np  the  cry,  louder,  louder, 
and  louder  still,  till  hu  nam^  burst  forth  in  one 
sublime  sound  from  thirty  thdnsand  lips. 

No  wonder  that  he  started  at  such  an  appesl. 
He  tamed  and  looked  upon  the  crowd.  An 
ordinary  man  would  have  exhibited  either  con- 
fusion or  wT)nder.  The  Senator,  being  an  ex- 
tniordinary  man,  exhibited  neither.  As  he  turn- 
ed A  vast  roar  burst  from  the  multitude. 

"  Good  Heavens !"  cried  Buttons ;  "  what's  in 
the  wind  now?  Will  this  be  a  repetition  of 
the  scene  in  the  Place  Vendome  ?" 

"Hush  I" 

The  crowd  saw  before  them  the  man  whoso 
name  and  fame  hod  been  the  subject  of  conjoct^ 
ure,  wonder,  applause,  and  hope  for  many  dayi 
They  beheld  in  him  the  Representative  of  » 
mighty  nation,  sent  to  give  them  the  right  bind 
of  fellowship,  and  welcome  their  country  among 
the  great  powers  of  the  earth.  In  him  they 
■aw  the  embodiment  of  AmariMl 

\ 


THE  PODGE  CLUB;  OB,  ITALY  IN  MDCCCLIX 


"  Viva  r  bum  through  the  air.  "TheAmer- 
fca.|EmtaMador !"  "  Hurrah  ^the  Araeri<wi 
Embj,Mad<ir  ••  «  The  PlenipotiSh^ry  Extn^L 
:,'??^  i  iV  ^  "P™*"  '^  cro*^  ourViamph  i" 

*'  Hl|>rrnUrX«ii     Mi,^.:^  in        i,  »,  "^^ 

anej 

'  ■  'f'™**"  •■  •     "^hirfs  the  time  1 "    '^o 
I"     "Silencer    "ke 


loo 


aly 

will 
rises 
lenco 


'Lor 
'Listen 


Jooks  at  usl" 


le  Most  Illastrioo*  Pien- 


ipotentiarjr  Extrao 

ICASPBAKSl"  1/ 

Such  shouts  ana 'Exclamations  as  4e»e  burst 
Wrth,  with  many  others  to  the  same  effect  The 
trowd  in  front  of  the  portico  when*  the  Senator 
stood  were  almost  uncontfiillabl^  in  their  ex- 
dtement.  The  Senator  rose  to  the  greatness 
of  the  occasion..  Here  was  a  eHance  to  speak- 
to  utter  forth  the  deep  sympathy  of  his  country- 
Ben  with  every  down-trodd^n  people  strivinR 
for  freedom.  He  turned  to/ace  them  and  held 
out  his  hand  At  once  the  immense  assem- 
bkfce  was  hushed  toeilen^e. 

j;7il'°  ,^*"'''°'"  took  off  hi»  hat.     Never  before 
didJie  look  as  he  looked  bow.    The  gnmdour 
of  the  occasion  had  sublimed  his  usually  nicced  I 
features  into  majesty.     Ho  looked  like  tho'in-  ' 
.  carnation  of  a  strong,  vigorous,  invincible  peo- 
ple. I 
The  Senator  spok* : 
"  Men  of  Italj-  f  » 
"In  the  name  of  ther Great  Republic!— I 
congratulate  yon  on^  this  glorious  victory '     It 
a  a  triumph  of  Liberty  l-^f  the  principles  of 
76!-of  the  immortal   idees!— for  which  our 
forefathers  fought  and  died  I— at  Lexington  • 
-at  Bunker  Hill!-«nd  at  a  thousand  other 
places  m  the  great  and  glorious  Revolution  I" 

The  Senator  pansed.  This  was  enough.  It 
iMd  been  spoken  in  English.  The  Italians  did 
not  of  course  understand  a  word,  yet  they  com- 
prehended  all  his  meaning.  As  he  paused  there 
bant  forth  a  shont  of  joy  such  as  is  heanl  only 
once  in  ahfa-time ;  shout  upon  shont.  The  long 
peals  of  sound  rose  up  and  spread  far  away  over 
the  city.  The  vast  crowd  vibrated  like  one  man 
to  the  impulse  of  the  common  enthnsiasm. 

It  was  too  great  to  Ust  They  rushed  to  the 
carnage  of  Za  Cica,  They  unharnessed  the 
horses.  They  led  thtf  Senator  to  it  and  made 
him  enter.  They  flung  their  tri-colors  in.  Thevl 
ftrew  flowen  on  his  lap.  They  wound  the  flag  ' 
ofltdyaroundthecarriage.  A thonsand marched 
^r*  J^*"""*"*^'  """*  '~'"'«l  '«'We  and 
nmnfc  ■   7^"^.''""'  '»''"  "P  *o  hi.  kotel  in  tri- 

oT'Cke:''?£Sir'*'''*''''*'''""«'''^" 
e^'^^st  •*  "'^'^.""'  ^  "ndw  J-'tice  to  Tax 
Ei  W  ILi^L**"''  ""l^'wWy.  Her 
^^ng  lace,  ud^loatront -eyes,  and  heaving 
h«om^  and  majestic  air,  showed  that  .h«  J. 
P^ted  to  her«,If  all  the  honor  thus  lavished 
2«  est         **"■•    '' ""  ■  P""**  moortnt  for 


"Well?" 

"  How  do  you  feel  now  ?" 
"Obliterated.     I  do  not  exist     I  was  once 

"  Who  could  have  imagined  this  ?" 
"And  how  he  bore  it!    The  Senator  is  a 
great  mam     But  come.     Don't  let  us  speak 

herenll  °"'       *"  '"*  '^^  "°""°  ^  '""'  '^ 
From  patriotic  motives  the  two  young  men 
walked  behind  the  Senator's  carriage  and  cheer- 
ed all  the  way. 

Upon  arriving  at  their  lodgings  in  the  even- 
ing they  stationed  themselves  at  the  window 
and  looked  out  upon  the  illuminated  scene, 
i^ick,  finding  his  emotions  too  strong  to-be  re- 
strained, took  his  trombone  and  entertained  a 
great  crowd  for  boars  with  all  the  naUonal  airs 
that  be  knew. 


CHAPTER  isCLV. 


THE    PRIVATE   OPINION   OP   THE   DOCTOH    ABOUT 

I  is?i™r''-"""°''«""-''»'««'«°™ 

!  "  The  ItaliMis,  or  at  any  rate  the  people  of 
iJlorence  have  just  about  as  mach  cuteness  as 
.vou  Will  find  anywhere." 

Such  was  the  dictum  of  the  Senator  in  a  con- 
yersation  with  his  companions  after  rejoinine 
them  at  the  hotel.  They  had  much,4  ask  • 
he,  much  to  tell.  Never  had  he  Jfe  mor^ 
critical,  more  approbative.  He  feinS^.that 
he  thoroughly  understood  the  ItalianTiSfetion 
and  expressed  himself  in  accoitlance  with  tliis 
consciousness. 

"Nothing  does  a  feller  so  much  good,"  said 
he,  as  mixing  in  all  grades  of  society.  It 
won  t  ever  do  to  confine  our  observation  to  th« 
lower  classes.  We  mast  mingle  with  the  upper- 
crust,  who  are  the  leaders  of  the  people  " 

'•Unfortunately,"  said  Buttons,  "we  are  not 
all  Senators,  so  we  have  to  do  the  best  wo  can 
with  our  limited  opportunities." 

They  had  been  in  Florence  long  enough,  and 
now  the  general  desire  was  to  go  on.  Mr.Fi«ni 
and  the  Doctor  had  greatly  surprised  the  Senator 
by  informing  him  that  they  did  not  intend  to  go 
any  farther. 
I      And  why  not? 

.. l^f'  '^l^  "^  "^  ^^"  »•»<»  Mr.  Figgs, 
"the  discomforts  of  travel  are  altogether^ 
great  It  would  not  bo  so  bad  in  the  *inter, 
bat  think  how  horribly  hot  it  is.     What  is  m» 

S't"'  /'•;'  "^"  *""  ''""'J'  'uffocaling. 
Think  how  fet  I  am.  Even  if  I  had  the  en- 
thnsiasm of  Dick,  or  the  fun  of  Buttons,  my  fat 
would  force  me  to  leave.  Can  you  rretgnd  tn, 
Jw  a  Mend  of  mine  and  stiU  urge  me  to  go  for. 
ther  ?  And  suppose  we  passed  over  into  the  Aaa. 

f^V^T^A  i'";"!*!* "0 »i8««t be nnmolest. 
ed.  but  it  IS  doubtful.  Suppo«j,  for  the  sako 
of  alignment,  that  we  were  arrested  and  d»> 
tained.  Imagine  as— imagine  me— shut  np  in 
a  room- or  wono,  a  coll-in  the  month  of  Julyj 


.(i^  •:^^. 


up  ' 


THE  DOIJGE  CLUB;  OB,  ITALY  IN  MDCCCLDC. 


X  QUASI  aroT. 


In  midsummer,  in  tlie  hottest  part  of  this  bnrn- 
ing  fiery  furnoce  of  a  country !  What  would 
be  left  of  me  at  the  end  of  a  week,  or  at  the 
end  of  even  one  day?  What?  A  grease 
spot!     A  grease  spot!     Not  a  bit  more,  by 

JinRo!" 

After  this  speech,  which  was  for  him  one  of 

extraordinary  length  and  vigor,  Mr.  Figgs  fell 
exhausted  into  his  chair. 

"  But  you.  Doctor,"  said  the  Senator,  seeing 
that  Mr.  Figgs  iwas  beyond  the  reach  of  persua- 
sion—"you — what  reason  is  there  for  you  to 
leave?  Yon  are  young,  strong,  and  certainly 
not  fat." 

"  No,  thank  heaven  1  it  is  not  the  heat,  or 
the  fear  of  being  suffocated  in  an  Austrian  dun- 
geon, that  influences  me." 
"  What,  then,  is  the  reason  ?" 
"These  confounded  disturbances,^'  said  the 
Doctor  languidly. 
,   "Disturbances?" 

"Yes.  I  hear  that  the  road  between  this 
and  Bologna  swarms  with  vagabonds.  Several 
diligences  have  been  robbed.  I  heard  a  story 
which  shows  this  state  of  things.  A  band  of 
men  entered  the  theatre  of  a  small  town  along 
the  road  while  the  inhabitants  were  witnessing 
the  play.  At  first  the  spectators  thought  it  was 
lleff  of  the  performance.  They  wore  soon  un- 
deceived. The  men  drew  up  in  line  in  front  of 
the  stage  and  levelled  their  pieces.  Then  fasten- 
ing the  doors,  they  sent  a  number  of  men  around 
through  the  house  to  plunder  the  whole  audience. 
Not  content  with  this  they  made  the  authorities 
of  the  town  pay  a  heavy  ranioi|)." 

V 

J* 


"  Some  one  has  been  humbugging  you.  Doc- 
tor," said  Buttons. 

"I  had  it  from  good  authority,"  said  the 
Doctor,  calmly.  "  These  fellows  call  them- 
selves Itevolutionists,  and  the  peasantry  sympa- 
thize with  them," 

"  Well,  if  we  meet  with  them  there  will  bo  a 
little  additional  excitement." 

"  Yes,  and  the  loss  of  our  watches  and  mon- 
ey." 

"  We  can  carry  our  money  where  they  won't 
find  it,  and  our  bills  of  exchange  are  all  right, 
you  know."  ^  ^ 

'« I  think  none  of  you  will  accuse  me  of  wa^t 
of  courage.  If  I  met  these  fellows  you  know 
v4i(y  well  that  I  would  go  in  for  fighting  them. 
.BtiWhat  I  do  object  to  is  the  infernal  bother  of 
l)cing  stopped,  detained,  or  perhaps  sent  back. 
Then  if  ony  of  us  got  wounded  we  would  be  laid 
up  for  a.  month  or  so.  That's  what  I  object  to. 
If  I  had  to  do  it  it  would  be  diflTcrent,  but  I  sett 
no  necessity."  ',    ' 

"  Yon  surely  want  to  see  Lombardy  ?" 
"  No,  I  don't." 
"Not  Bologna?" 
"No."  '.     ■■>'■■ 

"Fen»ra?"       "^   - 
"No."  '  / 

"  Do  yon  mean  to  sny  that  you  don't  want  to 
see  Venice  and  Milan  ?" 

"  Haven't  the  repiotest  desire  to  see  either 
of  the  places.  I  merely  wish  to  get  back  again 
to  Paris.  It's  about  the  best  place  I've  seen  yet, 
except,  of  course,  my  native  city,  Philadelphia. 
That  I  think  is  without  an  equal.  However, 
our  minds  are  made  up.  Wo  don't  wish  to 
change  your  plans — in  fact,  we  never  thought  it 
possible.  We  are  going  to  take  the  steamer  at 
Leghorn  for  Marseilles,  and  go  on  to  Paris." 

"Well,  Doctor,"  said  Dick,  "  will  you  ^o  me 
one  favor  before  you  go  ?" 

"With  pleasure.  What  is  it  ?" 
"  Sell  me  your  pistol." 
"  I  can't  $ea  it,"  said  the  Doctor.  "  It  w«j 
a  present  to  me.  But  I  will  be  happy  to  lend 
it  to  you  till  wo  meet  again  in  Paris.  We  will 
be  suw  to  meet  there  in  a  couple  of  months  at 
the  furthest." 

The  Doctol'  took  out  his  pistol  and  handed 
it  to  Dick,  who  thankfully  received  it 

"  Oh,  Buttons,"  said  the  Senator,  suddenly, 
"  I  have  good  news  for  you.  I  ought  to  have 
told  you  before." 

"Good  news?  what?" 
"  I  saw  the  Spaniards." 
"The  Spaniards r  cried  Buttons,  eagerly, 
Btartiiig    up.     "Where  did  you  see  themJ 
When  ?     Where  are  they  ?    I  lia«  scoured  the 
whole  town." 

"I  saw  them  lit »  very  crowded  aijcm^y at 

the  Countess's.     There  was  such  a  scronj^ng 

that  I  could  not  get  near  them.     Thethr«ewe« 

there.     The  liule  Don  and  his  two  sisteri." 

"And   don't   you   know  arty  thing  abont 

them?"  .     ,^ 

"  Not  a  hooter,  except  something  that  t^ , 


ng  you,  Docv. 


bes  and  tnon- 


don't  want  to 


THE  DODO#C1011,  OB,  ITilT  IN  BDCCCUX 


Conntcss  told  me.      ^.^  ,,,„^ 

were  staying  nt  the  villa  of  a  "friend  of  hers  " 

.  'n^  ^"^»^^     Oh,  confound   it  all!     What 
snail  I  do? 

"Tho  villa  is  out  of  town." 

"That's  tho  reason  why  I  never  could  see 
them.     Confound  it  all,  what  shall  I  do?" 

'•  Buttons,"  said  the  Senator,  Rravely,  "  I  am 
truly  sorry  to  *co  a  young  nran  like  you  sQ.in. 


m  disguise;  who  knows?  And  why  wiiryou 
put  yourself  to  grief  about  a  little  black-eyed 
gal  that  don  t  know  a  word  of  English?  Be- 
lovo  me  Now  England  is  wide,  and  has  ten 
thousand  better  gals  than  ever  she  began  to  bo 

In/f".M    i*^"  r.  ''"^'"'"  •"'  y°»  ««='  homo 
«d  amn!""         "  ^'"■""""'  "  ^^P"''"««". 
But  the  Senator's  words  had  no  cflfect.     But- 
tons sat  for  a  few  moments  lost  in  thought      At 
length  he  rose  and  quietly  left  the  room      It 
was  about  nine  in  the  morning  when  ho  left 
It  was  about  nine  in  tho  evening  when  he  re- 
turned      IIo   looked^  dusty,  fatigued,  fagged 
and  dejected.     He  had  a  long  stoPy  to  tellfand 
was  qu.to  communicative.     Tho  substance  of 
It  was  this:  On  leavingotho  hotel  ho  had  gone ' 
at  once  to  Z«  Cica's  itisidence,  and  had  re- 
quested permission  to  see  her.     He  could  not 
till  twelve.     Ho  wandered  about   and  ftillcd 
again  at  that  hour.     She  was  very  amiable, 
especially  on  learning  that  he  was  a  friend  of 
tho  bcnator,  after  whom  she  asked  with  deep  i,,- 
tcrcst.     Nothing  could   exceed   her  affivbility  | 


iards  They  wero  stopping;  at  the  villa  of  « 
certain  friend  of  hefs  wbomihe  named.  It  w„! 
ten  miles  from  the  city.  The  friend  had 
brought  them  t«  tho  assembly.  It  was  but  for 
a  moment  that  she  had  seen  them.     She  wished 

them  "^h  /'"'  '^''J"^  ^'^""^  '»°™  "bo-t 
them.     She  trusted  that  ho  would  succeed  in 

his  earnest  search.  She  should  think  that  they 
might  sun  bo  in  Fl*ence,and  if  ho  w'nt  o„^- 
V  sU°L^  VI  «"8l't J-eo  them.  Was  this  his  fimt 
visit  to  Florence?  How  perfectly  ho  had  tho 
Tuscan  accent;  and  wlftr'hnd  ho  not  aceom^ 
CI  '"'',/"«»'^  ">«  *nator  to  her  salon? 
But  It  would  bo  impSssible  to  repeat  all  that  La 
Cica  said.  . 

Buttons  Weflt  out  to  the  villa  at  onco;  but 
o  Ins  extreme  disgust  found  that  tho  Spaniards 
iiad  left  on  the  preceding  day  for  Bologna.  He 
drove  about  the  country  for  some  llistance,  rest- 
cd  his  horses,  and  took  »  long  walk,  afier  which 
ho  returned. 

Their  departure  for  Bologna  on  the  following 
mcming  was  a  settled  thing.  The  diligence 
Started  early.  They  had  pity  on  the  flesh  of 
^iggs  and  tho  spirit  of  the  Doctor.  So  they 
bade  them  good-bye  on  the  evening  before  retire 
ing.      ^ 


:^i 


FABiwnx,  rifos  t 


,1 


CHAFER  XLVI. 

*  O^PR^^m^i:"  »«I^«— »roHT.-THB  BBI0AND8 
ONCE  MOnB.-<lABIBAl.Dl'8  NAMK.-TnB  FIKB. 
—TUB  IKON  BAR.-TnE  MAN  FBOM  THE  GKANITE 
STATE  AND  UI8  TWO  B0V8.  "Am it. 

"Thk  great  beauty  of  this 
pistol  is  a  little  improvement 
thht  I  have  not  seen  before." 

And  Dick  proceeded  to  ox- 
plain. 

"Here  is  the  chamber  with 
the  six  cavities  loaded.  Now, 
yon  see,  when  you  wish,  you 
touch  tills  spring  and  out  pops 
the  butt." 
"Well?" 

"Very  well.  Here  I  have 
another  chambci<  ^jth  six  car-, 
tiidgeg.  It's  loaded,  the  car- 
tridges are  covered  wit)k  copper 
and  have  detonating  powdec  at 
one  end.  As  quick  as  light- 
nin|^  I  put  this  on,  and  there  you 
have  the  pistol  ready  to  bo  fired 
again  six  times." 

"  So  yon  have  twelve  shots  ?" 
"Yes." 

"Aifd  cartrrdges  to  spare?" 
"The  Doctor  gave  mojill  that^^ 

ne  had,  about  sixty,  I  should 

think," 

"Yon  have  enongh  to  face  a 

whole  army—" 

"Precisely— and  in  my  coat- 
pocket* 
This  conTtsrsBtion  took  nlaee 


^, 


Pi 


%<  ,1 


.^^ 


119  raE  DODGB  CLUB-;  0R,|  ITALY  IN/ MD^CCLIX.  '      , 

in  the  banqnetto  of  the  diligence  that  conveyed  [  rtS&d,  *vSl  tiftj  will  try  to  makcTliay  wliile  the 


X>ick,  iButtops,  and  the  Senator  from  Florence 
to  Bologna.  A  long  }>art  of  the  journey  had 
been  pasted  over.  They  were  among  the 
moontatns. 

"Do  you  expect  to  use  that  f  "  asked  the  Sen. 
•tor,  carclcsily.  ~  J 

MI  do."  .  .       • 

"  Yoa  believe  theie  stories  then  f 

"Ye«;  don't  yon?" 

'.'Certainly."  ,4 

"  So  do  I,"  said  Buttons.  "I  could  not  got 
a  pistol ;  but  I  got  this  from  an  acquaintance." 

And  bo  drew  fh>m  bis  pocket  an  enormous 
bowie-knifo. 

"Bowie-knives  are  no  good,"  said  the  Sena- 
tor. /'I'crhaps  they  may  do-if  you  waSit  to  os- 
■sassipatc;  but  for  nothing  else.  Yoji  can't 
defend  yourself.  I  never  liked  it.  It's  not 
American.  It's  not  the  direct  result  of  our  frcTo 
institations." 

"What  have  yon  then?  You  are  not  going 
nnarmed," 

"Thls;^  said  the  Senator. 

And  he  lifted  up  a  crow-bar  from  the  front 
of  the  coach.  Brandishing  it  in  the  air  as  eas- 
ily OS  an  ordinary  man  would  s^in'g  a  walk- 
ing-stick, he  looked  calmly  at  his  astonislicd 
companions. 

"You  see,"  said  he,  "there  are  several 
reasons  why  this  sort  of  tiling  is  the  best  weapon 
for  me.  A  short  knife  is  no  use.  A  sword  is 
■  no  good,  for  I  don't  know  the  sword  e.xer- 
cise.  A  gun  is  worthless;  I  would  fire  it 
off  once  and  then  have  to  use  it  as  a  club.  It 
would  then  be  apt  to  break.  That  would  be  dis- 
agreeable— especially  in  the  middle  p(  a  fight. 


sun  sbineJ'.     I  have  no  doubt  we  will  be  s(op))ed 
half  a  dozen  timet  ^fora  wo  get  to  Bologna," 

"I  should  think,"  said  the  Senator,  indiR- 
"nantly,  "  that  if  those  chaps  undertake  to  gov- 
jeni  the  cbantry — these  republican  thaps— they 
had  oqght  to  govern  it.  What  kind  o^  wuy 
is  this  to  leave  helpless  travellers  at  the  lAcrry 
of  cut-throata.  and  assassins  ?  "  '' 

"They  think,"  said  Buttons,  "  that  thcirfirsc- 
duty  is  to  secura  independence,  and  af^er  that 
they  wiirproni6t«or<idr."  "  . 

"  The  Florentines  are  n  iInep9opIe — a  people 
of  remarkable  'cuteneH/tknd  penetration  ;  but  it 
seems  to  mo  that  they  aro  tning  thinf^s  easy  as 
far  as  fighting  is  concerned,  ^hey  don't  send 
their  soldiers  to  the  war,  d0<tb«y  ?" 

"  Well,  no ;  I  suppose  they  think  thcii;  army 
may  be  needed  nearer  home. '  The  Grafid\ptike 
has  long  arms  yet;  and  knows  how  to  bribe." 

By  this  time  they  were  among  the  mountain 
forests  wherv  the  scenery  was  -grander,  the  air 
cooler,  tho  sky  darker,  than  before.  It  wag 
late  in  tho -day,  and  <overy  taiile -increased  tho 
wildness  of  tho  landscape  and  tho  thickness  of 
the  gloom.  Further  and  further,  on  they  went 
till  at  last  they  camo  to  a  winding-place  where 
the  road  ended  at  a  gully  over  which  there  vm 
a  bridge.  On  the  bridge  was  &  barricade. 
Jhey  did  not  see  it  until  they  had  made  li  turn 
where  the  road  wound,  where  at  once  the  scene 
burst  on  their  view. 

The  leaders  srearcd,  ther  iMstilllpns  swore,  the 
drivei'  snapped  his  whip  furiously.  Tlie  pas- 
sengers in  "  coupfe,"  "rotonoe,"  ond  "inter!- 
enre  "  popped  out  their  heads,  the  passengers  on 
th«^"  banquette"  stared,  until  at  last,  just  as  the 


A  stick  or  club  of  any  kind  would  be  open  to   postillions  wcro   dismounting^  to  reconnoitre, 
—        "       ■     •    '  twelve  figures  rose  up  from  behmd  Uie  barricade, 

indistinct   in  the   gloom,  and    bringing  their 
rifles  to  their  shonldors  took  aim. 

The  drivel  yelled,  tho  postillions  ^honied, 
the  passengers,  shrieke^.  The  three  men  in  tho 
bafiquette  prepared  for  a  fight.  'Suddenly  a 
loud  voica  was  heard  from  behind.  They 
looked.,  A  number  of  men  stood  there,  and 
several'  more  were  leaping  out  from  the  thick 
woods  oil  the  right.-  They,  were  surrounded. 
A^Iength  one  of  the  men  came  forward  from  be- 
hind. 

"You  aro  at  oar  mercy,"  said  he.  "Who- 
ever gives  np  his  money  may  go  free.  Who- 
ever resists  dies.     Do  you  hear  ?" 

Meanwhile  the  three  men  in  the  banquette. 
had  piled  some  trunks  around,  nfid  prepared  to 
resist  till  the  last  cxtrcroityt  Dick  was  to  fire ; 
Buttons  to  keep  each^spartf' butt  loaded ;  the 
Senator  to  n*o  his  crow-bar  on  the  heads  of  any 
assailantsk  They  waited  iii  silence.  They 
heard  the  brigands  rummaging  through,  the 
coach  below,  the  prayers  of  the  passengtw, 
their  appealp  for  pity,  their  groans  at  being  com- 
pelled to  give  up  every  thing. 

"The  cowards  don't  deserve  pity!"  cried  the 
Senator.  "  Thei«  are  enough  to  get  np  a  good 
rraUtance.    We'll  show  fight,  anyhow  1"  ^ 


the  same  objection.  What,  then,  is  the  weapon 
for  me  ?  Look  at  me.  I  am  big,  strong,  apd 
active.  I  hav^  no  skill.  I  am  brute^'strength. 
So  a  cl^^)  is  my  only  weapon — a  club  that 
won't  break.  Say  iron,  then.'  There  yon  have 
it." 

And  the  Senator  swnng  the  ponderous  bar 
around  in  a  way  that  showed  the  wisdom  of  his 
chcnce. 

"Yon  are  abont  right,"  said  Buttons.  "I 
venture  to  say  you'll  do  as  much  mischief  with 
that  as  Dick  will  with  his  pistol.  Perhaps 
more,  As  for  me,  I  don't  escpect  to  do  much. 
Still,  if  the  worst  eomes,  I'll  try  to  do  what  I 
can."  "  »       , 

"We  nu^  not  have  to  \ise  them,"  said  the 
"S^aior.     'T^AVho  are  below?" 

"Below?" 

"In  tho  coach?"         ^      '-  ■     " 

"  Italians." 

"Women?" 

"No,  all  men.  Two  p^osts,  throe  shop-keep- 
;  eAooking  persons,  and;«  soldttjj"  ;    ^ 

"  Ah  1  Why,  we  ought  to  be  comparatively 
safe." 

"  Oh,  our  number  is  not  any  thing.  The 
country  is  in  a  state  of  anarchy.  Miserable 
deviht  of  half-starved  Italian^  swarm  along  the 


■^ 


~  -t«S^tt  ^    iJM 


L  '■. 


THE  D0d6e  club  ;  OR^  ITALY  IN  MDCi^CLIX. 

I'liK-ll'r'yyi/. 


118 


IN  TIU  OOACU. 


Scarcely  had  ho  gpoko  when  tliroe  or  ibur 
heads  appeared  above  the  edRo  of  the  coaeh.  f 

'  Haste  I— your  money  I"  said  one. 
•  1  ^T^ !".  Mid  Buttons.  "  TfiTs  gentleman 
«  the  Amenfcan  Plenipotentiary  Extrnordinarv 
who  has  just  come  from  f*Iorence,  and  is  on  his 
way  to  communicate  with  Garibaldi."  - 
Jajaribaldil"  cried  the  man,  in  a  tone  of 
deep  respect.  4 

.  ."/?■"  i?'**  ^""""I,  who  had  not  miscalcn. 
ated  the^ect  of  that  mighty  name,  "if  yon 
liarm  ns  or  plunder  us  you  vtill  have  to  settle 
your  account  with  GariUaldi— that's  all  •" 


The  man  was  silen/    Th»„  i     .        J  ,  T  """"'"''  f!^"°r>-     The  rumble  o 

nd  in  anothr_,  ;LM"  'llT.l'^""-'    -"eels  shut  out  all  other  Sounds, 


and  in  another  moment  another  nwn  came 

"Which  is  the  American  Plenipotentiary 
ExtAordmary  ?" 

.'!  I^rrf '•*  Buttons,  pointing  to  the  Senator. 
'Ah4  I  know  him.     It  is  the  same.     I  saw 
h.m  at  his  reception  in  Florence,  and  helped  to 
poll  his  carriage." 

The  Senator  calmly  eyed  the  brigand,  who 
had  respectfully  taken  off  his  hat.       ,       > 

"So  yon  are  going  to  communicate  with 
Ganbaldiattfnce.  Go  in  peace  !  Gentlemen; 
every  one  of  us  fought  under  Garibaldtat  Ko'me. 
i-en  years  ago  he  disbanded  a  large  number  of 
M  among  these  mountains.  I  have  the  honor  to 
inform  you  that  ever  since  that  time  I  ikave  cot 
my  living  out  of  the^  public,  especially4hose  in 
the  «..Tice  of  the  Government.  You  are  differ- 
ent. I  like  you  because  you  are  ArocSricans.  I 
hie  you  still  better  because  ymi  are  friends  of 
banbaldi.^  Go  in  peace  !  When  yon  see  the 
General  tell  him  Giuglio  Malvi  sends  his  re- 

And  the  tnan  left  them.  In  about  a  quarter 
of  nn  hour  the  barricade  was  removed,  apd  the 
passengers  resumed  their  .e.t.%-ith  lighter 
Parses  btttheafler  hearts.     Thodfflgenco  start- 

^"  r  don't  helieva  weVe  seen  the  last  of  these 
•<»nn.|relsyet^"«»id  Buttons. 
•' Nor  I,»gifid  Dick 


A  gcneraj_  conversation  followed.  It  was 
late,  and  but  few  things  wefo  visible  along^jilio 
road.  About  two  hours  passed  away  without 
any  occurrence.  ~ 

"Look ! "  cried  Dick,  suddenly. 
Tlley  looked.     About  a  quarter  of  a  mile 
ahead  a  deep  red  glow  arose  above  the  forest 
Illumining  the  sky.     The  windings  of  the  r«ad 
prevented  them  from   seeing  the  cause  of  i^ 
lUe  driver  was  started,  but  evidently  thought 
H,was  no  more  dangerous  to  go  on  than  to  step 
So  he  lashed  up  his  horses  and  set  them  off  at 
a  furious  gallop.     The  rumble  of  the  ponderous 

other  sounds.     As  they  ad-  ' 
vanced  the  light  grew  more  vivid. 

"J  shouldn't  wondery"  said  the  Senator,  "if 
wo  have  another  barricade  hero.     Be  ready 
boys !     We  won't  get  off  so  easily  this  time."  ' 
The  other  two  said  not  a  word.     On,  alid  on. 
The  report  of  n  gun  suddenly  roused  all.     The 
driver  lashed  his  horses.     The  poMllliins  took 
the  butts  of  their-riding-whips  and  peltpd  flio 
anwnals.     The  road  took  a  torn,  and,  passing 
this,  a  strange  scene  borst  upon  their  sight.    *" 
A  wi4e,  open  space  on  the  load-sido,  a  col- 
Tection  ^  beams  across  the  road,  the  shadowy 
forms  9f5^bont  thirty  men,  and  the  whole  scene 
dimly  lighted   by  a  smouldering  fire.     As  it  ■ 
blazed  up  a  little  the  smoke  rolled  off  and  they 
saw  ftn  overturned  carriage,  two  horses  tied  to 
a. tree,  and^wo  %ici^ with  their  hands  bound 
behind  them  lying  qiil  the  ground. 

A  voice  rang  out  through  the  stillness  which 
for  a  njomeht  followe^,  the  sudden  stoppage  of 
the  coaeh  at  the  har^it.  There  came  a  wail 
from  the  frightened  p^issengers  within  —  cries 
for  merty— pitooijs  entreaties," 

"Sflence,,  fobh!"  roared  tho  same  voice, 

shich  seemed  Jaiie  that  of  the  leader. „^;.>._ 

"  Wait  I  wait ! "  said  the  Senator  to  his  coiB*'    ^ 
panions.     "  Let  me  ^[ivo  the  word.** 


A  crowd  of  men  advanced  to  the  diHigence, 

and  as  they  left  the  fir^  Buttons  saw  tht«e  flg- 

nres  left  behind— two  women  and  a  man.  They 

•  did  not  move.     But  suddenly  a,  lend  shriek 


'<^*^ 


>„. .  ■     (*      ' 


114-  THE  DODGE  CLUB ;  OR,  ITALY  IN 

burst  frona  one  of  the  women.     At  the  «l>r|^k  I  ■ 
Buttons  trembled.  T 

"  The  Spaniards  I  It  is !  I  know  the  voice ! 
My  God!" 

In  an  instant  Buttons  was  down  on  the 
ground  and  in  the  midst  of  the  crowd  of  brig- 
'  an^  who  surrounded  the  coach.     . . 

Bang !  bang  1  bang  I  It  was  not  the  guns  of 
the  brigands,  but  Dick's  pistol  that  now  spoke, 
and  its  report  was  the  signal  of  death  to  three 
men  who  rolled  upon  the  ground  in  their  last 
agonic^.  As  the  third  rep^r*  hurst  forth  the 
Senator  hurled  himself  down  upon  the  heads 
of  those  below.  The  action  of  Buttons  had 
broken  up  all  their  plans,  rendered  parley  im- 
possible, and  left  nothing  for  them  to  do  but  to 
follow  him  and  save  him.  The  brigands  rushed 
at  them  with  a  yell  of  fury.  ' 

"  Death  to  them !  Death  to  them  all  I  No 
quarter!" 

"  Help  1"  cried  Buttons.  "  Passengers,  we 
are  armed  I    We  can  save  ourselves  !*' 

But  the  passengers,  having  already  lost  their 
money,  now  feared  to  los«>heir  lives.  Not  one 
responded.  All  about  thd  coach  the  scene  be- 
came one  of  terrible  confusion.  Guns  were 
fired,  blows  fell  in  every  "direction.  The  dark- 
ness, but  faintly  illuminated  by  the  fitful  fire- 
light, prevented  the  brigands  from  distinguish- 
ing their  enemies  very  clearly — a  circumstance 
which  favored  the  little  band  of  Americans. 

The  brigands  fired  at  the  coach,  and  tried  to 
break  open  the  doors.  Inside  the  coach  the 
passengers,  frantic  with  fear,  sought  to  make 
their  voices  heard  amid  the  uproar.  They  beg- 
ged for  mercy;  they  declared  they  had  no 
money;  they  had  already  been  robbed;  they 
would  give  all  that  was  left ;  they  would  sur- 
render if  only  their  lives  wore  spared. 

"And,  oh!  good  Americans,  yield,  yield,  or 
wo  all  die!" 

"  Americans  ?"  screamed  several  passionate 
voices.  "Death  to  the  Americans !  Death  to 
all  foreigners !" 

These  bandits  were  unlike  the  last. 

Seated  in  the  banquette  Dick  surveyed  th^ 
scene,  while  himself  concealed  from  view" 
Calmly  he  picked  out  man  after  man  and  fired. 
As  they  tried  to  climb  up  the  diligence,  or  to 
force  open  the  door,  they  fell  back  howling. 
Om^man  had  the  door  partly  broken  open  by 
furious  blows  with  the  butt  of  his  gun.  Dick 
fired.  The  ball  entered  his  arm.  He  shrieked 
jvlth  rage.  With  his  other  arm  he  seized  his 
'gun,  and  again  his  blows  foil  -crashing.  In  an- 
other instant  a  ball  passed  into  his  brain. 

"Two  shbts  wasted  on  fine  man!  Too 
much  I"  muttered  Dick;  and  taking  aim  again 
he  fired  at  •  fellow  who  was  just  leaping  up  the 
other  side:    The  wretch  fell  cursing. 

Again!  again!  again!  Swiftly  Dick's  shots 
flashed  a^and.  He  had  now  but  one  left  in 
_.—.  ..-i™^  Hnrriedly  he  filled  the  spare  cham- 
ber with  six  cartridges,  and  taking  oat  the  oth- 
er be  filled  it  and  placed  it  in  again.  He  looked 
down. 


There  was  the  Senator.  More  than  twenty 
men  surrounded  him,  firing,  swearing,  striking, 
shrieking,  rushing  forward,  trying  to  tear  him 
from  his  post.  For  ho  had  planted  himself 
against  the  fore-part  of  the  diligence,  and  the 
mighty  arm  whose  strength  had  been  so  proved 
at  rervgia  was  now  descenfling  again  with  ir. 
resistible  force  upon  the  heads  of  his  assailants. 
All  this  was  the  work  of  but  a  few  minutes. 
Buttons  could  not  be  seen.  Dick's  prepani- 
tions  were  made.  For  a  moment  he  waited  for 
a  favorable  chance  to  get  down.  Ho  could  not 
stay  up  there  any  longer.  Ho  must  stand  by 
the  Senator. 

There  stood  the  Senator,  his  giant  form  tower- 
ing np  amidst  the  m£lde,  his  muscular  arms 
wielding  the  enormous  iron  bar,  his  astonishing 
strength  increased  tenfold  by  the  excitement  of 
the  fight     He  never  spoke  a  word. 

One  after  another  the  brigands  went  down 
before  the  awful  descent  of  that  iron  bar.  They 
clung  together;  they  yelled  in  fury;  they  threw 
themselves  en  matie  against  the  Senator.  Ho 
met  them  as  a  rock  meeU  a  hundred  wares. 
The  remorseless  iron  bar  fell  only  with  redoubled 
fury.  They  raised  their  clubbed  muskoU  in 
the  air  and  struck  at  him.  One  sweep  of  the 
iron  bar  and  the  mnsketa  were  dashed  out  of 
their  hands,  broken  or  bent,  to  the  ground. 
They  fired,  but  flrom  their  wild  excitement  their 
aim  was  useless.  In  the  darkness  they  stmcii 
at  one  another.  One  by  one  the  number  of 
hfa  assiaianH  lessened'-lfeiyil'wr  "''''  lUi.iosr 
but  less  bold.  They  fell  back  a  little ;  but  the 
Senator  advanced  u  they  retired,  guarding  bit 


,       THE  DODGE  CLUB}  OK,  ITALY  IN  MDCCCLIX. 


115 


WKfr  sritAK. 


^^r^ 


OTO  retreat,  but  atill  swinpng  his  iron  bar  with 
nndiminished  strength.  The  prostrate  forms 
of  a  dozen  men  lay  around.  Again  they  rushed 
at  him.  The  toic6  of  their  leader, encouraged 
them  and  shamed  their  fears.  He/was  a  stout, 
powerful  man,  armed  with  alcnife  and  a  gun 
'  Cowards !  kill  this  one !     This  is  the  one ! 

ward'!*"   ^^  "'"  ^'*''^   -  ^^  '''"  •*'"•     *■*»'- 
That  moment  Dick  leaped  to  the  ground. 
The  next   instant  the  brigands  leaped  upon 
tiicm.    The  two  were  lost  in  the  crowd. 

Twelve  reports,  one  after  the  other,  rang  into 
the  air.  Dick  did  not  fire  tiil  the  muzzle  of 
hu  pistol  was  against  his  enemy's  brekst.  The 
tarkness,  now  deeper  than  ever,  prevented  him 
.  from  being  distinctly  seen  by  the  furious  crowd 
who  thonglit  only  of  the  Senator.  But  now  the 
Hre  shooting  up  brightly  at  the  sudden  breath 
of  a  strong  wind  threw  a  lurid  light  upon  the 
•cene. 

There  stood  tick,  his  clothes  torn,  his  face 
covered  vyith  blood,  his  last  charge  gone.  There 
«tood  the  Senator,  his  (ace  blackened  with  smoke 
«nd  dost,  and  red  with  blood,  his  colossal  form 
erect  and  still  the  ponderous  bar  swung  on  high 
to  fall  as  terribly  as  ever.  Before  him  were 
eight  men.  Dick  saw  it  all  in  an  instant.  He 
,  wrcamed  to  the  passengers  in  the  diligence  : 
There  are  only  eight  left!  Come!  Help 
M take  f hem  prisoners !     Haste!" 

The  cowards  in  the  diligence  saw  how  things 
Z&\f  X  7.P'"«4d  nP  conrage,  and  at  the 
Mil  of  Dick  jumped  ont  The  leader  of  the 
^gands  was  befohj  Dick  with  uplifted  rifle. 
Oick  flung  his  pistol  at  his  head.  The  brigand 
5L  ^u"*"  '""'*'*  °''=''  «'"«1<'"  'o  the 
Ei  Z^"."",*  •"**""""  "•«  Semitor's  arm 
««cendod,  and.  with  his  head  broken  by  the 
Wow,  the  robber  fell  dead. 

fJh /'""'•^l!  *o''  *■'"  "^  ^'"'^  »"^  Ri^on  hi™ 
Bin.  7*  i,"  *•""***  •P'""8  »"<»  'he  otheM. 
hll*?" '''":''"•  They  were  struck  down 
»«Pte""y  "  they  ran.  At  this  moment  the 
•"^engen,  nutoUng  ap  the  arms  of  the  pro«- 1 


Trvt^  %nf''*^  """^  whoyot  remained. 
They  fled.  The  Senator  pursucd-long  enough 
to  give  each  one  a  parting  blow  hard  enough  to 
make  him  remember  it  for  a  month.  When  he 
returned  the  passengers  were  gathering  around 
the  coach  with  the  driver  anfl  postillions,  who 
had  thus  far  hidden  themselves,  and  were  eager.  .  / 
ly  looking  at  the  dead.  "gory 

.  <  A'i^^'"  *'"?'^  "*^  ^"^'o''' '"  "n  »'^u»  voice-/ 

Off!  you  white-livered  sneaks!    Let  me  find 
my  two  boys!'' 


CHAPTER  XLVn. 


BAD  BRUISES,  BUT  GOOD  MUSES. -THE  HOtfOtfA- 
BLE  SCABS  OF  DICK.-A  KNOWLEtooE  OFTON^ 

The  Senator  searehed  long  and  anxioukly 
among  the  fallen  bandits.for  those  whom  he  af- 
fectionately called  his  "  boys."  Dick  was  first 
tound.     He  was  senseless. 

The  Senator  carried  him  to  the  fire.  He  saw 
two  ladies  and  a  gentleman  standing  there. 
Hurriedly  ho  called  on  them  and  pointed  to 
uick.  The  gentleman  raised  his  arms.'  They 
were  bound  tightly.  The  ladies  also  were  se- 
cured  in  a  similar  manner.  The  Senator  quick- 
ly  cut  the  cords  from  the  gentleman,  *ho  in  hit 
tutii  snatched  the  knife  and  freed  die  ladies, 
and  then  went  to  care  for  Dick.  ' 

The  Senator  then  ran  back  to  seek  for  But- 
tons. 

The  gentleman  flung  a  qnantity  of  diT  bfiidl''' 
on  the  fire,  which  at  once  blazed  up  and  threw 
a  bright  light  over  the  scene.  Meanwhile  the 
IWssengers  were  looking  anxiously  around  as 
though  they  dreaded  a  new  attack.  Some  of 
them  had  been  wounded  inside  the  coach  and 
were  groaning  and  cursing. 

The  Senator  searehed  for  a  long  time  in  vain. 
At  last  at  the  bottom  of  a  heap  of  fallen  brig- 
ands, whom  the  Senator  had  knocked  over,  ha 
fonnd  Buttons.  His  face  and  clothes  were 
covered  with  blood,  his  forehead  was  blaelcened 


-A 


THE  DODGE  CLUB;  OB,  ITALY  IN  MDCCCLIX. 


A 


116  - 

as  though  by  an  explosion,  his  arm  was  broken 
and  hung  loosely  as  the  Senator  lifted  him  op. 
For  a  moment  he  thought  that  it  was  all  over 
with  him. 

He  carried  him  toward  the  fire.  The  ap- 
pearance of  the  young  man  was  terrible.  Ho 
l)cckoned  to  one  of  the  ladies.  The  lady  ap- 
proached. One  look  at  the  young  man  and 
the  next  instant,  with  a  heart-rending  moan, 
she  flung  herself  on  her  knees  by  his  side. 

"The  Spaniard  1"  said  the  Senator,  recog- 
nizing her  for  the  first  time.  "  Ah  1  he'll  be 
taken  care  of  then." 

There  was  a  brook  near  by,  and  he  hurried 
there  for  water.  TheNfe  was  nothing  to  carry  it 
in,  so  he  t»ok  his  beaver  hat  and  filled  it.  Re- 
turning, ho  dashed^it  vigorously  in  Buttons's 
face.  A  faint  sigh,  a  feasp,  and  the  young  man 
feebly  opened  his  eyes.  Intense  pain  forced  a 
'"^imn-  fipom  l»im.  In  the  hasty  glance  that  he 
threw  around  ho  saw  the  face  of  Ida  Francia  as 
she  bent  over  him  bathing  his  brow,  her  face 
pale  as  death,  her  hand  trembling,  and  her 
eyes  filled  with  tears.  The  sight  seemed  to 
alleviate  his  pain.  A  faint  smile  crossed  his 
lips.    He  half  raised  himself  toward  her. 

"  I've  found  you  at  last,"  ho  said,  and  that 
was  all. 

At  this  abrupt  address  a  burning  flush  passed 

oyer  the  face  and  neck  of  the  young  girl,    ^he 

bent  down  her  head.     Her  iears  flowed  faiiter 

than  ever. 

•«' Don't  spitk,"  she  saidf  ^"you  arc  in  too 

'  jQUch  pain." 

\  T  She  was  right,  for  the  no<t  mpmcntUuttons 
nU  back  exhausted.       ,.'  ■• 

The  Senator  drey  a  flasl:  fl-om  Ms  pocket  and 
motioned  to  the  young  girl'to  give  some  to  But- 
tons ;  and  then,  thinking  that  the  attention  of 
the  SdioriU  would  be  far  better  than  his,  he 
hurried  away  to  Dick. 

Spwell  had  he  been  treated  by  the  Don 
(whom  the  reader  has  of  course  already  recog- 
nized) that  he  was  iiow  sitting  up,  leaning 
against  the  driver  of  the  diligence,  who  was  mak- 
ing amends  for  his  cowardice  during  the  fight 
by  kind  attention  to  Dick  after  it  was  over. 

"My  dear  boy,  I  saw  you  had  no  bones 
broken,"  said  the  Senator,  "  and  knew  you  wore 
all  right;  so  I  devoted  my  first  attention  to 
Buttons.     How  do  you  feel  ?" 

"Better,"  said  Dick,  pressing  the  honest 
hand  which  the  Senator  held  out.  "Better; 
but  how  is  Buttons  ?" 

"Recovering.  But  he  is  terribly  bruised, 
and  his  arm  is  broken." 

"His  arm  broken!  Poor  Buttons,  whai'U 
be  do?"  ^ 

"  Well,  my  boy,  I'll  try  what  /  can  do.     I W 

sot  an  arm  befoire  n6w.  ~Tn  out  roifton  a  Tiecos- 
sary  part  of  a  good  education  was  settin'  bones.'' 
Dick  was  wounded  in  several  places.  LcavV 
ing  the  Don  to  attend  to  him  the  Senator  took 
his  kniM  and  hurriedly  made  soma  splints. 
Then  getting  his  valise,  ho  tofe  up  two  or  three 
of  hti  thtfU.  Armed  with  these  be  returned  to 
.) 


Buttons.    The  Senorita  saw  the  preparations, 
and,  weeping  bitterly,  she  retired. 

"  Your  arm  is  broken,  my  poor  lad,"  said  the 
Senator.  "  Will  you  let  mo  fix  it  for  you  ?  I 
cAn  do  it." 

"'Can  you?  Oh,  then,  I  am  all  rifihtl  I 
was  ofrnid  I  would  have  to  wait  till  I  got  to 
Bologna." 

"It  would  be  a  pretty  bad  aim  by  the  time 
you  gofcthere,  I  guess, "  said  the  Senator.  "But 
come — no  time  must  be  lost." 

His  simple  preparations  were  soon  made. 
Buttons  saw  that  he  knew  what  he  wns  olioiit. 
A  few  moments  of  excessive  pain,  which  forced 
ill-suppressed  moans  from  the  sufferer,  ond  the 
work  was  done. 

After  taking  a  sip  from  the  flosk  both  But- 
tons and  Dick  felt  very  much  stronger.  On 
questioning  the  driver  they  found  that  Bologna 
was  not  more  than  twenty  miles  away.  Tlie 
passengers  were  busily  engaged  in  removing 
the  barricade.*  It  was  decided  that  an  imme- 
diate departure  was  absolutely  necessary.  At 
the  suggestion  of  Dick,  the  driver,  postillions, 
and  passengers  armed  themselves  with  guns  of 
the  fallen  brigands. 

The  8evei«8t  wpund  which  Dick  had  wos  on 
his  head,  wpch  Hod  been  almost  laid  open  by 
a  terrific  blow  from  the  gun  of  the  robber  chief. 
lie  had  also  wounds  on  different  parts  of  his 
body.  Buttons  had  more.  These  the  Senator 
bound  up  with  such  skill  that  he  declared  him- 
self ready  to  resume  his  journey.  Upon  this 
the  Don  insisted  on  taking  him  into  his  own 
carriage.      Buttons  did  not  refuse. 

At  length  they  all  started,  the  diligence 
ahead,  the  Don  following.  On  the  way  tlie 
Don  told  Buttons  how  ho  had  fared  on  the 
road.  He  had  left  Florence  in  a  hired  carringo 
the  day  before  the  diligence  had  loft.  He  had 
heard  nothing  of  the  dangers  of  t)ie  road,  and 
suspected  nothing.  Shortly  after  entering  the 
mountain  district  they  had  been  stopped  and 
robbed  of  all  their  money.  Still  he  kept  on, 
thinking  that  there  was  no  further  danger.  To 
his  horror  th<iy  were  stopped  again  at  the  bridge, 
where  the  brigands,  vexed  at  not  getting  anji 
money,  took  all  their  baggage  and  let  them  go. 
They  went  on  fearfully,  every  moment  dread- 
ing some  new  misadventure.  At  length  their 
worst  fears  were  realized.  At  the  place  where 
the  fight  had  occurred  they  were  stopped  and 
dragged  from  their  carriage.  The  brigands 
weroi  savage  at  not  getting  any  plunder,  and 
sworts  they  would  hold  them  prisoners  till  thcv 
procured  a  ransom,  which  they  fixed  at  three 
thousand  piastres.  This  was  about  four  in  the 
afternoon.  They  overturned  the  coach,  kin- 
dled a  fire,  and  waited  for  the  diligence.    Thejr 

Imww th« rwir       —    ^ —.-    

Buttons,  seated  next  to  Ida  Francia,  forgot 
kis  sufiTerings.  Meanwhile  Dick  and  the  SdH 
iltor  resumed  their  old  seaU  on  the  banquette, 
.^fter  A  while  the  Senator  relapsed  into  a  fit  of 
musing,  and  Dick  fell  asleep. 
Morning  dawned  and  found  them  on  Uw 


THE  DODGE  CLUB;  OB,  ITALY  IN  MDCCCLIX 


plain  once  more,  only  a  few  miles  from  Bo- 
logna. Far  ahead  they  saw  the  lefty  Leaning 
Tower  that  forms  so  conspicuous  an  object  in 
the  fine  old  city.  Dick  awaked,  and  on  look- 
ing at  the  Senator  was  shocked  to  see  him  very 
pale,  with  an  expression  of  pain.  He  hurried- 
ly asked  the  canse. 

"  Why,  the  fact  is,  after  the  excitement  of 
fightia'  and  slaughterin'  and  seein'  to  you  chaps 
was  over  I  found  that  I  was  covered  with 
wounds.  One  of  my  fingers  is  broken.  I  have 
three  bullet  wounds  in  my  left  grm,  one  in  ray 
riglit,  a  stab  of  a  dirk  in  my  right  thigh,  and  a 
terrible  bruise  on  my  left  knee.  I  think  that 
some  fellow  must  have  passed  a  dagger  through 
my  left  foot,  for  there  is  a  cn»  in  the  leather, 
my  shoo  is  full  of  blood,  and  it  hurts  dreadful. 
It's  my  opinion  that  the  Dodge  Club  will  bo 
laid  up  in  Bojiogny  for  a  fortnight.— Hallo!" 

The  Senator  had  heard  a  cry  behind,  and 
looked  out.  Something  startled  him.  Dick 
looked  also. 

The  Don's  carriage  was  in  confusion.  The 
two  Seuoritas  wore  standing  up  in  the  carriage 
wringing  their  hands.  The  Don  was  supporU 
ing  Buttons  in  his  arms.  He  had  fainted  a 
second  time. 


and  them  on  tbe 


CHAPTER  XLVUI. 

BUrrEBINO  AND  SENTIMENT  AT  BOLOGNA.— MOON- 
8UINE.— BEST  BALM  FOKTVOUNDS. 

,  TuET  all  put  up  at  the  same  hotel.  Buttons 
was  carried  in  senseless,  and  it  was  long  before 
ho  revived.  The  Senator  and  Dick  were  quite 
exhausted— stiff  with  fatigue,  stiff  with  wounds. 

There  was  one  thing,  however,  which  made 
their  present  situation  more  endurable.  The 
war  in  Lombardy  made  further  progress  Im- 
possible. They  could  not  Ue  permitted  to  pass 
the  borders  in'.o  Vanctia.  '  Even  if  they  had 
been  perfectly  well  thtoy  would  ha*«  been  com- 
pelled to  wait  there  for  a  time. 

The  city:<inu  in  a  ferment.  The  deliglit 
■  which  the^  citizens  felt  at  their  new-found  free- 
dom  was  mingled  with  a  dash  of  anxiety  about 
the  result  of  the  war.  For,  in  spite  of  Solferino, 
it  was  probable  that  the  tide  of  victory  would 
be  hurled  back  from  the  Quadrilateral.  Still 
they  kept  up  their  spiriU;  and  the  joy  of  their 
hearts  fcnnd  rent  in  songs,  music,  processions, 
Roman  can.dl<s,  Te  Deuntf,  sky-rockets,  volleys 
of  cannon,  masses,  pnblic  meetings,  patriotic 
•ongs,  speeches,  tri-colors,  and  Italian  veraions 
of'TheMarselUaise." 

In  a  short  time  the  Senator  was  a 

r".".?^J'     ^''*  ■**  ^^"^^     ^^^^  strllgfling 
^heroically  ferffioflw  day  against  his  pain  he 
•nccumbed,  and  on  the  morning  of  the  second 
was  nnable  to  leave  his  bed.       , 

The  Senfttor  would  not  leave  him.  The 
kind  attention  which  ho  had  once  before  shown 
in  Rome  was  now  repeated.  Ho  spent  nearly 
*u  bis  time  Jn  Dick's  room,  talking-  to  him 


when  he  was  awake,  and  looking  at  him  when 
asleep.     Dick  was  touched  to  the  heart. 

The  Senator  thought  that,  without  exception, 
Bologna  was  the  best  Italian  city  that  he  had 
seen.  It  had  a  solid  look.  The  people  were 
not  such  everlasting  fools  as  the  Nea|)olitans, 
the  Romans,  and  the  Florentines,  wlio  thought 
that  the  highest  end  of  life  was  to  make  pict- 
ures and  listen  to  music.  They  devoted  their 
energies  to  an  article  of  nonrisbmont  which  was 
calculated  to  benefit  the  world.  He  alluded  to 
the  famous  Bologna  Scuuage,  and  bo  put  it  to 
Dick  seriously,  whether  the  manufacture  of  a 
sausogo  which  was  so  eminently  adapted  to 
sustain  life  was  not  a  fhr  nobler  thing  than  the 
production  of  useless  pictures  for  the  pampered 
tastes  of  a  bloated  aristocracy. 

Meanwhile  Buttons  fared  differently.  If  he 
had  been  more  afflicted  he  was  now  more  blessed. 
The  Don  seemed  to  think  that  the  sufferings  of 
Buttons  were  caused  by  himself,  or,  at  any  rate, 
by  the  eagerness  of  the  young  man  to  come  to 
the  assistance  of  his  sisters.  He  felt  grateful 
accordingly,  and  spared  no  pains  to  give  him 
assistance  and  relief.  Ho  procured  the  best 
'medical  advice  in  the  city.  For  several  days 
the  poor  fellow  lay  in  a  very  dangerous  con- 
dition, hovering  betweeD  life  and  death.  Hl« 
wounds  were  numerous  and  severe,  and  the  ex- 
citement afterward,  with  the  fatigue  of  the  ride, 
had  made  his  situation  worse.  But  a  strong 
constitution  was  on  his  side,  and  he  at  length 
was  able  to  leave  his  bed  and  liis  room. 

He  was  as  pale  as  death,  and  woefully  ema- 
ciated.    Bat  the  society  of  tho  ladies  acted  like 


I  A.'  'it^  ^.^t^ 


■V 


X: 


118 


THE  DODGE  CLUB ;  OR,  ITALY  IN  MDCGCLEL 


a  charm  upon  him ;  and  from  the  moment  when 
he  left  hi8  room  his  strenj^  came  back  rap- 
idly. 

He  woold  have  likod  it  still  better  if  he  had 
been  able  to  see  the  yoanger  sister  alone ;  but 
tluit  was  impossible,  for  the  sisters  were  insep- 
arable. One  evening,  however,  the  Don  of- 
'^fered  to  take  them  to  the  cathedral  to  see  some 
ceremony.  Ida  declined,  but  the  other  eager- 
ly accepted. 

So  Buttons  for  the  first  time  in  his  life  found 
himself  alone  with  the  maid  of  his  heart.  It 
was  a  solemn  season. 

Both  were  much  embarrassed.  Buttons 
looked  as  though  he  had  something  dreadful 
to  tell;  the  Seiiorita  as  though  she  had  some- 
thing dreadful  to  hear.  At  length  Btittons 
began  to  tell  the  story  of  his  many  setirches, 
pursuits,  wanderings,  etc.,  in  search  of  her,  apd 
particularly  his  last  search  at  Florence,  in  which 
he  had  grown  disheartened,  and  had  made  up 
his  mind  to  follow  her  to  Spain.  At  last  ho 
came  to  the  time  when  he  caught  up  to  them 
on  the  road.  Ho  had  seen  them  first.  His 
heart  told  him  that  one  of  the  ladies  was  Ida. 
Then  he  had  lost  all  control  of  himself,  a^d 
had  leaped  down  to  rescue  her. 

The  Spanish  nature  is  an  impetnons,  a  de- 
monstrative, a  fiery  nature.  The  Seiiorita  was 
a  Spifiniard.  As  Buttons  told  all  this  in  pas- 
sionate words,  to  which  his  ardent  love  gave 
resistless  eloquence,  her  whole  manner  showed 
that  her  heart  responded.  An  uncontrollable 
excitement  filled  her  being ;  her  large,  lustrous 
eye*,  bright  with  the  glow  of  the  South,  now 
beamed  more  luminously  through  her  tears, 
and — in  short:  Buttons  felt  encouraged — and 
ventured  nearer — and,  almost  before  he  know 
it  himself,  somehow  or  other,  his  arm  had  got 
round  a  slender  waist  I 

While  the  Seiiorita  trembled— timidly  drew 
back — and  then  air  was  still! — except,  of  course, 
whisperings — and  broken  sentences — and  soft, 

sweet Well,  all  those  wore  brought 

abrupt  close  by  the  return  of  the  Don  and 
sister. 

As  they  entered  the  room  they  saw  Buttons 
at  one  end,  and  the  Seiiorita  at  the  other.  The 
moonbeams  stole  in  softly  through  the  win- 
dow. 

"  Why  did  you  not  call  for  a  light  ?" 

"  Oh,  it  is  so  pleasant  in  the  moonshine  1" 

At  the  end  of  a  few  weeks, there  came  the 
great,  the  unlooked-for,  the  nnbopod-for  news 
— the  Peace  of  Villafrenca  I  So  war  was  over. 
Moreover,  the  foad  was  open.  They  conid  go 
wherever  they  wished. 

Buttons  wiu  now  strong  enough  to  tnTd. 
Dick  and  ttte  Senator  wore  as  well  as  ever. 
The  newt  df  the  Feacti  wo*  dell{(tn|Ul  totfie 
travellers.  .■■',«•" 

Not  so,  however,  t6  tile  JB6tognMo.  They 
railed  at  Napoleon,  li^  forgot  all  that  he 
had  dona,  an\l  ifkUMJiim  with  what  he  had 
«neglectedtod9^     TJ^insoltedhim.     Thfy 


made  caricatures  of  him. 
dalous  reports  about  him. 
the  world. 


They  spread  scan- 
Such  is  the  way  ol 


to  ai^ 
nd  l^is 


CHAPTER  XLIX. 

CROSSING    rSTO    THK    EMBMT'S    COUNTRT.— -COK- 
«TERNATION  OF  TUB  CUSTOM-HOUSE  OFFICERS. 

Thk  journey  was  a  pleasant  one.  Tlie  Span- 
iards were  an  agreeable  addition  to  the  party 
in  the  estimation  of  others  than  Buttons.  The 
Senator  devoted  himself  particularly  to  the  eld- 
er sister.  Indeed,  his  acquaintance  with  La 
Cica,  as  he  afterward  confessed,  had  given  him 
a  taste  for  foreign  ladies.  He  carried  on  little 
conversations  with  the  Senorita  in  broken  En- 
glish. The  Seiiorita's  English  was  pretty,  but 
not  very  idiomatic.  The  Senator  imitated  her 
English  remarkably  well,  and  no  doubt  did  A 
out  of  compliment.  Ho  also  astonished  the 
company  by  speaking  at  the  very  top  of  a  voice 
whose  ordinary  tone  was  far  stronger  than  com- 
mon., 

The  journey  from  Bologna  to  Ferrara  was 
not  diversified  by  any  incident.  Buttons  was 
rapidly  regaining  his  gayety  and  his  strength. 
He  wore  his  arm  in  a  sling,  it  is  true,  but 
tboxight  it  better  to  have  a  broken  arm  with  the 
$en^rita  than  a  sound  one  without  her.  It 
ihusi  be  confessed,  however,  that  his  happiness 
was  visible  not  so  much  in  lively  conversation 
as  in  Jiis  flushsd  cheek,  glistening  eye,  and  gen- 
eral Air  of  eeataty.  Moreover,  Ida  could  not 
speak  English  mqch — a  conversation  in  that 
language  Was  diflScult,  and  they  would  not  be 


i-sSu  a1 


THE  DODGE  CLUB ,  OB,  ITALY  IN  ipCCCLlX. 


H» 


to  rndo  to  tho  Senator  as  to  ta]k  Spanish  in  liis 
presence.  The  consequence  was  that  the  con- 
TOfsation  flagged,  and  tho  Senator  was  by  far 
the  most  tallcative  member  of  the  company,  and 
laid  out  all  his  strength  in  broken  English. 

Ferrara  was  reached  at  last,  and  they  put  up 
nt  a  hotel  which  boasted  of  havinir  nntnrtninoH    .~         .     ^  ..      — 

in  its  day  any  quantity  of  tinreV^^Xnl  I  '^^''^"rJ^S^  ITZ^^S 
nobles  of  every  European  nation.     It  is  an  as-  |  SX«**I?^''if  hV"°  "?  *"""*" 
tonishmg  town       Vast  squanis,  «W  desolate ;    sf^T"  ^".^..^  "f  .^^e  ?„--^^^^^ 
great  cathedrals,  empty;  proud  pkU^e.  nee-    H^^'fixyign  rule  ii.u,  .mtwef  "  -       "  •   <•»>■"««• 

ia«*«ri  ««ri  -«.i \.         «     .  *  '       o    I  ntonet  of  the  I^>] 


There  was  more  thrift,  neatness,"  and  apparent 
prosperity.  His  sentiments  on  this  subject  were 
embodied  in  a  letter  home,  *hich  ho  wrote  from 
Padna  on  a  dreary  evening  which  they  spent 
there  before  starting  for  Venice: 

1  can  My  to,  that  the  pnewure  bos  iqueezed  an  ImmenM 
amount  erf  Tegejatlon  out  of  the  .oU.  PawiSg  Zn^ll 
Roman  territoriet  Into  the  Amtrian  1.  l*e  Lnrfrom 
darknee.  Into   Ught   or  from  Canada  Into  Zl^Z 


lected  and  ruinous;  broad  streets,  grass-grown 
and  empty;  long  rows  of  houses,  without  in- 
habitants ;  it  presents  tho  spectacle  of  a  city 
dying  without  hope  of  recovery.  The  Senator 
walked  through  every  street  in  Ferrara,  looked 


ZtSZS^Z-^'Z^S^  -•-"  «T£rS!«?^^':2.rI' 


-  In  my  opinion,  the  ter- 
lt.1*  A  a;..»ri;."/l."'  '^°'?  *'""  "'"»«  of  other  rulers  la 
Italy.    A  8panl.li  friind  of  mine  tella  me  that  it  1.  hlC 

£l!.w'S?..''''^^''°"''"''°P«'""''J«'»»™wtnot«ntM 
below,  but  on  thlnga  on  high,    ud"  tell,  mo  that  we'Ve3 

?.nH°rH  «'*""  ""•  •""'e^CI'ri.ttanltj^  on  ?he  OM 
hand,  and  MBmmon  on  the  other.    Whoever  chowM  th« 

fri^.thoth*^^"!  •;!•  i^l^^^J^  .\"'^h  «.un- 


^oreiy,  ralae  doctrine,  and  all  manner  of  nlmllar  evul 

S^„t°:"3!5J  •'"."'  P"^"  ■*"«*'"' «»  "orldl^p^^ly 
pnaent  a  different  Rene;   and  he  polnte  to  Spaliand 

nSUX'Siti^i"  ""--  •»"■«  «">  -<6"borhoodSf 


feel  relieved  when  they  left  the  city. 

On  arriving  at   the  Po,  which   forms   the 
boundary  between  this  district  and  Venetia 
they  underwent  some  examination  from  tho  au! 
thorities,  but  crossed  without  accident.     But  on 
tiwbther  side  they  found  the  Austrian  officials 

far  more  particular.     They  asked  a  mnltiplicity  . 

of  questions,  opened  every  tmnk,  scanned  the 

pawports,  and  detained  them  long.     The  ladies  CHAPTER  L 

hsd  passed  the  Italian  <%aaa»  were  now  taken       "  a  net,  etc.  dp  a  tkbe.- 

from  them,  „ 

Dick  had  a  valise,  both  comnartmpnu  .r  Lk  .  T'"""""."'*  *"""»"'"" '•>«"»»■!<:»> 
which  were  strapped  dorncaSvUnlr  I  v'  "^^^''^^^P^.^ences  on  his  first  approach  to 
calm  exterior  he^onc^Ied  a  tfihiny  h«l  '"•     ^'l"  "'"'"^  ?»'»«'  '"^  •»"«»  through 

for  in  that  valise  Ts^e  D^tor's  pSl  n^n  '  ti."T'  ^^'l^^^^'  ""^  broken  mud  banks, 
which  he  relied  in  ant^cfpation  of  fS  Z      I   "*  f^*  u'  •"!.^''"«  """^^  alt^ther  from  tlT^  • 
gers.    The  officials  o2d  the  valil      It  ^I  ^     """jh'  ''"''?'*  ^T""'^^  *""  •'"«^''«  *«"•  ^way    - 
.pparently  a  purzle  tTther    They  fo„„H  Z   ^a  ,^\  '"".1  °^  "«"  """  *«  '""S  viaduct 
Uttle  clothing      On  tWc^^ary  aL"  "«.„   i  fh      >'  "■r«»"J*"'in  can  scarcely  understand 

,  „,  '  At  length  the  city  is  reached.     The  train 

^  PMcr'^o'^^-Vl^i',  V^P  ?'  ""« l*-  P«»">ie« ;   '.'"''*;  ""^  *'"'  passenger  steps  out  into  the  sta- 
l«,'i;!^r^il^r;ii.LSr:.L':?".°o'''!:''?>i^««hip|   tion-honse.      But  what  .  station-hon«, !    and 

what  a  city !    There  is  the  nsoal  shontinc  from 


«, nwre  puiter;  li,  mrre^.;.hS T  12   «"l™k  L^tt'e'?'  1' 

>  tS;  wll'ii^'.  W'''~li  *^'"'"  '9.«o"egnS; 
w,oone,  VI,  rag;  IS, alone;  23,  another  itoiu •  e^anml 

W«k'»g:  28,.llpp«,i  49,  more  .tone.;  80,ii4e'rtSn^ 

The  official,  started  np  with  an  oath  apiece, 
fheir  heavy  Gorman  faces  confronted  Dick  with 
mth  and  indignation,  and  every  separate  hair 
or  the  r  wariike  mustaches  stood  out,     How- 

«ie  others  Dick  drew  a  long-breath  of  relief. 
The  sistol  was  «tfe.  It  had  been  taken  apar 
Md  «U!h  piece  wrapped  in  paper  and  labelled, 

b«n  tak^""        "^"'  *'"'  •'•"'  *'  **»""  ""»»« 

-ffi^l  »■"*!!!![  *'^o°«ht  i^  »M  better  to  have 
TOee  battles  with  brigand,  than  one  encounter 
Wtti  custom-house  officials.  He  had  a  little 
wh^h  l"'**^!!"""'  "'  '"»•*•"  «n«nnfactnn!s, 
S  M '*,'"..*"'"'"  ***">  W°>-  One  thing 
STHiil-il^^^^/- "^  »•"'  -the  gene«1 


it  had  been  taken  apart   live-stock  gonerallvf 

id  in  Daimr  nnri  lnl.«IU.1  vr....i ,-.  '    , 


carriers  and  cabmen,  but  none  of  that  deep  roar 
of  a  lai^  city  which  in  every  other  place  drone, 
heavily  into  the  traveller's  ear. 

Going  out  to  what  he  thinks  is  a  street,  the 
traveller  finds  merely  a  canal.  Where  are  tho 
carnages,  cabs,  caliches,  hand-carts,  barouches, 
pony -carriages,  carryalls,  wagons,  hansoms, 
hackneys,  wheelbarrows,  broughams,  dog-cart^ 
buggies?  Where  are  the  horses,  mares,  dogs, 
pigs,  ponie^  oxen,  cows,  cats,  colt.,  calves  and 


Nowhere.  There's  not  a  wheeled  carriage 
in  the  place.  It  may  be  doubted  if  there  i. 
«  dog.  There  certainly  is  not  a  cow.  Thn 
people  MO  goaW  milk.     The  horse  i.  a.  un- 


-     -  r  uwiov  IB  SB  un- 

known as  the  pterodactyl,  icthyowiams,  dodo, 
ignanodon,  muUAon,  great  awk.  How  do  they 
go  about?  Where  are  the  conrenienoe.  for 
moving  to  and  fro? 


■\^iii:*-"'^ii*LViii-ial.'\'i.Bk:i','."^fr^'rf«,\ 


Vk 


120 


THE  DODGE  CLUB;  OR,  ITALY  IN  MDCCCLIX. 


dick's  LCOaAOE. 


dolier  is  the  cabmait  Ho  waits  for  yon,  with 
his  hand  toward yoa,  and  the  true  "Kcb,  Sir!" 
tone  and  smile.  A  double-sized  gondola  is  here 
called  an  "  omnibus,"  and  the  name  Is  painted 
on  the  side  in  huge  letters.  And  these  are  the 
substitutes  for  wheeled  vehicles. 

Now  after  entering  one  of  these  yoa  go  along 
Binoothly  and  noiselessly.  The  first  thing  one 
notices  in  Venice  is  the  absence  of  noise.  As 
the  boat  goes  along  the  only  sound  that  is  heard 
is  the  sharp  cry  from  the  boatman  as  he  ap- 
proaches a  comer.  At  first  the  novelty  inter- 
ests the  mind,  afterward,  it  affects  the  spirits. 
In  three  days  most  people  leave  the  city  in  a 
kind  of  panic.  The  stillness  is  awfol.  A  long- 
er stay  would  reduce  one  to  a  state  of  mel- 
ancholy madness.  A  few  poets,  however,  have 
been  able  to  endure,  and  even  to  love,  the  sepul- 
chral stillness  of  the  city.  But  to  appreciate 
Venice  one  must  be  strongly  poetical. 

There  are  many  things  to  be  seen.  First  of 
all,  there  is  the  city  itself,  ope  grand  curiosity, 
unique,  with  nothing  on  earth  that  bears  a  dis- 
tant approach  to  it.  Its  canals,  gondolas, 
antique  monuments,  Byzantine  architecture, 
bridges,  mystery:  its  pretty  women  with  black 
lace  veils,'  the  true  glory  of  Venice— though 
Murray  says  nothing  about  them. 
-  HsFMniray,  iirwhat  w«»  meant  to  be  a^^ex- 
haustive  description  of  Venice,  hw  omitted  all 
mention  of  that  which  makes  if  what  it  is. 
Whereas  if  it  had  been  Homer  instead  of  Murray 
he  would  have  rolled  out  the  following  epithets : 
ifimUnaitM,  airakai,  xopotiOe'i{,  v6iu>ftot,  {loiomi- 
XU{,  iparetval,  Ka?AtitUKaftoi^  ehuxiTuvti,  kv. 


av&mdci,   iaAt&Tridt{,    lfup6eaaai,    j3aO'vKo>.mi, 
}^yvfto^itot :  K,  r.  A. 

The  travellers  visited  the  whole  round  of  siBhis. 
They  remained  in  company  and  went  about  in  s 
tho  same  gondola.  The  Senator  admired  what 
he  saw  as  much  as  any  of  them,  thcugh  it  ap- 
peared to  be  out  of  his  particular  line.  It  was 
not  the  Cathedral  of  St.  Mark's,  however,  nor 
the  Doge's  Palace,  nor  tho  Court  of  the  Inciuisi- 
tion,  nor  the  Bridge  of  Sighs,.nor  tho  Kinlto, 
that  interested  him,  but  rather  the  spcc-tncle  of 
all  these  magnificent  edifices  aro<ind  him,  wiili 
all  the  massive  masonry  of  a  vast  city,  built  up 
laboriously  on  the  uncertain  sand.  Ho  adniii^ 
tho  Venetians  who  had  done  this.  To  such  men, 
he  thought,  the  commerce  of  the  world  nii(!lit 
well  have  belonged.  In  discussing  the  causes 
of  the  decline  of  Venice  he  summed  up  the  sub- 
ject in  a  few  words,  and  in  the  clearest  po8sj))lc 
manner. 

"  These  Venetians,  when  they  sot  up  shop, 
were  in  the  principal  street  of  tho  world— the 
Mediterranean.  They  had  tho  best  stand  in  the 
street.  They  did  work  up  their  business  uncom- 
mon well  now,  and  no  mistake.  They  made 
money  hand  over  fist,  and  whatever  advantage 
conld  be  given  by  enerjjy,  capital,and  a  good  loca- 
tion, they  got.  But  the  currents  of  traffic  chsnRO 
in  lb©  world  just  as  they  do  in  »  citj;.  After  a 
while  it  passed  in  another  direction.  Venice 
was  thrown  out  altogether.  She  had  no  more 
diance  than  a  Now  York  shop  would  have  after 
the  business  that  it  lived  on  had  gone  into  sn- 
other  street.  Hence,"  said  the  Senator— he  si- 
waya  said  " hence"  when  he  wai  coming  to  a 


t      ,  • i^Av^.\a 


THE  DODGE  CLUB,  01^  ITALY  IN  MDCCOLIX. 


ro<,    Pa6'vKo).TTni, 


trinmphant  conclusion— "  henco  the  downfall 
of  Venice." 

On  arriving  at  their  hotel  a  little  ctronmstance 
occurred  which  made  them  look  at  Venice  from 
a  new  and  startling  point  of  view.  On  going 
to  their  rooms  after  dinner  they  were  followed 
by  a  file  6f  Austrian  soldiers.  They  wanted  to 
see  the  passports.  They  requested  tliis  in  a 
thick  guttural  tone.Avhich  made  the  Americana 
feel  quite  ner\-ous.  They  showed  the  passports 
nevertlieless. 

On  looking  over  them  the  Austrian  soldiers  ar- 
rested  them.  They  were  informed  that  if  they 
went  peaceably  they  would  be  well  treated,  but 
if  they  made  any  resistance  they  would  all  be 
bound. 

The  Americans  remonstrated.  No  use  A 
thousand  conjectures  were  made  as  to  the  cause 
?f  ****'f  '"Test,  but  they  were  completely  baffled 
Before  they  could  arrive  at  any  conclusion  they 
had  arrived  at  the  place  of  their  destination,  to 
which  they  had,  of  course,  been  taken  in  a  gon- 
dola.  It  was  top  dark  to  distinguish  the  place, 
but  It  looked  like  a  largo  and  gloomy  edifice. 
The  soldiers  took  them  to  a  room,  where  they 


locked  them  all  in  together.  It  was  a  comforta- 
ble apartment,  witl».  another  larger  one  opening 
from  it,  III  which  were  twp  beds  and  two  couches. 
Evidently  they  were  not  neglected. 

After  waiting  for  half  the  night  in  a  kind  of 
fcver  they  retired  to  rest.  They  slept  but  little. 
They  rose  early,  and  at  about  seven  o'clock 
breakfast  was  brought  in  to  them,  with  a  guard 
of  soldiers  following  the  waiters. 

After  breakfast  they  were  visited  again.  This 
time  it  was  a  legal  gentleman.  They  did  not 
know  who  he  was,  but  he  gave  tlicm  to  under- 
stand  that  he  was  a  person  high  in  authontv. 
He  questioned  them  very  closely  as  to  their  bus- 
mess  in  Venice,  but  did  his  questioning  in  a 
courteous  manner.  After  about  an  hour  ho 
left. 

Lunch  WAS  brought  in  at  oiffi  o'clock.  Their 
feelings  at  being  treated  in  this  mysterious  man- 
ner can  be  imagined.  Such-tncglect  of  tho 
rights  of  man— such  trifling-with  his  time  and 
patience— such  utter  disregard  of  habeas  corpus, 
awaked  indignation  which  words  could  not  exl 
press.  ~  '  ^,- 

Positively  tfce*pre  treated  like  dumb  cattle; 


123 


THE  DODGE  CLUB ;  OR,  ITALY  IN  MDCCCLDL 


locked  op,  fed,  deprired  of  liberty  and  fresh  air ; 
no  commnnication  with  friendf  ootside;  and, 
wont  of  all,  no  idea  in  the  world  of  tho  canse 
of  their  impriionmenti  They  came  to  the  con- 
cliuion  that  they  were  mistaken  for  some  other 
parties  —  for  some  Oaecialori  degli  Alpi;  and 
Buttons  insisted  that  the  Senator  was  supposed 
to  be  Garibaldi  himself.  In  these  troublous 
times  any  idea,  howorer  absurd,  might  be  acted 
upon. 

At  about  three  in  the  afternoon  the  door  was 
thrown  open,  and  a  file  of  soldiers  appeofrcd. 
An  officer  approached  and  requested  tho  prison- 
ers to  follow.  They  did  so.  They  passed  along 
many  halls,  and  at  length  came  to  a  large  room. 
A  long  table  extended  nearly  from  one  end  to 
another.  Soldiprs  were  arranged  down  tho  sides 
of  the  apartment.  ^ 

At  tho  head  of  fffe  table  sat  an  elderly  man, 
with  a  stem  face,  ferfibious  mustache,  sharp  eye, 
bushy  gray  eyebrows,  and  universal  air  of  Mars. 
His  uniform  showed  him  to  be  a  Gieneral.  By 
his  side  was  their  visitor  of  tho  morning.  Offi- 
cials sat  at  the  table. 

"Silence!" 


CHAPTER  LL 


TRX  AMSBIOAN  KAOLB  AKD  THB  AUSTBIAK  DOITB- 
LB-HBADXD  DITTa 

At  the  command  of  the  Aiutrian  General 
every  body  became  still.  Therenpon  he  motiolV- 
ed  to  the  prisoner*  to  stand  at  the  bottom  of  the 
Uble.    They  did  so.    The  General  took  a  long 


stare  at  the  prisoners,  particularly  at  the  Senator. 
They  bore  it  steadily.  As  for  the  Senator,  lie 
regairded  the  other  with  an  expression  which 
would  have  done  honor  to  the  Austrian  General's 
own  father. 

"Who  are  you?" 

The  General  spoko  in  Gorman.  The  legal 
gentleman  at  his  side  instantly  interpreted  it 
into  English. 

"Americans." 

"  Ah !  dangerous  characters — dangerous  char- 
acters I     What  is  your  business  ?" 

•'TravpUers." 

"Tra^llers?  Ah!  But  what  ore  your  oc- 
cupations in  America?" 

' '  Ottc  passports  tell. " 

"  Your  passports  say — '  Gentlemen.' " 

"  Well,  we  are  genUemen." 

The  Austrian  looked  blank.  After  a  while 
he  resumed ;  and  as  be  directed  his  glance  to 
the  Senator  the  latter  made-all  the  replies,  while 
the'  Interpreter  served  as  a  medium  of  commu- 
nication. 

"  How  long  have  yon  been  in  Italy  ?" 

"Two  or  three  months." 

"Ton  came  here  just  about  the  commence- 
ment of  these  difficulties  ?" 

"Yes — the  beginning  of  the  war." 
•"  Where  did  you  land  ?" 

^  At  Naples."' 

"Naples?  Ha!  hmj  Where  did  you  go 
next?" 

"  ^o  Rome.  We  stayed  there  a  few  weeks 
and  then  went  to  Florence;  from  Florence  to 
Bologmt;  and  thence  through  Ferrora  and  Pa- 
dua to  Venice." 

"  Yon  went  to  Florence !  How  long  ago  did 
didyoa  leave?" 

"About  a  month  ago." 

"A  month!     Ah,  hm!" 

And  the  General  exchanged  glances  with  the 
legal  gentleman  at  his  side. 

"What  were  yon  doing  in  Florence  ?" 

"Seeing  the  city." 

"Did you  place  yourselves  in  connection  with 
the  Bfivolntionists  ?" 

"No." 

"  Did  yon  have  any  thing  to  do  with  tho  em- 
issaries of  Garibaldi?" 

"  Nothing." 

"  Take  care  how  yon  deny. " 

"  We  say  we  know  nothing  at  all  cither  of 
the  Revolutionists  or  ImperialisU  or  Garibaldi- 
ans  or  any  other  party.  We  are  merely  travel- 
lers." 

"  Hm — a  strong  disavowment,"  said  the  Gen- 
eral to  himself.  "  You  have  never  in  any  way 
countenanced  the  rebels." 

"No." 

"Think before  yon  apettk." 

V  "WenrefteeAmeHaaii.  Iferimpi  you  know- 
that  the  citisens  of  that  country  say  what  thqr 
think  and  do  what  they  like.  We  have  gone  on 
that  mlo  in  Italy.  What  I  say  is,  that  we  do 
not  know  any  thing  about  lebeli  or  any  political 
parties  in  the  coontiy." 


THE  DODGE  CI^,  OB,  ITALY  mMDCCCLlX. 


"  Do  yoa  know  La  dcat"  asked  the  Gen- 
eral,  with  the  air  of  a  man  who  was  putting  a 
homo -thrust,  and  speaking  with  uncommon 
fierceness. 

"I  do," said  the  Senator,  mildly. 

"  You  know  her  well?  You  are  one  of  her 
intimate  friends  ?" 

"Ami?' 

"  Are  yoo  not  ?" 

"  I  am  friendly  with  her.  She  u  an  estima- 
ble woman,  with  much  feeling  and  penetration  *' 
—and  a  fond  regret  exhibited  itself  in  the  face 
of  the  speaker. 

"Well,  Sir,  you  may  as  well  confess.  Wo 
know  you.  Sir.  We  know  you.  You  are  one 
of  the  chosen  associates  of  that  infumous -Gari- 
baldian  plotter  and  assassin,  whose  hotel  is  the 
hot -bod  of  conspiracy  and  revolution.  We 
know  you.  Do  you  dare  to  come  here  and  deny 
it?"  ' 

"  I  did  not  come  here ;  I  was  brought.  I  do 
not  deny  that  you  know  me,  though  I  haven't 
the  pleasure  of  knowing  you.  But  I  do  deny 
that  I  am  the  associate  of  conspirators." 

"Are  you  not  the  American  whom  la  Cica 
«o  particularly  distinguished  with  her  favor  ?" 

"I  have  reason  to  believe  that  she  was  par- 
tial to  nie^4omewhat." 

"He  confesses!"  said  the  General.  "You 
came  from  her  to  this  place,  communicating  on 
the  way  with  her  emissaries." 

"  I  communicated  on  the  way  with  none  but 
brigands  among  the  mountains.  If  they  were 
her  emissaries  I  wish  her  joy  Of  them.  My 
mwns  of  communication,"  said  the  Senator, 
while  a  grim  smile  passed  over  his  face,  "was 
an  iron  crow-bar,  and  my  remarks  left  some  deep 
impression  on  them,  I  do  believe."  | 

"Tell  me  now— and  tell  me  truly," said  the  ' 
General  after  a  pause,  in  which  ho  seemed  try- 
ing to  make  out  whether  the  Senator  was  joking 
or  not.     "  To  whom  are  you  sent  in  this  citv  ?" 

"To  no  one."  - 

"Sir!  I  warn  you  that  I  will  not' be  trifled 
with." 

"I  tell  you,"  said  the  Senator,  with  no  appar- 
ent excitement,  "I  tell  you  that  I  have  come 
here  to  no  one.     What  more  can  I  say  ?" 
"You must  confess." 
"I  have  nothing  to  confess." 
"Sir!  you  have  much  to  confess," cried  the 
General,  angrily,  "and  I  swear  to  you  I  will 
wring  it  out  of  yon.     Beware  how  you  trifle 
with  my  patience.     If  yon  wish  to  regain  your 
liberty  confess  at  once,  and  you  may  escape  your 
jost  punishment.     But  if  you  refuse,  then,  by 
the  immortal  gods,  I'll  shut  yon  up  in  a  dungeon 
for  ten  years  I" 
"  You  will  do  no  such  thing." 
,^,M*tJ"  roared  the  Genend.    «'Won'tiy 
You  will  not.     On  the  contmrv,  you  will 
nave  to  make  apologies  for  those  idsnlts." 
"  I !— Apologies  1    Insults ! " 
The  General  gnawed  bis  mnstoehe,  and  his 
•yet  Uased  in  fuiy. 
"Yon  have  aireited  iu  on  a  false  chaige, 


128 

based  on  some  slanderous  or  stupid  information 
of  some  of  your  infernal  spies,"  said  the  Scnatpr. 
What  right  have  yon  to  pry  into  the  private  - 
affairs  of  an  American  traveller?     We  have 
nothing  to  do  with  you." 

"  You  aro  associated  with  conspirators.  You 
are  charged  with  treasonable  correspondence 
with  rebels.  You  countenanced  revolution  in 
Florence.  You  openly  took  part  with  Republic- 
ans. You  are  a  notorious  friend  of  La  Cica. 
And  you  came  here  with  the  intention  of  fo- 
menting treason  in  Venice!" 

"Whoever  told  you  that,"replied  the  Sena- 
.  tor,  "  told  infernal  lies— most  infernal  lies.     I 
am  no  emissary  of  any  party.     I  am  a  private 
traveller." 

"  Sir,  we  have  correspondents  in  Florence  on 
whom  we  con  rely  better  than  on  you.  They 
watched  yon." 

"  Then  the  best  thing  you  can  do  is  to  dismiss 
^ose  correspondents  and  got  rogues  who  have 
half  an  idea." 

"  Sir,  I  tell  you  that  they  watched  you  well 
Yon  had  better  confess  all.     Your  antecedents 
in  Florence  are  known.     You  are  in  a  position 
of  imminent  danger.     I  tell  yon— beware  t" 

The  General  said  this  in  on  awful  voice, 

which  Vas  meant  to  strike  terror  into  the  soul 

of  his  captive.     The  Senator  looked  back  into 

j  his  eyes  with  an  expression  of  calm  scorn.     His 

I  form  seemed  to  grow  larger,  and  his  eyes  dikted 

,  as  he  spoke : 

I      "Then   you.  General,  I  tell  yon— beware! 

i  Do  you  know  who  you've  got  hold  of  ?— No  con- 

spirator;  no  infernal  /talian  bandit,  or  Dutch. 

man  either;  but  an  American  citizen.     Yonr 

Government  has  already  tried  the  temper  of 

I  Americans  on  one  or  two  remarkable  occasions. 
Don  t  try  it  on  a  third  time,  and  don't  try  it  on 
with  me.  Since  you  want  to  kpow  who  I  am 
I'll  tell  you.     I,  Sir,  am  an  American  Senator. 

I I  take  an  active  and  prominent  part  in  the  gov- 
ernment of  that  great  and  glorias  country.  I 
represent  a  constituency  of  several  hundred 
thousand.  You  tell  me  to  beware.  I  tell  you 
— BbwabbI  for,  by  the  Etemall  if  you  dont 
let  me  go,  I  swear  to  you  that  you'll  have  to  give 
mo  up  at  the  cannon's  mouth.  I  swear  to  you 
if  yon  don't  let  me  off  by  evening  I  won't  go  at 
all  till  I  am  dali#6Nd  up  with  humble  and  am- 
ple apologies,  \Ah.  to^;*nd  to  our  country, 
whom  yon  haro  i^pMS^  in  our  persons." 

"Sir,  you  nr| bold  I" 

"Bold!     S^d  for  the -American  Consnl  of 

this  city  and  seo  if  he  fcn't  corroborate  this. 

But  you  had  better  make  hl«ste,^orifyou  subject 

me^to  further  disgrace  it  will  be  the  worse  for 

Government,  and  i^cnlarly  for  you,  my 

You'll  have  th^pyn  battered  down 

»ntyonre«ri»  Dotfrgffanother  nation  down 
on  you,  and,  above  all,  don't  let  that  nation  be 
the  American.  What  I  tell  yon  is  the  solemn 
truth,  and  if  you  don't  mind  it  you  will  kno  v  it 
some  day  to  your  sorrow." 

Whatever  the  canse  may  have  been  the  om. 
pany  present,  including  even  the  General,  \i  era 


{ 


rfH^. 


124 


THE  DODOE  CtUB ;  OB,  iTALT  IN  MDCGGLDC 


impressed  by  the  Senatoi's  words.  The  an- 
noancement  of  bi^  dignity ;  the  Tencrablo  title 
of  Senator  ;  the  mention  of  his  "  constituency," 
a  word  the  more  formidable  from  not  being  at 
n\\  understood — all  combined  to  fill  them  with 
respect  and  even  awe. 

So  at  his  proposal  to  send  for  the  American 
Consul  the  General  gave  orders  to  a  r^esscngcr 
who  went  off  at  once  in  search  of  that  nijiction- 
ary. 


CHAPTER  LII. 

THE  SENATOR  STILL  EKOAOED  IN  FACTNO  I>OWN 
THE  AUSTRIAN. —THE  AMERICAN  CONSUL. — 
UNEXPECTED  RE-APPEARANCE  OF  FORGOTTEN 
THINGS. — COLLAPSE  OF  THE  COURT. 

The  American>Consul  soon  made  his  appear- 
ance. •  Not  having  had  any  thing  to  do  for 
months,  the  prospect  of  business  gave  #ing8  to 
his  feet.  Moreover,  he  felt  a  very  natural  de- 
sire to  help  a  countryman  in  trouble.  Upon 
entering  the  hall  he  cast  a  rapid  look  around, 
and  seemed  surprised  at  so  august  a  triHnal. 
^or  in  the  Gkineral's  martial  form  he  saw  no 
less  a  person  than  the  Austrian  Commandant. 

Tho>  Consul  bowed  and  then  loolied  at  the 
prisoners.'  As  his  eye  fell  &pon  tho  Senator  it 
lighted  up,  and  his  faop  assumed  an  expression 
of  tho  moR  fHendly  interest.  Evidently  a  rec- 
ognition. The  Aiistrian  Commandant  address- 
e<)  the  Consnl  directly  in  German. 

"  Do  you  know  the  prisoners  ?" 

*'  I  know  one  of  them." 

"  He  Is  here  nnder  a  %-ery  heavy  accusation. 


I  have  well-snbstantiated  chargcsi  by  which  he  is 
implicated  in  treason  and  conspiracy.  Ho  hot 
been  conaected  with  Revolutionists  of  the  worst 
stamp  in  Florence,  and  there  is  strong  proof 
that  ho  has  come  here  to  commnijicate  with  Rev- 
olutionists in  this  city." 

".Who  accuses  him  of  this?     Are  they  here  ?" 

"No,  but  they  have  written i  from  Florence 
warning  me  of  his  journey  hcre.r 

"  Does  tho  prisoner  confess  ?'| 

"Of  course  not  He  denies.!  Ho  requested 
me  to  send  for  yon.  I  don't  wntit  to  bo  unjust, 
so  if  you  have  any  thing  to  say,  say  on." 

"These  clia^ges  are  impossible." 

"Impossible?" 

"  He  is  altogether  a  different  man  from  what 
you  suppose.  He  is  an'eiflinent  member  of  the 
American  Senate.  Any  charges  made  against 
one  like  him  will  have  to  be  well  substantiated; 
and  any  injury  done  to  him  will  be  dangeions 
in  the  highest  degree.  Unless  lyon  have  unde- 
niable proofs  of  his  guilt  it  wilfbc  b^  to  free 
him  at  once— or  else — "  I        flw- 

"  Or  else  what?"  j  * 

"  Or  else  there  will  bo  very  jgrave  complica- 
tions." j 

The  Cpmmandant   looked  |  doubtful.     The 
others  impassive.     Bjiittons  and  Dick  interested. 
The  Senator  calm.      Again  the  Commandnnt^ 
tamed  to  the  SeSiitof,  Bis  renpHlw  being  lBt«f^ 
preted  as  before. 

"  How  does  it  happen  thall  yon  were  so  par- 
ticularly intimate  with  all  the  Revolutionists  in 
Florence,  and  an  habitu^  oC  La  Gta'i  salon? 
that  your  mission  was  well  /known  throagboiit 


-  A%«?, 


'a,^}. 


I 


THE 


V 


IE  CLUB;  OB,  ITALY  IN  MDCCCLIX,  125 

the  city  ?  that  you  pnblicly  a^i^^SttMced  the       "rL,!  "..ij  .1,    n  , 

Florentine  rebellion  fa  a. peech?th1WDeoole   tor-w^^i    "^'V  •    *?°'""'*'"'""*-    The  Sena- 

carried  yo„  home  injtri.S.  ?  anS  ttat  He!  I  r  "ri"'!l°"""'-   '^'•'  '"'*'^""""  '""''  = 

"To-your  que.tjon«,"eaid  the  Senator  with  '  .h«  ?J'^f'''  ""^  """/v'  '^"'''  ♦««"  '"««'«d  ''» 
unabated  dignity,  ''Iw^lllZlvinbrief      i-T  ,      ^  ^'!^^^\  ''°'*=°  "^  '•>«  """Jer  than  the  Scn- 
I  a.n  n  freeLd  i^dependeStizen  of  the^r  Tj    "^  ?'i''°".«''  '  """  •"><»  .truck  hi«..     , 
and  Blori^n,  AnWri^n  Repub  c      ?   I  aS     Self Ter  h?  "*"•    .^^'"'"^  "  '"^'^  «">  "P^'^l  -^ 
ated  with^tevolutionists  in  Florence  I  ^^i.   1^  1  k^  '  ??""'«"«•'<=«.  ""J  down  his  neck. 

U^cause  I  an.  accustomed  to  chooTm'y  own^T   ^' ZlmTCfr\'''^  'T'  '"'^  '"'^ 

rL^1a^rbiT^rSnTL^i7  r-^  '"^rr^^-^  -  «^'^^-^«  ^^^^'  '"""^ 

....  .. '"'.  "-y  ''°'"8  ««>•     1  deny,  how-       The  Commandant  stared  and  S<,ked  uneasy, 

All  looked  at  tho  Scnat(*r-nn  with  ai^zel 
mcnt-tho  General,  the  jITerprctcr,  the  Offl- 
cials  the  Guar*,  Button8,S)ick,  and  tho  Amcri- 
can  Consul. 

"Oh  dear!  Oh  ck-ar!  Oh  dkee-ab!" 
cried  tho  ^nator,  in  tho  inter^•nl3  of  his  out- 
rageous  peals  of  laughter.  «'  Oil  i"  and  a  new 
peal  followed. 

What  did  all  this  mean  ?  Was  he  crazy", 
ilaa  misfortunes  tamed  his  brain  ? 

But  at  Inst  the  Senator,  who  was  always  re- 

had  an   interview  witi  the  Countess^  had  I?  '  fJJ^    In^rproter  politely  carried  it  to  him  as 

Weil,  is  it  wrong  for  *man  to  Wd  ^^bt.  tl    "'"P™'"''"^"'"  ««lded.     The  Senator  l«ck- 

a  friend  r    I  ask  you  what  ubon  L^,'!  ^      ^V°  '^°  ^°"'"'-     ^''•'7  'hen  walked  np  to 

mean  by  such  a  c&  i.   hat?     Do  ycl  S  ^  "'".^r""""'""'-   ^"  '""''•""'^  «t'h«P"V 
mo  for  a  puling  infamy.  "oyqptnko,      "You    see,  gentlemen,- said   the  Senator, 

^;to  be  ^.0,  „.4  r=^ -i  ^2:"^jiSts  o^^''5.r 

'iNever  did  any  thing  of  tho  kind.  That's  Lt"''  ^"°''  ""^  ***"'  '''^"*  ^'""""^  """  * 
a  complete  fuU-b.own  fiction."  ,      ™  w»ii »" 

"I  have  the  very  words."  ..tir!ii     1     •     ■      . 

•;  That's  impossible.  You've  got  hold  of  tho  tion  T  L,?*,  '"'•■'*•  *"*  -H^/  '""'''''^  »  «»"<'*•- 
wrftng  man  I  see."  ''  J  °"-,    J  '""^ '°  8"^e  in.     The  .nly  one  I  could 

"I  will  have  them  read,"  «»ld  the  General,        "11^  "am  Ta'^Vu'^  ^T?'"v"        , 
solemnly.  "viicrui,  >Ka«*f    Ah !  I  don't  know  him,'^  said  tlie 

■    -  Interpreter, 


ever,  that  I  was  m  any  way  connected  with 
plots,  robellj^ns,  or  conspiracies.  Secondlu,  I 
was  friendly  with  the  Countess  because  I  con- 
sidered her  a  most  remarkably  fine  woman, 
and  becansc  she  showed-a-tlBposition  to  be 
friend  y  with,me-a  stranger  in  a  Strang  land. 
lhmU>^,\l  have  no  mission  of  any  kind  what- 
ever. I  *n  a  traveller  for  selfrimprovement.  I 
have  no  business  political  or  commereial.  So 
that  my  mission  could  not  have  been  known 
If  people  talked  about  mo  they  talked  nonsense! 
'^'My  I  confess  I  mode  a  speech,  but  what  of 


\. 


And  he-beckoned  to  the  Interpreter.  Where- 
upon the  Interpreter  gravely  took  out 'a  formi- 
dable roll  of  papers  from  hU  breast,  and  opened 
It.    livery  gesture  tvos  made  as  though  his 


"  Ho  was  a  minister^a  parson." 
"Ah!" 

"So  I  said  it  to  her,^,nd  she  repeated  U. 
These  friends  of  yours,  General,  have  taken  it 


hand  was  h^avy  with  the  weight  of3hin^  i  hcso  friends  of  yours,  G^neml,  have  taken  it 

proof.    At  last^  pap(ir  was  J^ucJ'^S  J-";  ^ut  their  spellin' is  a  little  unusual,  "said 

Interpreter  took  one  l^k  at  tKwner  then  l„.f„        '  *' k  "  '"""«"«1»«"'  8^"  that  threat- 

g  anced  trinmnhnntl.  .»  .kTn      Pf"""*'^'  •"«"  ?ned  a  new  outburst. 

■'Itisaryt&i  ';„a^"::|C^^  ''I-ook-      Here  is  the  true  key  which  this 

mmeaning/aprjiavelC^o^t^ll^^^  8e"''e'nan  tned  so  hard  to  find."  _ 

%  to  ft  In  any  way.     It  U^otv  .Kit  i     .k    ^  "'^  *"•  '*""'"  *'"'  ^"''«<''  ^'^^  ^^ 

made,  for  all  th J  „,„!,  tesu  of  dJL  iriS  '"  """'^^  ''"  *™''  ""^"'"«^ 


ft-  in  thu.    The  per*)nWho  procnred  it  did 
not  get  near  enough  till  the  latter  part  of  the 

ItHrV^  *^*  ^^  «"'"«*'  "0  explanation 
Whatever  from  tho  conrorsation." 


"^JH>  xeiUing  «oui  wnOd  tUm 
Inmeh  afnoht  at  tMt. 
^fidtU  and  tkng  htrmifamw 
To  tvtrltuting  Mist." 


Tho  Intcipreter^ipw  it  all.    Ho  looked  p 


iitlp 


mi$i&-& 


'  'W.'IWH 


Vk 


im 


THE  iX)DOE  CLUftj  OB,  ITALY  IN  MDCCCLEL 


WATTS  MU^raLUtDi 

fonndly  foolish:  The  whole  thing  was  dear. 
Th^  Senator's  innocence  was  plain.  He  turned 
to  explain  to  the  Commandant.  The  Consul's 
face  exhibited  a  variety  Of  expressions,  lOvor 
which  a  broad  grimace  Anally  prodpminatcd, 
like  sunshine  over  an  April  sky.  In  a  few  words 
tl)e  whole  was  made  plain  to  the  Commandant. 
He  looked  annoyed,  glared  angrily  at  the  Inter- 
preter, teMed  the  papers  on  the  floor,  and  rose 
to  his  feet  r- 

"  Give  these  gentlemen  our  apologies,"  said  he 
to  the  Interpreter,  .'*  In  times  <j^|roublo,  when 
States  have  to  bo  held  subject  t^Fniartial  law, 
proceedings  are  abrupt.  Their  own  good  sense 
will,  I  trust,  enable  them  to  appreciate  the  diffl- 
cnity  of  our  position.     They  are  at  liberty." 

At  liberty !  No  sooner  were  the  words  spok- 
en than  the  prisoners  bowed  aAd  left,  in  com- 
pany with  the  Consul,  who  eagerly  shook  hands 
|i|ith  all^thrce,  particularly  the  Senator,  who,  as 
"  ping,  was  heard  to  whisper  somc- 

r  these  v(ibTd»  were  audible : 
told  hossl     The  American  eagle 
;  "claws,  an' 


(.;»*>■>. 


CHAPTER  Lin. 

A  KISTEBIQUS  FLIGHT^— PKBPAIB  OF  DnTro/9L-T 
PUHIBtnT.— HUTdBIO    OBOm^S,  AND  mBTOIBld 

It  was  abont  seven  o'clock  in  the  evening 
when  they  reached  their  hotel.  Every  thing 
was  OS  they  bad  left  it.  Some  trifles  had  oc- 
curred, such  as  a  general  ovei'haul  of  the  bag- 


gage, in  which  the  Doctor's  pistol  had  again 
miraculously  escaped  seizure.  Buttons  h'ent 
immediately  to  call  on  the  Spaniards,  but  their 
apartmiknt  was  closed.  Supposing  that  they 
were  out  about  the  town,  ho  returned  to  his 
friends. 

.  During  their  memorable  captivity  they  had 
eaten  but  little,  and  now  nothing  was  more  wel- 
come than  a  dinner.  So  they  oryiortd  the  very 
best  that  the  hotel  could  supply;;  and  made  die 
Amoricafi  Consul- stay.  Bnttob*  did 
himself  up  so.  completely  as  tlto  |^i 
larity  of  the  occasion.     Somethilg 


mind.  So  he  took  advantage  of  a  < 
in  which  the  Senator  was  giving  the  i 
animailed  description  of  the  flght  with  the  brig: 
ands,  and  the  pluck  of  his  two  "bo)8,"nnd 
stole  out  of  the  room.  WJiereupon  the  Sena- 
tor stopped  and'  remarked — 

"  Hang  these  felloes  that  are  in  love !" 

"  CorUinly,"  said  Dick.  ' '  They  often  hang 
themselves,  or  feel  like  it." 

"  Of  course  Buttons  is  on  his  usual  errand." 
.  V  Of  course." 

"It  seems  to  mo  tliat  his  foreign  travel  has 
become  nothing  but  one  long  chase  after  that 
gal.     He  is  certainly  most  uncommon  devoted." 

Soiree  had  these  words  been  spoken  when, 
the  door  was  flung  open,  and  Buttons  made  hi« 
oppearance,  much  agitated. 

"What's  the  matter  ?"  cried  Dick.  "The 
Spaniards!"  "Well?"  "They're  oflFI"  "Off?" 
"Gone!"  "Where?"  "Away  from  Venice." 
"When?"  "  I  don't  know."  "Why?"  "I 
don't  know." 

"  What  sent  them  ?  It  looks  as  though  the; 
were  running  away  ftttqi  you  on  purpose." 

"  They're  off,  a^  x^ny  rtte,"  cried  Buttons. 
"  I  went  to  their  .Kfoni.  It  was  open.  The 
servants  were  fixing  it  up.  I  asked  why.  Tliey 
said  the  Spi^iiards  had  left  Venice  early  this 
momiitg.  ,^tjbj^P^*'  lu>ow  any  thing  more." 

"  Stmni^MiSBJ^^I's  so  sudde^ 

plans  1 1  ffl]WMw^lBfi"'' '"  ^'^^ 

i'rcrlR^Pw^wer^Vightencd  at  our  odvcnt- 

ure» , 

Buttons  sprung  to  the  bell  and  pulled  it  vIr- 
orously.  Then  he  rushed  to  the  door  and  flnni; 
it  op<^..  Five  or  six  waiters  came  tumbling  in. 
They  had  all  been  listening  at  the  key-hole. 

"Where's  tho  chief  waiter  ?" 

"  Here,"  said  that  functionary,  approaching. 

"Come  here.  You  may  retire,"  said  But- 
tons to  the  others.    They  went  out  rela(^ntlT. 

"Now,  my  friend,"  said  he,  putting  some  pi- 
astres in  the  hand  of  the  chief  waiter.  "  Think, 
and  answer  me  right.  Where  are  the  Spsn- 
iards-^a  gentleman  and  two  ladies — frho  cane 
here  with  us  ?"  "  

«  They  htT8  left  <he  city." . — -— r- 

"When?'.' 

"  At  six  this  morning,  by  the  first  train." 
,    "  W"hy  did  they  leove?" 
»^   "  A  hint  came  fh>m  the  Commandant." 

"From  him.    Ahl    Whtt  abont?" 


■     1       .-^fC^  ■ . 


tfcl5' 


Qsnal  errand." 


>rHE  DODGE  CLUB^  0?,  ITALY  IN  MDCCCLK 

'•Why-you  know-yonr  ExcoUenciM  xmo 
waited  on  by  a  deputation.". 
We  were  arrested 


WeH?" 

'Well,   those   Spaniards  were   friend^^f 

h»t  (Jbnnection  made  them  suspected. " 

ich  is  the  melancholy- fact.  The»o  wos 
no  cause  strong  enough  to  lead  to  their  arrest 
It  would  have  been  inconveni^.  go  the  Cora- 
rahndant  sent  a  messogo,  immediatelsafterycW 
Lxcelloncy's  lamentable  arrest,  to  warifthem— " 
"What  of?" 

"That  they  had  better  leave  the  country  at 
once.';  I    '    . 

"  Yes,  but  that  di'dn't  forfco  them  to  go." 

"Ah,  Signoriol      Do  you   not   know  what 
such  a  warning  is  ?     There  iajio  refusal  "    '  ' 

"And  so  thoy  left."       <  >• 

"At  six  by  the  train." 

"Whereto?" 
-:  "Sign'oro,  they  had  their  passports  made 
out  for  Milan." 

"  Milan  1" 

"  Certainly.     It  was  necessary  for  them  not 
only  to  leave  Venice,  but  Venetia." 

"Very  well.     When  does  the    next  train 
leave? 

"  Not  til)  to-morrow  morning  at  six." 

"You  must  call  us  then' at  five,  for  we  are 

going.     Here,  Uke  our  passports  and  get  them 

visb'd ;"  and  having  explained  matters  to  the 

Senator,  Buttdns  found  no  need  of  persuasion 


•VUlAMTIKlt. 


to  induce  themip*  quit  th«  city,  lo  the  pMnorU 
were  handed  ore*  to  the  waiter. 

So  at  six  the  next  morning  they  went  flvinff 
over  the  sea,  ovortha  l^uo^n,  over  the  manhel 
over  the  plains,  away  toward  LomboKly 

They  had  to  stdp  for  a  while  at  Verona, 
waiting  to  comply  with   "some  formalities?' 
Th.y  had  time  to  walk  about  the  town  and  see 
the  Koman  ruins  ond  the  fortifications.     Of  all 
these  much  might  be  said,  if  it  were  n6t  to  bo 
found  olrea«fy  in  Guide-books,  Letters  of  Corre- 
spondents.  Books  of  Travel,  Gazetteeni,  and  11- 
lustrated    Newspapers.       Our    travel Ici*.  saw 
enough  of  the  mighty  military  works,  in  Tbrief  " 
survey,  to  make  them  thoroughly  comprehend 
the  Peace  of  Vilhifmnca.     In  th<.  neighborhood 
of  Solfenno  they  left  the  tnun  ta  inspect  Z 
scene  of  battle.     Only  a  month  had  passed  since 
the  tcrrifle  conttest,  and  the  traces  remained  vis- 
ible on  every  «ide.      The  peasants  had  made 
two  trenches  of  enormous  size,    la  one  of  these 
the  bodies  of  the  Austrians  had  been  buried  in 
the  other  th(^f  the  F|;ench  and  Itrfians.     In 
one  place  theWwas  a  vast  heap  of  amw,  wMch 
had  been  gathered  from  off  the  field.     There 
WHS  no  piece  among  theni-Hfhich  was  not  bent ' 
or  brpken.     All  were  of  the  best  construction 
and  latest  pattern,  but^ad  B*en  their  day. 
Shattered    trees,    battered    walls,"   crnmbling 
houses,  deep  ruts  in  the  earth,  appeared  on 
every  side  to  sho^,  whore  the  battle  had  r»8ed  • 
yet  already  the  grass,  in  its  swift  growth,  Aaj" 
obliterated  the  chief  marks  of  the  trem^^dons 
conflict. 

At  length  they  arrived  at  Milan:    The  dtv 
presented  a  most  imposing  appearance,     its 
natural  situation,  its  magiflBcent  works  of  arjfti-  '  - 
tecturc.  Its  statfly  arjljes  and  majostK^  avennn 
presented  nn  appearance  whichVas  now  heijAj. 
ened  by  the  presencojof  victory.     It  was^ 
though  the  entire  popufation  had  given  then- 
selves  «p  to  rejoicing.     The  evil  spirit  had  been 
cast  out,  and  the  house  thoraughly  sWbpt  and 
gnniished.     The  streets  were  filled  With  gar 
multitudes;  the  avenues  resounded  wift  tlii 
thrilling  strains  of  the  Marseillaise,  repeated  cv- 
e^whcro;  every  window  displayed  the  portrait 
of  Napoleon,  Victor  Emanuel,  or  Garibaldi,  and 
from  every  house-top  flaunted  the  tri-color     The 
heavy  weight  imposed  hjr  the  military  mie-the 
iron  hand,  the  cruelty,  the  bands  of  flpiea;  the 
innnnierable  soldiers  sent  forth  by  Austria- 
had  been  lifted  off,  and  in  the  first  rcacUon  of 
perfect  liberty  the  whole  population  nished  into 
the  wildest  demonstrations  of  joy  ahd'^yety 
The  chnrehcs  were  all  marked  by  the  wifpettfai 
presence  of  the  emblems  of  Holy  PeacCand 
Heavenly  Faitji,  and  Immort^  Hope.     The 
ssiblime  Cathed^  from  all  ita  Biathlepopali^m^ 
of  scolptflred  siting*  and  fr»m  allits  thousands  of 
pinnacles,  sent  up  ond  cohstant  sohg.    Throngh 
the  struts  marched  soldiers-regular,  imgnlar, 
Jiorse,  fc^t,  asd  dragoons ;  cannon  thnn^red  at 
interval*  throngh  every  day;  volunteer  riiiUtU 
cotnpaniea  sprang  ap  lik6  bnjttorfliei  to  flaab 
j  their  gay  nnifomu  in  the  son. 


\" 


^"J^^lL* 


^^    if*  ^ 


i 


.;>'-: 


il8 


THE  DODGE  CLUB;  OB,  ITALY  IN  MDCCCLIX. 


If  was  not  the  season  for  theatres.  La  Scala 
had  opened  for  a  few  nights  when  Napoleon 
and  Victor  Emanuel  where  here,  but  had  closed 
again.  Not  so  the  smaller  theatres.  Less  dig- 
nified, thoy  could  burst  forth  unrestrained.  Es- 
pecially the  Day  Theatres,  places  formed  some- 
what on  the  ancient  model,  with  open  roofs. 
In't^ese  the  spectators  can  smoke,  Here  the 
performance  begins  at  five  or  six  and  ends  at 
dark.  All  the  theatres  on  this  season,  day  or 
night  alike,  burst  fortli  into  joy.  The  war  was 
the  universal  subject.  Cannon,  fighting,  sol- 
diers, gunpowder,  saltpetre,  sulphur,  fury,  ex- 
plosions, wounds,  bombardments,  grenadiers,  ar- 
tillery, drum,  gun,  trumpet,  blunderbuss,  and 
thunder  I  Just  at  that  time  the  piece  wliicli 
was  having  the  greatest  run  was  The  Victory 

of  SOLFEKINO ! 

Tw3  theatres  exhibited  this  piece  with  all 
the  pomp  and  circumstance  of  glorious  war. 
Another  put  out  in  a  pantomime  "The  Battle 
of  Maleguano!" 

Another,  " The Fightat Magenta!"  Butpcr- 
haps  the  most  popular  of  all  was  "Garibaldi 
IS  Vaeese,  od  I  Cacciatori  deoli  Alpi  !" 


'     CHAPTER  Liy. 

DICK  MEETS  AN  OLD  P|jIEND..—  THE  EMOTIONAL 
NATURE  or  THE  ITALIAN. — THEfiENATOB  OVZH-  I 
-'^  COME  AND  UUMBI^t'kDED. 

The  day  of  their  arrival  at  Milan  was  dis- 
tinguished by  a  pleasing  circumstance.    Buttons 
fourtd  the  Spaniards,  and  was  ha|)py'.     And  by 
another   circumstance,  scarcely    less    pleasing,  ^ 
Dick.fonnd  an  old  acquaintance. 

On  this  wise:  I 

Finding  himself  in  Milan  he  suddenly  called 
to  mind  an  old  friend  with  whom  he  had  been  \ 
intimate  in  Boston.     He  had  been  exiled  from 
Italy  on  account  of  his  connection  with   the  ' 
movements  6t  T848.     He  had  fled  to  America,  | 
and  had  taken  with  him  barely  enough  to  live  | 
on.     For  five  years  he  had  lived  in  Boston  un-  , 
der  the  plain  name  of  IIii</h  Airey.     Then  Dick 
met  with  him,  and  had  been  attracted  by  the ! 
polished   manners,  melancholy  air,  and    high 
«pirit  of  the  unfortunate  exile.     In  the  course  \ 
of  time  their  acquaintance  ripened  into  intimate 
friendship.     Dick   introduced   him  to  all   his 
friends,  and  did  all  in  his  power  to  make  his  \ 
life  i^easant     From  him  he  had  learned  Ital- 
ian, and  under  his  guidance  formed  a  wide  and  . 
4ecp  acqnaintance  with  Italian  literature.y  In  ' 
I8S8  Mr.  Airey  decided  to  return  to  Italy  and  ' 
live  in  Turin  till  the  return  of  better  days.     Be- 
fbre  leaving  ho  confided  to  Dick,  the  fact  that 
hii  h^^lf>nlrfM^  to  oma— of  iha  oldflRt   fiimiiiiHi  in- 
Lombardy,  nnd  that  he  was  th«.  Coant  Ugo  ^ 
Gtonfaloniere.     The  exile  bade  Dick  and  all 
hi*  fnenda  good-bye  and  departed.     81  nee  then 
Dick  had  heard  from  him  bnt  6nco«'   The  Count 
wai  happy,  and  hopeful  of  a  speedy  return  of 
better  day*  for  his  country.     His  hopes  bad 
been  realised,  as  the  world  knowi. 


/;■ 


TlIK  COUNT  I'UO. 

Dick  had  no  difficulty  in  finding  ont  whcVc 
he  lived,  and  went  to  call  on  him.  It  was  a 
magnificent  palace.  Throngs  of  servants  were 
around  the  entrance.  Dick  sent  up  his  name, 
and  was  conducted  by  a  scr^'ant  to  an  ante- 
chamber. Scarcely  had  ho  finished  a  hasty 
survey  of  the  apartment  when  hurried  footsteps 
were  hoard.  He  turned.  The  Count  camo 
rushing  into  the  room,  flushed  and  tremblini;, 
and  without  a  word  threw  himself  into  Dick's 
arms,  embraced  him,  and  kissed  him.  It  was  a 
trying  moment  for  Dick.  Nothing  is  so  fright- 
ful to  a  man  of  the  Anglo-Saxon  race  as  to  bo 
hugged  and  kissed  by  a  man.  However,  Dick 
felt  deeply  touched  at  the  emotion  of  his  friend 
and  his  grateful  remembrance  of  himself. 

"  This  is  a  circumstance  most  unexpected!" 
cried  the  Count.  "  Why  did  you  not  write  and 
tell  me  that  yon  were  coming,  my  dearest  friend? 
I  did  not  know  that  you  were  in  Italy.  But 
perhaps  yon  wished  to  give  me  a  surprise?" 
Ai;d  then  the  Count  asked  after  all  the  friends 
in  America,  for  whom  he  still  evinced  the  tcn- 
derest  attachment. 

On  being  questioned  ho  related  his  owrt  sub- 
sequent adventures.  After  leaving  America  ho 
went  at  once  to  Turin.  Though  proscribed  ia 
Lombardy  he  was  free  in  Piedmont.  He  msn-^ 
ftgcd  to  communicate  weTOt]jFwUh44«  rclativcj 
in  Milan,  and  lived  comfortably.  At  length  he 
became  aware  of  the  great  movement  on  fuot 
which  ended  in  the  Italian  war.  He  had  thrown 
himself  altogether  in  the  good  cause,  and,  witb- 
oitt  being  at  all  disheartened  by  his  former  mis- 
fortunes, he  embarked  energetically  in  the  car- 
rent  of  events.  '  He  waf,at  once  recognised  by 


k  DODGE  CLUB  5  OB,  ITALY  IN  MDc/ci^ 


ous  part  i,j^ho  events  of  tl^war?  h^S  bee„" '  Te'ver T'^'t^  't''"''   """  ">«  formo/S 
present  at  every  battle,  and  had  been  promo  eS  '  what  t^nsivJ  Mf"'"'^'"''"''  ^^»«"'  """l  """e- 

"  i^rtrs-  ^"«""- '  ^«  ^- 1  r^  ^z^Sb^c  rs^^r^sr  ■ 

hay-ei'lrdThlrri^Lf  Ss'V'^/'"'^^  ''""'''  '"'  "'  ""  "^  "  '""^ 

estates^  He  .„,  a^  ,?„"  ;'rr'  r  r^e^ar  '  thetra^d'  ""  'T^  ^''''^'^  "•"  ««"<»  C. 
of  exile  had  Riven  him  a  higher  capacity  for  en  '  n„  ^  '  ^?  "■''^''"'^'^  '°  ^''«  «»""«"•  Arriv- 
joyment.  He  looked  for^vard  to  a^tfo  of  honor"  n*^  ""  IT  ""'"8'"^  ^'•<'^«  »«'  taken  ap  by  the 
and  usefulness.  IJo  had  found  lofha^er  to '  h™^'**  "'"'""=''  "'^  ^""^-white  marble  or 
endure  than  grief ;The  reunion  J^faKs  old  Lt 'eToSVr'''^'''^  of  exquisite  sculpt'ure 
fnends  and  relations,  the  presence  of  all  the  fa  £„-^^^^^^^  """"'^  '"">  «  ««=««!  forest 
m.h«r  scene,  ofhis  native  rand  had  nil  welS^  and  angels,  but  rather  to  tho 

overcome  h.m.    ,Yct  he  assured  Dick  t  at  S^  i      t^  ^  ^-'"""'• 

fr.end  w.th  whom  ho  had  met  was  more  i,^  i  „el'';[!  ^'""^  "''"^  "  '"^^P''^'  '^'''oh  '-»»  sn- 
to  h.s  sight  than  he,  and  the  joy  that  he^Ht  Iln T  V  "  ^^'''\  '"  ""^  """«  '•'«'  he  had  ever 
seemg  h  „.  had  only  been  exc'ee'ded  onee*  M  '  ToncoWr'T.'''''  ''  ^ '  "''"'''''  '»*  •"'""  » 
l.fe-tha  one  time  having  been  on  the  occasion  '  ,lT„«n?r  k  ^""""''less  «;ene.  The,  wide 
of  the  entrance  of  the  AHies  into  Milan?  I     "11  ^"1^' «™''"'  «'""'"»«•  ^oWen  ,yith 

And  now^that  he  was  here,  where  was  his  '  ti^/^«        "f  "°''  inexhaustible  fertility, 
luRgngc?     Did  he  come   without  it?     'Aere  i  S  ^"'^ °^  ^T "  V^  ""^  ^'"'  »'«nd«  o 
was  certainly  only  one  place  in  tho  citv  whnr^  '  „ '''■«^'l  '/«es  that  bore  untold  wealth  of  all 
h,  could  stop.      He  must«.mai„„owhe™Ml°    T"""  °7^"'':   ^^ite  rilbs,  little  hamLu 
but  here.   Dick  Modestly  excus<SSse,7  He   wirr^**  "">*'''  ^"''^'^  ""» '^'''»  <>mS, 
was  scarcely  prepared.     IIo  y^^ tSLillul^^^  ^?T' !°^^^ 

company  with  friends,  and  would  CZuL  Z  1  Lii^n™  \°  ""  ""/"■  ""'^  "^  *'>«''«'»•  Tho 
leave  them.  The  Count  looked  reproachful^  i  n  !!«  n  '^  »"*"^  '*"  "'"'^  *  '«««»«.  «"  the 
a  h.m.  Did  ho  hesitate  about  tbaV^  vvZ  fiS'  7"""'«';«  «'«'o  «"  «»  barrier,  rising  up 
his  friends  also  must  come.  lie  wL.l  h.J.  !  ^  "*  '""'^'""^  ""o  everlasting  ice.  He  looked 
refusal.  They  «1,  must  come"^S;S?o:^  "h^l  fd ';rrh' r''  :rhen,?heplainTsSh1 
as  welcome  as  himself.   He  would  go  with  Dick  I       "  VvL.  ""'°"  *"  """•''able  extent, 

to  Ins  hotel  in  person  and  bring  his  friends  here  rrv  ZT  VTt"^ '  ^"  '='«»«'<J  '"<>  •'  Ev- 
In  a  short  time  the  Count  and  S^had  tllZ,;  •  A""* '^'' "^^^^^  Why,  there  are 
driven  to  the  hotel,  where  the  former  pressed  ^Zr  i  .''""'  I."  """^ '  °<«''  ''o*"  dear  I 
upon  the  Senator  and  Buttons  an  SCHo  I  ^nln  1  ^  n"'''  ""'  ''*^«  '°  ''''"'  "bout  New 
MS  house.      They  *ere  not  allowed  to  SsiSS  Batons, 

but  were  takes  away,  and  before  they  fairj  nnl '  folb.  „?h„  "'''*^.''^  '""  ''^"'  «"  '^is  to  thi 
derstood  the  unexpected  occurrence  tS^  were  '  Sn  ?  B°r  "l^  "T  "'"''  *'^'''"'""S  brag- 
a  1  installed  ■„  magnificent  apartments  in  tl^  '  f^  j„  ,-,  \r "■  "  °"«  Pa««^"ril  do  ifl 
n."°  ^.•'"^"•o"ic«5.  °  ,„  „;;°  "  |;7,','|,"  '■<"■>'  n'8ht.     I'll  write  about  it 


"...x.*«    lit  iiia^i 

Palazzo  Gonfaloniere. 

Buttons's  acquaintance  with  the  langnage, 
.terature,  manners,  and  customs  of  Italy  mnd^ 

01  the  Count  prevented  Dick  from  feelinc  otli- 
envise  than  perfectly  at  home;  and  a  Tor  the 
Senator,  ,f  it  had  been  possible  for  him  to  £ 
otherwise,  his  experience  of  high  life  at  For 

.ercnely  here.     Hi.  complete  self-possession, 


to  our  pa|>cr!'* 


bisunfalteringga^'^rXlScTrre 
never  for  a  moment  disturbed.  ' 

.   The  Count  had  been  long  enonDh  in  Am^r 

^J&rwrh^K/^^^^^^^^^     . ,  - -" ^^.^..^....mo.,ve. 

»«•  quite  diflferent  ft«m  that  which  the  Scn.tL       ''"  ''■°  ''*"  «"'"«  '"  l""^'*-     S« 

"»•!  found   in  Flownco      Tho   ««„ni.  IJ5""'''"R'«P"''*'«»n.»n<«  all  that    A  hi.  toom 

^.Ily  cultWated.  ba.  ^ore  Jr  onsr^hevTa"  ''""rn  ^H'T'^  ""»"'' '<>  "'•  ^-^-^ 

>e«oxclt.biIliy,but  moredoep  feeling/  a  !Jh"Sr 

^     r  8     MimD,   ingbiiremorki  mora  particularly  to  tl;e  Senator. 


CHAPTER  LV. 

Bm-SMALL  HV  PE0UKE8   AND^kXf^LLt" 

n„^!f.  ""  'l^'re^.  ''owevor  pleasant,  mn.t  have 
ft^  Sirs  ^"^^ '"*'"''" '--«'''--'''«' 
Buttons  and  the  Senator  wew  both  quite  will- 
ing  to  leave.  The  departure  of  the  SpaniSs 
had  taken  away  the  charm  of  Mil4„.  They  had 
already  jreturnedtfrSpaiai^adhw^wgedBn^ 
tons  very  strongly  to  accompany  them.  It  cost 
him  a  great  struggle  to  decline,  but  he  did  w 
from  certain  conscientious  motive.,  andpromiwHl 
to  do  so  after  going  to  Pari.,     si  tht^  yJTn 


jlAh^\ 


kkA££kttM,iiA^,  •  rtiL 


'''"sS2S, . , 


130 


THE  DODGE  CLUB ;  OB,  ITALY  IN  MDCCCLIX. 


"  My  father  is  a  rich  man,  thongh  yoa  may 
not  think  I  lire  very  much  like  a  rich  man's 
son.  The  fact  is,  he  is  dreadfully  afraid  that  I 
will  turn  out  a  spendthrift.  So  he  gave  me  only 
a  moderate  sum  on  which  to  travel  on  through 
Europe.  So  far  I  have  suc^odcd  very  well. 
Excuse  my  blushes  while  I  mne  the  sweet  con- 
fession. The  Seiiorita  whom  we  all  admire  will, 
some  of  these  days,  I  trust,  exchange  the  music- 
al name  of  Francia  for  the  plainer  one  of  But- 
tons." 

The  Senator  smiled  with  mild  and  paternal 
approbation,  and  shook  Buttons  by  the  hand. 

"It's  all  arranged,"  continued  Buttons,  with 
sweet  confusion.  "Now,  vauMr  the  circum- 
stances, yon  might  think  it  natural  that  I  should 
go  back  with  them  to  Spain." 

V I  should  certoinly.    Why  don't  you  ?" 

'^  For  two  reasons.  The  first  is,  I  have  bare- 
ly enough  tin  left  to  take  me  to  Paris." 

At  once  both  the  Senator  and  Dick  offered 
to  make  unlimited  advances.  Button^HiiJi^de  a 
deprecatory  gesture.  \ 

"I  know  well  that  I  could  look  to  you  for 
any  help  in  any  way.  Bat  that  is  not  the  rea- 
son why  I  don't  go  to  Spain.  I  have  money 
enough  for  my  wants  if  I  don't  go  there." 

"  Whot  is  the  real  reason,  then  ?" 

"Well,  I  thought  that  in  an  affair  of  this 
kind  it  would  bo  just  as  well  to  get  the  'Gov- 
ernor's concurrence,  and  so  I  thought  I'd  drop  a 
line  to  him.  I've  just  got  the  letter  written, 
and  I'll  put  it  in  the  mail  this  evening." 

"Yon  have  done  right,  my  boy,"  said  the 
Senator,  paternally.  "There  are  many  excel- 
lent reasons  for  getting  your  father's  consent  in 
an  affair  like  this." 

"  I  don't  mind  reading  you  what  I  have  writ- 
ten," said  Buttons,  "if  you  care  about  hearing 
it." 

"  Oh,  if  yon  have  no  objection,  we  should  like 
to  hear  very  much,"  said  Dick. 

Whereupon  Buttons,  taking  a  letter  from  his 
pocket,  read  as  follows : 

"  Dkai  Fatueb,— 1  have  endeavored  to  follow  out  your 
ingtructloiu  and  be  aa  economical  as  poeslble. 

"  During  my  tour  tlirough  Italy  I  have  made  the  ac- 
'quaintanoe  o(  the  senior  member  of  the  house  of  Francia, 
in  Cadia,  a  gentleman  with  whom  you  are  acquainted. 
He  waa  traTelling  with  his  two  Bisters.  Tjfo  younger  one 
ia  very  amiable.  As  I  know  you  would  mni  to  see  me  set- 
tled I  have  requested  her  hanil  In  marriiiKe. 

•'  As  I  wish  to  be  married  before  my  return  I  thought 
I  would  lot  you  know.  Of  course  In  allying  myself  to  a 
member  of  so  wealthy  a  family  I  will  need  to  do  It  in  good 
style.  Whatever  you  oan  send  me  will  therefore  be  quite 
acceptable. 

'•I>leas«  reply  immediately  on  rec«lpt  of  this,  address- 
ing me  at  Paris  aa  before. 

"  And  very  much  oblige  E.  Bottons." 

"  Well," safd  the  Senator,  "that's  a  sensible 
letter.  It's  to  the  point.  I'm  glad  to  see  that 
yon  are  not  so  foolish  as  most  Jads  in  your  sit- 
nation.  Why  should  not  a  man  talk  as  wisely 
about  a  partnenhip  of  this  kind  as  of  any  other  ? 
I  do  declare  that  these  rhapsodies,  this  high- 
blown, high-flown,  sentimental  twaddle  is  nau- 
seating." 

"  You  see,  Dick,"  said  Buttons,  "  I  must  write 
»  letter  which  will  have  weight  with  the  old 


gentleman.  He  likes  the  terse  business  style. 
I  think  that  little  hint  about  her  fortune  is  well 
managed  too.  That's  a  great  deal  better  than 
boring  him  with  the  state  of  my  affections.  Isn't 
it?" 

"  There's  nothing  like  adapting  your  style  to 
the  disposition  of  the  person  you  address,"  said 
Dick. 

"  Well,  said  the  Senator,  "  you  propose  to 
start  to-morrow,  do  you  ?" 

"Yes, "said  Buttons. 

"  I'm  agreed  then.  I  was  just  beginning  to 
get  used  up  myself.  I'm  an  active  man,  and 
when^'va  squeezed  all  the  juice  out  of  a  place  I 
want  to  throw  it  away  and  go  to  another.  What 
do  you  say,  Dick  ?    You  are  silent." 

"  Well,  to  tell  the  truth,"  said  Dick,  "  I  do^ 
care  about  leaving  just  yet.  Gonfaloniere'  ex 
pects  mo  to  stay  longer,  and  he  would  feel  hurt 
if  I  hurried  off.  I  am  very  sorry  that  J;on  art 
both  going.  It  would  be  capital  if  yon  conliT 
only  wait  here  a  month  or  so." 

"A  month!"  cried  Buttons.  "I  couldn't 
stand  it  another  day.  Will  nothing  induce  you 
to  come  ?    What  can  wo  do  without  you  ?" 

"What  can  I  do«withpti4  you?"  said  Dick, 
with  some  emotion.        < 

"Well,  Dick,"  said  the  Senator,  "I'm  really 
pained.  I  feel  something  like  a  sense  of  be- 
reavement at  the  very  idea.  I  thought,  of 
course,  we  would  keep  together  till  our  feet 
touched  the  sacred  soil  once  more.  But  Heav- 
en seems  to  have  ordained  it  otherwise.  I  felt 
bad  when  Figgs  r.pd  the  Doctor  left  us  at  Flor- 
ence, but  now  I  feel  worse  by  a  long  chalk. 
Can't  you  manage  to  come  along  nohow?" 

"No,"  said  Dick.  "I  really  can  not.  I 
really  must  Stay." 

"What!  mustl" 

"Yes,  must!" 

The  Senator  sighed. 


CHAPTER  LVI. 

XnE    FAITHFUI,    one!   —  DAHT8,     DISTRACTION, 

love's  vows,  oveupowebino  scene  at  the 
meeting  of  two  fond  ones.  —  complete 
bueak-down  of  the  uistobian. 

Anoirr  a  month  after  the  departure  of  the 
Senator  and  Buttons  from  Milan,  Dick  re-np- 
peared  upon  the  scene  at  Rome,  in  fr«nt  of  tho  <i 
little  church  which  had  borne  so  prominent  a 
part  in  his  fortunes;  true  to  his  love,  to  liis 
hopes,  to  his  promises,  with  undiminished  ardor 
and  unabated  resolution.  Ho  found  the  I'adrc 
Liguori  there,  who  at  once  took  him  to  his  room 
in  a  building  adjoining  the  church. 

"  Welcome  I"  said  he,  in  a  tone  of  the  deep- 
est  pleasure.  "Welcoinel  It  hi»  been  more 
than  a  passing  fancy,  then." 

"  It  is  tho  only  real  purpose  of  my  life,  I  at- 
sure  you." 

"  I  must  beliere  :^on,"  said  Liguori,  preislng 
his  hand  once  more. 

"  And  now,  when  is  Fepita  V 


■JJk\f\  :ri^USl<;:iL'^^'jM 


THE  DODGE  CtlvB;  OR.  ITALY  IN  MDCCCLIX. 


1  propose  to 


y^^day!"'  ^°  '""'"  *'°""'  *""*  «»  ^^P''*  'hat 

see^^'him"*'  '^.''"f"'°°««re  with  the  promise  of 
see  ng  h  m  oga.n,  Luigi  walked  with  Dick  out 
to  he  place  where  ho  lived.  The  reason  whJ 
he  had  not  wanted  him  to  see  PepiKat  £ 


"She  is  in  Rome." 
"  May  I  see  her  at  once  ?" 
"  How  at  once  ?" 
"Well,  to-day." 

ho  could  see  the  Count       Aftnr  „»•.■      ' 
impatiently  Dick  came  UaSLfn''"«  ">»''' 
On  entering  he  found  LuLi    "ZV^}""'' 
ea  as   a   gentleman    this^'time.""  ^ waTa' 
wrongly  knit^  well-made  man  of  about  Thirty 
n_Uh  str.k.ngly  handsome  and  aristocratip  S 

co.'i'^""  me  make  my  peace  wit),  you  at  once  " 
sa.d  he,  with  the  utmost  courtesy.^'^^'X  ';• 
a  brave  man,  and  must  bo  generous      T  i 

"  Say  nothing  ab^ut  it,  I  beg,"  said  Dick  • 

"you  were  justified  in  what  you  dTthou^i; 

you  may  have  been  a  little  hasiy."       '         ^'' 

Had  I  not  been  blinded  by  passion  I  woul.l 

ice.     Hut  I  have  had  much  to  endure  and  I 
was  ahvays  afraid  about  her."  '  ^ 

With  tlie  utmost  frankness  the  two  men  «. 
e,vcd  each  other's  explanations.  anXSeTt: 
est  cordia  ity  arose  at  on«.      t^-  i   •        B^^'" 
Luigi's   takfng  ^nntr^wUh   Z"" ^^^^1 
^"gh.ngly  declaring  that  it  wouW  bo  a  sjn  of  ' 

STfLufgi^^'^'' '-««-•     He«-.ed"a?th2 
fee't.^"^  in  Heaven  I"  he  cried,  bounding  to  his 

''Ugo!"  exclaimed  the  other. 
"Luigi!" 

And   the  two  men,  in  true  Italian  fashion 
sprang  into  one  another's  arms  ' 

thJ'h'^"*'!; '"  T  ^'^  '"*"'''  '"'•I  "West  friend 
■onie'r;'':? Diet'"'  '''"''''''"  "^"^  ««°"- 

vl.  J^^        i  "•     "^^  explanation,  however 
Sit.!"":""'.?':  '«"«"»'"•      Luigi  asked 


131 


TUK  nooa. 


Rick  knocked.  — 

The  door  opened. 

"Pepital" 

the'';esrn'''"^'"*'^''"«'--P<S«of 


^f«Ionie^"^'^fcuSrL±!'w.''"' 
upon  the  oth«,  -i„...n^!?^*"*".''™»5  ^'^ 


"I  knew  you  would  come,"  said  she  aftnr 

tciligible  word  was  uttered. 
"  ^°^^j'7°" '    lih^  £^itft4^ 


yon  do  not  think  now  that  I  was  cruel?" 

"I  conld  not  do  otherwise." 

"I  love  you  too  well  to  doubt  it  " 

"  My  brother  hated  you  so.     It  would  hare 


THE  DODGE  CLUB ;  OB,  ITALY  IN  MDCCCLEC. 


182 

been  impossible.     And  I  could  not  wound  his 
feelings."  . 

' '  He's  a  splendid  fellow,  and  you  were  right. 

«'  Padre  Liguori  showed  him  what  yon  were, 
and  I  tried  to  explain  a  little,"  added  Pepita, 
shvly. 

'"  Heaven  bless  Padre  Liguori !  As  for  yoti 
—you—" 

"  Don't." 

"  Well,  your  brother  understands  me  at  last. 
He  knows  that  I  love  you  so  well  that  I  would 
die  for  you." 

Tears  came  into  Pepita's  eyes  as  the  sudde 
recollection  arose  of  Dick's  misadventure  on  th 
road. 


"Do  you  remember," "hsked  Dick,  softly,  nft- 
erabout  three  hours  and  twenty  minutes — "  do 
you  remember  how  I  once  wished  tliat  I  was 
walking  with  you  on  a  road  that  would  go  on 
forever?"  ' 

"Yes." 

"  Well,  we're  on  that  track  now." 

[The  HMorian  of  HieM  ndventures  feeU  most  keenly 
hU  utter  iniuleqiiscy  to  the  reqiilremenu  of  this  scene. 
Need  he  say  tlist  the  above  description  i»  a  complete 
jtdfco  f    Reader,  your  Imagination,  If  you  please.] 


fParis  at  the  "  Hotel  do  Lille  et  d' Albion."  On 
the  arrival  of  the  Senator  and  Buttons  at  Paris 
they  had  found  Mr.  Figgs  and  the  Doctor  with- 
out any  trouble.  The  meeting  was  a  rapturous 
one.  The  Dodge  Club  was  again  an  entity, 
although  an  important  member  was  not  there. 
On  this  occasion  the  one  who  gave  the  dinner 
was  BuTTOsa^ 

All  iJi^'Jlelicacies  of  the  season.  In  fact,  n 
baiuf^etT  Mr.  Figgs  shone  resplendently.  If 
„  iactory  was  the  sphere  of  the  Senator,  a  snpper- 
toblo  was  the  place  for  Mr.  Figgs.  The  others 
felt  that  they  had  never  before  known  fully  all 
the  depth  of  feeling,  of  fancy,  and  of  sentiment 
that  lurked  under  that  placid,  smooth,  and  rosy 
exterior.  The  Doctor  was  epigrammatic ;  the 
Senator  sententious  ;  Buttons  uproarious. 

Dick's  health  was  drunk  in  bumpersi^ith  all 
the  honors :  '/. 


CHAPTER  LVM. 

THE    UODOE   CLUB  IN   PARIS   ONCB   MORE.— BUT- 
TONS'8  "JOLLT  GOOD  HEALTH." 

Not  very  long  aflor  the  evenu  alluded  to  in 
the  lost  chapter  a  l^lliant  dinner  was  given  in 


"  For  he'*  a  jolly  good  fe.e-e-e-e.e-llon^ 
For  he's  a  jolly  good  ft-e-t-c-t-t-lXomA  I 
For  he's  a  jolly  good  ra-»-K-K-K.i!-L#|w  1 ;  I 

I  Which  nobody  can  deny!" 

All  this  time  Bdttons  was  more  joyous,  more 
mdiant,  and  altogether  more  extravagant  tluin 
usual.  The  others  asked  themsel v^ '  Why  ?" 
In  the  course  of  the  evening  it  beo^e  known. 
Taking  advantage  of  a  short  pause  in  the  con- 
versation he  communicated  the  startling  fnct 
that  he  had  that  day  received  a  letter  from  his 
father. 

"Shall  I  read  it?" 

"Aye!  1 1"  unanimously, in  tones  of  thun- 
der. 


"n^t  A  WU.T  aoo»  nuow  t* 


,.*>!'... 


!*•«• 


^IsAf 


THE  DODGE  CLUHi  OR,  ITALY  m  MDCCCLIX. 


Buttons  opened  it  and  read  . 
^'^Deab  80!«,_Yoar  esteemed  favor,  15th  ulf.,  I  hav\ 

ytsu/d^fgi"""  ^"'^^  ^  "P"*"  tty  concurrenco  with 
tfil'^Lf  Ti'"?  '''«?."'«>  hoiiM  of  Francis  ha.  been  of 

wm  re^u';:,';;^ "^  ^^'- '  ""*  ■«'  <"""" """  rour. 

i-aru,  for  $50  Kt-say  five  Ihoinand  doIlar»_rec'  of  which 

liberty  to  draw  for  what  may  be  re^julred. 

"I  remain,  Hiram  Buttons." 

Thunders  of  applause  arogo  as  Buttons  folded 
the  letter. 


133 

A  speech  from  the  Senator  proposed   the 
health  of  Buttons  Senior. 
\  Another  from  the  Doctor. 

Another  from  Mr.  Figjjs. 

Acknowledgment  by  Buttons. 

Announcement  by  Buttons  of  immediate  de- 
parture  for  Cadiz. 

Wild  cheers.     Buttons's  jolly  good  hcnlih  I 

"  1.°'  I'^'*  *  J»"y  eood  fe-e^e-e-c-IIow  1 
*or  Ilea  ajolly  good /e-e^^., .i-.llow .' I 
lor  he's  ajolly  good  fe-e-e-e-k-e-lloa-  1 1 1 
>)  hich  nobody  can  deny;" 


Jj 


ones  of  thun- 


T  H  E      END. 


.-i^ 


fjiu-tis, ^v  »,j    ^v'.t^ 


»      -^ 


V- 


1 

,      > 

•*     i 

'■     ^ 

1 

« 

,1 

.■._^.; 

''.■<    - 

■     —    ■  ■ 

• 

1      1 

-^ra^WaSA^-^g-^^ 


"  AND  AB  THBY  STOOD  TUB  CLKBOYiUSN  SLOWLTT  OAMM  ODT  OF  THIS  H008B. •*—[•«■  f^'^*  ^82.J 


■*  ■   ' 


/ 
/  -■ 


''""'""■■fntaiPf:^^": 


^s. 


'  ■.'  -"ir-'f^iJlS^^ 


THE 


AMERICAN    BARON. 


a  N0OCI. 


PAOB  182.J 


By  JAMES  DE  MILLE, 

CORD  AND  CREESE,"  See 


AUTHOR  OF' 

••THE  DODGE  CLUB."  "THE  CRYPTOGRAM"  " 


v 


^/m  ILLUSTRATIONS. 


JJEW    YeRRr 


Carper  ^   brothers,  publ,s  h  e  rs,; 

franklin  square. 


J*,  t^'^il^^y^  "li   ^,       '^^- 


.i^i.'ks 


kM      J*^  ■*       v.  i'  •»& 


.i 


r 


"S}: 


By  Prof.  JAMES  DE  MILLE, 


strated..    8vo,  Paper,  75  cents ; 


THE  DODGE  CLCTB ;  or,  Italy  in  1859. 

Cloth,  $1 25.        .  ;       *  ■  ^  - 

CORD  AND    CREESE.     A   Novel.      Illustrated.      8vo,  Paper,  75    '^^■"s; 

Cloth,  $1  25. 
THE    CRYPTOGRAM.     A  Novel.     Illustrated.     8vo,  Paper,  $\  50;   Cloth, 

$2  00. 
THE  AMERICAN  'BARON.     A  Novel.     Illustrated.     8vo,  Paper.      ^ 


''    PUBLISHED  BY  HARPER  &  BROTHERS,  New  York. 

.,,„/  ly  Mhil,  postage  prepaid,  to  iiny  part  of  A*.  United  States,  oh  receipt  of  the  prue. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1871,  by 

HARPER  &  BROTHERS, 

In  the  Office  of  the   Librarian  of  Congress,  at  Washington. 


•    > 


THE  AMERICAN  BARON. 


yean 


PAUION,  IIEI8. 

CHAPTER  I. 

THB  Ar4X,AH0HB 

SomrwHAT  lew  than  i^  hundred  Vean  niro 
a  party  of  travelers  rai&ht  have  been  seen 
crossing  over  the  Simplon  Road,  a,  route  forlt- 
aly.  They  had  been  detained  at  Brieg  byre- 
ports  that  the  road  wa?  impassable;  and;  ai  it 
was  the  month  of  March,  the  prospect  of  snow 
and  storms  and  avalanches  was  sufficient  to 
make  them  hesitate.  At  length  the  road  had 
been  reopened,  and  they  were  informed  that 
the  journey  might  be  made  on  sleds. 

Unwilling  to  wait  at  Brieg,  and  equally  nn- 
^ng  to  make  a  detoor  so  as  to  take  the  raiU 
TOad,  the  party  decided  to  go  on.  Thev  we™ 
mformed  that  they  could  go  on  Wheels  as  far 
as  the  line  of  snow,  but  that  afterward  their  ac- 
commodBtions  would  not  be  so  comfortable  as 

for  only  a  few  feet;  the  snow  was  deep;  the 
.Ie<U  were  rude;  and  progress  would  be    low. 


These  statements,  however,  did  not  shake  the 

that  they  detertnined  to  go  on,  a^d  cro«,  the 
mountain  if  it  were  possible.  >  "»  »ne 

On  leaving  Brieg  the  road  began  to-ascend 
with  a  very  slight  incline,  winding  around  in  " 

Z.TT  "*"*  f  *"^'  "ometimes  cSn^ 
deep  gulhes  at-other  times  piercing  the  hill- 
side in  long  dark  tunnels;  but  amidrt  all  these 
windings  ever  ascending,  so  that  every  step 
took  them  higher  and  higher  above-,  the  little 
vaJfey  where  Brieg  lay.  The  party  sa*  »lso 
tJ  1  r  "^  T  '"■""«'"  "'«'»  «"">^"^  ne^er 

hem»r-  T'^V""'*  *'  '""«"»  they  found 
the  road  covered  with  a  thin  white  layer.    Over'     ■ 

iJli  ^^T""^'  '"*'  'hough  Jhe  snow  became 
deej^r  with  every  fnriong  oHheir  progress,  yet 

hey  encountered  but  little  actual  difficulty  un- 
til they  approached  the  first  station  where  the 
hors^  were  to  be  changed.     Here  th.ty  came     ' 
^deep  drift.     ThA„igh  this  a  pathway  had    ^ 
>^en  cleared,  so  that  there  was  no  difficulty   4 
about  going  through ;    but  the  sight  of  this 

^nlr     "^  '^*'"  '"''"  ""■«''*  i-e  expect-      • 
ed  further  on,  and  to  fill  them  allVjth  gVave 
doubts  as  to  the  practicability  of  a  journey       ' 
which  was  thus  interrupted  so  early 

On  reaching  the  station  these  doubts  were 
confinned.     They  were  informed  that  the  road 
had  been  cleared  for  sleds  on  the  preceding 
day,  but  that  on  the  previous  night  fresh  snow 
naa  »Hen,  and  in  such  quantities  tWt  the  road 
would  have  to  be  cleared  afresh.   >  The  worbt 
of  It  was  that  there  was  every  proWbility  of 
new  snow-storms,  which  woiJld  covei  the  road 
still  deeper,  and  once  more  obliterate  ihe  track 
This  led  to  a  fresh  debate  about  tbeTonmef  • 
but  they  were  all  unwilling  to  turn  back    Only 
a  few  miles  separated  them  from  Domo  dO^ 
sola,  and  they  were  assured  that,  if  no  fresh 
snow  should  fall,  they  woul^  be  able  to  start 
on  the  following  morning.      This  last  assar-    ^ 
ance  once  more  confirmed  their  wikvering  reso- 
lution, and  theyroncluded  to  wait  at  the  sta- 
tion".  

For  the  remainder  of  that  day  they  waited  at 
the  Jittle  way-side  inn,  amusing  themselves  with 
looking  out  upon  their  surroundings.  They 
were  environed  by  a  scene  of  universal  white. 
Above  them  towered  vast  Albine  snmmits. 
where  the  wild  wind  blew,  sweejiing  the  snowl 
wreaths  into  the  air.     In  front,  was  a  deep  ra- 


^jU^l^'.l-k.! 


i,.  .'..'.  ,VasX, 


'T'r 


8 


THE  AMERICAN  BARON. 


vine,  at  the  bottom  of  which  there  ran  a  tor- 
rent thar  foamed  and  tossed  over  rocka  and 
boulders.  It  was  not  possible  <t9|ilitke  4  walk 
to  any  distance.  Their  "boots  were  "made  for 
lighter  purposes  than  plUn£in|f  through  snow- 
drifts ;  and  so  they  were  forced  to  remain  in- 

'  doors,  and  pass  the  time  as  ^st  they  could. 
On  tljo  following  morning  they  found  every 
thing  in  readiness  for  a  start.  In  front_pf  the 
inn  they  saw  five  sle'ds  of.  that  kind  which  is 
universally  used  in  the  northern  part  of  Amer- 
ica. Each  sled  was  of  the  rudest  possible  con- 
struction, and  war  drawn  by  one  horse;  straw 
was  spread   over  the   sled,   upon   which  fVir 

erobes  and  blankets  were  flung..  The  party 
was  distributed  among .  these  sleds, .  so  that 
each  one  should  have  as  light  a  load  as  possi- 
ble, while  one  of  the  rude  veiiicles  carried  the 

luggage.  .  !,     «      »    . 

Thus  arranged,  they  all  started  off.     And 
now,  sinde  they  are  all  fairly  under  way,  I  pro- 
pose to  introduce  them„  individually  and  col- 
»  lectively,  to  my  very  good  friend  the  reader. 
First  of  all  I  must  mention  the^^^fact  that  |he 
party  consisted  chiefly  of  ladies  and  their  at- 
tendants. .       "^ 
Of  tkese  the  taost  prominent  was  a  slim,  tall, 
elderly  lady,  with  large,  dark,  soft  eyes,  that 
spoke  of  a  vanished  youth  and  beauty  from  her 
heavily  wrinkled  face.     She  was  the  Dowager 
Lady  Dalrynlple^  and  acted  toward  the  rest  of 
the  party  in  the  muUi£firiou8  capacity  of  chape- 
ron, general,  courier,  guide,  philosopher,  friend, 
and  Mentor. 

Next  came  Mrs.  Willonghby,  a  widow  of 
great  beauty  and  fascination,  a  brunette,  good- 
natured,  clever,  and  shrewd.  I  might  here 
pause,  and  go  into  no  end  of  raptures  on  the 
various  qualities  of  this  lady's  character ;,  but, 
on  the  whole,  I  think  I'd  better  not,  as  they 
"  will  be  sufficiently  apparent  before  the  end  of 
jhis  story  is  reached. 

Then  there  was  Miss  Minnie  Fay,  sister  io 
Mrs.  Willoughby,  and  utterly  unHke  her  in  ev- 
ery respect.  Minnie  was  a  blonde,  with  blue 
eyes,  golden  hair  cut  short  and  clustering  about 
lier  nttle  head,  little  bit  of  a  month,  With  Very 
red,  plump  lips,  and  very  white  teeth.  Minnie 
was  very  small,  and  very  elegvit  in  shape,  in 
gesture,  in  dregs,  in  every  attitude  and  every 
movement.  The  most  striking  thing  about 
her,  however,  was  the  expression  of  her  eyes 
and  her  face.  There  was  about  her  brow  the 
glory  of  perfect  innocence^  Her  eyes  had  a 
glance  of  unfathomable  melancholy,  mingled 
with  childlike  trust  in  the  particular  person 
upon  whom  her  gaze  was  fastened.  Minnie 
was  considered  by  all  her  friends  as  a  child — 
was  treated  as  a  child— liumored,  petted,  coax- 
- — edptadsiged^^sad  t^ked  to  aarft^hUd.  Min- 
nie, on  her  part,  thought,  spoke,  lived,  moved, 
and  acted  as  a  child.  She  fretted,  sh^  teased, 
she  pouted,  she  cried,  she  did  every  thing  as  a 
'  child  does ;  and  thus  canned  up  to  the  age  of 
eighteen  the  bloom  and  chanh  of  eight. 

The  two  sisters  were  nieces  of  the  Dpwager 


z 


Jiady  Dairy mple.  Another  niece  also  accom- 
panied them,  who  was  a  cousin  of  the  two  sis- 
ters. This  was  Miss  Ethel  Ome,  a  young  lady 
who  had  flourished  through  a  London  season, 
and  had  refused  any  number  of  brilliant  offers. 
She  was  a  brunette,  with  mosj  wonderful  dark 
eyes,  figure  of  perfect  grace,  and  an  expression 
of  gravo,jwlf-pQi8e  that  hwed  the  buttevflics  of 
fashion,  bfil  offered  an  irresistible  attractionjk) 
people  of  sense;  intellect,  intelligence,  esprit, 
jnd  all  that  sort  of  thing— like  you  and  me,  my 

>y. 

I  am  taking  up  too  much  time  and  antici- 
pating somewhat,  I  fenr,  by  these  descriptions ; 
sb  let  us  drop  Miss  Ethel. 

These  ladies  being  thus  all  related  formed  a 
family  party,  and  had  made  the  journey  tWis 
far  on'^e  best  of  terms,  without  any  other  es- 
cort than  that  which  was  afforded  by  their 
chaperon,  general,  courier,  guide,  philosopher, 
friend,  and  Mentorr— the  Dowager  Lady  Dal- 
rymple. ' 

The  party  wos  enlarged  by  the  presence  of 
four  maids  and  a  foreign  gentleman.  This  last- 
mentioned  personage  was  small  in  etature,  with 
a  very  handsome  face  and  very  brilliant  eyes. 
His  frame,  though  slight  was  sinewy  and  well , 
knit,^nd  he  looked  like  an  Italian.  He  had 
come  on  alone,  and  had  passed  the  night  at 
the  station-house. 

A  track  about  six  feet  wide  had  been  cut  out 
through  the  snow,  and  over  this  they  passed. 
The  snow  was  soft,  and  the  horses  sank  deep, 
so  that  progress  was  slow.  Nor  was  the  jour- 
ney without  the  excitement  of  apparent  dan- 
ger. At  times  before  fhcm  and  behind  them 
there  would  come  a  low,  rumbling  sound,  and 
they  would  see  a  mass  of  snow  and  ice  rushing 
down  some  neighboring  slape.  Some  of  these 
fell  on  the  roacl,  and  more  than  once  they  had 
to  quit  their  sleds  and  wait  for  the  drivers  to 
get  them  over  the  heaps  that  had  been  formed 
across  their  path.  Fortunately,  however,  ^ne 
of  these  came  near  them ;  and  Minnie  Foyj  who 
at  first  had  screatned  at  intervals  of  about  five, 
minutes,  gradually  gained  confidence,  a*iii  at 
length  changed  her  mood  so  completely  that  she 
laughed  and  clapped  her  little  hands  whenever 
she  saw  the  rush  of  snow  and  ice.  Thu^  slow- 
ly, yet  in  safety,  they  pushed  onward,  lind  at 
length  reached  the  little  village  of  Siii^lon. 
Here  they  waited  an  hour  to  warm  themsoVes, 
Innch,  and  change  horses.  At  the  end  of  that 
time  they  set  out  afresh,  and  once  more  they 
were  on  their  winding- way. 

They  had  now  the  grotificatiojtjjf  finding  that 
they  were  descenwig  the  slope,  and  of  knowing 
that  this  descent  Aok  them  every  minute  fur- 
ther from  the  regnnA  of  snow,  and  nearer  to 
the  smnny plains  ofitaly.    Minnie  in  ptgticfllg 


gave  utterance  to  her  delight ;  and  now,  having 
lost  every  particle  of  fear,  she  begged  to  be  al- 
lowed to  drive  in  the  foremost  sled.  Ethel  had 
been  in  it  thus  far,  but  she  willingly  changed 
places  with  Minnie,  and  thus  the  descent  was 
made. 


I  ^i  -ft 


,f  »^ 


<L<:.«<&£^-1 


ff 


THE  AMERICA^  BARON. 


-»«^niv,A«  UARON. 

J-rst,  Mmnie  Fay  «lo„o  with  the  driver  i^tl    ^  T'"^  ^»  M*^o  «b^vo  hiS.   „, 

into  the  8„ow,  andied  a^";"""    P'?^" 
made  a  ruah  onward  ^  floundered  and  . 

and  cri  d  ,„  ,,„  pa«enge„'tot  ;S     K 
A?^  ^•/'""'  *""="P'"'  *■'«"  any  one  of  the  .fl.!-!. 


-    r1       """"10  nay  alono  with  the  dri 
Third  Ih^n^'"""*''''^'""' Ethel. 
^    F„  wK  ^  "?"■««'  """^  her  moid. 

i*  I  itb,  the  luggage. 

J    'it  °'  'nese  sleds  had  a  driver  to  itself 

great  height.     At  the  bottom  flows  a  JuriouB       T  7T'  '"""=''•"«  ^»'  *«  avaknche 


it  forces  t,  i^«.,       """  ""*""  a"''  '"ars  as 

n,:rr.47aTdTee?LTaderan's^ 

time  gathering  into  still  pools  at  ^V 
roaring  into  cataracts.  Th^  r  road  J„rf  k""" 
cot  out  on  the  side  of  .ht T  ■  ""*  ^^^ 
path  haJ  been     leared  aLTw"^""\'^^ 


with  a  foro„  ,!.»'..    """'"'y'  "-cmendo 
e^es  Ithl  -r  """''"«  ««nl<l  withstand.    Ali 

the  sleds  in  the  rear  es^ated  bu!  M  "  •.  ^" 
lay  in  the  course  ofTe'^fe'lling  mrs'^Jh' 
dnver  had  madly  rushed  into  the  v"ry  mWs 

^&:ra;rc?y2i;c 


f:rthr;«5LiSgtb^^^^^^^ 

clump  oft^es  to  Break  it,  surface  '  '"'' 

1  he  road  was  far  beneath  thpm    ti.-.  j  • 

had  talked  till  all  were  tired  out      Pvl„  itr- 
0  e  Fay.  who  at  fi„t  had "vinced  grt  ejfhu' 
«iasm  on  findine  hersAlf  ia.,ii„»-.?:    ^^''": 


CHAPTER  ir.  ,  , 

THE   PEBILOU8  DESCENT 


fors.  and  heaped  the  straw  higher  abU"ht 


as  if  «n  .?        '  '"*•""«  «>"''d,  which  seemed    ers     ■•iTMi^      L   T  .""*''  "'^  i«aming  break 


w»n  „---.""- "J^  "«»  ume  Decome  suiBcientIv 
.^^cqunmted  with  the  peculiar  sound  of  £ 
^iTOHig  snow-masses  to  know  that  thi«  v^«/lu 

WW  Heard  it;  but  no  one  could  Tell  wherTw 
w«s  moving,  or  whether  it  was  near  or  fnr 

:^^i:i  r ""'""'  °'  »-hTnd"."Vhe?o'n?; 
S?s:;e-rr„r'--«'''-iop^ 

^  A  waramg  cry  came  from  the  foremost  driver. 


it  mln?" Whit ri'  'r ""»* ""y^ "a-j 

whinh  V  I.  ju       '"y  beneath  that  point  over 
which  It  had  been  thrown?     Wa»  if Vi,"  « 
torrent  that^rolkd  ih^ir  we^al  ff^ 
roclts  and  sham  cra«l!r„^.T!'^*r  ?«^ 


THE  AMERICAN  BABON. 


10  '^      : 

to  her  feet,  and  looking  back,  called  in  a  loud 

""""Go  down  after  her!     A  thousand  poinds 
to  the  man  who  saves  her !     Quick  I" 

At  this  the  drivers  caffle  forward.  None  of 
them  could  understand  English,  and  so  had  not 
comprehended  her  offer;  but  they  saw  by  her 
gestures  what  she  wanted.  They,  however,  did 
not  seem  inclined  to  act.  They  pointed  down, 
«nd  pointed  up,  and  shook  their  heads,  and  jab- 
bered some  strange,  unintelligible  patois. 

"Cowards!"  cried  Ethel,  "to  leave  a  young 
•airi  to  die.     I  will  go  down  myself." 

And  then,  just  m  she  was,  she  stepped  from 
the  sled,  and  panted  for  a  moment,  looking 
down  the  slope  as  though  selecting  a  place. 
Lady  Dalrymple  and  Mrs.  Willoughby  scream- 
ed-to  her  to  come  back,  and  the  drivers  sur- 
rounded her  with  wild  gesticulations.  To  all 
this  she  paid  no  attention  whatever,  and  would 
certainly  have  gone  down  in  artother  moment 
had  not  a  hand  been  laid  on  her  arm,  and  a 
voice  close  by  her  sai^,  with  a  strong  foreign 
accent,  /    • 

"Mccs!"  ;.;  ■ 

She  turned  nt  once.  A^i^ri 

It  was  the  foreign  gentleman  wh6  had^^n 
driving  behind  the  party.  lie  had  comd  up 
and  had  just  reached  the  place.  Ho  now  stood 
befpri  her  with  his  hat  in  one  hand  and  tlip 
other  hand  on  his  heart.  „„ 

"  Pardon,  mees,"  he  Said,  with  a  bow.  Ect 
is  too  periloss. ,  I  sail  go  down  eef  you  low  me 
to  mak  ze  attemp.  ..      -r 

"  Oh,  monsieur,"  cried  Ethel,  "  save  her  if 

v^""!)"  not  fear.     Becalm.     I  sail  go  down. 

Nevare  mine."  .      ,  ,  _j 

■The  stranger  now  turned  to  the  drivers,  and 
spoke  to  them  in  their  own  language.  They  all 
obeyed  at  once.  He  was  giving  them  explicit 
directions  in  a  way  that  showed  a  perfect  com- 
mand of  the  situation.  It  now  appeared  that 
each  sled  had  a  coil  of  rope,  which  was  evident- 
ly supplied  from  an  apprehension  of  some  such 
accident  as  this.  Hastily  yet  dextrously  the 
foreign  gentleman  took  one  of  these  coils,  and 
then  binding  a  blanket  around  his  viraist,  he 
passed  the  rope  around  this,  so  that  it  would 
press  against  t^e  blanket  without  cutting  him. 
Having  secured  this  tightly,  he  gave  some  fur- 
ther  directions  to  the  driven,  and  then  prepared  ] 

to  sso  diSwn.  > 

Hitherto  the  drivers  had  acted  in  sullen  suD- 
mlssion  rather  than  with  ready  acquiescence. 
They  were  evidently  afraid  of  another  ava- 
lanche:  and  the  frequent  glances  which  they 
thr«w  at  the  slope'abovethemjilainly  showed 
that  they  expected  this  snow  to  ToHow  The^ex- 
ample  of  the  other.  In  spite  of  themselves  an 
exweMiion  of  this  fear  escaped  them,  and  came 
to  the  ei«  of  the  foreign  gentleman.  Me 
tamed  at  once  on  the  brink  of  the  descent,  and 
bunt  itito  a  torrent  of  invective  against  them 
The  ladles  could  not  understand  him,  but  they 
cotald  perceive  thai  he  wa.  uttering  threats, 


and  that  the  men  quailed  before  him.  He  did 
not  waste  any  time,  however.  After  reducing 
the  men  to  a  state  of  sulky  submission,  he 
turned  once  more  and  began  the  descent. 

As  he  went  down  the  rope  was  held  by  the 
men,  who  allowed  it  to  pass  through  their  hands 
so  ai  to  steady  his  descent.     The  taskbefore 
the  adventurer  was  one  of  no  common  difficulty 
The  snow  was  soft,  and  at  every  rtep  he  sank 
in  at  least  to  hfs  knees.     Fi-equ«in«y  he  came 
to  treacherous  places,  where  he  sank  down  above 
his  waist,  and  was  only  able  to  scramble  out 
with  difficulty.     But  the  rope  sustained  him ; 
and  as  his  progress  was  downward,  he  succeed- 
ed in  moving  with,s<ane  rapidity  toward  h,s 
destination.     The  ladies  on  the  height  abov,, 
sat  in  perfect  silence,  watching  the  Fogress  ot 
the  man  who  was  thus  descending  with  his  life 
in  his  hand  to  seek  and  to  save  their  lost  com-      . 
panion,  and  in  the.  intensity  of  their  anxiety 
forgot  utterly  about  any  danger  to  themselves, 
though  from  time  to  rime  there  arose  the  well- 
known  sound  of  sliding  masses,  not  so  far  away 
but  that  under  other  circumstances  of  less  anx- 
iety it  might  have  filled  them  with  alarm.    But 
now  there  was  no  alarm  for  themselves. 

And  now  the  stranger  was  far  down,  and  the 
coil  of  rope  was  well-nigh  exhausted.  But  this 
had  been  prepared  for,  and  the  drivers  fastened 
this  rope  to  another  coil,  and  after  a  time  be- 
gan to  let  out  that  one  also. 

Farther  and  farther  down  the  descent  went 
on  They  saw  the  stranger  pursuing  his  way 
still  with  unfaltering  resolution ;  and  they  sent 
after  him  aU  their  hearts  and  all  their  prayers 
At  last  he  plunged  down  almost  out  of  sight, 
but  the  next  moment  he  emerged,  and  then,  aft- 
er a  few  leaps,  they  saw  that  he  had  gamed  the 
place  where  lay  the  ruins  of  the  shattered  ava- 
lanche, over  this  he  walked,  sometimes  sink- 
iuK.  at  other  times  running  and  leaping,  niitil 
attength  he  came  to  the  precipice  over  which 
the  sled  hiid  been  flung. 

An^  now  the  suspense  of  the  ladies  became 
terrible.     This  was  the  critical  moment.     Al- 
ready his  eyes  could  look  down  upon  the  mys- 
terv  that  lay  beneath  that  precipice.      And 
whkt  lay  revealed  there?     Bid  hi*  eyes  en- 
counter a  spectacle  of  horror?     Did  they  gaze 
down  into  the  inaccessible  depths  of  some  hul- 
eous  abyss?    Did  they  see  those  jagged  rock^ 
1  those  sharp  crags,  fhose  giant  boulders,   how 
'  roaring  billows,  )vhlch,  In  their  imagination., 
had  drawn  down  their  lost  compamon  to  de- 
struction?    Such  conjectures  were  too  tern- 
ble     Their  breath  failed  them,  and  their  heart 
for  a  time  almost  ceased  to  beat  as  thoy  mt 
there,  overcome  by  such  dread  thoughts  «> 


Suddenly  a  cry  of  delight  ^c^P^TW^ 
She  was  kneeling  down  beside  Lady  Dalryin 
pie  and  Mrs.  Willoughby,  with  her  eyes  stanng 
from  her  pallid  face,  when  she  »* 'h^."^;^- 
ger  turn  and  look  up.  He  took  off  his  h«, 
Snd  waved  It  two  or  three  times.  Then  li« 
^^cJed  to  the  driver..    Then  he  «a  down 


i^ojtuMsi&i 


THE  AMERICAN  BARON.. 


iT 


cave  ft  mnm.n.'.  „„_i!j-J_       ^luwmore.     it   m  one  another's  arms  by  turns         ■''»""»'«?« 

itv      An  A>—  _>-  .i_         .  y 


»«„<•»     "-r"""  "upe.     « am  more.     It 

ZtTZ""":  ^°"fi''«"'=«.  «nJ  the  certainty 
that  all  was  not  lost.  They  looked  at  each 
other,  and  wept  tears  of  joy.'    Bat  soon  Tat 

t^rn?H^Tn  T7"'*''*'''  ""^  uncertainty  re- 
tutned.  After  all,  what  did  the  stranger's  ees- 
tnremean?    He  might  have  seen  her-b„thow^ 

iT'  ^''t  •""•  •""  ^°"'d  "he  be  ^fe 
from  iarm?     Could  such  a  thing»be  hoM 


for?    Would  she  not,  mher,  be  ^  LJdS  wo^lT'  ^"-^^^  ">e  blanket  t  at  he  had 
m„t.lated^^_D«red  they  hipe  for  an7Jl.1ng  |  de  ™  '^'  "'^'  *'"^''  "'  °^«'  ^er  shonl- 


—•••>•  uj  i,uriiB. 

.K  7*j.  **  ""^^  <'°"^<*  see  through  the  tears 
tha  dimmed  their  eyes,  Minnie  c^ould  nof  b^ 
much  injured.  She  moved  quite  lightly  over 
led  "on";;"-  '^^  ^"•""«"  '«^  ''«'  »'-"d  the 

rpSri;rrshrreihTdiL-& 


better?    They  dared  not.     And  now  they  siT 
once  more,  as  sad  as  before,  and  their  sho^ 
lived  gleam  of  hope  feded  away 
^_  They  saw  the  stranger  go  over  the  preci- 

Then  he  disappeared. 

nnJ!*.?  ""^^  "*'"?  '"  °'"  *■""■  "  "ttle  distance, 
and  then  stopped.  Then  more  went  out.  Then 
It  stopped  again. 

noTetiT  ""  '"'  '^"•'^  ''^''-     "^"^^  -- 


What  was  the  meaning  of  this  ?     Was  he  I  sled  Tn^Vhr".""*""  '"  P""  •""=*  """''e  «t  th, 


»».»  k"  '"^"'**'  '°  ""e  men  above  and 
they  began  to  pull  up  the  sled.  The  strknS 
chmbed  op  after  it  through  the  deer'now 
walking  behind  it  for  some  distance!  VtTJ; 

lk""d'o;:.'^^'^'""«  «-'"-  -  '"«  4  f" 
puSg.*"'"  '°"'''   '^"''"'^'^^  »»d  stopped 
The  stranger  started  up,  and  waved   his 
hands  impatiently,  pointing  to  Minnie. 

lanS'^hr!.'!?"" '°  P"»  ""<=«  -"-e  at  the 


ble.  I  looked  rathe7  Jlh^o^ghZVadrcrd 
some  place  whert,  he  was  free  to  movrand 
hadnofurtherneedof  descent.  And  it  seemed 
as  though  the  precipice  might  not  be  so  d"ep 
or  so  fearful  as  they  had  supposed  ^ 

In  a  short  time  their  eyes  were  greeted  bv 
the  appearance  of  the  stranger  above  the  pL? 
P.ce.    He  waved  his  hat  again,    ^'henhemde 

;:z'^"TheV"'  '""r**  *'"'  '°p« '~- •"" 

person.  The  drivers  understood  him  as  if  this 
had  been  preconcerted.  Two  of  them  in  tan  ! 
ly  unharnessed  the  horse  frqm  one  of  the  skSl 

s1™„™i  V!?*"'  *•"!!.*•*  "P  ""'  ^^  *htch  th^ 
stranger  had  cast  off.  -  Then  the  latter  disap- 
•peared  once  more  behind  the  precinice.  The 
lad.es  watched  now  in  deep  suspense;  inclin! 
>ng  to  hope,  yet  dreading  the  worst.  Thev 
saw  the  drivers  fasten  the  n,pe  to  the  sled,  .„d 
let  It  down  the  slope.  It  was  light,  and  the 
runners  were  wide.     '•  -•'  ■  -       •  •  ^     -    "^ 


At  this  Ethel  started  np. 

"That  noble  soul  I"  she  cried;  "that  Mn 
erons  heart!  Seel  he  is  saving  MiS  ITnd 
sitting  down  to  die  in  the  snow  !'•  ' 

She  sprang  toward  the  men,  and  endeavor- 
ed to  make  them  do  something.     By  her  Z 

Tslf/  '"f  r  «^'  '""^  "f  '»■«  men^to  pulf  . 
the  sled,  and  the  third  man  to  let  the  fourth 

Zi:  ^T  T'V  '"P*  '"  ">«  "tranger.     The 
men  refused;   but  at  the  offer  of  her  purse 

So  rfif  **".""'"'  ^''^  «»''»'  'hey  consemed 
Tm>vt  them  then  pulled  at  the  sled,  and  niml 

Sowl  \'^r°'^  "L"  '"^  "»«>•«  »>'"'  and  went 
down,  while  number  three  held  the  t«De  h« 
went  down  without  difficulty,  and  reSd  Se 
S'thT/-  V'  "■"«  **'""'«  had  been  diiwn 
Sends   '''         """  ''''"'""  '"  *«  •"-"  of  he" 

d  L"n  It 'S!'!  »"^  "-.^  •?"»«  which 


-..  ...™     It  did  not  sink  much,  but  had  hee"nTowonrfT  '"^  ""^  •*>"»«  '''•'«'' 
slid  down  quite  rapidly.      Once  or  twice  it    ...tlw      *°  wonderfully  maintained  gave  way 

stuck,  but  by  jerking  it  back  it  was  det^d   '  '''  ""^  ""  """""""''  "*-  ""  '         '     ^ 

and  went  on  as  before.     At  last  it  reached  the 

feTrlT^"'  t*^'"' "«  »««  than  a  hundred 
feet^from  wher*  the  stranger  had  last  ap- 

mot"^  T  •"  •'"^  •"*  'here,  reduced  once 
more  to  the  uttermost  extrx,mity  of  suspense! 
they  saw  a  sight  which  «int  a  thrill  of  ripture 
through  their  aching  hearts.     They  wTw  th^ 

t'R™*""'/'""'^  •'^^«  *«  pn.4I^Tand 
then  stop,  and  stoop,  .„d  look  back!     Then 

nntVh'TT^.^'ffV*'"'  ^ho  wa.  that  f    Was 
^not  that  Jhw  red  hood-^f  ,|rarffg„ro-¥o 


.h„  ^^  1  nuTO— ana  mat  flguro  who 

thus  slowly  emerged  fi^p,  behind  the  edge  of 

Shffi^rt"  "."*  "^  •»"«  concealef  her 
no  »  '^^J  u^"  "  P*^'hle  ?  Not  dead- 
wond^f  '^•.'"•'  "^"«'  ""'^'"«'  ""d,  yes- 
iTl^tnK7"1'"~*<'*""K*P">e'pieeI    Could 

"••pair  I    Tho  ladies  trembled  and  tUVerad, 


utterly;  and  no  sooner  did  she  find  he«elf  «fe 
than  she  fell  down  unconscious.  "*' 

They  drew  her  to  a  sled,  and  tenderly  laid 
her  on  the  straw,  and  lovingly  and  gently  they 
tried  to  restore  her,  and  call  her  back  to  con 

She  lay  there  a  picture  of  perfect  loveliness 
wheautiful a.  a  dream-like Vome  child-an«  ' 
Her  hair,  frosted  with  snow  dost,  clustered  i,; 
fie  hTHH"'"  °'V!'r  ^'^'  *hite  brow,  h?r,|^ 

pearly  ^tiTthTS^^^r  I^S^ 
li"'""  'I'f  P""""'  •xpre.sion'^of  muS 
appeal;    and   W  hearing  was  deaf  to  thi 
word,  of  love  and  pity  th.,  were  laviSei  ^^'^ 


*.»{ViS       ^  ?/V\ 


■■  t&P  ':e^' 


13 


THE  AMERICAN  BARON. 


7 


CHAPTER  III. 


THE   CHILD-ANOEL   AND   HER  WOES. 

Mk8  ,  VViLLOCOHBT  was  iti  her  room  at  the 
hotel  in  Milan,  when  the  door  opened,  and  Min- 
nie caine  in.      She  looked  around  the  room, 
drew  a  long  breath,  then  locked  the  door,  omd 
flinging  herself  upon  a  sofa,  she  reclined  there 
in  silence  for  80i)n|e  time,  looking  hard  at  the 
ceiling.     Mrs.  WiUoughby  looked  a  little  sur 
prised  at  first  j  but  after  waiting  flfew  moment 
for  Minnie  to  say  something,  resumed  her  rea(^ 
ing,  which  had  been  interrupted. 
"  Kitty,"  said  Minnie  at  last. 
"  What?"  said  her  sister,  looking  up. 
« '  I  think  you're  horrid. " 
"Why,  what's  the  matter?" 
"  Why,  because  when  you  see  and  know  that 
I'm  dying  to  speak  to  you,  you  go  on  reading 
that  wretched  book." 

"Why,  Minnie  darling," said  Mrs.  WiUough- 
by, "  how  in  the  world  was  I  to  know  that  you 
wanted  to  speak  to  me  ?" 

"  You  migkt  have  known,"  said  Minnie,  with 
a  pout—"  you  saw  me  look  all  round,  and  lock 
the  door ;  and  you  saw  hpw  worried  I  looked, 
and  I  think  it  a  shame,  and  I've  a  great  mind 
not  to  tell  you  any  thing  about  it." 

"About  it— what  itr"  and  Mrs.  WiUough- 
by put  down  her  book,  and  regarded  her  sister 
with  some  curiosity. 

"  I've  a  great  mind  not  to  tell  yon,  but  I 
can't  help  it.  Besides,  I'm  dying  to  ask  your 
advice.  I  don't  know  what  to  do ;  and  I  vish 
I  was  dead- there!" 

"My  poor  Minnie  I  what  is  the  matter? 
You're  so  incoherent." 

"Well,  Kitty,  it's  all  my  accident." 

"Your  accident!" 

"  Yes ;  on  the  Alps,  you  know." 

"  What !  You  haven't  received  any  serious 
injury,  have  you?"  asked  Mrs.  WiUoughby, 
with  some  alarm. 

"Oh!  I  don't  mean  that;  but  111  tell  you 
what  I  mean ;"  and  here  Minnie  got  up  from 
her  reclining  position,  and  allowed  her  little  feet 
to  touch  the  cavpet,  while  she  fastened  her  great, 
fond,  pleading,  piteous  eyes  upon  her  sister. 

"It's  the  Count,  you  know,"  said  she. 

"The  Count  I"  repeated  Mfc.  WiUoughby, 
somewhat  dryly.     "Well?" 

I  <  Well— don't  you  know  what  I  mean  ?  Oh, 
how  stupid  you  are!" 

"  I  really  can  not  imagine." '  - 

"Well  — he— he  — he  pro— proposed,  you 
know." 

"Proposed!"  criot  the  other,  in  a  voice  of 

dismiiy. 

«Now7TCiRy,  If  ysff  speKk  in  itart  horrid 

way  I  won't  say  another  word.  I'm  worried 
too  much  already,  and  I  don't  want  you  to 
scold  me.     And  I  won't  have  it." 

"  Minnie  darting,  I  wish  you  would  tell  me 
something.  I'm  not  scolding.  I  merely  wish 
to  know  what  yon  mean.  Do  you  really  mean 
tbat  the  Count  hai  proposed  to  you  ?" 


"Of  course  that's  what  I  mean." 
"  Whot  puzzles  roe  is,  bow  ha  could  have 
got  the  chance.  It's  more  than  a  week  since 
he  saved  you,  and  wo  all  felt  deeply  grateful 
to  him.  But  saving  a  giri's  life  doesn't  give  a 
man  any  claim  over  her;  and  we  don't  alto- 
gether like  him ;  and  so  we  all  have  tried,  in  n 
quiet  way,  without  hurting  his  feelings,  you 
know,  to  prevent  him  from  having  any  uc- 
/^uaintance  with  you." 

"  Oh,  I  know,  I  know,"  said  Minnie,  brisk- 
ly. "  He  told  me  all  that.  He  understands 
that ;  but  he  doesn't  care,  he  says,  if  /  only 
consent.     He  will  forgive  you,  he  says." 

Minnie's  volubility  was  suddenly  checked  by   ^ 
catching  her  sister's  eye  fixed  on  her  in  new 
amazement. 

"Now  you're  beginning  to  be  horrid,"  she 
cried.     "  Don't,  don't— " 

Will  you  have  the  kindness  to  tell  me," 
said  Mrs.  WiUoughby,  very  quietly,  "how  in 
the  world  the  Count  contrived  to  tell  you  all 
thi8?"i 

"  Why — why— several  times." 
"Several  times!" 
"Yes." 

"Tell  me  where?" 

"  Why,  once  at  the  amphitheatre.    You  we^ 
walking  ahead,  and  I  sat  down  to  rest,  and  iSr 
cnme  and  joined  me.    He  left  before  you  caroo 
back." 

"  He  must  have  been  following  us,  then." 
"Yes.     And  another  time  in  the  picture- 
gallery  ;   and  yesterday  in  a  shop ;  and  this 
morning  at  the  Cathedral." 
"The  Cathedral  I" 

"  Yes,  Kitty.  You  know  we  all  went,  and 
Lady  Dairy mple  would  not  go  up.  So  Etlicl 
and  I  went  up.  And  when  we  got  up  to  the 
top  I  walked  about,  and  Ethel  sat  down  to  ad- 
mire the  view.  And,  you  know,  I  found  my- 
self off  at  a  little  (listancc,  when  suddenly  I  saw 
Count  Girasole.  And  then,  you  know,  he— he 
— proposed."  • 

Mrs.  WiUoughby  sat  silent  for  some  time. 
"And  what  did  you  say  to  him?"  she  asked 
at  length. 

"Why,  what  else  could  I  say ?" 
"What  else  than  wAatr" 
"  I  don't  see  why  yon  should  act  so  like  a 
grand  inquisitor,  Kitty.  You  really  make  mo 
feel  quite  nervous,"  said  Minnie,  who  put  her 
littjorosy-tipped  fingers  to  one  of  her  eyes,  and 
attemi^fid  a  sob,  which  turned  out  a  failure. 

"  Olv^only  wJied  you  what  you  told  him, 
yon  know." 

"  Well,"  laid  Minnie,  gravely,  "  I  tbld  him, 
you  know,  that  I  was  awfully  grateful  to  him, 
and  tbii  I'd^give^ftBy  thing  if  1  €0h14  to  ex- 
press  my  gratitude.  And  then,  you  know— oh, 
he  speaks  inch  darling  broken  English— he 
called  me  his  '  mees,'  and  tried  to  make  a  pret- 
ty speech,  which  was  lo  mixed  with  Italian  that 
I  didn't  understand  one  single  word.  By-the- 
way,  Kitty,  isn't  it  odd  how  every  body  hew 
speaks  luliau,  even  the  children  7" 


,:'.Jl&j 


"Yes,  very  odd;  but,  Minnie  dear.  I  want 
«p  know  what  you  told  him  "  " 

knrw^''^'  '  *"''*  '^'"  '•""  I  '«'J°''  know,  yoa 
"  And  then  ?" 
';  And  then  he  took  my  hand.    Now  KUt^ 

iCeB,  but  I  oniy  ask  so  as  to  advise  von     T 
w&nt  to  know  how  the  casefttands."      ^    '    ' 
"  Yes?"^""  '"*"'''  '""  *"*  ""  "'8ent-{» 

"And  so  handsome—" 
"Well?" 

"And  then,  you  know,  he  saved  mv  life- 
didn^  he,  now?  You  must  acknowS  tL 
much,  mustn't  yoH?"  ""ukb  mat 

"Oh  yes." 

♦•Well—" 

"WeU?" 

Minnie  sighed. 

"  So  what  could  I  say  ?" 

Minnie  paused. 

Mm  Willoughby  looked  troubled. 
.K  .  ^'"yj/,«'"A  you  wouldn't  look  at  me  with 
rXSS=r--    Voureal.ym'-ar^S 

b„t"/'^r  ;i- '''  "l"  •  "^^  "°'  »««  P»nieularly ; 
but  I  i*e  him ;  that  is,  I  think  I  do,  or  rather 
I  thought  I  did;  but  reaUy  I'm  so  w^fed 
about  all  my  troubles  that  I  'wish  he  had  neTer 
come  down  after  me.  I  don't  see  why  he  dW 
either      I  didn't  ask  him  to.     Iremeraber' 

now.  I  really  felt  quite  embarrassed  whenTsa^ 
h.m  .    I  knew  there  would  be  trouble  about  it 
And  I  wish  you  would  take  me  back  home      i 
hate  Italy.     Do  Kitty  darling.    But  then-" 

Minnie  paused  again. 

"Well,  Minnie  de^,  we  certainly  most  con- 

ing  his  feelings.  It  can't  be  thought  of  There 
Z:  '""iT"'  •"'J*"'"""-  If  thf  worst  corned 
gt„d."  °"*  ""  ''"  ^  ""^"^  •"  y°"  -y.  'o  En 

th."^  ''T'  '':"  ""'"•"  "'"l  Minnie,  "that's 
the  very  thing  that  I  can't  do-" 

"Can't  do  what?" 

"Go  back  to  England." 

knl?'f /°^''«'*''**-'  Why  not?  I  don't 
know  what  you  mean." 

«1^!"'  ^**"  '**'  ^^*^'  """'«  the  very  thing  I 
the  Count,  you  know-has  some  wonderful  wav 

commonest  dvUity  u  enconmgement.     And 

''What  do  yen  mean  by  that?" 
«u  wi^ .  •"*  •-»— a  dreadful  Mrwn  then< 
-J1  Minni,,  wid. «  awful  look  i  Jl«  efes.  ' 


THE  AMEIilCAN  BARON. 


13 


"A  what?" 

"  A-person,"  said  Minnie. 

"A  man?" 

Minnie  nodded.    "  Oh  yes-of  course     Real 

»irh-Kw^ernU^^^^^^ 

sol^'"'"''  """""  "-'d  Mrs.  WilJghTy  in 
«ome  suTinse.  •   "Well,  Minnie,  youfeSii- 

"Now  don't,  don't-not  a  word;  I  know  all 
you  re gomg  to  say,  and  I  won't  sUnd  i". "  and 
o^rTer^urh:  "  '^^^^--^^^^^  ^^  ha-nl 

"I  won't  say  a  word, "  said  Mrs.  WiUouchbv  « 
S:^i:r*  «">«  ^d  removed  Minnie'sTandf'.fo 

Minnie  resumed  her  place  on  the  sofa  «„j 
gave  a  long  sigh.  j  ^  °^  *''"''  ^'^^ 

at  bS  ^?  ''S"'^'  ^'"y  '**'■""«.  i'  happened 
r»nH^f         T*"  ^P'^robe'-    You  were  in  Scot 

who i  twind """  :""  ""*  ^""^^  Shrewsbu^, 
Who  IS  as  blind  as  a  bat-and  where's  the  use  of 

birnd  f  Z"""  '"  T"  ■««'  y°"  when  th  % 
blind !    You  see,  my  horse  ran  away,  and  I  think 

he  must  have  go»e  ever  so  many  ^fel  „  "r 

railroad  bridges  and  hedges  and^st^ne  ^walls 

I  m  certain  he  jumped  over  a  smaU  cottage 

Well  you  know,  when  all  seemed  lost,  suddl: 

ly  there  was  a  strong  hand  laid  on  the  reins. 

some^Ltr  "1?  ''•""'*''•     '  ^•'"'Wedlt^o 
some  strange  gentleman's  arms,  and  was  car 

retSrlil"  h  """"^^  ^''^"••'  '  ""  '^^'"'Citrd.    I 
returned  home  in  the  gentleman's  carriage. 

horse  called  to  inquire  after  me  the  ne«  dly 

ly  civil  tp  him ;  and  so  there  I  was  J  His  namp 
IS  Captain  Kirby,  and  I  *ish  there  were  no  caT 
tains  in  the  world.  Thb  Ufe  he  led  me  I  X 
used  to  call,  and  I  had^to  go  out  ri^^i  with 
^m  and  old  Lady  Shrewsbu"^  utteriy  n^fg^ 
ed  me;  and  so,  you  know;  Kitty  darling  he  at 
last,  yon  know,  of  course,  proposed      That's 

your  life.     Always!     It's  awful!" 

Minnie  heaved  a  sigh,  and  sat  apnarentlv 
meditating  on  the  enorm'ous  basenesro7 "Se 

rsLT"*"^  *  '"•^y'"  '"■«  »°d  »hen  pre! 
posed;  and  it  Was  not  until  Mrs.  Willoughby 
^ad  spoken  twice  that  .he  was  recalled  to  her- 


'  Why,  what  cbold  T  tell  him  P" 


.  x^i^BSdLJditAJCti  K. 


don't-?'        "■'"'^  **"•  WiUonghby;   «yo« 
"  Now,  Kitty,  I  think  it's  rerv  unkind  in  yon 

Minn  i'  '*"i'y°"''.<"»n  way,  Minnie  dearest." 

a  ^fL  ..H       a'  t  """  »>i'^^Am  vacancy  with 

•  soft,  .ad,  and  piteous  expre«iion  in  her  larw 

I  bine  eye.  J  with  her  he«l  d«  .  little  on^ 


;i;:.i.Ji.ai.^\Xita 


^j.ii'U:-^^-.; 


THE  AMERICAN  BARON, 


"aHOTHBB  MAJfl" 


side,  and  her  delicate  hands  gently  clasped  In 
front  of  iier. 

"You  see,  Kitty  darling,  he  took  me  out 
riding,  and— he  took  me  to  the  place  where  I 
had  met  him,  and  then  he  proposed.  WeU,  yon 
know,  I  didn't  know  what  to  say.  He  was  to 
earnest,  and  so  despairing.  And  then,  you  know, 
Kitty  dearest,  he  had  saved  my  Ufe,  and  so— 
"And  so?"  ,^ 

"  Well,  I  told  him  I  didn't  know,  and  Was 
shockingly  confused,  and  then  we  got  up  quite 
«Kene.-  He  swore  tha|  he  would  go  to  Mex- 
ico, though  why  I  can't  imagine ;  and  I  really 
Wish  he  had ;  but  I  wa*  frightened  at  the  ume 
and  I  cried ;  and  then  he  got  worse,  and  I  told 
him  not  to ;  whereupon  he  went  into  raptures, 
and  began  to  call  me  no  end  of  names— spooney 
names,  you  know ;  and  I— oh,  I  did  mo  want  him 
to  stop !— I  think  I  must  have  promised  him  all 
that  he  wanted;  and  when  I  got  home  I  was 
frightened  out  of  my  poor  litUe  wite,  and  cried 

"Poor  dear  child!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Wil- 
longhby,  with  tender  sympathy.      "What  • 

wretch!"^  ,        „    . 

"No,  he  wasn't  a  wretch  at  «11 ;  he  wa^. aw- 
fnlly  handsome,  only,  yon  know,  he— was-^o 
— fliofully  persevering,  and  kept  to  at  my  hwh ; 
but  I  hurried  home  from  Brighton,  and  thought 
I  had  got  rid  of  him."     , 

"And  hadn't  yon?"  , 

"Oh  dear,  no,"  uM  Minnie,  monmftuly. 
"On  the  day  after  my  arrival  there  came  a 
letter ;  and,  ygn  know,  I  had  to  answer  it ;  and 
then  another }  and  so  it  went  on—" 


"Oh,  Minnie!  why  didn't  you  tell  mc  be- 
fore?"       ■  „.     , 

"How  could  I  when  yon  were  off  in  that 
horrid  Scotland  ?     I  alwayi  hated  Scotland. " 

"  Yon  might  have  told  papa." 

"  I  couldn't.  I  think  papa's  cruel  too.  He 
doesn't  care  for  me  at  alL  Why  didn't  he  find 
out  our  correspondence  and  intercept  it,  the 
way  papas  always  do  in  novels  ?  Jf  I  vere  to 
papa  I'd  not  Jet  ton  be  so  worried," 

"  And  did  he  never  call  on  you  ?" 

"Yes;  he  got  leave  of  absence  once,  and  I 
had  a  dreadful  time  with  him.  He  was  in  a 
desperate  state  of  mind.  He  was  ordered  off 
to  Gibraltar.  But  I  managed  to  comfort  him ; 
and,  oh  dear,  Kitty  dear,  did  you  ever  try  to 
comfort  a  man;  and  the  man  a  total  stranger? 

At  this  innocent  question  Mrs.  WUloughby  s 
gravity  gave  way  a  little. 

Minnie  frowned,  and  then  sighed. 

"Well,  you  needn't  be  so  unkind,"  said  she: 
and  then  her  little  hand  tried  to  wipe  away  » 
tear,  but  failed.  • 

"Did  he  go  to  Gibraltar  ?"  asked  Mm.  Wil- 
longhby  at  length.  ■; 

"Yes,  he  did,"  said  Minnie,  with  a  httle  as- 
perity. 


"DWh»writ>y 


Of  course  he  wrote,"  in  the  same  tone. 

"  Well,  how  did  it  end  ?" 

"  ^d  1  It  didn't  end  at  all.  And  it  never 
wUl  end.  It  11  go  on  getting  worse  and  won* 
evenfday.  Yon  aee  he  wrote,  and  said  a  lot  oi 
rnbMsh  about  hU  getting  leave  of  absence  and 
coming  to  see  me.    And  then  I  determined  to 


^4.-\  .M 


>a  tell  mc  be- 


uked  Mu.  Wil- 
with 'a  little  u- 


e  Mme  tone. 


me  trSlV^r'aT'""".'  begged  jon  to  take 
.         yoVtleS^el'n''^  ''  '•'^*^^  timeJEVe  told 
r,yj'!,*'.'^»« '''e  real  reason  ?•■ 

Wi'l'ln^^KK  **'?**' ""y  P°<""  child,"  said  Mrs 
your  officer,  at  any  rate ;  and  as  to  Count  Gira- 
«ole,_we  must  sire  you  f^n,  him.     Don't  g.Ve 

and  the  American,  too,  of  course."  °'^' 

starti^"  *"""  ?  J''""  ^"  •='^«<»  Mrs.  Willonghby 

ha^^wLrdi,"""'^'"'''*""'"'-     "Who's 

Arn^cZ'\Zl^J^^,^^^^^^     The 

and'^r;i's"fr''°'°^"'^-«^'«-'"--'-. 

mo,^""  "'"'''  P^'^i"^  ">«»  that  the«  a«  any 

-:2:;::ii:xi^^ 

and  looking  a  little  frightened.  *'' 

said  SiJ,  Sg'  "?„d  I'H  L"*   h  7^'''" 
that  von'H  Koi„      '  ,    "  ^°-     ^i"  I  hoped 

■nkinT      ff  ""''  '""^  I  «hiiik  you're  very 
unkind  J  and  I  wouldn't  treat  you  ^."        ^ 

No  no,Mmnie,"gaidMr8.Willoughby  ris- 

:.f'w^^.\';rCf".^^dt?^'?^^ 
r:^:£rf:;iiji-gX^KeaT 

What  about  the  American  ?  I  won't  e«n«.. 
more  asto„h.hment.  no  mattel  Tat SaTf^e?" 
insisSMrnie"""""''-^-'-"^-'-''-Lnt- 

S^ViTsigh:'"''"'''"^''^-^^'-- 

b^Syr^mryrre^-b:;.^--'-" 

pr^Lrjrotr^Jrir*'^''"''*"'^- 

wJckJ?;-'""    "^•^^'■'  t""    •'*'«»"  -a. 
"Yes." 
;;But  I  never  told  you  how  my  life  was  wired '" 


THE  AMERICAN  BARON. 


tint?     AniL  .LI"i^ '"'''~**' *  ^**°""°'^t 

•one.  ^S.'^J,,^'"?''-  \*  de^ndent 
"Whatl"  ' 

'ri«h»f«.Tnd''LT"w'*  «"'"«  •"  h«ve  .scene 
•»  papa,  and  so  ho  Iwpt  out  of  hi.  way.    Oh 


15 

[  dear,  how  I  wish  he'd  been  as  considerate  with 

™;r„«^;~'' -""»"■'»"•»  "Sp! 

biss"""""""""""*-". 

"And  then,  you  know,  he  traveled  with  n. 
and  papa  thought  he  was  ^ne  of  the  pasrenL™ 
and  wa.  civil^  and  so  he  used  ^o  ,T  to^"' 

"  wS  "••  **"''^''  •»"  "^^'^  '^  -"  - '»^- " 

"At  your  house,  dearest." 
"  Why,  how  was  that  ?" 

I  u.?."  goir -■""  ^°" "°'"'  *^""»«>  - 

*' Oh,  Minnie!" 

."  ^u  ^^  P'^Posed  to  roe  there." 

Where  ?  ip  my  parlor  ?" 
''Yes;  in  your  parlor,  dearest." 

what  yrS^S*,!''"  ""'  "«"«--^  f-  •»«  to  ask 

vlic/  ""f^V"*'"  "'^Minnie,  in  a  sweet 
voice.        He  was  so  grand  and  so  stronir  and 

it^e^tbe-tbe-veryjirst  time  that  any  bodv 
cveiv-proposedj  and  so,  yo^  know  I  dWn'I 

JriS- *  *"  "^•^  ''•  ""*  I  -I'd"''  want  to  hurt 
his  feebngs,  and  I  couldn't  deny  that  h«  uJ\ 
'«ve4  my  life;  .„d  I  don't  know  whe„  r  ill 
was  so  confused.     It^|  awful,  Ki«yl?„i. 

And  then,  you  know,  darUng,"  continued 
Minnie,  .'he  went  away,  and  used  o  write  ,^1 

and  I  was  frightened  to  death  almost.     He  is 
goingtomanymonextyear.     Heusei.f.w 
ful  expression,  dearest.    He  told  me  he  wa.  a 
«rugfelingm«n.    Isn't  that  horrid  ?   wL7hit 

"OhIJiryS'"''"'"""'" 

Mr.  Wllmighby  was  silent  for  some  timt; 
Oh,  Minnie,"  said  she  at  last,  "what  a 
trouble  «1  this  is !     How  I  wish  you  had  ^* 
with  me  all  this  time !"  ^" 

JSiiT"'"'"" '"''"' '^'^•^"^^■' 

mind''"?'Cm.?«"'^"'""«!''?''«^^ 
l"";u...?t'".'^*'  "P  ""y  "n'nd  to  one  thing. 
^tiaHajSwifrTOvef  teste  wp  Motte  wltl  a 

gentleman,  ubIms— "  ™  "°  " 

"Well,  I'm  sure  I  don't  mnt  t^'e  hnrrirf 

be  wnnkind.    I'm  sure  I  dqn't  »m>  why  people 
w^U  come  dway.  «„d  s»ye  my  life  whi^ve?  I 

have  npr  hfe  „ved  any  more,     f  think  it'a 
dreadflU  to  hav«  men  cha^g  „,  .u  o^^  £,' 


'  M^iikf 


i*^' 


r 

16 


THE  AMERICAN  BARON. 


"  ni  BBiri  ins.  hbad  dowm, 


AUK  BAK  HIS  UAKD  TBTOOOn  HIB  HVBIIT  HAIB. 


world.  I'm  afraid  to  stop  in  Italy,  and  I'm 
afraid  to  go  back  to  England.  Then  I'm  al- 
ways afraid  of  that  dreadful  American.  I  sup- 
pose it's  no  use  for  me  to  go  to  the  Holy  Land, 
or  Egypt,  or  Anstralia;  for  then  my  life  ^ffould 
be  saved  by  an  Arab,  or  a  New  Zealander. 
And  oh,  Kitty,  wouldn't  it  be  dreadful  to  have 
someArabpro^8ingtome,oraIlinduI  Oh, 
what  am  I  to  do?" 

<^'  Trust  to  me,  darling.  I'll  get  rid  of  Gira- 
sole.  We  will  go  to  Naples.  He  has  to  stop 
at  Rome;  I  know  that.  Wo  will  thns  pass 
quietly  away  from  him,  without  giving  hiA  any 
.  pain,  and  hell  soon  forget  all  about  it.  As  for 
the  others,  I'll  »top  this  correspondence  first, 
npd  th%n  deal  with  them  as  they  come." 
-M-Y«m'U  never  do  itr  iwverl"-cried,Minnie[i 


"  I  know  you  won't.    You  don't  know  them.' 


CHAPTER  IV. 

m  THB  CBATEB  OF  VMUVIHS. 

LoKD  Habbt  Hawbcbt  hf  d  been  wandering 
for  three  months  on  the  Continent,  and  bad 


finally  found  himself 
in  Naples.    It  wo8  al- 
ways a  favorite  place    ■ 
'"of  his,  and  he  had  es-    ■ 
tablished  himself  in 
comfortable  i^arters     . 
'    on  the  Strada  Nuovn, 
from  the  windows  of 
,    which  there  was  a 
magnificent  view  of 
the  whole  bay,  with 
Vesuvius,        Capri, 
Baiie,  and  all  the  re-  ' 
gions   round  -  about. 
Here  an  old  friend 
..    had      unexpectedly 
'    turned  up  in  the  per- 
son'of  Scone  Dacres. 
Their  friendship  had 
been    formed    some 
five  or  six  years  be- 
fore in  South  Ameri- 
ca, where  they  had 
made    a    hazardous 
'  journey  in  company 
across  the  continent, 
and    had    thns    ac- 
quired a  familiarity 
with    one     another 
which  years   of  or- 
dinary     association 
would  have  failed  to 
give.     Scone  Dacres 
was  several  years  old. 
er  than  Lord  Haw- 
bury. 

One  evening  Lord 
Hawbury  had  just 
finished  his  dinner, 
and  was  dawdling 
about  in  a  listless 
way,  when  Dacres  entered,  quite  unceremoni- 
ously, and  flung  himself  into  a  chair  by  one  of 
the  windows. 

"Any  Bass,  Hawbury?"  was  his  only  greet- 
ing, as  he  bent  his  head  down,  and  ran  his  hand 
through  his  bushy  hair. 

"  Lachryma  Christi  ?"  asked  Hawbury,  in  an 
interrogative  tone. 

"  No,  thanks.  That  wine  Is  a  humbug.  I'm 
beastly  thirsty,  and  as  dry  as  a  cinder." 

<  Hawbury  tigered  the  Bass,  and  Dacres  seen 
was  refreshill  himself  with  copious  draughj^. 
The  two  friends  presented  a  singular  con- 
trast. Lord  Hawbury  was  tall  and  slim,  with 
straight  flaxen  h«}r  and  flaxen  whiskers,  whose 
long,  pendent  points  hung  dowA  to  his  shonl- 

ders.     His  thin  face,  somewhat  pale,  had  an 

air  of  High  fefifleineht  >  BnrBn  rneradiaia5=~ 
habit  of  lounging,  together  with  a  drawling  in- 
tonation, gave  him  the  appearance  of  being  the 
laziest  mortal  alive,  Dacres,  on^he  other  hand, 
was  the  very  opposite  of  all  this.  HewasastaU 
as  Lord  Hawbury,  but  was  broad-shouldered  and 
massive.  He  had  a  big  head,  a  big  mnitach^ 
and  a  thick  bewd.     Hii  hiir  WM  dark,'«iid 


.  ,^ifc* 


■l^^<lJ^^^&flt^^^^^ 


!€■ 


ba^'^"ft„*'""*  "P'  ^"""y  ="'  ""ked  Lord  Haw- 

«p  vSuviur-  "°'''"^'  ""'^p'  **^'  i'^^  i-^"" 

"  aL^H?''".^.  «"^'  "  '""K  thistle. 
askedr-lXr  '"  ""  "^  '"°'""«'" ?"  he 

Msn«btbf.d'':et«^rbt'badtiuS 
out  of  a  box  at  his  elbow.  His  evM  w«™  fl  ^  I 
«pon  4  point  i„  the  sky  exa    iJTaS"^' 

"Well,  old  man?" 

"  I've  had  an  adventure  " 

ion  see,    said  Dacres.  "I  utartpH  ««•.!.• 

renoirjj„':rhveLi:s^-r;rhir 

J«ledCotopaxi.and.U.h.tso„'5;hTng'p  tt 

Dacres  pntthecigarthonghtfullyinhismonth 
T^?.:iS?!;'V'* '.'*^'' '"  "«'"  itf  but  couldn't 
10  ao  DMore.    i  hen  he  gave  three  long,  solemn 

Zf  P^T '«•"  P"*^'-     Then  he  took  thVc.S 
l>etween  his  first  and  second  flngere.  and  .t«  f^ 
ed  hi,  hand  out  toward  HawbS 

bnlLunTruZy'^r ''•"""'' ^''5°  I  KO'ib-t 

"Yes." 

"Well,  I  had  a  shot  to-day" 
Anv^/'lh"     ^•'V'"'"  y»»  bad.  ^  Cool,  too 

ttt^wi^^SS^  •'•"«•*- •''--^i 


THE  AMERICAN  5ARt)N. 


// 


lX,fk^       ,''=''  ""^  •""*  '"'cn«5d  for  him- 

'*^^iUri?rTyE^'  ^^«"- 

>«  T«nly  trying  ,o  g„pp,,  with'the'XSghi! 


ventifre."  ^''*'  "''*  •"""  »»''  ""^  ^^  tbe  -d- 
for'lTfde**' Zr'  •  ^"'"'  y""  «'*'•  I  "tartea 
f-Bo  or  so  at  Tortici,  when  I  overtook  a  ro, 

111  be  hanged  if  J  can  find- word,  to  exoL. 
what  I  want  to  say      The  PnMi.i.  i      P 
doesn't  contain  them"  *'"''  '""«»'8" 

aoont  It  or  deraonstrstive." 

nothing  ,°''^"TV    No  demonstration.     Ifs 
nothing  to  nde  behind  a  carriage  for  sevenil 

uni.  ^"K"  on.  old  man."        »'""''«""• 

ion  see,  there  was  such  a  beastly  lot  of  nl»/    • 

tr,Slt\Tr'  "?  ''!'"*'"'"'  b^~nUn?S     . 
that  sort  of  thing,  that  it  was  simply  imDo«iiM- 
o  go  any  faster;'  so  you  «»  I  ^^  SSS 
to  nde  behind.     SomeUmeMndetiriSI 
good  distance  back."  '  * 

"  And^then  caught  up  .giUn  to  ni,am«  y.. 


"We 


'eU— yes.'' 

"But  I  don't  see  what  this  has  to  do  with 
yoar  going  to  Vesuvius."  "* 

"  It  has  every  thing  to  do.    Ton  sen  I  .».m 
ed  without  4  flxedVn.!.  «d  a^r  iX" 

••  a\   l'*~y<»-     By  Jove  I" 
And  tAey  drove  Up  aa  fcr  m  they  coulk."  » 


■'Vi 


^'■ 


18 


toff^a 


THE  AMERICAN  BARON 


"Yes?  ^^ 

"And  I  foHoweajj^rou  Bee,  I  had  nothing 
else  to  do— and  that  little  girl !  Besides,  it  was 
the  most  natural  thing  in  the  world  for  me  to 
be  going  up ;  and  the  fact  that  I  was  bent  on 
the  same  errand  as  themselves  was  sufficient  to 
account  for  my  being  near  the  carriage,  and 
would  prevent  them  from  supposing  that  I  was 
following  them.  So,  you  see,  I  followed,  and 
at  length  they  stopped  at  the  Hermitage.  I 
left  my  horse  there,  and  strolled  forwar,d,  with- 
out going  very  far  away ;  my  only  idea  was  to 
ke6p  the  girl  in  sight.  I  had  no  idea  that  they 
ifould  go  any  further.  To  ascend  the  cone 
seemed  quite  out  of  the  question.  I  thought 
they  would  rest  at  the  Hermitage,  drink  some 
Lachryma  Christi,  and  go  back.  But  to  my 
surprise,  as  I.was  walking  about,  J  saw  the  two 
young  ladies  come  out  and  go  toward  the  cone. 

"  1  kept  out  of  the  way,  as  yon  may  suppose, 
and^Jvatched  them,  wondering  what  idea  they 
had.  \  As  they  passed  I  heard  the  younger  one 
—the' child-angel,  yon  know,  my  girl— teasing 
the  other  to  make  the  ascent  of  the  cone,  aiad 
the  other  seemed  to  be  quite  ready  to  agree  to 
the  proposal.  jtV  _      '' 

"  Now,  as  'fiBr  as  the  mere  ascent  is  con- 
cerned, of  counb  yow  know  that  is  not  much. 
The  guides  weij  there  jWith  straps  and  chairs. 


and  that  sort  of  thing,  all  i-eady,  so  that  there 
was  no  difficulty  about  that.  The  -  real  diffi- 
culty, was  in  these  giris  going  off  unaUended  ; 
and  i  could  only  account  for  it  by  supposing 
that  the  chaperon  knew  nothing  whatever  about 
their  proposal.  No  doubt  the  old  lady  was 
tired,  and  the  young  ones  went  out,  as  tht  sup- 
posed, for  a  stroll ;  [and  now,  as  they  proposed, 
this  strt)ll  meant  npthing  less  than  an  ascent  of 
the  cone.  After  all,  there  is  nothing  surprising 
in  the  fact  that  a  couple  of  active  and  spirited 
girls  should  attempt  this.  From  the  Hermitage 
it  does  not  seem  to  be  at  all  difficult,  and  they 
had  no  idea  of  the  actual  nature  of  the  task. 

"  What  made  it  wor8e,-*0wever,  was  the  state 
of  the  mountain  at  this  particular  time.  I  don't 
know  whether  you  have  taken  the  fronble  to 
raise  your  eyes  so  high  as  the  top.of  Vfesuvius — " 

Hawbnry  languidly  shook  his  head. 

"  Well,  I  supposed  not ;  but  if  yon  had  taken 
the  trouble,  you  would  have  noticed  an  ugly 
cloud  which  is  generally  regarded  here  as  omin- 
ous. This  morning,  jrou  know,  there  was  an 
nnnsoally  large  canopy  of  very  dirty  smoke  over- 
head. I  knew  by  the  look  of  thing*  that  it  was 
not  a  very  pleasant  place  to  go  to.  But  of 
course  they  could  not  be  supposed  to  know  any 
thing  of  the  kind,  and  their  very  ignorance  made 
them  rash. 

"Well,  I  walked  alonf  irtteMhwD/Horknow- 


that  prevented  me  from  giving  them  warning. 
They  were  rushing  straight  on  into  danger,  and 
I  had  to  keep  silent. 

"On  reaching  the  foot  of  the  cone  a  lot  of 
fellows  came  up  to  them,  with  chairs  and  straps, 
and  that  sort  of  thing.  Tfhey  employed  some 
of 'them,  and,  mounting  the  chairs,  they  were 
carried  up,  while  I  walked  up  by  myself  at  a 
distance  from  which  I  cduld  observe  all  that  was 
going  on.  The  girls  were  quite  merry,  appeared 
to  be  enchanted  with  their  ride  up  the  cone,  en- 
joyed the  novelty  of  the  sensation,  and  I  heard 
their  lively  chatter  and  their  loud  peals  of  ring- 
ing laughter,  and  longed  more  than  ever  to  be 
able  to  speak  to  them.  ' 

"Now  the  little  girl-that  I  had  first  seen— 
the  child-angel,  you  know  —  seemed,  to  my* 
amazement,  to  be  more  adventurous  than  the 
other.  By  her  face  you  would  suppose  her  ta. 
be  as  timid  as  a  dove,  and  yet  on  this  occasion 
she  was  the  one  who  proposed  the  ascent,  urged 
oi<  her  companion,  and  answered  all  her  objec- 
tions. Of  course  she  could  not  have  really  been 
so  plucky  as  she  seemed.  For  my  part,  I  be- 
lieve the  other  one  had  more  real  pluck  of  the 
two,  but  it  was  the  child-angel's  ignorance  thnt 
made  her  so  bold.  She  went  up  the  cone  as 
she  would  have  gone  up  stairs,  and  looked  at 
the  smoke  as  she  would  have  looked  at  a  roll- 
ing cloud.  I 

"At  length  the  bearers  stopped,  and  signi- 
fied to  the  girls  that  they  could  not  go  any  far- 
ther. The  girls  could  not  speak  Italian,  or  an.v 
other  language  apparently  than  English,  and 
therefore  could  not  very  well  make  out  what  the, 
bearers  Were  trying  to  say,  but  by  their  gestures 
they  might  have  known  that  they  were  warn- 
ing them  againsi^ing  any  further.  One  might 
have  supposed  thamo  warning  would  have  been 
needed,  and  that  one  look  upward  would  have 
been  enough.  The  top  of  the  cone  rose  for 
upward  of  a  hundred  feet  above  tli*m,  its  soil 
composed  of  lava  blocks  and  ashes  intermingled 
with  sulphur.  Jn  this  soil  there  were  a  million 
cracks  and  crevices,  from  which  sulphurous 
smoke  was  issuing ;  and  the  smoke,  which  was 
but  faint  and  thin  near  where  they  stood,  grew 
denser  farther  up,  till  it  interiningled  with  the 
larger  volumes  that  rolled  up  froin  the  crater. 
"Now,  as  I  stood  there,  I  suddenly  heard  a 
wild  proposal  from  the  child-angeL         \ 

"  'Oh,  Ethel,'  she  saidj'l've  a  great  m^i 
to  go  up — ' "  ■ 

Here  Hjtwbury  interrupted  his  friend : 
"  What's  that?  Was  that  her  friend's  name?" 
he  asked,  with  some  animation.     "  Ethel  ?- 
odd,  too.     Ethel?    H'm.    Ethel?    Bmnette, 
was  she  ?" 
-  "Yei."^ 


ing  what  might  turn  up,  but  determined  to  keep 
them  in  sight.  Those  beggars  with  chairs  were 
not  to  be  trusted,  and  the  ladies  had  gold  enough 
about  them  to  tempt  violence.  What  a  reck- 
less old  devil  of  a  chaperon  she  was,  to  let  those 
young  girls  go !  So  I  walked  on,  cnrsing  all 
thtf  tune  the  conTentionalities  of  civiysation 


>i- 


"Odd,  too;  inffernally  odd.  But,  pwh! 
what  rot!  Just  «8  though  there  weren't* 
thousand  Ethels!" 

"What's  that  you're  saying  about  Bthelr 
asked  Dacres. 

"  Oh,  nothing,  old  man.  Excuse  my  inl* 
rupting  you.     Go  ahead.     How  did  it  end?" 


^-ijiA-i* 


gelst 


/  We^;  the  child-^n- 
_   /  said,  ^  Ethel,  I've  a 
Ifrw  mind  to  go  up." 
/"This  proposal  ^thel 
0uted  in  horror  and 
ostemation. 
/  ♦"'You  must  not — 
tou    shall    riot!'    she 
ried.  ^ 

'"Oh,  it's  nothing, 
(t's  nothing,'  said  the 
child-angel.  'I'm  jy. 
Ing  to  take  a  peep  into 
the  crater.  It  must 
be  awfully  funny.  Do 
icome;  do,  do  come, 
lEthel  darling.' 

Oh,  Minnie, 
doh't,'  cried  the  other, 
in  great  alarm.  And 
I  now  learned  that  the 
cbild-angel's  name  was 
Minnie.  'Minnie,' she 
I  cried,  clinging  to  the 
childrangel,  'you  must 
not  go.  I  would  not 
have  come  np  if  I  had 
thought  you  would  be 
so  unreasonable. ' 

"'Ethel,'  said  the 
other,  '  you  are  really 
getting  to  be  quite  a 
scold.  How  ridiculous 
it  is  in  you  to  set  your- 
self up  in  this  place  an 
»  duenna  I  How  can  I 
'  lielp  going  up?  and  only 
)nepeep.  And  I  never 
«w  4  crater  in  my  life, 
ind  I'm  dying  to  know 
'fhat  it  looks  like.     I 

» be  to  nnk.nd  aboat  it.     And  I  really  m^ust 
l^r^ZlllZ^V    Do.do,dea_Lrest 

Jade  the  other,  but  to  no  purpose;  for  at  length, 

XZI-t  "•*  '?"W-"8«J  burst  away,  Ind 
•Wd  Lghtly  up  the  slope  toward  the  cr;ter 

linsL  T  «."n  ^^''  '•"*  "•''^-     'Co«e.  Ethel, 

J  bhe  turned  for  an  imitant  as  she  toid  this, 

mediated  by  a  .mUe  of  exquisite  8*cetneBs. 
Jhelplay  of  feature,  the  light  of  her  WTd 
^ixpression  of  innocence  and  ignoS^n- 

Mflness  And  there  was  I,  standing  alone,  see- 
iK?  **^  *""  *»«*"8  "•"^If  to  ruin, 
I  w  Jl"°:i''l''  *^  '"«''««  •""■'  "™P»t  becan*; 
«ricl^."!;r  "'"^  ""-^  *■***"  ^'  "•«  «"H»J  re- 

T2oZf  *  ^'T'""  •"'^  •  «'»+'"'  cpn- 
wntionahty.     Dash  it,  I  gay!"  T 

t«d  hiP""!'  ^"^"^  """  »'"■''  HawbJiy  eleva- 


,1 

THE  AMERICAN  BARON. 


19 


"I  SAW  „K.  Tin™  ^  ^^^,  nw  BANl,  „  TBipn-H." 


wiA  hi"  right  he  drummed  on  the  table  near 
"Well,"  resumed  Dacres,  "the  child-angel 

EthJo  «  T:  "^'f '""' '«»"»«  Ethel  beS 
Ethel  called  after  her  for  some  time,  and  then 

^^l  *°  '?""''  •""  "P-  Meanwhile  he  gud« 
who  had  thus  far  stood  apart,  suddenly  f«„X 
sight  of  the  child-angel's  fiU,  anlj  W^th  ^  ' 
loud  warning  c.y,  they  ran  Vder  her  Ther 
seemed  to  me,  howerer,  to  be  a  lazy  lot,  Z 
they  scarce  got  np  as  far  as  the  place  where 

I  stroUed  carelessly  along,  pretending  not  to 
see  any  thing  in  particular,  'and  so,  tiking  ud 
an  e«y  attitude,  I  waited  for  the  d^nouem^ent^ 
UwMAlernhle  position  too.  Th.t  child-an-  ^ 
Pi  T  J^?*""  '"'^''  ''^'^  '^o*'"  rar  life  for  her 
fling  her  hfe  away.  And  all  becan«,  I  had  not 
?X"i*" ''"'•'•  ^«"'-"-''»'^«>^«"- 

h|  "Wnouement.      Now  it  happened  thit  ai 
the  chUd -angel  went  un.  a  hri^  i "\-^ 


m  whi«k««  I    •'■       .  l'™"***  "'•  'o»«'  pend-  thi 


"^>^ 


'^•fe    *  >t '-^     '^Cti^^H..^Srt»    4.'L^>i<S-Jl        't^Vfi. 


20 


THE  AMEMCAN  BARON. 


started,  which  blew  away  all  the  smoke,  to  that 
she  went  bIoiik  fur  some  distance  without  any 
apparent  inconvenience.  I  saw  her  reach  the 
top ;  I  saw  her  turn  and  wave  her  hand  in  tri- 
umph. Then  I  saw  her  rush  forward  quickly 
and  nimbly  straight  toward  the  crater.  She 
seemed  to  go  down  into  It.  And  then  the  wind 
changed  or  died  away,  or  both,  for  there  came 
.a  vast  cloud  of  rolling  smoke,  black,  cruel,  suf- 
focating ;  and  the  mountain  crest  and  the  child- 
angel  were  snatched  from  my  !<ight. 

"I  was  roused  by  a  shriek  from  Ethel.  I 
saw  her  rush  up  the  slope,  and  struggle  in  a 
vain  endeavor  to  save  her  friend.  But  before 
she  had  taken  a  dozlb  steps  down  came  the 
rolling  smoke,  black,  wrathful,  and  sulphurous; 
and  I  saw  her  crouch  down  and  stagger  back, 
and  finally  emerge  pale  as  death,  and  gasping 
for  breath.  She  saw  me  as  I  stood  there ;  in 
fact,  I  had  moved  a  little  nearer. 

"'Oh,  Sir,'  she  cried,  'save  her  I  Oh,  my 
God,  she's  lost!' 

"  This  was  very  informal,  you  know,  and  all 
that  sort  of  thing ;  but  she  had  broken  the  ice, 
and  had  accQ3ted  me;  so  I  waived  all  cere- 
mony, and  considered  the  introductioj»  suffi- 
cient. I  took  off  my  hat,  and  told  he\;  to  calm, 
herself. 

"  But  she  only  wrung  her  hands,  and  im- 
plored me  to  save  her  friend. 

"  And  now,  my  boy,  lucky  was  it  for  me  that 
my  experience  at  Cotopaxi  and  Popocatepetl 
had  been  so  thorough  and  so  peculiar.  My 
knowledge  came  into  play  at  this  time.  I  took 
my  felt  hat  and  put  it  over  my  mouth,  and  then 
tied  it  around  my  neck  so  that  the  felt  rim  came 
over  my  cheeks  and  throat.  Thus  I  secured  a 
plentiful  supply  of  air,  and  the  felt  acted  as  a 
■iind  of  ventilator  to  prevent  the  access  to  my 
lungs  of  too  much  of  the  sulphurous  vapor.  Of 
course  such  a  contrivance  would  not  be  good 
for  more  than  five  minutes;  but  then,  you  know, 
five  minutes  were  all  that  I  wanted. 

"  So  up  I  rushed,  and,  as  the  slope  was  only 
about  a  hundred  feet,  I  soon  reached  the  top. 
Here  I  could  see  nothing  whatever.  The  tre- 
mendous smoke-clouds  polled  all  about  on  ev- 
-ery  side,  enveloping  me  in  their  dense  folds,  and 
shutting  every  thing  from  view.  I  heard  the 
cry  of  the  asses  of  guides,  who  were  howling 
where  I  left  them  below,  and  were  crying  to  me 
to  come  back — the  infernal  idiots !  The  smoke 
was  impenetrable ;  so  I  got 'down  on  my  hands 
and  knee*  and  groped  aboat.  I  was  on  her 
track,  and  knew  she  could  not  be  far  away.  I 
could  not  spend  more  than  five  minutes  there, 
for  my  felt,  bat  would  not  assist  me  any  longer: 
About  two  minutes  had  already  passed.  An- 
-other  ffiiante  w««4#ken  up^in  creeping  about  on 


my  hands  and  knees.'  A  half  minute  more  fol 
lowed.  I  was  in  despair.  The  child-angel  I 
'«aw  must  have  run  in  much  further  than  I  had 
supposed,  and  perhaps  I  could  not  find  her  at 
alL  A  sickening  fear  came  to  me  that  she  had 
grown  dizzy,  or  had  slid  down  over  the  loose 
faiiil  into  tbe  terrific  abyss  of  the  crater  itself. 


So  another  half  minute  passed  ;  and  now  only 
one  minute  was  left." 

"  I  don't  see  how  you  managed  to  be  so  con. 
foundedly  accurate  in  your  reckoning.  How 
WHS  it?  You  didn't  carry  your  watch  in  onu 
hand,  and  feel  about  with  the  other,  I  sup- 
pose ?" 

"  No  J  but  I  looked  at  my  watch  at  intervals. 
But  never  mind  that.  Four  minutes,  as  I  said, 
were  up,  and  only  one  minute  remained,  and 
that  was  not  enough  to  take  me  back.  I  wnii 
at  the  last  gasp  already,  and  on  the  verge  of 
despair,  when  suddenly,  as  I  crawled  on,  there 
lay  the  child-angel  full  before  mo,  within  my 
reach. 

"Yes,"  continued  Dacres,  after  a  pause, 
"there  she  lay,  jS»t  in  my  gi^sp,  just  atSmy 
own  last  gasp.  One  second  more  and  it  must 
have  been  all  up.  She  was  senseless,  of  course. 
I  caught  her  up  ;  I  rose  and  ran  back  as  quick 
as  I  could,  bearijig  my  precious  burden.  She 
w*  as  light  as  B  feather— no  weight  at  nil.  I 
carried  her  as  tenderly  as  if  she  was  a  little 
biiby.  As  1  emerged  from  the  smoke  Ethel 
rushed  up  to  me  and  set  up  a  cry,  but  I  told  her 
to  keep  quiet  and  it  would  be  nil  right.  Then 
I  directed  the  guides  to  cany  her  down,  and  I 
myself  then  caipried  down  the  child-angel. 

"  You  see  I  wasn't  going  to  give  her  up.  I 
had  bad  hard  work  enough  getting  her.  Besides, 
the  atmosphere  up  there  was  horrible.  It  was 
necessary,  first  of  all,  to  get  her  down  to  the 
foot  of  the  cone,  where  she  could  have  pure  air, 
and  then  resuscitate  her.  Therefore  I  directed 
the  guides  to  take  down  Ethel  in  a  chair,  while 
I  carried  down  the  child-angel.  They  had  to 
corry  her  down  over  the  lova  blocks,  but  I  went 
to  a  part  of  the  cone  where  it  was  all  loose 
sand,  and  went  down  flying.  I  was  at  the  bot- 
tom a  full  half  houfl^fore  the  others. 

"  Then  1  laid  heKpon  the  loose  sand ;  and 
I  swear  to  you,  Hawbury,  nerer  in  all  my  life 
have  I  seen  such  a  sight.  iShe  lay  there  be- 
fore my  eyes  a  picture  of  loveliness  beyond  im- 
agination— as  beautifiTTas"'  a  dream — more  like 
a  child-angel  than  ever.  Her  hair  clustered  in 
golden  curls  over  her  white  brow,  her  little 
hands  were  folded  meekly  over  her  breast,  her 
lips  were  parted  into  a  sweet  smile,  the  gentle 
eyes  no  longer  looked  at  me  with  the  piteons, 
pleading,  trustful,  innocent  expression  which  I 
had  noticed  in  them  before,  and  her  hearing 
was  deaf  to  the  words  of  love  and  tenderness 
that  I  lavished  upon  her." 

"  Good ! "  m  altered  Hawbnry ;  "  yon  talk  like 
a  novel.  Drive  on, -old  man.  I'm  really  begin- 
ning to  feel  excited." 

"The  fact  is,"  said  DaVres,  "  I  have  a  cer- 
tain  set  of  expressions  about  the  child-angtl 
that  will  come  whenever  I  bepn  to  descHW      ] 
her." 

"  It  strikes  me,  though,  that  you  are  getting 
on  pretty  well.  You  were  speaking  of  'love 
and  tenderness.'     Well?" 

"Well,  she  lay  there  senseless,  you  know, 
and  I  gently  unclasped  her  bands  and  began  to 


Stji^    l-^llbii 


;    A.W 


ii-^iff-^id..'/ '    j-^WKiE 


and  now  onlv 


THE  AMERICAN  BARON. 


V-^ 


I  UINT  VOWK  OLOSK. 


"^  '1''"^     ^  "»^n''  the  motion  of  carryinir  hor 

We  effect ;  for  I  li^  not  rubbed  her  hands  ten 
mmates  when  sh^  gave  a  low  sigh.  Then  1 
rubbed  on,  and  he^  lips  moved.     I  benf  down 

"'Am  I  at  home?' 

" '  Yes,'  said  I,  gently,  for  I  thoaght  it  wan 
tHM  to  humor  her  delirious  fancy. 
'  Then  she  spoke  again : 
"  'Is  that  yon,  papa  dear?' 

Itil'/r  I"'""*''  «"<>  I.  to  a  low  voice ;  and  I 
kistgd  her  in  a  kind  of  patetnal  way  8<^  as  to 

'^rZ^V'  """  •'"'"f''"  "«'•  -dT;>rhe  her 
and  all  that  sort  of  thing,  youiknow. "  ' 

Auhu,  Hawbuiy  burst  int»  ti  shout  of  f.1.'gH- 


.  "What  the-mischlef  are'yon  makinir  that 
l^wtly  row  about?"  growled  Dae,*,       *      "' 


ing,  piteous  way.     By  Jove !  -Resides,  how  did 
she.know  any  thing  about  i,  ?    It  wa  n'tl  ? 
she  was  .n^her. senses.     She  really  thought  I^ 
"as  h^r  father,  you  know.     And  I'm  sure  I  al 
most  felt  88  if  I  w^s,  too. '?  ^">sarei  al- 

„„  "^"^'«''*'  °'«1  taan,- don't  get  huffy.    Drive   , 

»  r  ^^IIlT"  '"'°'''  *•>«  ''^P'  l"*'  eve.  closed 
and  d,d,^ay  anofherword  till  sheheard  The 
vo.ce  of  Ethel  at  a  distance.  Then  she  opened 
her  eyes,  and  go^ip  on  her  feet.  Then  there 
was  „o  end  of»t„w-kis8ing,  eying,  congSt^ 
latmg  repr9«d;inft  and  all  thai  sort  of  S 
I  ^.thdrp^  ,0  a  respectful  distance  and  waited" 
Afterytime  thejf  both  came  to  me,  and  the 
ch.Id-^gel  gave  me  a  look  that  made  me  long 

ZLJ^t""^  '  '"*"  •'  ""-^  J"*""""!  *'.  with  ' 
W.i^e'?.^''"*''''""^-     l^^homblyem- 

sn,^ '^}"/^""y««»«f"»  toyou,'she8ald,  «Pm 
sure  1  d  do  any  thuig  in  the.world  to  repay  yon. 
I  m  sure  I  don't  know  what  would  have  becom; 
ofme.f,thadn',beenforyon.  And  I  ho^ 
yon'U  excuse  me  for  pntfing  yon  to  «>  maoh 


•^E  AMERICAN  BARON. 


trouble.  And,  oh  V  ihe  concluded,  half  to  her- 
self, '  what  will  Kitty  say  now  ?'  " 

"Kitty!     Wbo'g  Kitty?" 

"I  don't  know." 

"All  right.  Never  mind.  Drivo  'on,  old 
chnp." 

"Well,  I  rnqmbled  something  or  other,  and 
then  offered  to  go  andf  get  their  carnage.  But 
they  wonld  not  hear  of  it.  The  chdd-angel 
said  she  could  walk.  This  I  strongly  dissuaded 
her  from  doing,  and  Ethel  insisted  that  the  men 
should  carry  her.  This  was  done,  and  in  a 
short  time  we  got  back  to  the  Hermitage,  where 
the  old  lady  was  in  no  end  of  a  worry.  In  the 
midst  of  the  row  I  slipped  away,  and  waited 
till  the  carriage  drove  off.  Then  I  followed  at 
a  sufficient  distance  not  to  be  observed,  and 
saw  where  their  house  was." 


AFTER  V. 


TBB  BBGINHIHO  OV  BLimSBBS. 

Djlobks  paused  now,  and  lighting  a  (iresh  ci- 
gar, smoked  away  at  it  in  silence,  with  long  and 
solemn  and  regular  puffs.  Uawbnry  watched 
him  fbr  lomo  time,  with  a, look  of  dreamy  cu- 
riosity and  laiy  interest.  Then  he  rose,  and 
dawdled  about  the  room  fbr  a  few  minotes. 
Then  he  lighted  a  cigar,  and  finally,  reauming 
his  seat,  he  said : 
•By  Jove!" 
acres  puflbd  on.         ^ 

said  Hwwhnry^ 


*'  that  yoar  first  statement  is  correct.     Yon  arer 
shot,  my  boy— hit  hard — and  all  that ;  and  now 
I  should  like  to  ask  you  one  queation."  ~ 
^'Ask  away." 

^^*  What  are  yon  going  to  do  about  it  ?     Do 
yon  intend  to  pursue  the  acquaintance  V 
"Ofconrw.    Why  not  r. 


"What  do  you  intend  to  do  next?" 

"Next?  Why,  call  on  her,  and  inquire 
after  her  health." 

"Very  good."  ■  ^    , 

"Well,  have  yon  any  thing  to  say  ogainst 
that?" 

"Certainly  not.  Only  it  snif rises  me  a 
little." 

"Why?" 

"  Because  I  never  thought  of  Scone  .Dacres 
iis  a  marrying  man,  and  can't  altogether  grap- 
ple with  the  idea. " 

"  I  don't  see  why  a  fellow  shouldn't  marry 
if  he  wants  to,"  said  Dacres.  "  What's  tlie 
matter  with  me  that  I  shouldn't  get  married  as 
well  as  lots  of  fellows?" 

"No  reason  in  the  world,  my  dear  boy. 
Marry  as  many  wives  as  yon  choose.  My  re- 
mark referred  merely  to  my  own  idea  of  yon, 
and  not  to  any  thing  actually  innate  in  your 
character.     So  don't  get  huffy  at  a  fellow." 

Some  further  converwtion  followed,  and  Da- 
cres finally  took  his  departure,  full  of  thoughts 
about  his  new^  acquaintance,  and  racking  his 
braint  to  devise  some  way  of  securing  access 
to  her. 

On  the  following  evening  he  made  his  ap- 
pearance once  more  at  Hawbury's  rooms. 

"Well,  old  man,  what's  up?  Any  thing 
more  about  the  child-angel  ?" 

"  Well,  a  little.     I've  found  out  her  name." 

"Ah!     Whatisit?" 

"Fay.     Her  name  is  Minnie  Fay." 

"  Minnie  Fay.  I'4iever  heard  of  the  name 
before.     Who  are  her  people  ?" 

"She  is' traveling  with  Lady  Dalrymple." 

"The  Dowager,  I  suppose?" 

"Yes."  'a 

"Who  are  the  other  ladies?"  ^  ', 

"  Well,  I  don't  exactly  remember." 

"Didn't  you  flnctflut?" 

"  Yes ;  I  heard  all  their  names,  but  I've  for- 
gotten. I  know  tiniB  of  them  is  the  child- 
angel's  sister,  and  the  other  is  her  cousin.  The 
one  I  saw  with  hef  iras  probably  the  sister." 

"What,  the  one  named  Ethel?" 

"Yes.* 

"  Ethel— Ethel  Fay.  H'm,''  said  Hawbnrr, 
in  a  tone  of  disappointment.  ' '  I  knew  it  would 
be  so.    There  are  so  many  Ethels  about." 

"What's  that?" 

"  Oh,  nothing.  I  once  knew  a  girl  namea 
Ethel,  ai|id—  Well,  I  had  a  faint  idea  that  it 
would  be  odd  if  this  should  be  the  one.  But 
there's  no  such  chance." 

"  Oh,  the  name  Ethel  is  common  enough." 

"  Well,  and  didn't  yon  find  out  any  thing 
about  her  people?" 

"Whose— Ethel's?" 


"  Your  child-angel's  peopto." 

"No.  What  do  I  care  abont  her  people? 
They  might  be  Jews  or  Patagonians  for  all  I 
care." 

"Still  I  should  think  your  interai  in  her 
would  make  you  ask." 

<>  Oh  noi  my  interest  ivfera  to  herself,  not 


int  ber  name." 


to  her  relative..     Her  .i«ter  Ethel  i.  certainJy 

•  deuced  pretty  girl,  though."  ^ 

"Sconejr  my  boy,  I'm  afraid  you're  getting 

vnf  •.  .^'■^'^  remember  the  timf  when 
youtsgarded  the  whole  female  race  with  a  loftj 
.corn  and  a  profound  indifference  that  wa.  a 
pen^tnal  rebuke  to  more  inflammable  natur^. 
But  now  what  a  change!  Here  you  are.  wTth 
«  finely  developed  eye  for  female  beaur'ac  u 
ally  reveling  in  dreams  of  child-ange  s  a„d 
their  gi.ter..     By  Jove!"  ""Kow  ana 

"Nonsense,"  uid  Dacreg. 

"  Well,  drive  on,  and  tell  all  about  it.    YoaVe 
seen  her,  of  course  ?" 

"  Oh  yes." 

"Did  you  call?" 

"Yes,  she  was  not  at  home.     I  went  awav 

.  with  a  .nabbed  and  subdued  feeling,  and  ro2e 

•long  near  the  Villa  Reale,  when'^^uddenTy  I 

tniia  angel.  She  knew  me  at  once,  and  Mve 
1^?  " tL ''h*'?  '""'i'"''^'^  awfu'liremfar! 
•nd  by  the  time  I  had  got  up  the  carriZJ  had 
Mwea.     I  went  up,  and  they  both  held  out 

^mLlrtnil^  Dal-ymple^Aen™  Jlr 
remark,  expressive   of  gmtltnde,  while   the 

toKd"s'.!d'^''*"^"""»'"«''p«'''«''«"'™«<j 

nf  I'nl^v  °'l'.J»»?'y  <>"«nK.  did  you  ever  hear 
of  any  thing  hke  it?  It  was  «,  brave  Wasn't 
U  an  awfully  ^ucky  thing  to  do,  now  ?  A^i 
was  really  .nside  the  crater !  I'm  sate  /  never 
could  have  done  such  a  thing-no,  not  even  for 
my  cm,  papa/  Oh.  how  I  do  wishj  could  do 
«.meth.ng  to  .how  how  a,pji.tfy  g^tefuU  Jm? 

wStoT? '"""*'  '•'''"^^^''•«>*«'» - 
"AU  tWi  qnlt«  turned  my  head,  and  I 
couldnt  wy  any  thing;  but  «at  on  m^  .addle 
deTonnng  the  little  thing  with  my  eyr«nd 

«t  nie.     At  lart  the  carriage  started,  and  the 

I.to«d  .tlU  there  for  .bout  flvXnnte..  umil 
I  wa.  nearly  run  down  by  one  of  thow  beast  y 

SfnySate.^I*^"-  ''^'^^  ^^  --"- 

;ony  makel^"  "  '"'*''•'  "'"''P*^'''  "P»««' 
j^^^^'X^  words,  yoaJHwife    She 


THE  AMERICAN  BARON. 


98 


^™  my  memoiy.  «,d  miikes  .  different 

"By  Jove!"  "  ■■  ■ 

»a!!%°'^  «>»•?.  »diflfiBrent  man  altogether." 
dirto^  f^*  ^  '^''^*'  ^*^  ^•'"'H  eyes 
Drought  np  to  fever  point,  peace  of  mind  gone, 


and  a  general  mania  in  the  place  of  the  old 
self-reliance  and  content  "  '^ 

of  2"  '°""""'  *"•*  ""y'  ^  ""«'  »'*d  mnch 

.1.  "  J^,*."'  "'  """''  "•■«"«.  w>"  we  ?     Bntas  to 

"tftr:'-^'-"'^  ^-'"-"ii-!" 

"When?" 

"To-morrow." 

"Strike  while  the  iron  i.  hot.  hey?  WpH 
old  man.  m  .tand  by  you  Still  tL.k' 
could  find  out  who  her'propie  a^e  u^t  J^ 
fy  «  legitimate  curiosity  "  "'      ♦**""•- 

"Well,  I  don't  know  the  Fay^  but  T..J. 
Dalrymple  i.  her  aunt;  and  I  kno^  ti^lv 
Bhe  ..  a  niece  of  Sir  Gilbert  Bigg.  -^       '  ""'  " 

SirXt'? ••  """"^ ^''"""■^' ""'^'•«-    " Who? 
"Sir  Gilbert  Big^." 
"Sir  Gilbert  Biggs?" 
"Yes."  '^ 

"Sir  Gilbert  Biggs  I  By  Jove  I  Are  you 
sure  you  are  right?  Come,  now.  I.^t  th«e 
some  mistake?"  .  "u  i  mere 

Sir'GnL'rf''"  f*  "!"•'•»!  -he'-  »  niece  of 
bir  G  Ibert  I  remember  that,  because  the 
name  is  a  familiar  oni"  ""^"uso  toe 

"Familiar!"  repeatM  Hawbnrv-  "T  .i.™ij 

think  .0.     By  Jove  I"      "''''""7'     -^  •'"•"W 

Hawbury  here  relapsed  into  silence,  and  sat 

sion.     At  time,  he  would  mutter  such  wonls 
f.'W^"^'"*  *^'^'"    "Confounded  quir I '• 
looked  at  him  in  some  surprise, 
..il^^''  ?*■*•  *'•**  fellow!"  said  he  at  last 
"  W.1  you  have  the  kindness  to  inform  me  whai 
here  ,.  m  the  little  fact  I  ju.t  mentioned  to  „1 

s-gerrcirLWd?^*^'^*-'^'^^^ 
ab:;.r;M'hatrau""*  '^^^  '^^  •>»'->«'•»- 

"  Coincidence  with  what  ?" 

nbje«,  old  fellow.  Another  time,  nfy  S? 
1 11  only  mention  now  tlHit  if.  the  ^ZJZ 
present  absence  from  England.  ITiere'saboS 
er  that  I  don't  care  to  encounter,  and  Sir  ChT 
bert  Biggs,  nieces  are  at  the  bottom  of  it" 

You  don  t  mean  thU  one,  I  hope?"  cried 
Dacres,  in  some  alarm.  ' 

I'Heayenforbidl  ByJoyel  No.  IhopeMI.'^ 
^^,  I  hope  not,  by  Jove!"  echoed  thTcrthw' 
"Well,  old  man,"  said  Hawbury,  after  .fit 

JtiiiiiS""^""''''"""^'""'^  "''"*'■'«- 
"You  s„ppou  so.     Of  course  yon  will 
Dont  I  know  yon.  old  chap?     Impetrtlu 
tenacious  of  purpose,  iron  will,  one  idea"  and 
all  hat  sort  of  thing.     Of  coun4  yon  wi^f:  ^nd 
you'll  be  mwTied  in  •  month. "  ' 

"  Wfell."  Mid  Dacre.,  in  the  Mme  hesiUtinx 
w.y,  "  not  w  soon  .s  that,  I'm  «fhdd. ..      ""* 


if-iU  h,wi^  "-^  .J  ^ 


M 


THE  AMERICAN  BARON. 


"Why  not?" 

"  Why,  I  have  to  get  the  lady  first." 

"The  lady;  oh,  she  seems  to  be  willing 
enough,  judging  from  your  description.  Her 
pleading  look  at  you.  Why,  man,  there'was 
love  at  first  sight.  Then  tumbling  down  the 
crater  of  a  volcano,  and  getting  fished  out. 
Why,  man,  what  woman  could  resist  a  claim 
like  that,  especially  when  it  is  enforced  by  a 
man  like  Scone  Dacres  ?  And,  by  Jove  !  Sco- 
ney,  allow'me  to  inform  you  that  I've  always 
considered  you  a  most  infernally  handsome 
man ;  and  what's  more,  my  opinion  is  worth 
something,  by  Jove !" 

Hereupon  Hawbury  stretched  his  head  and 
shoulders  back,  and  pulled  away  with  each 
hand  at  his  long  yellow  pendent  whiskers.  Then 
he  yawned.     And  then  he  slowly  ejaculated, 

"  By  Jove !" 

"Well,"  said  Dacres,  thonghtfullj-,  "there 
is  something  in  what  you  say ;  and,  to  tell  the 
truth,  I  think  there's  not  a  bad  chance  for  me, 
80  far  as  the  lady  herself  is  concerned ;  but  the 
difficulty  is  not  in  that  quarter."  i. 

"  Not  in  that  quarter  I  Why,  where  the  mis- 
chief else  conld  there  be  any  diflSculty,  man^" 

Dacres  was  silent.  '  ^ 

"You're  eager  enough?" 

Dacres  nodded  his  head  sadly. 

"  Eager !  why,  eager  isnlt  the  ,Wj 
mad,  man — mad  as  a  Marcl^  hi 
and  win."  ,  %■( 

Dacreft  said  nothing.        ^% 

"  You're  rich,  not  over  op,  handsome,  well 
born,  well  bred,  and  hav^'*?aved  the  lady's  life 
by  extricating  her  from  t«e  crater  of  a  volcano. 
She  seentB  too  young  and  childlike  to  have  had 
any  other  affairs.  ^.Sho's  probably  just  out  of 
school ;  not  been  into  society ;  not  come  out ; 
just  the  girl.  Cpnfound  these  girls,  I  say,  that 
have  gone  throararengagements  with  other  fel- 
lows I"  F 

»'"OH,  as  to  that,"  said  Dacr«s,  "this  little 
thing  is  jaSt  like  a  child,  and  in  her  very  sim- 
plicity does  not  know  what  love  is.  Engage- 
ment I  By  Jove,  I  don't  believe  she  knows  the 
meaning  of  ^e  word!  She's  perfectly  fresh, 
artless,  simple,  and  guileless.  I  don't  believe 
she  ever  heard  a  word  of  sentiment  or  tender- 
ness from  any  man  in  her  life." 

"  Very  likely ;  so  where'i  the  difficulty  ?" 

"  Well,  to  tell  the  troth,  the  difficulty  is  in 
my  own  affairs." 

"Tour  affairs  I  Odd,  too.  What's  up?  T 
didn't  know  any  thing  had  happened.  That's 
too  infernal  bad,  loo." 

"Ob,  it's  nothing  of  that  sort;  money's  all 
right;  no  swindle.  It's  an  affair  of  another 
character  altogether."    _ 


"OJif" 

"  And  one,  too,  that  makes  me  think  that—" 

He  hesitated. 

"That  what?" 

"T^M  I'd  better  start  for  Australia." 

"Anstralial" 

"Y«fc;' 


".What's  the  meaning  of  that  ?" 

"Why,"  said  Dacres,  gloomily,  "it  means 
giving  up  the  child-angel,  and  trying  to  forget 
her — if  I  ever  can." 

"  Forget  her  I  What's  the  meaning  6{  all 
this  ?  Why,  man,  five  minutes  ago  you  were 
all  on  fireiibout  her,  and  now  you  talk  quietly 
about  giving  her  up !     I'm  all  adrift." 

"  Well,  it's  a  mixed  up  matter." 

'•What  is?" 

"My  affair." 

"Your  affair;  something  that  has  happen- 
ed?" 

"  Yes.  It's  a  sore  matter,  and  I  don't  care 
to  speak  about  it  just  now." 

"Oh!" 

"And  it's  the  real  cause  why  1  don't  go  bock 
to  England." 

"  The  mischief  it  is !  Why,  Dacres,  I'll  be 
hanged  if  you're  not  using  the  very  words  I 
myself  used  a  few  minutes  ago." 

J* Am  I?"  said  Dacres,  gloomily. 

"  Yon  certainly  are  ;  and  that  makes  mc 
think'ihat  our  affairs  are  in  a  similar  complica- 
tion." 

"  Oh  no ;  mine  is  very  peculiar." 

"  Well,  there's  one  thing  I  should  like  to  ask, 
and  you  needn't  answer  unless  you  like." 

"Well?" 

"  Doesn't  your  difficulty  arise  from  some  con- 
founded woman  pr  other?" 

"Well— yes." 

"  By  Jove,  I  knew  it !  And,  old  fellow,  I'm 
in  the  same  situation," 


■T  iovi,  I  naw  it  I" 


"  Oh  ho  I  So  you're  driven  away  from  En- 
gland by  a  woman  ?" 

"  Exactly." 

Dacres  sighed  heavily. 

"  Yonni  can't  be  as  had  M  mine,"  said  he, 
with  •  dismal  look.  "  Mine  is  the  worst  scrape 
that  ever  you  heard  of.     And  look  at  me  now, 


with  the  child-angel  all  ready  to  take  me,  and 
me  not  able  to  be  taken.    Coflfbund  the  abom- 
inable complications  of  an  •ccntved  oiviUxation, 
I  say  I" 
"And  I  My,  Amenl"  laid  Hawbniy. 


u. 


■ova  some  con- 


;'  CHAPTER  VI. 

THB    FIEBT    THIAt. 

"See  here,  old  chap,"  said  Hawbnir.  "I'm 
going  to  make  a  clean  breast  of  it " 

"Of  what?" 

•'Of  my  affair." 

" That-8  right,"  said  Dacres,  dolefully.  "I 
should  like  of  all  things  to  hear  it"  ' 

,.f^?^:!!l:^r'}^^".«>-^yyo„you^ 


THE  AMERICAN  BARON. 


I 


self  turn  out  to  be  in  a !«»«  sSnV"'";  ^  ""  f  ^  'u"' .  '  ''""^d  "P  ^  her,  and  jus 


o,^  „,!,».  T  1.  "Ulnar  nHuaiion,  am 

so  what  I  have  to  say  may  proye  of  use  to  you 
At  any  rate,  you  may  give  me  some  useful  sug- 
gestion. * 

';  Veiy  well,  then, "  continued  Hawbnry-"  to 
ftegin.  You  may  remember  that  I  told  vou 
when  we  met  here  wher«  I  had  been  passing 
tde  time  since  I  saw  you  last." 

Dacres  noddM  assent. 

"  WeU,  about  two  years  ago  I  was  in  Cana- 
da.    I  went  there  for  sport,  and  plunged  at 
once  into  the  wilderness.     And  let  me  tell 
you  Its  a  very  pretty  country  for  hunting. 
Lots  of  game-flsh,  flesh,  and  fowl-from  the 
cariboo  down  to  the  smallest  trout  that  yon 
would  caj-e  to  hook.     Glorious  country ;  mae- 
nificent  forests  waiting  for  the  lumberman:  air 
that  acts  on  you  like  wine,  or  even  better-  riv 
ers  and  lakes  in  all  directions;  no  end  of  sport 
and  all  that  sort  of  thing,  yon  know.     HaVe  you 
ever  been  in  Canada  ?" 
"Only  traveled  throogh." 
"Well,  the  next  time  yon  feel  inclined  for 
high  art  sport  we'll  go  together,  and  have  no 

done  for,*hich,  of  conrse,you  will  be.    No  mat- 
ter.    I  was  saying  that  I  was  in  a  fine  country 


85 

fwei^^„°^'l?*"^  "T"*"'-  «'•«»«"  of  «j'«'t 

were  m  the  air;  the  atmosphere  was  worse 
than  ever,  and  I  never  had  such  difficulty  in 
my  hfe  ,n  walking  along.  I  had  to  throw 
away  my  rifle  and  fishing -rody  and  was  S 
thinking  of  pitching  my  clothfes  after  them 
when  suddenly  I  turned  a  bend  in  ti  path! 
and  met  a  young  girl  fall  inthe  face 

"By  Joyel  I  swear  I  never  w^as  so  astound- 
ed in  my  life.     J  h^rfed  up  t6  her,  andTuB. 


...I  ™,„     -.1.  '  "'"'"  *"e  intei 

ed  me  with  a  question  of  the  same  kind.     By- 

the-way    I  forgot  to  say  thai  she  was  /n 

to  have  had  i  deuced  hard  time  of  it  too  for  he 
was  trembling  from  head  to  foot,  though  wheth! 

erthatarose  from  fatigue  or  frlglitldonVknow 
Perhaps  it  was  both.  "  '^uow. 

"Well,  the  girt  was  evidently  very  much 
alarmed.     She  was  awfully  pale;   sh7wa^  a 
monstrous  pretty  girt  too-the  prettiest  by  aU 
odds  I  ever  saw,  and  that's  saying  a  good  deal 
By  Jove     Well,  it  turned  out  that  shf  had  been 
stopping  in  the  back  country  for  a  month,  at  a 
house  somewhere  up  the  river,  with  her  father. 
Her  father  had  gone  down  to  Ottawa  a  week  be- 
fore, and  was  expected  back  on  this  day.     She 
had  come  out  to  meet  him,  and  had  lost  her 
way.      She  had  been  out  for  hours,  and  was 
completely  bewildered.     She  was  also  frigh" 
ened  at  the  fires,  which  now  seemed  to  be  all 

"T    /.'••,  T^u'*  "'"'  ^''^^  >»«  *°  a  few  words, 
and  asked  if  I  knew  where  the  river  was. 

Of  course  I  knew  no  more  than  she  did. 

and  It  needed  only  a  few  wonls  from  me  to  sho^ 

r^        ""  **  "'"'''  "»  ""'  dark  as  she  was 
I  beghn  to  question  her,  however,  as  to  this  riv- 


I  spent  a  couVle'of  monthrthere  wTth  two  «;  erRVT"'''  ^'  ''""''^«'' «" '»  ""»  ">- 

three  Indians,  and  at  length  stoi^d  for  n7.^  ^  •         "^"""^  "'  "'*'  '"  '••«  P-^sent  state  of 

on  my  way  ho'm*.     ihe  Siirp^'t  me^Jn  .i:  Sfrone^'/nr"  ""I  "^  '  '"'  """«  «°  ^'^- 

right  path,  after  which  I  dismisJ^d  them  and  fh«Y  ZV  a          ""'  ^  "^^  '»'"'«''""  "^e  «'«» 

set  out  alone  with  my  gun  and  Snl  ^h'  a        ''"?  '"'""'  "P*"  '""is  road  from  the 

«  enough  the'first  night7bro;  the  m  r   '%'tll^TA  i»J-«t  <Ji-tion. 


-.11  t    .   '-  ""•'  """i  """  *  wept 

weU  enough  the  first  night;  but  on  the  morn- 
ing of  the  second  day  I  found  the  air  full  of 

?!r.°i.  ;  i?T'"i  ^  *"'*  "«"  K*"*  »"«•»  thought 
to  that,  for  there  had  been  a  smoky  look  about 
the  sky  for  a  week,  and  the  woods  are  always 
burning  there,  I  beUeve,  in  one  place  or  an- 

„/ Ik  u*'"  ""•  •""*  »•«"  enough  for  food, 
•nd  thos  the  second  day  passed.    That  evening 


the  air  was  quite  suff^SitTg  .„d  ft  wL  3  a7ar%Tseel::!:r  '  "T'""'  ""'  «>""»«« 
«  an  oven.  _  I  struggled  through  the  ni^ht  1  ^0?^;  2'  TJ^'^  "  T'  "«"• '."«  "he  had  got 


L'f  r*"-  u  ^  •»"•»«['«<»  through  the  night,  I 
dont  know  how;  and  then  on  the  third  day 
i»^e  another  start.  This  third  day  wa.  abom- 
inable. The  atmosphere  was  beasdy  hot ;  the 
*y  was  a  dull  yellow,  and  the  birds  seemed  to 
J*^' <''«PPeareiAeIwent  on  it  grew 
1^„  /    SwHiU  it  wu  itot^hecmie  the  fires 

IZ  ^i.-'!,"'  •*'  ""•  ®"  *•  oontnrj,  they 
were  behind  me,  and  were  driving  on  so  that 
«!m'?'*  K«dually  approaching  nearer.  I 
MOW  do  my  thirty  miles  a  day  eren  in  that 
n>u«Ji  country,  but  the  fires  could  do  more.    At 

thin  .^T  '"'"  •  "•*''  '•'"»  *■•  •  "ttle  wider 
than  the  flnt  one.    As  I  went  on  I  met  mttle 


I  assured  her  that  I  would  do  whatever  lav 
in  my  power;  and  with  that  I  walked  on  in  the 
direction  in  which  I  had  been  going,  while  she 
rode  by  my  side.  Some  further  questions  »  to 
the  situation  of  the  house  where  she  had  bean 
staying  showed  me  that  it  was  on  the  banks  of 
the  nver  about  fifty  miles  above  Ottowa.  Br'^ 
my  own  calculations  I  was  abont  that  distance 


I    ^'.    ..  -— —  — "»  """"i  ni«  sne  naa  got 

lost  m  the  woods,  and  had  wandered  thus  over 
some  trmil  to  the  path  where  she  had  met  me 
Every  thing  served  to  show  me  that  the  rive^ 
lay  to  the  left,  and  so  I  resolved  to  tnm  in  at 
the  first  path  which  I  reached. 

"At  length,  •fker  abont^wo fflileSf- 
to  a  path  which  went  into  the  woods.  My  com- 
panion was  sure  that  this  was  the  very  one  by 
which  she  had  come  ont,  and  this  confirmed  the 
impression  which  the  sight  of  it  had  given  mo. 
I  thought  it  certainly  must  lead  toward  the  Hr- 

VnA  .^.  Tn'"™!^  '"'f  "•'•  P'*-  I  ''ent  fl«t, 
and  she  followed,  and  so  we  went  for  about  a 
couple  of  miles  further.  ""«»  • 


THE  ^ERICAX  BARON. 


"All  this  time  the  heat  had^b^en  getting 
worse  and  worse.  The  sir^wtts  more  smoky 
than  ever ;  my  mouth  was^rched  and  dry.  I 
breathed  with  difiScalty,  kad  conld  scarcely  drag 
one  leg  after  another.  The  lady  was  almost  as 
mnch  exhausted  as  I  was,  and  suffered  acutely, 
as  I  could  easily  see,  though  she  ottered  not  a 
word  of  complaint.  Her  horse  also  suffered  ter- 
ribly, and  did  not  seem  able  to  bear  her  weight 
much  longer.  The  poor  brute  trembled  and 
staggered,  and  once  or  twice  stopped,  so  that  it 
was  difiScolt  to  start  him  again.  The  road  ^ad 
gone  in  a  winding  way,  but  was  not  so  crooked 
as  I  expected.  I  afterward  found  that  she  had 
gone  by  other  paths  ujitil  she  had  found  herself 
in  thick  woods,  and  then  on  trying  to  retrace 
her  way  she  had  strayed  into  this  path.  If  she 
had  turned  to  the  left  on  Arst  reaching  it,  in- 
stead of  to  the  right,  the  fate  of  each  of  us  would 
have  been  different.  Our  meeting  was  no  doubt 
the  salvation  of  both. 

"There  was  a  wooded  eininence  in  front, 
which  we  had  been  steadily  approaching  for 
some  time.  At  last  we  reached  the  top,  and 
here  a  scene  bprst  upon  as  which  was  rather 
startling.  The  hill  was  high  enough  to  com- 
mand an  extensive  view,  and  the  first  thing 
that  we  saw  was  a  vast  extent  of  woods  and 
water  and  smoke.  By-and-by  we  were  able  to 
distinguish  each.  The  water  was  the  river,.which 
could  be  seen  for  miles.  Up  the  river  toward 
the  left  the  smoke  arose  in  great  volumes,  cov- 
ering every  thing ;  while  in  front  of  us,  and  im- 
mediately between  us  and  the  river,  there  was  a 
line  of  smoke  which  showed  that  the  fires  had 
penetrated  there  and  had  intercepted  us. 

"  We  stood  still  in  bewilderment.  I  looked 
all  around.  To  go  back  was  as  bad  as  to  go 
forward,  for  there,  also,  a  line  of  smoke  arose 
which  showed  the  progress  of  the  flames.  To 
the  right  there  was  less  smoke ;  but  in  that 
direction  there  was  only  a  wilderness,  through 
which  we  eould  not  hope  to  pass  for  any  dis- 
tance. The  only  hope  was  the  river.  If  we 
oonld  traverse  the  flames  in  (hat  direction,  so 
as  to  reach  the  water,  we  would  be  safe.  In  a 
few  words  I  communicated  my  decision  to  my 
companion.  She  said  nothing,  but  bowed  her 
head  in  acquiescence. 

"  Without  delaying  any  longer  we  resumed 
our  walk.  After  about  a  mile  we  found  our- 
selves compelled  once  more  to  halt.  The  view 
here  was  worse  than  ever.  The  path  was  now 
OS  wide  as  an  ordinary  road,  and  grew  wider 
■till  as  it  went  on.  It  was  evidently  used  to 
haul  logs  down  to  the  river,  and  as  it  approach- 
ed the  bank  .it  grew  steadily  wider ;  but  be- 
tween as  and  the  river  the  woods  were  all  burn- 
ing. The  first  rash  of  the  fire  was  over,  and 
«ow  Mt*  ioohed  fbnrCfiiHid  saw  r  vut  amy^of 
columns — the  trunks  ef  burned  trees — some 
bl^kened  and  charred,  others  glowing  red. 
Tl^  ground  below  was  also  glowing  red,  with 
blackened  spaces  here  and  there. 

"  Still  the  burned  tract  was  but  a  strip,  and 
there  lay  our  hope.     The  fire,  by  sojne  strange 


means,  bad  passed  on  a  track  not  wider  than  a 
hundred  yards,  and  this  was  what  had  to  be 
traversed  by  us.  The  question  was,  whether 
we  could  pass  through  that  or  not.  The  same 
question  came  to  both  of  us,  and  neither  of  us 
said  a  word.  But  before  I  could  aric  the  lady 
«bout  it,  her  horse  became  frightened  at  the 
flames.  I  advised  her  to  dismount,  for  I  knew 
that  the  poor  brute  conld  never  be  forced 
through  those  fires.  She  did  so,  and  the  horse, 
with  a  horrible  snort,  turned  and  galloped  wild- 
ly away. 

"  I  now  looked  around  once  more,  and  saw 
that  there  was  no  escape  except  in  front.  I'be 
flames  were  encircling  us,  and  a  vast  cloud  of 
smoke  surrounded  us  every  where,  rising  far  up 
and  rolling  overhead.  Cinders  fell  in  immense 
showers,  and  the  fine  ashes,  with  which  the  air 
was  filled,  choked  us  and  got  into  our  eyes. 

"  '  There  is  only  one  chance,'  said  I ;  '  and 
that  is  to  make  a  dash  for  the  river.  Can  you 
do  it  ?' 

"  '  I'll  try,'  she  said. 

f ' '  We'll  have  to  go  through  the  fires.' 

"  She  nodded. 

"  '  Well,  then,'  I  said,  '  do  as  I  say.  Take 
off  your  sacque  and  wrap  it  around  your  head 
and  shoulders.' 

"  She  took  off  her  sacqae  at  this.  It  was  a 
loose  robe  of  merino  or  alpaca,  or  something 
of  that  sort,  and  very  well  suited  for  what  I 
wanted.  I  wrapped  it  round  her  so  as  to  pro- 
tect her  face,  head,  and  shoulders ;  and  taking 
off  my  coat  I  did  the  same. 

"  *  Now,'  said  I, '  hold  your  breath  as  well  as 
yon  can.  You  may  keep  your  eyes  shut.  Give 
me  your  hand — I'll  lead  you.' 

"  Taking  her  hand  I  led  her  forward  at  a 
rapid  pace.  Once  she  fell,  but  she  quickly  re- 
covered herself,  and  soon  we  reached  the  edge 
of  the  flames.     , 

"  I  tell  you  what  it  is,  my  boy,  the  heat  wai 
terrific,  and  the  sight  was  more  so.  The  river 
was  not  more  than  a  hundred  yards  away,  but 
between  us  and  it  there  lay  what  seemed  as  bad 
as  the  burning  fiery  furnace  of  Messrs.  Sba- 
drach,  Meshach,  and  Abednego.  If  I  were  now 
standing  there,  I  don't  think  I  could  face  it. 
But  then  I  was  with  the  girl ;  I  had  to  save  her. 
Fire  was  behind  us,  racing  after  ns ;  water  jlsy 
in  front.  Once  there  and  we  were  safe.  It 
was  not  a  time  to  dawdle  or  hesitate,  I  can  as- 
sure yon. 

"  •  Now,'  said  I,  « ran  for  your  life !'         I 

"  Gmsping  her  hand  more  firmly,  I  started 
off  with  her  at  the  fall  ran.  The  place  was  ter- 
rible, and  grew  worse  at  every  step.  The  ro»d 
here  was  about  fifty  feet  wide.  On  each  side 
was  the  burning  forest,  with  •  row  of  burned 
tnei  >ik«  fieiy  w^mmH, 
underbrush  still  glowing  beneath.  To  pan 
through  that  was  a  thing  that  it  don't  do  to 
look  back  upon.  The  air  was  intolerable.  I 
wrapped  my  coat  tighter  over  my  head ;  my 
arms  were  thus  exposed,  and  I  felt  the  heat  oo 
my  hands.     But  that  wu  nothing  to  the  t«^ 


^ 


THE  AMERICASr  BARON. 


THI  niBT  THAI. 


n  •!.  *WWi*«d  from  trying  to  breathe. 
iJesidesjpp^-fenormong  effort  of  keeping  up 
a  ran  made  bre^hing  all  the  more  difficult.  A 
feeling  of  despair  came  over  me.  Already  we 
had  gone  half  the  distance,  bnt  at  that  moment 
the  space  seemed  lengthened  out  interminably 
and  I  looked  in  horro^  at  the  rest  of  the  way 
with  a  feeling  of  the  utter  impossibility  of  trav- 
«rsing  it.  I 

"Suddenly  the  lady  fell  headlong.  I  stopped 
and  raised  her  up.  My  coat  fell  off;  I  felt  the 
fiery  air  all  round  my  ftce  and  head.  I  called 
and  screamed  to  the  lady  as  I  tried  to  raise  her 
up;  bnt  she  said  nothing.  She  waa  as  lifeless 
as  a  stone. 

"  Well,  my  boy,  I  thpnght  it  was  all  up  with 
me ;  but  I,  at  least,  could  stand,  though  I  did 
not  think  that  I  could  take  Another  breath  As 
for  the  lady,  there  was  no  help  forit ;  so  I  grasped 
her  with  all  my  strength,  still  keeping  her  head 
covered  as  well  as  I  could,  and  slung  her  over 
my  shouldom.  Then  away  I  ran.  I  don't  re- 
member much  after  that.  I  must  have  lost  my 
senses  then,  and,  what  is  more,  I  must  have  ac- 
complished th  J  rest  of  the  journey  in  that  semi- 
nnconsciona  state. 

"  What  I  do  remember  is  this— a  wild  plunge 
into  the  water;  and  the  delicious  coolness  that  I 
felt  all  around  restored  me,  and  I  at  once  com- 
prehended all.  The  lady  was  by  my  side ;  the 
ihock  and  the  teool  water  had  restared  her  also 
bhe  was  stahding  up  to  her  shoulders  just  where 
•he  had  fallpn,  and  was  panting  and  sobbing.  I 
•poke  a  few  words  of  good  cheer,  and  then  look- 
ed around  for  wme  place  of  refuge.  Just  where 
we  itood  there  was  nothing  bnt  Are  and  deso- 
totion,  and  it  waa  necessary  to  go  further  away, 
theri  **""*  '*"*»»'^  »".».  «bont  half-way  across 

Md  trees  on  the  top.  It  looked  safe  and  cool 
Md  inviting.  - 1  determined  to  try  to  get  there. 
Some  deals  were  in  the  water  by  the  bank, 
which  had  probably  floated  down  fnim  some 
••w-mill.  I  took  half  a  dozen  of  these,  flung 
wo  or  three  more  on  top  of  them,  and  then  told 


^  -, .,  p^  I.  .--i;; « „zii"^"r"  ;rjj  r.  rx.ra 


island  by  means  of  this  raft.     I  offered  to  pnt 
her  on  it  and  let  her  float;  but  she  refused 
grefemng  to  be  in  the  water.  ■ 

"The  river  was  pretty  wide  henj,  and' the 
water  was  shaUow,  so  that  we  were  able  to  wade 
for  a  long  distance,  pushing  the  raft  before  ns. 
At  length  It  became  deep,  and  then  the  lady 
held  on  while  I  floated  and  tried  to  direct  the 
raft  toward  the  island.  I  had  managed  while 
wading  to  guide  the  raft  np  the  stream,  so  that 
when  we  got  into  deep  water  the  current  ear- 
ned ns  toward  the  island.  At  length  we 
reached  it  without  much  difficulty,  and  then 
utterly  worn  out,  I  fell  down  on  the  grass,  and 
either  fainted  away  or  fell  asleep. 

"When  I  revived  I  had  several  very  queer 
sensations.     The  first  thing  that  I  noticed  was 
tnat  I  hadn't  any  whiskers." 
"  What !  no  whiskers  ?"        - 
"  No-all  gone ;  and  my  eyebrows  and  mns- 
toche,  and  eveiy  wisp  of  hair  from  my  head  " 

See  here,  old  fellow,  do  you  mean  to  say 
that  yon  ve  oniytaken  one  year  to  grow  those 
infernally  long  whiskers  that  you  have  now?" 
"It's  a  fact,  my  boy!" 
"  I  wouldn't  have  believed  it ;  but  some  fel- 
lows can  do  such  extraordinary  things.  But 
dnve  on."  .-         o  u. 

"  Well,  the  next  thing  I  noticed  was  that  it 
was  as  smoky  as  ever.  Then  I  jumped  np  and 
looked  around.  I  felt  quite  dry,  thongh  it 
seemed  as  if  I  had  just  com«  from  the  river. 
As  I  jumped  np  and  turned  I  saw  my  friend 
bhe  looked  much  better  than  she  had.  Her 
clothes  also  were  quite  dry.  She  greeted  me 
with  a  mournful  smile,  and  rose  up  from  Aa 
trunk  of  a  tree  where  she  had  been  sitting  and 
made  inquiries  after  my  heakh  with  the  most 
earnest  and  tender  tytnpatliy. 

"I  told  her  I  was  all  right,  laughed  about 
my  hair,  and  inquired  very  anxiously  how  she 
was.  She  assured  me  that  she  was  as  weU  at 
ever.  Some  conversation  foUowed ;  and  then 
to  my  amazement,  I  found  that  I  had  slept  for 
an  immenw  time,  or  had  been  nncon^ions, 


.j^ 


'all  qohi;  mt  xtibsowb,  aud  mrsTAOHi,  aHd  itsbt  wup  or  uaib  nou  mt  ubau." 


taken  place  on  the  preceding  dar.  It  was  now 
abont  the  niidllle  of  the  next  day.  You  may 
imagine  how  confoonded  I  was  at  that. 

"The  air  was  still  abominably  close  and 
smoky ;  so  I  looked  abont  the  island,  and  found 
a  huge  crevice  in  the  rocks,  which  was  almost 
a  cave.  It  was  close  by  the  water,  and  was  far 
cooler  than  ontside.  la  fttct,  it  was  rather  com- 
fortable than  otherwise.  Here  we  took  refuge, 
and  talked  oyer  oor  sitnation.  As  far  as  we 
could  see,  the  whole  country  was  bnm^  up. 
A  vast  cloud  of  smoke  hung  over  all.  One 
comfort  was  that  the  glow  had  ceased  on  the 
river-bank,  and  only  a  blackened  forest  now 
remained,  with  giant  trees  arising,  all  blasted. 
We  found  that  our  stay  would  be  a  protracted 
one. 

"  The  first  thing  that  I  thought  of  was  food. 
Fortunately  I  had  my  hooks  and  lines ;  so  I  cut 
a  pole,  and  fastening  my  line  to  it,  I  succeeded 
in  catching  a  few  fish. 

"We  lived  there  for  two  days  on  flah  in  that 
manner.  The  lady  was  sad  and  anxious,  I 
tried  to  cheer  her  up.  Her  chief  trouble  was 
the  fett  that  her  fitther  was  lost.  In  the  cootm 
% 


of  our  conversations  I  found  oat  that  her  name 
was  Ethel  Ome." 

"  Ethel  Ome?" 

"Yes." 

"Don't  think  I  ever  heard  the  name  be- 
fore. Ome  ?  No,  I'm  sure  I  haven't.  It  isn't 
Homr  ' 

"No;  Ome— OBNE.  Oh, tliere's no tron- 
ble  about  that.         > 

"  Well,  I  rather  enjoyed  this  island  life,  bat 
the  was  awfully  melancholy ;  so  I  hit  upon  a 
plan  for  getting  away.  I  went  to  the  shore  and 
collected  a  lot  of  the  deals  that  I  mentioned, 
and  made  a  very  deceftt  sort  of  raft.  I  fonnd 
a  pole  to  gnide  it  with,  cnt  a  lot  of  bmsh  for 
Ethel,  and  then  we  started,  and  floated  down 
the  river.  We  didn't  have  any  accidents.  I'he 
only  botherjKaa  that  jhe  was  too  confoundedly 
anxious  abont  me,  and  wouldn't  let  mo  work. 
Wo  went  ashore  eveiy  evening.  We  csn^t 
flsh  enough  to  eat.  We  were  afloat  three  ds^s, 
and,  naturally  enough,  ^came  very  well  ae- 
qnainted." 

Hawbnry  stopped,  and  sighed. 

"I  t«ll  yon  what  it  is,  Daores,"  said  ke, 


that  her  name 


Here's  no  tron- 


In?!? ».""'"  ^"^^  *  "*"''«'•  """«  Ken*™-", 
and  at  the  same  time  a  braver  soul  than  Ethel 

an'Jt'ii .!  !-  f  ^"^ '«>'l  «i  '^ord  about  gratitude 
and  aU  that,  but  th^re  was  a  certain  quiet  look 
of  devotion  about  her  that  gives  me  a  deuced 
,     ^off'  feeling  now  when  I  think  of  it  all  " 
^  And  I^dare  say-    But  no  matter." 

"  ^e"»  I  ^^  only  going  to  remark  that,  un- 
der the  circumstances,  there  might  have  been  a 
good  deal  of  quiet  devotion  about.you  " 

Hawbury  made -no  reply,  but  sat  silent  for  a 
time. 

"WeU,  go  on,. man;  don't  keep  me  in  sus-^ 

,i,l'Jtrf'°Z^^^T'"'^^^  Oh  I  floating  on 
for  three  days^  and  at  the  end  of  that  time  we 
reached  a  8ettlem.ent.    Here  we  found  a  steam- 

nlf^^t  "T  °"  ^"•"'>  '"''*  «"»"y  ^«««hed 
ni^H  T  *,?."'•*'  *^*  '»  ""'  house  of  a 
friend.  I  called  on  her  as  soon  asTowible, 
and  found  her  m  fearful  anxiety.  She  had 
iMrned  that  her  father  had  gone  up  with  a  Mr 
WiHonghby  and  neither  had  been  heard  from 
Startle4  at  this  intelligence,  I  instituted  a 
seareh  myself.     I  could  not  find  out  anything? 

..  ^''^V'"'/  '.''"*  ""^  1^  "»'«'»  to  belief 
that  both  of  the  unhappy  gentlemen  had  per- 
ished On  returning  to  the  house  to  call  on 
Ethel,  aboBta  week  after,  I  fou^d  that  she  had 
received  futt  confirmation  of  this  dreadful  Intel- 
ligence,  and  had  gone  to  Montrfeal.     It  sppm. 

that  WiUoughby-s  wife  was  a  relays;  of  eS 
and  she  had  gone  to  stay  with  her.  I  longed 
to  see  her,  but  of  course  I  could  not  intrude 
upon  her  in  her  grief  J  and  so  I  wrote  to  her 
expressing  all  the  condolence  I  could.     I  told 

tnm  1^  the  following  year,  I  couldn't  say  Ly 
more  than  that,  you  know.  It  wasn't  a  tilne 
for  sentiment,  of  course. 

."  ^ell,  I  received  a  short  note  in  reply.  She 
«.d  she  would  look  forward  to  seeing  me- again 
with  p^as,|»,,«nd  all  that;  and  thafsHe  could 

■  "^"„TJ  ""  ^"^'r  •'"'*  "P*"'  together. 

So  off  I  went,  an^  in  the  following  year  I 
returned.  But  on  reaching  Montreal,  what'was 
my  disgust^  on  calling  at  Mm.  Willoughby's  to 
find  hat  she  had  given  up  her  house,  sold  liel 
Jnjiture,  a«d  left  the  city.  No  one  knew  any 
^l  S?h'  '"'•'■'  ""''/'"'^  """^  'hat  she  had  on"f 
W^vement,  and  after  that  had  never  made  any 
•eqnaintanees.  Some  said  she  had  gone  to  the 
U„..ed  States;  othen.  thought  she  had  gone?" 

^frni:'^'."^"'^'""'^' '•"'---''-- 


THE;^ AMERICAN  fiARON.* 


99 


CHAPTER  VII. 

A  BTABTUMO  RKVBLATIOK. 

"It  seems  to  me,  Hawbury,"  said  Dacres 
!?^?r:'°f  "f  "'»"«''tful  silJice-"  iS 
•0  me  that  when  yon  tiilk  of  people  having  th«ir 


heads  turned,  yon  yonrsdf  comprehend  the  full 
meaning  of  that  sensation  r  ^    »"     "" 

"'Somewhat." 

your  Ethef  r''**  ""'"  "'  °'"'«'  "'  •=«""«'' »« 

"Yes." 

uym"^^^  'he  same  way  toward  her  yet  ?" 
"Hit  hard?"  .    . 

"Yes;  and  that's  what  I'm  coming  to.  The 
fact  .8,  my  whole  business  in  life  for  thl  last  year 
has  been  to  find  her  out."  '  ' 

"You  haven;t  dawdled  so  much,  then,  as 
people  suppose?"  '  »  »» 

''^" '/hat's  all  very  weU  to  throw  people 
off  a  fellow's  scent;  but  you  know  mo  well 
enough  Dacres;  and  we  didn't  dawdle  mud, 
m  South  America,  did  we  ?" 

" That's  true,  my  boy;  but  as  to  this  lady 
what  13  It  that  makes  it  so  hard  for  you  to  find 

.;^u     "If  *"'  ?*"**'  "••"he  an  American  ?'• 
"Oh  no." 

"Why  not ?" 

"Oh,  accent,  'fnanner,  tone,  idiohi,  and^V 
hundred  other  things.  Why,  of  course,  yon 
know  as  w^l  as  I  that  an  American'^lady  is  as 
different  from  an  English  as  a  French  or  a  Ger- 
man lady  is.  They  may  be  all  equally  ladies 
bnt  each  nation  has  its  own  peculiarities  "         ' 

"Is  she  Canadian? '  , 

'  "Ppssibly.  %  is  not  alwaysiasy  to  lell  a 
Canadian  lady  ^^A  an  English.  They  imitate 
us  out  theje  k  good  deal.  I  could  tell  in  the  * 
majority  of  cases,  but  there  are  many  who  can 
not  be  distinguished  froto  us  very  easily.  And 
Ethel  may  be  one." 

"  Why  mayn't  she  be  English  ?"; 
an;ifferre.""     ''"  '"""^^'^hle  |p  perceive 

•^riXar'  "'''''  "^  '"''"'"•"'  "»''"" 

"  No ;  I've  not  bpen  in  England  much,  ^pd 
trom  the  way  she  talked  to  me  I  concluded  that 
her  home  was  in  Canada." 

"  Was  her  father  an  Englishmnn  ?" 
"I  really  don't  know."  .      '         , 

"Couldn't  you  find  out?",  / 

"No.     You  see  he  had  but  repentl^ moved 
to  Montreal,  Itke  Willoughby ;  and  I  could  not      ' 
find  any  peopte  who  were  acquainted  with  him  " 
"  He  may  have  be«n  Enfclish  all  the  time." 
■  "Tes."  r 

"And  she  too."'  \  "  ,t 

"By  Jove!"  ^  .' 

"  And  she  may  be  in  England  now." 
Hawbury  started  to  his  feet,  and  stared  in 
silence  at  his  friend  fer  several  minutes 
ll?li!l''"j!° '*'''"''  "if  I  thought  that,  ^ 


7-;  ~ ""  ^'s^-i yjL'nougni  tnat,  i 

swear  WffiTrfffir  home  this  Evening,  and  hunt 
aJ.out  every  where  ftir  the  representative  of 
the  Orne  family,  flut  no-surely  it  ca  Jt  be 
possible."    f  J 

"  Were  yon  i^  LMLon  jasfteason  ?"  ' 
"No."  .  ■    mw 

\  t.  "  ^?"'  ''°*  **  y  •  '"•"'  Jwt  that  sh*  was 
'there?" 


t  >, 


. ./  ..?* 


•» 

>•«., 


30 


THE  AMERICAN  BARON. 


"By  Jove!"  - 

"  And  the  belle  of  tWMcason,  too  ?" 

"  She  would  be  if  she  were  thefe,  by  Jove !" 

"  Ifeg,  if  there  wasn't  another*t)re8ent  that  I 
wot  of." 

"  Well,  w<f  won't  argue  about  that ;  besides, 
I  haven'H^orao  to  the  point  j^t." 

"The  point?" 

"  Yes,  the  real  reason  why  I'm  here,  when 
I'm  wanted  home." 

"  The  real  reason  ?     Why,  haven't  you  been 
telling  it  to  me  all  along  ?" 
y   "Well,  no ;  I  haven't  got  to  the  ppint  yet." 

"  Drive  OB,  then,  old  man. " 

"  Well, you kjfiow," continued Hawbury,  "aft- 
er hunting  all  through  Canada  I  gave  up  in  de- 
spair, and  concluded  that  Ethel  was  lost  to  me, 
at  least  for  the  present.  That  was  only  about 
six  or  seven  months  ago.  So  I  went  home,'and 
ttpent  a  month  in  a  shooting-box  on  the  High- 
lands ;  then  I  went  to  Ireland  to  visit  a  friend ; 
and  then  to  London.  While  there  I  got  a  long 
letter  from  my  mother.  The  good  soul  was  con- 
vinced that  I  was  wasting  my  life ;  she  urged 
me  to  settle  down,  and  finally  informed  me  that 
she  had  selected  a  wife  for  me.  Now  I  want 
rou  to  understand,  old  boy,  that  I  fully  appre- 
ciated my  mother's  motives.  She  was  quite 
right,  I  dare  say,  about  my  wasting  my  life ; 
quite  right,  too,  about  the  benefit  of  settling 
down ;  and  she  was  also  very  kind  to  take  all 
the  trouble  of  selecting  a  wife  off  my  hands. 
Under  other  circumstances  I  dare  say  I  should 
have  thought  the  matter  over,  and  perhaps  I 
should  have  been  induced  even  to  go  so  far  as 
to  survey  the  lady  from  a  distance,  and  argue 
the  point  with  my  mother  pro  and  con.  But  the 
fact  is,  the  thing  was  distasteful,  and  wouldn't 
bear  thinking  about,  much  less  arguing.  I  was 
too  lazy  to  go  and  explain  the  matter,  and  writ- 
ing was  not  my  forte.  Besides,  I  didn't  want 
to  thwart  my  mothef  in  her  plans^  or  hurt  her 
feelings ;  and  so  the  long  and  the  short  of  it  is, 
I  solved  the  difficulty  and  cut  the  knot  by  cross- 
ing quietly  over  to  Norway.  I  wrote  a  short 
note  to  my  mother,  making  no  allusion  to  her, 
project,  and  since  then  I've  been  gradually  work- 
ing my  way  down  to  the  bottom  of  the  map  of 
Europe,  and  here  I  am." 

"  You  didn't  see  the  lady,  then  ?" 

"No." 

'?Whowa8she?" 

"I  don't  know." 

"  Don't  know  the  lady  ?" 

"No." 

"Odd,  tool  Haven't  yon  any  idea?  Surely 
her  name  was  mentioned  ?" 

"  No ;  my  mother  wrote  in  a  roundabout  style, 
so  as  to  feel  her  way.  She  knew  me,  and  fear- 
ed thai  I  might  take  a  prejudice  against  the 
lady.  No  doubt  I  should  have  done  so.  She 
01^  alluded  to  her  in  a  general  way." 

"  A  general  way  ?" 

"  Yes ;  that  is,  yon  know,  she  mentioned  the 
fact  that  the  lad^  was  a  niece  of  Sir  Gilbert 
Biggs." 


*'  What  I"  cried  Dacres,  with  a  start. 

"A  niece  of  Sir  Gilbert  Biggs,"  repeated 
Hawbury. 

"  A  niece— of— Sir  Gilbert  Biggs  ?"  said  Da- 
cres, slowly.     "  Good  Lord !" 

"Yes;  and  what  of  that  ?" 

"Very  much.  Don't  you  know  that  Minnie 
Fay  is  a  niece  of  Sir  Gilbert  Bigga  ?" 

"  By  Jove !  So  she  is.  I  remember  being*, 
startledi^^hen  ypu  told  me  that,  and  for  a  mo- 
ment an  odd  fancy  cwne  to  me.  I  wondered 
whether*  >your  child-angel  might  not  be  the 
identical  being  about  whom  my  poor  dear  mo- 
ther went  into  such  raptures.  Good  Lord! 
wTiat  a  joke !     By  Jove  1" 

"  A  joke !"  growled  Dacres.  "I  don't  see  any 
joke  in  it.  I  remember  when  you  said  that 
Biggs's  nieces  were  at  the  bottom  of  your  trou- 
bles, I  asked  whether  it  might  be  this  one." 

"  So  you  did,  old  chap ;  and  I  replied  that  I 
hoped  not.     So  you  need  not  shake  your  gory 
locks  at  me,  my  boy." 
'   "  But  I  don't  like  the  looks  of  hJ' 

"iNeither  do  L"  1 

"Yes,  but  you  see  it  looks  as  though  she  had 
been  already  set  apart  for  you  especially." 

"And  pray,  old  nian,  what  difference  can 
that  make,  when  I  ^on't  set  myself  apart  for 
any  thing  of  the  kind  ?" 

Dacres  sat  in  silence  with  a  gloomy  frown 
over  his  brow.  <* 

"  Besides,  are  yon  awAre,  my  boy,  of  the  sol- 
emn fact  that  Biggs's  nieces  are  legion  ?"  said 
Hawbury.  "The  man  himself  is  an  infernal 
old  bloke ;  and  as  to  his  nieces — heavens  and 
earth  ! — old  !  old  as  Methuselah  ;  and  as  to 
this  one,  she  must  be  a  grandniece — a  second 
generation.  She's  not  a  true,  full-blooded 
niece.  Now  the  lady  I  refer  to  was  one  of  the 
original  Biggs's  nieces.  There's  no  mistake 
whatever  about  that,  for  I  have  it  in  black  and 
white,  under  my  mother's  own  hand." 

"Oh,  she  would  select  the  best  of  them  for 
yon." 

"  No,  she  wouldn't.    How  do  you  know  that  ?" 

"There's  no  doubt  about  that." 

"'It  depends  upon  what  you  mean  by  the 
best.  The  one  you  call  the  best  might  not 
seem  so  to  her,  and  so  on.  Now  I  dare  say 
she's  picked  out  for  me  a  great,  raw-boned,  red- 
headed niece,  with  a  nose  like  a  horse.  And 
she  expects  me  to  many  a  woman  like  that ! 
with  a  pace  like  a  horse !     Good  Lord !" 

And  Hawbury  leaned  back,  lost  in  the  im- 
meitsity  of  that  one  overwhelming  idea. 

"Besides,"  said  he,  standing  up,  "I  don't 
care  if  she  was  the  angel  Gabriel.  I  don't 
want  any  of  Biggs's  nieces.  I  won't  have  them. 
By  Jove  1-  And  mm  I  to  be  entrapped  into  * 
plan  Ifke  ihatl  I  wiint  Ithel.  And  WhiiT^ 
more,  I  will  have  her,  or  go  without.  The 
child-angel  may  be  Htfi  very  identical  one  that 
my  mother  selected,  and  if  you  assert  that  she 
is,  III  be  hanged  if  111  argue  the  point.  I  only 
■ay  this,  that  it  doesn't  alter  my  position  in  the 
■lightest  degree.     I  don't  want  her.    I  woa't 


7. 


i:.'-    \ 


Mil* 


m'-'^' 


gs?"  8aidD»- 


)u  know  that?" 


THE  AMERICAN  BARON. 


7" 


htfve  her.,  J  don't  want  to  eee  her.     I  don't 
r.^  1^  ^-    ^  °'"^  ^'»8«  »'  thei"-  head,  had 

line     ron/T""","""""^  *'•*'  '"'«  "••"'"d  be 
"owhis?    Wh?,'';^^^  do„.tyoa understand 


./'. 


81 


K  Vord  "'  «  H '""'"^'  "•"  """"^^  H»- 
"ury  s  words.        How  a  man  will  sometimes 

forget  realities,  and  give  himself  up  to  Cms 
It  was  my  dream  of  the  child^ngel  that  !„ 
^^-    „.  -....,„„  understand        "veSCu'oid  1^""^^ ''^  ^  ^^^^^^^^^ 
What  the  mischief  do  I  care  about   speak'^SS'    '  itK^tS^Ti,  "^ 
h  that  I  stand  von  nnlr^  .-  — "      I  ^H  ^b    jov  ""      ""' 


fiery  furnace  for  nothing?    And  whatlo  'vo"u'  I      "  a^a  .C     V"T  -"•    *  "'".  "Y  Jovo  !" 
suppose  that  life  on  the  island  mean"     Ig^aU   ripnirl  ''*•'  *?■■ '  ''''"°''  """•"  had  an  oxpe- 

with  the  chUd^angel?    Did  you  ever  make  «  ^"'='**' «'"'.  "PeAkmg  in  the  tone  of  one  who 
.aj  for  her  and  fly  ?    pij  y„i  ^yeTLTdown    even  for  aT* if'""'*-"  '»  -"«>-  -«"  an  ideH 
anver  current  between  banks  burned  black Z  What  a„  mZ*"'  *" •*^""'  "'"'P*' '"  '""  ''"''" •' 
"«i.ng  fires,  feeding  her,  soothing  her  com-   and^„"     «tte^  unmitigated,  unmanageable 
forting  her.  and  all  th«  »..ii.  ,„.,=?_"*''  <=»"»-  |  and  unimprpvaWe  idiot,  ass,  dolt,  and  blobk 

lead  !    Confonhr)  akoIi  n  •««»  i   r  ^_ 


J3rtin^her.;ni;„th:^^— ^-;-; 

nt'r/^""  •y""''    ^°»  hauled  her  oufof 
Lt"    Whv  r/.  ^^  •^"'•^     ^"^  ^^at  of 
oat  i  ™  {:       '  .""'*'=''  *'""  I  P-Ued  Ethel 
oat  of  was  worse  than  a  hnndr«rf  of  your  era 
ters/    And  yet,  after  all  that,'  ^u  think  thaU 

ot  of  Biggs  s  nieces  1    And  you  scowl  at  a  M- 
low,  and  get  huffy  and  jealous.  -  By  Jove'" 
After  this  speech,  which  was  delivered  with 
TT^  ""'^a'!?".  HawbuW  lighted  .ciSr 
which  he  puffed  at  most  ene^geti^Uy  ^"' , 

'Allnght,oldboy,"siKdDacres.     "A  fel   ' 
bw  s  apt  to  judge  dthers  by  himself,  yon  know 
Don  t  make  any  moreset  speeches,  though      i 
after  alll""'''""*"'  '"'"'  P°^''-"'      B-ides! 

nn^u  k"  •"'"'*"''  """^  "•«  ^"'^  f'own  that  was 
on  his  brow  grew  still  darker. 

"After  all  what?"  asked  Hawbury,  who  now 

began  to  perceive  that  another  feehng  besWeT 

"Give  her  up?" 
^'Yes." 


head  •    rnnV„„*.  J       1     '      '•  **""'  and  block- 
head.^ ConfouttdsuchamanJ  Isayj  confound 


"ooNFotmu  sron  a  mar  I  i  8»y.» 


.  "That's  what  yon  said  before  and  Vo„  n.„n  "•»'°"  *'"'  "*"«  "«»'  him  wit*  such  a, 

tioned  Aastralia,'and  .hat  rot.^'  *""  ^"^  •"""-   ^7^  TV"""'  "  "^''»*  ^^  "«""  U 

The  more  I  think  of  it."  said  Dacres  dis-  "    "        ' 

m^ly,  and  regarding  the  opposite  waKith  a 
.teady  yet  mournful  sure-'.'the  more  I  thrnk 


And  1^  Dacres  said  this- he  brought  his  fist 
down  upon  the  table  near  him  wii*  such  an 
energetic  crash  that  a  wine-flask  wa" 
mng  on   th,  floor,  where  its  ruby  contents 

2*;'nrf  x's" ' "-'  ^"'--i-^'edU  f«;' 

at  It  for  a  while  in  silence.    Then  he  raised  hU 
head  and  looked  at  his  friend.     Hawbury  en 
countered  his  gUnce  without  any  erp^iat 
He  merely  sat  and  smoked  and- pissed  his  flnl 
gers  through  his  pendent  whiskere 
"Excuse  me."  8aid  Dacres,  abruptly. 

nnw  T**!'""'^'  "^  ?*"  '•°y> "  ^''""^and  time. ; 
only  I  hope  you  will  allow  me  to  remark  tha 
your  style  is  altogether  a  new  one,  and  dnrinK 
the  whole  course  ef  our  acquaintance  I  do  not 
remember  seeing  it  before.    Ym^h»yi^,^-ma^^ 


"jtfadL^e,.j:;a;-;;;;:r:;;^  ,  ■.... 

^^«  myself  be  overpoww^d  brfhis^iSfT^^ry  *"  '"  overpowering.    Stm  I 


dream  H«r«  hi  ";"»"'"'"'«»  "7  mis  bright 
anhTntn™  ""  ^  '^*"  8*^'"8  mys6lf  up  to 
aphantom-an  empty  illusion-and  now  it's  all 
ow     My  eyes  aw  open." 

h  hangedTf'r  «r"  °'^"  "'^  ^^"  '^ '  f"'  "> 
"&«„«.   .  "  '"1  "y  ''"y  ""rough  this!" 
Strang...  „r«,gef  .tiangeJ"  continued  Da- 

H    '  ** 


a  place  like  N4i;,wbr«Th;.^ 

other  things  to  swear  at.     It's  a  waste  of  hu^ 

man  energy,  «nd  I  don't  nAderstand  it      We 

i«i  wel'"'*"  •"  "•"'•^""" '"  «*""'  A-r- 
"  IJo,  by  Jove  I    And  look  hew,  old  chap, 


■  nr- 


:.*lTr 


83 


THE  AMERipAN  BARON. 


nAWBUBT  BAim  BlAOI  DC  HIS  SIAT,  OT«BWim.M«a' 


i^' 


yon*il  overlook  this  litUe  outburst,  won't  you  ? 
in  South  A«erica  I  was  always  cool,  and  you 
did  the  hard  swearing,  my  boy.  I'll  be  cool 
again ;  and  what's  more,  I'll  get  back  to  South 
America  again  as  soon  as  I  can.  Once  on  the 
liampas,  and  I'll  be  a  man  again.  I  tell  j^n 
what  it  is,  I'll  start  to-morrow.  What  do  you 
say?    Come." 

•'  Oh  no,"  said  Hawbury,  coolly ;  "  I  can't 
do  that.     I  have  business,  you  know." 

"Business?" 

"Oh  yes,  you  know — Ethel,  you  know." 

"By  Jove!  so  you  have.  That  alters  the 
matter." 

"  But  in  any  case  I  wouldn't  go,  nor  would 
yott.  I  still  am  quite  unable  to  understand 
you.  Why  yoa  should  grow  desperate,  and 
swear  at  yourself,  and  then  propose  South 
America,  is  quite  beyond  me.  Above  all,  I 
don't  yet  see  any  reason  why  yon  should  give 
up  your  child-angel.  Yon  were  all  raptures 
but  a  short  time  since.  Why  are  yon  so  cold 
now?" 

"  ni  tell  you,"  said  Dacres, 

"  So  yoa  said  ever  so  lonjr  ago, 
f      "  It's  a  Boie  subject,  a^  difficult  to  speak 

about. 

and 

don't  speak  about  it  i«/all  if  it  gives  you  pain 

"  Oh,  I'll  make  a  clean  breast  of  it.  You've 
told  your  affair,  and  I'll  tell  mine.     I  dare  say 


I'U  feel  all  the  better  for  it 

"  Drive  on,  then,  old  man." 

Dacres  rose,  took  aconple  of  glasses  of  beer  in 
quick  snccession,  then  resumed  his  seat,  then 


picked  out  a  cigar  from  the  box  with  unusual  fas- 
tidiousness, then  drew  a  match,  then  lighted  the 
cigar,  then  sent  out  a  dozen  heavy  volumes  of 
smoke,  which  encircled  him  so  completely  that 
ho  became  quite  concealed  from  Hawbnry's 
view.  But  even  this  dotid  did  not  seem  suffi- 
cient to  correspond  with  the  gloom  of  his  soul. 
Other  clouds  rolled  forth,  and  still  others,  until 
all  their  congregated  folds  encircled  him,  and 
in  the  midst  there  was  a  dim  vision  of  a  big 
head,  whose  stitt',  high,  curling,  crisp  hair,  and 
massive  brow,  and  dense  beard,  seemed  like 
some  living  manifestation  of  cloud-compelting 
Jove. 

For  some  time  there  was  silence,  and  Haw- 
bury saia  nothing,  but  waited  for  his  friend  to 
speak. 

At  last  a  voice  was  heard — deep,  solemn, 
awful,  portentous,  ominous,  sorrow  -  laden, 
weird,  mysterious,  prophetic,  obscure,  gloomy, 
doleful,  dismal,  and  apocalyptic. 

"Hawhuryl"  | 

"Well,  old  man?"  ; 

"Hawbcbt!" 

"All  right." 

"Are  you  listening?" 

"Certainly." 

uWdl—l'm—marrx«i4^ -==«_ 


Hawbury  sprang  to  his  feet  as  though  heW^ 
been  shot. 

"What!"  he  cried.  ^ 

"Vmvuirriedr 

"Yon'rewhat?    Mavried?     You  I  wamdi 
Scone  Dacres !  not  yout— not  marrkdt" 

"r>*mamedt" 


/ 


"Good  Lord!" 
"  I'm  married.'" 

bvfhrforcL"?':K-^"'^i" '•'''''«"'' »'«"^'>«i'"ed 

ehtion      1/     '"  '"'^''*"  ""''  t'e-'endons  rev- 
elation.    For  some  t  me  there  was  a  deeo  si 

ed  forth  from  the  hpg  of  each,  and  onrled  over 
Ind  .ir'''''/"''  **'"«''  *»  volaminodrfold, 

mas^      Even"'"  '"«" '\^«''^.  ■"'P«netraWe 
magse*      Even  so  rested  the  clondg  of  doubt 

Lt      T^  «•"!  of  8loom  over  the  sonTof 
each,  and  ^hose  which  were  visibte  to  the  eve 

^vtnV"  T'7'  y '"'"'"^«'  'hamcterize!  «nd 

S^^^nr'^'^'^'""''' ''•»'»--''«'•- 

"/'bi  married/"  repeated  DAcres   who  nn» 

aU  hw  words  one  melancholy  burden  bore. 

-hnw..      Hawbury  at  last,  in  the  tone  of  one 

«"t"  ^""^^I?"*  f'"™  »  fainting  At. 

"  Not  in  Sonth  America  ?" 

"Yes,  in  South  America."  ^   " 

"  Married  ?" 
"Ves,  married." 
"By  Jovo!" 

for"te''n''X"  ••"""'  '""^'  ^•^■''  »'-™ied 
"Ton  years!     Good  Lord  I 
"It's  true." 

,^  *Why,  how  old  could  you  have  been  when 
yon  got  married  ?"  "^" 

"A  miserable,  ignorant,  inexperienced  dolf 
idiot,  and  brat  of  a  boy  "  l"="encca  Uolt, 

"By  Jove!" 

"Well,  the  secret's  out;  and  now    if  von 
care  to  hear,  I  will  tell  you  'all  about  1/  ^ 
I  m  dying  to  hear,  dear  boy ;  so  go  on. " 
And  at  this  Scone  Dacres  began  his  sto;y. 


THE  AMERICAN  BARON. 


3S 


CHAPTER  VHL 

A   MAD  WIFK. 

c«l'^'«Vf  Z°°  1"  "•"""  '■'•"  ""i'l  Scone  Da- 
cres; "but  ddn't  laugh,  for  matters  like  these 


Jio^ii  ''rv  ?  '",•"«''"  >«»Kl'  «  anything 
«Mr.|,."°' ''*''*'"''•  Y'>"«'on-tknowme! 
J'All  right,  then.  Well,  to  begin  This 
2  that  I  speak  of  happened  to  me^very  S- 

IdL  It  *'",'^  "  '"'y'  J""  °»»  of  Oxford, 
Md  just  into  mv  fortune.     I  was  on  my  way  to 

.nT    ..      *"Joy™ent.     I  went  fromJ)Dver 
-«*wth,^ReS^^Prtmwa.tiie^fsM 
""',P'^"y,8irJ-    Black,  mischievouTeyes  wkh 
*•  devir.  light  in  them;  hair  curlCfcrirDT 

SLrT''  ""  »'"«'""«  -«'  her  head  a^d 
SI  o?i  llV"  '"'""y  «"*■■'=«"«  nianner.  A 
P«My  old  bloke  wa«  with  ^er-her  father  I 

£T.  k!^"™?''-  ^""how  my  hat  blew  off 
»»>«oghed.    I  langhed.*  Our  eye.  tael     i 


made  a  merry  remark.     She  laughed  amin- 

X  eirh^f  i'"""^"^^s  ^^ «- - 

7      .'*"  '*"  "at  of  her  own.     I  fastened  it  nn 

:rro^\rwar'""^"^'-^"'?^-» 
j.^/:^rrSa^?L^-^ 

heels  in  love,  and  so  was  she   for  that  matte/ 

man  I  Zirr  **  'f^  ""^  "^ohn  BuTof  a 
man.  I  don  t  believe  he  had  the  slightest  an^x 
proach  to  any  designs  on  me.  He  d  dn'fknow 
anything  about  me,  so  hpw  could  he  ?  He 
was  jolly,  and  when  we  got  to  clfsi  w« 
convivial.  I  attached  piyself  to  the  two*  Tn" 
had  a  glonous  time.  Before  three  days  I  S 
exchanged  vows  of  eternal  fidelity  ilth  t^ 
ady,  and  all  that,  and  ha'd  gained  LcoSsJnt 

old  man  there  was  no  trouble  at  all.  He  made 
nq  inquiries  about  my  means,  but  wTunrm; 
hand  heartily,  and  said  God  blpss  me.  Besides 
M^ere  were  no  friends  of  my  oW  to  con  dej* 
My  parents  were  dead,  and  I  had' no  re"a  ions 
nearer  than  coasins,  for  whom  I  didn'r«,re  ,1 

mtX ''""''  "'*"^  "'  ^'"'"'''  «""*  belonged  to 
care  for  that.     Her  own  manners  and  stVle 
were  refined  enough.     She  had  been  sent  bj 
her  father  to  a  very  fashionable  boarding-school 
where   she  had  been  run  through  the  same 
mould  as  that  i,  which  her  superiors  had  been 
fofraed  and  so  she  might  have  passed  muster 
anywhere.     Her  father  was  awfullv  fonHf 
her,  and  proud  of  her.     She  tyrannized  over 
h.m  comp  etely.    I  soon  fobnd  out  that  she  had 
been  utterly  spoiled  by  his  excessive  indulgence 
and  that  she  was  the  mdst  whimsical,  noS 
ica    headstrong,  little  spoiled  beaut;  that  e^e^ 

LrrL  f    '  f  ^°"""'  ""  'hat,  instead  of  de- 
ternng  me,  only  increased  the  fascination  which 

ttanTv^  •"''"''''*''"«"°':«"''''>'^'"»^-    '  ■ 

onl' "but"ww  "^^  "**'  "  P^'i-'nlarly  attmctive 
one,  but  what  are  names!     It  was  Arethusa 

Arry,   which  sounded  like  the  vulgar  pronnn- 

h'e"r  r."'  "i^r^-:  ^' ''°""« ^  c^md^-t^i  ^ 

^er  that,  and  Arethusa  Was  too  infernally  long, 
Jr  a  fellow  doesn't  want  to  be  all  day  in  pr^ 
npnncmg  his  wife's  name.  Besides,  it  isn't  li  - 
bad  name  m  itself,  of  course;  it's  poetic,  clas- 
sic and  does  to  name  a  ship  of  war,  but  isn't 
quita  the  thing  for  one's  home  and  hearth. 

After  our  marriage  we  spent  the  honev- 
moon  in  Switzerland,  and  then  came  home     I    . 
had  a  very  nice  estate,  and  have  it  yet.    You're 

there's  where  we  began  life,  and  a  devil  of  i 
life  she  began  to  lead  me.  It  was  aU  very  Well 
at  first  During  the  honey-moon  there  wera 
only  a  few  outbursts,  and  after  we  came  to  fte 
t^range  she  repressed  herself  for  about  a  fort-ntflft 
night ;  but  finally  she  broke  out  in  the  most  ft^^i^ 
^ogs  fashion ;  and  I  began  to  find  that  she  had 
»fityd  of  a  temper,  aid  in  her  fits  she  was 


*rs; 


THE  AMERICAN  BARON, 


84 

bnt  a  »m«ll  remov«J;froni  a  mad  woman.  Yon 
gee  Bhe  had  been  humored  and  indulged  ^nd 
petted  and  coddlea»Vy  her  old  fool  of  a  father, 
until  at  lait  she  had  grown  to  be  the  most 
whimsical,  conceited,  tetchy,  suspiciouB,  impe- 
riouB,  domineering,  selfish,  cruel,  hard-hearted, 
ond  malignant  young  vixen  that  ever  lived; 
vet  this  evil  nature  dwelt  in  a  form  as  beautiful 
as  ever  lived.  Shp  was  a  beautiful  demon,  and 
I  soon  found  it  out.  '  «      t  i.  j 

"It  began  out  of  nothing  at  all.  I  naa 
been  her  adoring  slave  for  three  weeks,  until  I 
began  to  be  jjonscioils  of  the  most  aboniinHble 
tyranny  On  her  part.  I  began  to  resist  this, 
and  we  were  on  the  verge  of  an  outbreak  when 
we  arrived  at  the  Grange.  The  sight  of  the 
old  hall  rfppcased  her  for  a  time,  but  finally  the 
novelty  wore  off,  and  her  evil  passions  burst 
out.  Naturally  enough,  my  first  blind  adora- 
tion passed  awav,  and  I  began  to  take  my  proper 
position  toward"  her;  that  is  to  say,  I  undertook 
to  ^ve  her  some  advice,  which  she  very  sorely 
needed.  This  was  the  signal  for  a  most  furious 
outbreak.  What  was  worse,  her  outbreak  took 
place  before  the  servants.  Of  course  I  could 
do  nothing  under  such  circumstances,  so  I  left 
the  room.  When  I  saw  her  again  slie  was  sul- 
len and  vicious.  I  attempted  a  reconciliation, 
and  kneeling  down  I  passed  my  arms  caressing- 
ly amund  her.  '  Look  here,'  said  I,  '  my  own 
pqeHittlc  darling,  if  I've  done  wrong,  I'm  sorry, 

"  Well,  what  do  you  think  my  lady  did  ?" 

"  I  don't  know." 

"She  lacked  me.'  that's  all ;  she  kicked  me, 
just  as  I  was  apologizinR/b  her— just  as  I  was 
trying  to  make  it  up. y«he  kicked  me !  when 
1  had  done  nothinjy^d  sIio  alone  bad  been  to 
blame.  What'syore,  her  boots  were  rather 
heavy,  and  thai  kick  made  itself  felt  nnmis- 
takahlv. 

"  I  'at  once  arose,  and  left  her  without  a 
word.  I  did  not  Sppak  to  her  then  for  some 
time.  I  used  to  pass  her  in  the  house  without 
looking  at  her.  This  galled  her  terribly.  She 
made  the  house  too  hot  for  the  servants,  and  I 
nsed  to  hear  her  all  day  long  scolding  them  in 
a  loud  shrill  voice,  till  the  sound  of  that  voice 
"  became  horrible  to  me. 

"  Yon  must  not  suppose,  however,  that  I  be- 
came alienated  all  at  once.  That  was  impossi- 
ble. I  loved  her  very  dearly.  After  she  had 
kicked  me  away  my  love  itill  lasted.  It  was  a 
galling  thought  to  a  man  like  me  that  she,  a 
common  girl,  the  daughter  of  a  small  trades- 
man, should  have  kicked  me;  me,  the  descend- 
ant of  Crusaders,  by  Jove !  and  of  the  best^lood 
in  England ;  but  after  a  while  pride  gave  way 


To  16ve,  and  I  tHecTto  open  the  ^»yf«r  a  reeun- 
ciliation  once  or  twice.  I  attempted  to  address 
her  in  her  calmer  moods,  but  it  was  without  any 
aucceas.  She  would  not  answer  me  at  all.  If 
servants  were  in  the  room  she  would  at  once 
proceed  to  give  orders  to  them,  just  as  though  I 
had  not  spoken.  She  showed  a  horrible  malig- 
nancy in  trying  to  dismiss  the  older  servants. 


whom  she  knew  to  be  favorites  of  mine.     Of 
course  I  would  not  let  her  do  it. 

"  Well,  one  day  I  found  that  thiu  sort  of  life 
was  intolerable,  and  I  riiade  an  effort  to  put  nn 
end  to  it  all.  My  love  was  not  all  gone  yet,  and 
I  began  td  think  that  I  had  been  to  blame.  She 
had  always  been  indulged,  and  I  ought  to  have 
kept  up  the  system  a  little  longer,  and  let  her 
down  more  gradually.  I  thought  of  her  as  1 
first  saw  her  in  the  glory  of  her  youthful  beauty 
on  the  Calais  boat,  and  softened  my  heart  till  I 
began  to  long  for  a  reconciliation.  Really  I 
could  not  see  whore  I  had  done  any  thing  out  o^ 
the  way.  I  was  awfully  fond  of  her  at  first,  and 
would  have  remained  so  if  she  had  let  me ;  but, 
you  perceive,  her  style  was  not  exactly  the  kind  . 
which  is  best  adapted  to  keep  a  man  at  a  wo- 
man's feet.  If  she  had  shown  the  slightest 
particle  of  tenderness,  I  would  hfive  gladly  for- 
given her  all— yes,  even  the  kick,  by  Jove ! 

"  We  had  been  married  about  six  months  or 
s«,  and  had  not  spoken  for  over  four  months ; 
so  on  the  day  I  refer  to  I  went  to  her  room.  She 
received  me  with  a  sulky  expression,  and  ft  hard 
stare  full  of  insult.  ^ 

'"My  dear,'  said  I,  'I  have  come  to  talk 
seriously  with  you.' 

" '  Kate,'  said  she, '  sjiow  this  gentleh\^n  out.' 
'  "  It  was  her  mnid  to  whom  she  spoke.  ^  The 
maid  colored.  I  turned  to  her  and  pglnted  to 
the  door,  and  she  went  out  herself.  My  wife 
stood  trembling  with  rage— a  beautiful  fury. 

♦"I  have  determined,'  said  I,  quietly,  'to 
make  one  Jast  effort  for  reconciliation,  and  I 
want  to  be  heard.  Hear  me  now,  dear,  dear 
wife.  I  want  your  love  again  ;  I  can  not  live 
this  way.  Can  nothing  bo  done?  Must  I,  roust 
you,  always  live  this  way  ?  Have  I  done  any 
wrong  ?  If  I  have,  I  repent.  But  come,  let  us 
forget  onr  quarrel ;  let  ns  remember  the  first 
days  of  our  acquaintance.  We  loved  one  an- 
other, darting.  And  how  beautiful  yon  were! 
You  are  still  as  beautiful ;  won't  you  be  as  lov- 
ing? Don't  be  hard  on  a  fellow,  dear.  If  I've 
done  any  wrong,  tell  me,  and  I'll  make  it  right. 
See,  we  are  joined  together  for  life.  Can't  wc 
make  life  sweeter  for  one  another  than  it  is  now? 
Come,  my  wife,  be  mine  again.' 

"  I  went  on  in  this  strain  for  some  time,  ana 
my  own  words  actually  softened  me  more  as  I 
spoke.  I  felt  sorrv,  too,  for  my  wife,  she  seem- 
ed so  wretched.  Besides,  it  was  a  last  chance, 
and  I  determined  to  humble  myself.  Any  thing 
was  better  than  perpetual  hate  and  misery.  S<>  / 
at  last  I  got  so  affected  by  my  own  eloquenc^^^ 
that  I  became  quite  spooney.  Her  back  w* 
turned  to  me;  I  conld  nbt  see  her  face.  1 
thought  by  her  silence  that  she  was  affected^nd, 
iiMk^aah  of  tenderness,  1  put  my  Brro  Af^ 

"In  an  instant  she  flung  it  off,  nnd/steiyed 
back,  confronting  me  with  a  face  as  hrfd  and  M 
eye  as  malevolent  as  a  demon.  / 

"  She  reached  out  her  hand  toward  the  bell 

"  « What  are  you  going  to  do  ?'  I  asked. 

"  '  Ring  for  my  maid,'  said  sW 


.^: 


.-■  ■■    ^ 


'h 


■-'^l 


/ 


of  mine.     Of 


S'  come  to  talk 


"'Don't,'  said  I, 
getting  between  lier 
nijdthobell.  'Think; 
stop,  I  implore  you.' 
This  isourlast  chance 
Tor  a  reconciliation.' 
"She stepped  back 
with  a  crqel  gmile. 

She  had  a  sWlI  pen- 
knife in   her   hand. 
Her    eye*    glittered 
venomously. 
Jl^conciliation,' 

Ve  said,  with  a  sneer. 

fl  don't  want  it ;  / 

don't  want  ^OB.     You 

came  and  forced  ydur- 

self  here.    Ring  lir 

my  maid,  and  I  will 

let  her  show  you  the 

door. ' 

" '  You  can't  qlean 
it  ?'  I  said. 

"'I  do  meiui  it,' 
she  replied.  /Ring 
the  bell,'  she  lidded, 
imperiously. 

"I  stood  looking 
at  her. 

■     "' Leave  fte  room, 
then, '  she  sAid. 

'"I  must  have  n 
satisfactoi*  answer' 
said  r.     /  ' 

"'Vejfy  well,' said 
•he.     'Uere  it  is.' 

"And  saying  this 
she  took  the  penknife 
by  the  blade,  between 

her  thumb  and  finger,  

«nd 'slung  it  at  me. 

.ion     I'n ?h  ^^"'^ ^^•"7 'Wnginto  confu- 

Xin^^iT^  T^l  '^"'"'  "o  ^Jth  "trange 

TU."J^  to  ™^"  '"  P'''"""  »"«^  «»'<»  'hem- 
.»t  tha"  tfSL'""'"'^' '^'-  ^  ?ft5"^"d  fo"»d 
Jt^that  avnncfl  w»i  oim  ^rf  her  strongest^ 


THI!  AMERICAN  BARON. 


Sfi 


VKBT  WKLL.    iinut  rr  is. 


/m 


tices, 


al'once""  '"""'"""*' '"  ""^  '^'"■•^•'  "'•"•  her  „p 
"  One  day  I  came  home  and  found  her  on 
the  portico,  in  her  riding-habit.     She  was  whin 
ping  one  of  the  maids  with  the  butt  end  c^te 
nd.„g.wh.p     I  rushed  up  and  released  thfpoor 
creature,  whose  cries  were  really  heart  «nH^ 
when  my  wife  turned  on  Me!  4e  a  ^  «"^ 
struck  two  blows  over  my  hUd      oSf  tSj 
scam  is  on  my  forehead  still      See  " 

M.1."^^?'''^'  P"'  '""■*'*  •"»  ''«"•  on  the  top  of 

long  red  mark,  which  seemed  like  the  scar  of  a 
dftngerou»  wound.  * 

«t  ™  '  T  '"u  "«'^  "'"'•"  ''«  wntinued.     "  I 
hLi?  V^^u*"*  ^''^P  '■^°'"  her,  and,  grasping 


oflemntl  L  •  """^  I""'**'  °"*  »''«  '^''ole  lot 


I  wa«  «,h..  .   '  ""'""^K  "^"^  "gut.     I  dare  sar 
r„rr     i  ''"'""■  "'Kht,  for  the  blood  was 

rush^g  down  over  my  face,  and  dripping'frZ. 

;«rnwrTT''lr:^ '•.'.«!»  ^-  know 


&ii 


^ 


8« 


THE  AlfERICAN  BARON. 


"  She  shrank  down,  pale  and  trembling.  She 
was  a  coward,  evidently,  and  accessible  to  phys- 
ical terror. 

'"If  I  belonged  to  your  clais,'  said  I,  'J. 
would  do  it.  But  I  am  of  a  different  order.  I 
am  a  gentleman.  Go.  After  all,  I'm  not  sorry 
that  yon  gave  me  this  blow.' 

"  I  stalked  oat  of  tho  room,  had  a  doctor,  who 
bound  up  the  wound,  and  then  mediUted  over 
my  situation.  I  made  up  my  mind  at  once  to 
a  separation.  Thus  far  she  had  done  nothing 
to  warrant  a  divorce,  and  separation  was  the 
only  thing.  I  was  loid  np  and  feverish  for 
about  n  month,  but  at  the  end  of  that  time  I 
bad  an  interview  with  my  wife.  I  proposed  a 
separation,  and  suggested  that  she  should  go 
home  to  her  father.  This  she  refused.  She 
declared  herself  quite  willing  to  have  a  separa- 
tion, but  inabted  on  living  at  Dacres  Grange. 
"  'And  what  am  I  to  do  ?'  I  asked. 
"  '  WbAteTer  yon  please,'  she  replied,  calmly. 
'"Do  y«n  really  propose,'  said  I,  'to  drive 
mi  out  of  the  home  of  my  ancestors,  and  live 
here  yourself?  Do  you  think  I  will  allow  this 
place  to  be  under  your  control  after  the  fright- 
ful havoc  that  you  have  made  ?' 

"  'I  shall  remain  here,'  said  she,  flrmly. 
"  I  said  nothing  more.  I  saw  that  she  was 
immovable.  At  the  same  time  I  could  not 
consent.  I  could  not  live  with  her,  and  I  conld 
not  go  away  leaving  her  there.  I  conld  not 
give  up  the  ancestral  home  to  her,  to  mar  and 
mangle  and  destroy.  Well,  I  waited  for  about 
two  months,  and  then — " 

"Well  ?"  asked  Hawbury,  as  Dacres  hesitated. 
"  Dacres  Grange  was  burned  down,"  said 
the  other,  in  a  low  voice. 
"  Burned  down !" 
\     "Yes.'.' 

"Good  Lord!" 
^ ','  It  caught  (ire  jn  the  daytime.  There  were 
but  fevT  servants.;  No  fire-engines  were  near, 
•  for  tne  Gra'ngei  ^as  in  a  remote  place,  and  so 
the  nre  soonugiilraed  headway  and  swept  over 
all.  My  yrim^^  frantic.  She  came  to  n>e  as 
I  stool  looiffiig  V  the  spectacle,  and  cfiarged 
me  w^i  settitig  ^e  to  it.  I  smiled  at  her,  but 
made  no  reply.  / 

"  So  you/sejB  she  vrat  bnmed  out,  and  that 
question  wis>ettled.  It  was  a  terrible  thing, 
but  despesue  diseases  require  desperate  reme- 
dies ;  and'I  felt  it  more  tolerable  to  have  ''^e 
house  i^  ruins  than  to  have  her  living  there 
while  yhad  to  be  a  wanderer. 

She  was  now  at  my  mercy. ,  We  went  to 
E^ten     She  went  to  her  fkther,  and  I  finally 
succeeded  in  effecting  an  arrangement  which 
^as  satisfactory  on  all  sides. 
-X,  «i  Firgt  of  all,  the  separation  ahoold^ 
/late,  and  neither  of  us  should  ever  hold  com 
mimication  with  the  other  in  any  riiape  or  way 
"  Secondly,  she  should  take  another  naine, 
so  as  to  conceal  the  fact  that  she  was  my  wife, 
and  not  do  any  further  dis)ionor  to  the  name. 

"In  return  for  this,  I  "waa  to  give  her  out- 
right twenty  thqnsand  ^HUidi  M  her  own  ab- 


solutely, to  invest  or  spend  just  as  she  chose. 
She  insisted  on  this,  so  that  she  need  not  be  de- 
pendent on  any  annual  allowance.  In  consid- 
eration of  this  she  forfeited  every  other  claim, 
«ll  dower  right  in  the  event  of  my  death,  and 
every  thing  else.  This  was  all  drawn  up  in  a 
formal  document,  and  worded  as  (jarcfully  as 
possible.  I  d<m'-t  believe  that  the  document 
would  be  of  much  use 'in  a  court  of  law  in  cane 
she  wished  ttTllaim  any  of  her  rights,  but  it 
served  to  satisfy  her,  and  she  thought  it  was 
legally-  sound  and  actually  inviolable. 

"  Here  we  separated.  I  left  England,  and 
1iav6  never  been  there  since." 

Dacres  stopped^  and  sat  silent  for  a  longtime. 

"  Could  she  have  been  mad  ?"  asked  Hawbury. 

"  I  used  to  think  so,  but  I  believe  not.  She 
showed  .ijoo  much  sense  in  every  thing  relating 
to  herself.  She  sold  pictures  and  timber,  and 
kept  every  penny.  She  waa  acute  enougjjrin 
grasping  all  she  conld.  During  our  lasKi^tcr 
views  while  making  these  arrangcmeuts^lio 
was  perfectly  cool  and  lady-like. 

"  Have  you  ever  heard  about  her  since  ?" 

"  Never." 

"  Is  she  alive  yet  ?"  -, 

"That's  thq,BoAer."        fc 

"  What  I  vilont  you  knowF* 

"No."  '^ -":>■'    --,. 

"  Havfii'|j:pjl  ev^^ltied  to  find  out?"  ■ 

"  Yes. ,  ;T*rc!^  yftai/ngp  I  went  and  had  in- 
quiries &i»a«»5ife:^iteri  Nothing  could '^ 
found  ouilf  >^ttflp^d  her  father  had  left  tho 
place  imnw^t^,  lifter  my  departure,  and 
nothing  wa»lnowA°|^^|i;^m." 
•  "  I  wonder  that  yd^^H^t  go  yourself?" 

"What  for?  I  didJi*|^  about  seeing  her 
or  finding  her."  '' 

"  Do  you  think  she's  alive  yet?" 

"  I'm  afraid  she  is.  You  see  she  always  had 
excellent  health,  and  there's  no  reason  why  she 
should  not  live  to  be  an  octogenarian." 

"  Yet  she  may  be  dead." 

' '  May  be !  And  what  sort  of  comfort  is  that 
to  me  in  my  present  position,  I  should  like  to 
know?  May  be?  Is  that  a  sufficient  foun- 
dation for  me  to  build  on  ?  JIo.  In  a  moment 
of  thoughtlessness  I  have  allowed  myself  to  for- 
get the  horrible  position  in  which  I  am.  But 
now  I  recall  it.  I'll  crush  down  my  feelings, 
and  be  a  man  again.  I'll  see  the  child-angel 
once  more ;  once  more  feast  my  soul  over  her 
sweet  and  exquisite  loveliness ;  once  more  get 
a  glanc*  from  her  tender,  innocent,  and  guile- 
less eyes^'and  then  away  to  South  America." 

"  You  said.yonr  wife  took  another  name." 

"  Yes." 

"  What  was  It  ?    Do  yon  know  it  ?" 


"  Willoughbyr  cried  Hawbury,  with  a  start; 
"  why,  that's  the  name  of  my  Ethel's  friend, 
at  MpntreaL     Conld  it  have  been  the  same  ?" 

"Pooh,  man  I  How  ia  that  possible?  Wil- 
loaghby  la  not  an  uncommon  name.  It'a  no' 
more  likely  that  your  Willoughby  and  mine  are 
the  lame  than  it  ia  that  your  Ethel  is  the  oat  I 


/ 


THB  AMERICAN  BARdN. 


Jove!"  ^"^ '*"'*'•     ^">PO»terousl     By 

And  Hawburr  stroked  nwav  »i,»  ...»^    . 
iJea  thn,ugh  h.?lo„°,  ;e„de„'      '£^^"'""'"" 


— big-aawful— 'man.  '• 


"»u«  OATOHT  Wihhh  ni  an  Aiu,g. 


"An..tulr'2  '"T""'^'  ^'"J'  Nearest?" 

I  think  te  St  bav'e"  Lrr  'f"     ';"^  "^^ 
see  w/y  they  .11  act  I^      i  "*  l^T'     ^  ^°°'' 

people  W/go  and  save  mv  life  I^w/ I.  i    • 

'%if  T'^.-r'^  hoSotther-'  '•'"^"?^ 

'Ohdearl  ohdearI"«iD-ho,i !,»     •. 
"Now,  Kitty,  stop'"  "^.'"'dher sister^. 

'•NoT'Kitrif '  ''"'"''  ^"-  ^"'°"X 

ti'ing  to  comfort  me.*  Tou  JZ  ?""'  '*"  '">' 

life  Aa*  to  be  saved  ro  nfVi>n      t-  I       ^ 

Minnie  ended  all  this  with  «  i:..i  i.  -  , 
her  sister,  as  usual  dinV!  1^  '^  ^°^'  """J 
quiet  her.       SL  "  '"  '""^''^  "'"' 

j'Sfii^T"'  """"^  ''•* ''  ""  "wen?" 
•^"^"' you  mi^ht  tell »««.» 

horrible."  """''  '''''  *°  "'••"'  "^  '»•     I''"  too 

''Poor  darling-the  crater?" 

JNo,  the  great,  big  man     1  dirlnv  .-w. 
afo.  »  '     "  "•"".     i  man  t  see  any 


CHAPTER  IX. 

I»BW  BMBAHHASSaflSNTS 

*M  not  present  during  the  r«riS'       A?'^  "^ 

hearing  it,  Mrs.  WiIl,^S.by  went  to  L""!  "'"""  "''*«^' 

kitted  her  ,D  a  very  effusive  manner.   7  '    7  "^^'  ^  ^''^'t- "              .   ( 

...  T'  "'""'«■  ^.V  poor  darlinir  whL  .-.  Ji  ^"^^  *"'*'  yu  were."       >                 1 

tbw  about  Vesuvits?    Is  h  ST-     T  "^  wasn't.      I  was  on  Wk    v    , 


/ 


r.Vi,a*' 


K^-'.   l«. 


f   i." 


.># 


88 


THE  AMERICAN  BARON. 


"  I  don't  want  them  to  save  me  any  more." 
•'Well,  they  sha'n't  do  it,  then,"  said  Mrs. 
Willoughby,  affectionately,  in  a  somewhat  maud- 
lin tone.  .  ^ 
"  And  the  next  time  I  lose  my  life,  I  don  t 
want  to  be  saved.  I  want  them  to  let  me  alone, 
ani  I'll  come  home  myself." 

"  And  so  you  shall,  darling ;  you  shall  do 
just  as  you  please.  So,  now,  cheer  up ;  don't 
cry ;"  and  Mrs.  Willoughby  tried  to  wipe  Min- 
nie's eyes. 

•'But  you're  treating  me  just  like  a  baby, 
and  I  don't  want  to  be  talked  to  so,"  said  Min- 
nie, fretfully. 

Mrs.  Willoughby  retreated  with  a  look  of 
despair. 

"Well,  then,  dear,  I'll  do  just  whatever  you 
want  me  to  do." 

"  Well,  then,  I  want  yoo  to  tell  me  what  I 
am  to  do." 

"About  what?" 

••Why,  about  this  great,  big,  horrid  man." 
"  I  thought  you  didn't  want  me  to  talk  about 
this  any  more." 

"  But  I  Jo  want  you  to  talk  about  it.  You're 
the  only  person  that  I've  got  to  talk  to  about  it ; 
nobody  else  knows  how  peculiarly  I'm  situated ; 
and  I  didn't  think  that  you'd  give  me  up  because 
I  had  fresh  troubles." 

"Give  you  up,  darling!"  echoed  her  sister, 
in  surprise. 

"You  said  you  wouldn't  talk  about  it  any 

more." 

"  But  I  thought  you  didn't  want  me  to  talk 

about  it." 

"  But  I  do  want  you  to." 
«•  Very  well,  then ;  and  now  I  want  you  first 
of  all,  darling,  to  tell  me  how  you  happaned  to 
get  into  such  danger."    ^         " 

"  Well,  you  know,"  began  Minnie,  who  now 
seemed  calmer— "you  ^jpw  we  all  went  out 
for  a  drive.  And  we  drove  along  for  miles. 
Such  a  drive !  There  were  lazaroni,  and  donk-" 
eys,  and  calfeches  with  as  many  as  twenty  in 
each,  all  pulled  by  one  poor  horse,  and  it's  a 
great  j|^nie ;  and  pigs — oh,  tucA  pigs  1  Not 
a  partis  of  hair  on  them,  you  know,  and  look- 
ing like  young  elephants,  you  know;  and  we 
saw  great  droves  of  oxen,  and  long  lines  of 
bootMhno  end ;  and  people  selling  macaroni, 
and  otnw  people  eating  it  right  in  the  open 
street,  you  know — such  fun! — and  fishermen 
and  fish-wive».|:^h,  how  they  were  screaming, 
^nd  oh,  tuch  aniiubbub  as  there  was!  and  we 
Wouldn't  go  on  fast,  amI  Dowdy  seemed  really 
frightened."  W 

»*  Dowdy  ?"  repeated  Mrs.  Willoughby,  in  an 
interrogative  tone. 

'tOh^  thiit'4;a  nama  I've  just  invented  fiar 

Lady  Dalryi^Re.  It'a4||tter  than  Rymple. 
She  said  so.  It's  DuwagCT  shortened.  She's 
a  dowager,  you  kno^.     And  so,  you  know,  I 


waa  on  the  front  seat  all  the  tfrne,  when  all  at 
once  I  saw  a  gentlemwi  on  horseback.  He 
was  a  great  big  man— oh,  *o  handsome!- and 
he  was  looking  at  poor  little  me  m  though  bo 


would  eat  me  up.  And  the  moment  I  saw  him 
I  was  frightened  out  of  my  poor  little  wits,  for 
I  knew  he  was  coming  to  save  my  life." 

"  You  poor  little  puss !  what  put  such  an 
idea  as  that  into  your  ridiculous  little  head  ?" 
"Olj,  I  knew  it— second-sight,  you  know. 
We've  got  Scotch  blood,  Kitty  darling,  you 
know.  So,  you  |inow,  I  sat,  and  I  saw  that  he 
was  pretending  not  to  see  me,  and  not  to  be 
following  us ;  but  all  the  time  he  was  takiii); 
good  care  to  keep  behind  us,  when  ho  could 
easily  have  passed  us,  and  all  to  get  a  good 
look  at  poor  me,  you  know. 

"  Well,"  coptinued  Minnie,  drawing  a  long 
breath,  "you*know  I  was  awfully  frightened; 
and  so  I  snt  looking  at  him,  and  I  whispered 
all  the  time  to  myself:  'Oh,  please  don't!— 
ple-e-e-e-e-ease  don't !  Don't  come  and  save 
my  life !  Ple-e-e-e-e-ease  let  me  alone  !  I 
don't  want  to  be  saved  at  all.'  I  said  this,  you 
know,  all  to  myself,  and  the  more  I  said  it  the 
more  he  seemed  to  fix  his  eyes  on  me." 

"It  was  very,  very  rude  in  him,  /think," 
said  Mrs.  Willoughby,  with  some  indignation. 
"  No,  it  wasn't,"  said  Minnie,  sharply.  "  He 
wasn't  rude  at  all.  He  tried  not  to  look  at  me. 
He  pretended  to  be  looking  at  the  sea,  and  nt 
the  pigs,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing,  you  know ; 
but  all  the  time,  you  know,  I  knew  very  well 
that  he  saw  me  out  of  the  corner  of  his  eye—  ■ 
this  way." 

And  Minnie  half  turned  her  head,  and  threw 
upon  her  sister,  out  of  the  corner  of  her  eyes,  a 
glance  so  languishing  that  the  other  laughed. 
"  He  didn't  look  at  you  that  way,  I  hope?" 
"  There  was  nothing  to  laugh  at  in  it  ut  all," 
said  Minnie.    "  He  had  an  awfully  solemn  look 
— it  was  so  eami^t,  so  sad,  and  so  dreadful, 
that  I  really  began  to  feel  quite  frightened. 
And  so  would  you ,-  wouldn't  yon,  now,  Kiiiy 
darling ;  now  wouldn't  you  ?     Please  say  so." 
"Oh  yes!"      ,. 

"  Of  course  you  would.     Well,  this  person 
followed   us.     I  could  see  him'^ety  easily, 
though  he  tried  to  avoid  notice ;  and  so  at  last 
we  got  to  the  Hti^mitage,  and  he  came  too. 
Well,  you  know,  I  think  I  was  very  inuch  ex- 
cited, and  I  asked  Dowdy  to  let  us  go  and  see 
the  cone  ;  so  she  let  ui  go.     She  gave  no  end 
of  warnings,  and  we  promised  to  do  all  that 
she  said.     So  Ethel  and  I  went  out,  and  there 
was  the  strhnger.     Well,  I  felt  more  excited 
than  ever,  *nd  a  little  bit  frightened— just  t 
very,  verj^iny,  little   bit,  yoff  know,  »«d  I 
teased  Ethel  to  go  to  the  cone.      Well,  the 
stranger  kept  in  sight  Ml  the  time,  you  know, 
and  1  felt  his  eyes  on  me— I  really  felt  them. 
So,  you  know,  when  we  got  at  the  foot  of  the 
mne,  I  was  SO  excitad  that  I  was  really  qui" 
beside  myself,  and  Ileaaed  and  teased,  till « 
last  Ethel  consented  to  go  up.     Soothe  men 
took  us  up  on  chA-a,  and  all  the  time  the  •trin- 
ger  was  in  fight.     He  walked  up  by  hiftielf 
with  great,  big,  long,  strong  strides.     So  we 
went  on  till  we  got  at  the  top,  and  then  I  wm 
wilder  than  ever.     I  didn't  know  that  thert 


^  was  a  particle  of  danger.  I  wag  dying  with 
cunoBity  to  loolc  down,  and  see  where  the 
«n,oke  came  from.  The  stranger  was  standing 
there  too,  and  that's  what  made  me  so  excited 
I  wanted  to  show  him-I  don't  know  what  I 
think  my  Idea  was  to  show  him  that  I  could 
take  care  of  myself.  So  then  I  teased  and 
teased,  and  tthel  begged  and  prayed,  and  she= 
pned,  and  I  laughed;  and  there  stood  the 
stranger,  seeing  it  all,  until  at  last  I  started 
olt,  and  ran  up  to  the  top,  vou  know  " 

Mrs.  Willoughby  8huda;ied,  and  took  her 
sister's  hand.  1 

''There  was  no  end  of  smoke,  vou  know 

and  It  was  awfully  uni.lea.sant,  and  I  got  to  the 

top  1  don  t  know  how,  when  suddenly  I  fainted  " 

Minnie  j.aused  tor  a  moment,  and  looked  at 

V    her  stater  with  a  rueful  face. 

"  Well,  now,  dear,  darling,  the  very-next- 
thing-that  I  remember  is  this,  and  it's  hor- 
rid: I  felt  awful  jolts,  and  found  myself  in  the 
arms  of  a  great,  big,  horrid  man,  who  was  run- 
ning down  the  side  of  the  mountain  with  dread- 
fully long  jumps,  and  I  felt  as  though  he  was 
some  horrid  ogre  carrying  poor  me  away  to  his 
<lcn  t9  eat  me  up.     But  I  didn't  say  one  word. 
*  I  wasn  t  much  fnghtened.    I  felt  provoked     I 
knew  It  was  that  horrid  man.     And  then  I 
wondered  what  you'd  say;  and  I  thought,  oh 
how  you  uouid  scold  !     And  then  |  know  tha 
tins  horrid  man  would  chase  me*away  from 
Italy ;  and  then  I  would  have  to  go  to  '/urkev 
and  have  my  life  saved  by  a  Mohammedan! 
And  that  was  horrid. 

"  Well,  at  last  he  stopped  and  laid  me  down  I 
He  was  very  gentle,  though  he  was  so  big      T 
kept  my  eyes  shut,  and  lay  as  still  as  a  mouse 
hoping  that  Ethel  would   come.     Hut  Kthel 
uiun  t.     bhe  was  coming  down  with  the  chair 
you  know  and  her  men  couldn't  run  like  mine' 
And  oh,  Kitty  dariing,  you  have  no  idea  what 
1  »uffor«d.      Ihis  horrid  man  wps  rubbing  and 
l-ounding  at  my  hands,  and  sighing  and  groan- 
ing.    I  stole  a  little  bit  of  a  look  at  him-just 
a  little  bit  of  a  bit-and  saw  tears  in  his  eyes, 
and  a  wild  look  of  fear  in  his  face.     Then  l 
knew  that  he  was  going  to  propose  to  me  o* 
the  spot,  and  kept  my  eyes  shut  tighter  than 
cv6r, 

Minnie  paused. 
"  Well  ?"„ked  her  sister. 
"Well,"  said  Minnie,  in  a  doleful  rone,  "I 
then  asked, '  I«  that  yon,  papa  dear  ?' " 
Minnie  stopped  again 


THE  AMERICAN  BAmSlJ!' 


r 


"Well,  goon." 
,nd-^*"'  ""  •"''•-'"'  »**'*.    Ye*,  dailing'- 
"  And  what  r 


89 

''Kissed   you!"  exclaimed  her  sister,  with  ^ 
flashing  eyes.  '        " 

and  I  think  it  s  a  shame ;  and  none  of  then 
ever  did  so  before  ;  and  I  don't  want  you  eve 
to  go  away  again.  KMy  dariing. "        ' 

Ihe  miserable  lR«tch!"  cried  Mrs   Wll 
loughby,  inUigiiunily.  ■  "" 

"He^s;.'Jlt"'''~M  '■""''  ''""'"  "«''«  Minnie.  ' 
«e  isn  t  a  miserable  wretch  at  all  " 

.»„-!    .     T"'**  ""^  °"«  ''«  »»  base  who  nreV 
Wtu^hly^  ""'"•' °^«-'--'"-^''Mr 

yor  Khtr"H«'"r""'^ '''"  ^'"^  ^"•=''«'i  of 

'''PreSdeJ.""'^''""'"''^'^'^-'---" 
"Yes.". 

"Pretended  what?" 
kno'w^^'  *'""   •>«  ^"^   «y-n.y  father,  you 

1    "H'^^  ?"'^'  ^""'^  *•'''*?"  «8ked  Mrs.  Wil- 
loughby, after  a  curious  look  at  Minnie 

No,  of  course  not,  nor  Dowdy  either;  and 
you  mustn't  go  and  make  any  disturbanc;.'' 
I'll  ,^"'?'"'"|"«=«?  "o;   but  if  I  ever  see  him, 

JL  w  r  ^^'r  '"'""  '  'Wnk  of  him,"  saTd 
Mrs.  Willoughby,  severely.     ^ 

Jn'^T  *"'  "T^  y  '"■*'  ""•* «°  y°»  know  you 
can  t  be  ven,  harsh  with  him.  Pleiuse  donW 
ple-e-e-easc  now,  Kitty  dariing." 

havl^'l*^""  ""'*  '^°'""''  '"''"  whimsical  idea 
have  y6u  got  now  ?" 

Minn^!"**  '*°"'''  P'^-«-«-«'"«  ^<"^V'  repeated 

"Oh,  never  mind  ;  go  on  now,  darling,  and 
tell  me  about  the  rest  of  it." 

"  Well,  there  isn't  any  more.     I  lay  still  vou 
know  and  at  last  Ethel  came;   and'^S-wo 

yTkSrw'''"  '""'''""''  "'«^°  -  --  »'-e' 
''Well,  I  hope  you've  lost  him." 
Lost  him  ?    Oh  no ;  I  never  do.     They  al- 
''""Why~   ^""••''"^"'isonewaUknow." 

"Because  he  said  so." 
"Said  so?  when?" 
"Yesterday." 
"Yesterday?" 
"Yes;  wb  met  him." 
"Who?" 

"Dowdy  and  I.  We  were  out  driving.  Wo 
stopped  and  spoke  to  him.  He  was  dreadfuUy 
earnest  and  awfully  embarrassed;  and  I  knew 
he  was  going  to  propose  j  so  1  kept  whispering  to 
Zv  .  f/^« ''""».  'Oh.  please  don't-ple^ase 
«lon  t;  but  I  know  he  will;  and  he'll  be  her« 
soon  too.  ' 

He  sha'nt.     I  won't  let  him.     I'U  ntver 


give  him  tha  <ihi>Befr.fe 


"  I  think  you  needn't  b«  so  crnel." 
"Cruel  I" 

"Yes;  to  the  poor  man." 

.'! « ''^'  ^?'*  ''""'•  *■"'  ""Other  man,  I  hope?" 
N-no,  but  then  I  Jon't  want  to  hurt  hi. 
feelings.  I,  was  awfully  good  of  him,  yo. 
know,  and  owfiUly  plucky."  ' 


i 


40 


THE  AMERICAN  BARON. 


"  Yes,  but  lie  i 

"Oh,  he  may 
me." 

"But  he  may 
what  can  I  do  ?" 

"Really  now,  fitinnie,  yon  must  remember 
that  you  are  in  aj  serious  position.  There  is 
that  wretched  (kAhXn  Kirby." 

"  I  know,"  saiflf  Minnie,  with  a  sigh- 

"  And  that  dreadful  American.  By-tlie-way, 
darling,  you  have  never  told  me  his  name.  It 
isn't  of  any  consequence,  but  I  should  like  to 
know  the  American's  name." 

"It's— RufusK.  Gunn." 

"  Rufus  K.  Gunn  ;  what  a  funny  name  I  and 
what  in  ,^0  world  is  '  K'  for?" 

"Oh,  nothing.  He  aays  it  is  the  fashion  in 
his  country  to  have  some  letter  of  the  alphabet 
between  one'j  names,  and  ho  chose  'K,'  be- 
cause it  was  so  awfully  imcommon.  Isn't  it 
funny,  Kitty  darling  ?" 

"Uh  dear!"  sighed  her  sister;  "and  then 
there  is  that  pertinacious  Count  Girasole.  Think 
what  trouble  we  had  in  getting  quietly  rid  of 
him.  I'm  afraid  all  the  time  that  he  will  not 
stay  at  Florence,  as  ho  said,  for  he  leoms  to 
Imva^ no  Axod  Hb<Ml«,     First  ij«  w«»  -Moing  t*» 


Rome,  and  then  Venice,  and  at  last  he  com- 
mitted himself  lo  a  statement  that  he  had  to 
req$in  at  Florence,  and  so  enabled  us  to  get 
rid  of  him.  But  I  know  he'll  come  upon  us 
•gain  somewhere,  and  then  we'll  have  all  the 
trouble  over  again.    Oh  dear!     Well,  Minnie 


darling,  do  you  know  the  name  of  this  Isst 
one  ?" 

"  Oh  yes." 

"What  is  it?" 

"  It's  a  funny  name,"  said  Minnie  ;  "a  very 
funny  name." 

"  Tell  it  to  me." 

"  It's  Scone  Dacres ;  and  isn't  that  a  funny 
name?" 

Mrs.  Willoughby  started  at  the  mention  of 
that  name.  Then  she  turned  away  lier  liead, 
and  did  not  say  a  word  for  a  long  time. 

"Kitty!" 

No  answer. 

"  Kitty  darling,  what's  the  matter?" 

Mrs.  Willoughby  turned  her  head  once  more. 
Her  face  was  quite  calm,  and  her  voice  had  its 
usual  tone,  as  she  asked, 

"Bay  that  name  again." 

"Scone  Dacres,"  said  Minnie. 

"Scone  Dacres!"  repeated  Mrs.  Willoiigh- 
by ;   "  and  what  sort  of  a  man  is  he  ?" 

"Big — very  big-^-awfully  big!"  said  Min- 
nie. "Great,  big  head  and  broad  shuulden*. 
Gi-eat,  big  arms,  that  carried  me  as  if  I  were  h 
feather ;  big  beard  too ;  and  it  tickled  in«  to 
when  he— he  pretended  that  he  was  my  father; 
and  very  sad.    And,  oh  1  I  know  I  should  be  k 


.wilfully  fond  oUuin.    Andr  okt-Kitty  i 
what  do  you  think  ?" 

"What,  dearest?" 

"Why,  I'm— I'm  afraid— I'm  really  begin- 
ning to— to— like  him— just  a  little  tiny  W. 
you  know." 

"Scoue  Dacres!"  repeated  Mr*.  Willoagh- 


.■  X.-.^.  '/kii.'- . 


)ns^n     1 1  r  n  '"  '"'"^  ''"''^  *"!«  last  ef-" 

trouble  vour«H/  u^T'    ^''"'  ''""'"«.  ^o"'' 
trm  We  yourself ;  he  sha'n't  trouble  you 

,  But  Ij^a«/ him  to,"  said  Minnie 
Uli,  ucmsettse,  child 


THE  AMERICAN  BARON. 


41 


"UALLO,  OLD  MAIC,  whaT'b  Dp  MOW  ?" 


<*. 


CHAPTER  X. 

A   FBABV0L   DI8COVBHT. 

A  FEW  days  after  this  Hawburv  was  in  h; 
room,  when  Pacres  entered.  ^  i»" 

"  Hallo,  old  man,  what's  up  noit  ?    How  goes 
he  war  ?"  sa.d  Hawbury.    "  But  what  th^  mis 
Mef  s  the  matter  ?     You  look  cut  up.      y"  r 
brow  ,.  sad  ;  your  eyes  beneath  flash  like  a  f°  - 
chion  from  Its  sheath.    What'«  h«n.^„Jj  «  J 
look  half  snubbed,  and  haS:sire"' '  '  '^"" 
Dacres  said  not  »  w„rd,  but  flung  himself 
mto  a  cba.r  with  «  look  that  suited  Hawburv'l 
de,cnp.,on  of  him  quite  accurately.    HUbrow 

preMcd,  and  his  breafli  camn  n„Lv  j  i.  , 
UTough  his  inflated  nlri.r  TL  "hu.  S 
r;  T  T''"'  '"•""«  «"y  noL"  whatevt 

.rhirfSr„*'/"-^--/-t:fquic^^^^^^^^ 

.t^hw  friend,  rang  .  bell  and  ordered  some 
"Here,oM 


Kntion  of  Dacre.  to  the  refreshing  draught 

JSr  '"•"r^"'^'  •"■•  "jo-ff  this  kiL  „«: 

P««he,  and  forget  thy  lost  Lenore. '  " 

j;:!rck'Ss£.  *'^'""'^**'-^-' •-'•''- 


|itifl';?::;'ee"'^'"'"''^  "«.«"-«'>'.  in  a  half. 
"  Well,  oid  man  ?"f 

that  Llrl^,**  "  '''°7  ""'''^"  <■""  <»»  'he  breast 
mat  tairl^taggeredme." 

"By  Jove!" 

his^cU'rf '  ""'  P"''^'^  "''^y  -^-P-ately  at 

"tifra'n^-"'"'-     "W''"'««P?     Oit 

ZSv'nodlt'''^**^''*^  '  •='^°'^  '•>--" 
"  She  was  not  at  home  " 
"So  you  said." 

that'?met°^r  ■''*  '"""^  ^''»"'''  '■"r  I  told  yon 

.h:;:r«rthTrtdynhrr^t'' 

I  had  not  seen  before      Sh«  ^  i       ,""*'  """ 

passed  me  for  some  time."  . 

Wh  ^t"  i*'**  """'*"«  »hont  that,  old  Chan 
''No'*  '"r  "'k"?'*  '"'«  »"•"«  heen  ?"  '""• 
nff  T  K^ill^"^  "°'h.ng  about  it.  As  I  canteri-H 
off  I  beijn  to  think  that  it  was  only  a  faneTof 
m.ne,  and  finally  I  was  sure  of  it,  a'nd  la" /hel 

Dacres  paused  here,  rubbed  his  hand  violent 
Ind  ?he„  ?"■■ "  """  P*'"^  -''«»*  the  sc«  wL 

was  just  begmnmg  to  feel  the  full  sense  of  m„ 

J/Sed'^Ha  V"°^  ""•""•'  •""  "-"^ 

a4:"rto.an^l7Le-;'i!^?^^^^^^^^ 
■t  was  the  Imlv  that  T  k.,w  in  ■/„ ""'^''"'y' 


vasBnouirh      i  ».. 


terday  One  look  at  her  ZTnoT^  J  ,.. 
assured  then  that  my  impressions  yestertav 
rTnUr"u"h1:^'"^'-''"''''^''--'^-nSr^ 
yo.'.'k'Iiw  r"™""'"""-^""  '•.ven-ttold  meyet. 
"Wait  a  minute.    I  ro«, ..  .he  entered,  and 


THE  AMERICAN  BAllON, 


t  STOOD  TBANsruxn." 


confronted  her.  She  looked  at  me  calmly,  and 
then  stood  as  though  expecting  to  be  intro- 
duced. There  was  no  emotion  visible  what- 
ever. She  was  prepared  for  it :  I  was  not : 
and  so  she  was  as  cool  as  when  I  saw  her  last, 
and,  what  is  more,  just  as  young  and  beautiful." 

"The  devil!"  cried  Hawbury. 

Dacres  poured  out  another  glass  of  ale  and 
drank  it.  His  hand  trembled  slightly  as  he  put 
down  the  glass,  and  he  sat  for  some  time  in 
thought  before  he  went  on. 

"  Well,  Lady  Dalrymple  introdue^  us.  It 
wasMni.Willoughby!" 

"By  Jove!"  cried  Hawbuiy.  "I  saw  you 
were  eoming  to  that." 

"  Well,  you  know,  the  whole  thing  was  so 
Hudden,  so  unexpected,  and  so  perfectly  over- 
whelming, that  I  stood  transfixed.     I  laid  no- 

tliing' T  hftlinvfl  I  bowed-  and   tbftw  Rnmahnw 

or  other,  I  really  don't  know  how,  I  got  away, 
und,  mounting  my  horse,  rode  off  like  a  mad- 
man. Then  I  came  «0Biy,  and  here  you  see 
me." 

There  was  a  sltence  now  for  some  time. 

"  Are  you  sure  that  it  was  your  wife  ?" 


"Of  course  I  am.     How. could  I  be  mis- 
taken?" 

"Are  you  sure  the  name  was  Willou^hby?' 
"  Perfectly  sure." 

"  And  that  is  the  name  your  wife  took  ?" 
"  Yes  J  I  told  you  so  before,  diduU  I  ?" 
"  Yes.     But  think  now.     Mightn't  there  be 
sonte  mistake  ?" 

"Pooh !  how  could  there  be  any  mistake?" 
"  Didn't  you  see  any  change  in  her  ?" 
"No,  only  that  she  looked  much  more<i(iiet 
than  she  used  to.  Not  so  active,  yon  know. 
In  her  best  days  she  was'always  excitable,  and 
a  little  demonstrative ;  but  now  she  seemn  to 
have  sobered  down,  und  is  as  quiet  and  well- 
bred  as  any  of  the  others." 

"  Was  there  not  any  change  In  her  «t  all?" 

"Not  so  much  as  I  would  have  siippoied; 

certainly  not  so  much  M  there  Is  in  me.    But 


then  I've  been"  knowing  itonf'  alTovw  ih*^ 
world,  and  she's  been  living  a  life  of  peace  snd 
calm,  with  the  sweet  cmsciousness  of  having 
triumphed  over  a  hated  husband,  and  pois««- 
ing  a  handsome  competency.  Now  she  mln- 
glM  iri  the  best  society.     She  associates  witk 


'a-.A^!^'-'^^ 


grds  and  ladieH.     She  enjoys  life  in  England, 
xvlwle  I  am  an  exile.     No  doubt  she  pasfes  foJ 

^^A"%^T'^-  *"*""'■     ^°  '^""''f.  '"o.  "ho  has 
0*8  of  adnxren,.     They  aspire  to  her  hand. 
,  rhey  wnte  poetry  to  her.     They  make  love  to 
•     her.     Confound  her!" 

Dacres>  voice  grew  more  and  more  agitated 
and  excted  as  he  spoke,  and  at  length  his  ti- 
rade against  his  wife  ended  in  something  that 
was  almost  a  roar.  ,   - 

face  fuU  fef  sympathy.      At  last   his  pent-up 

^ehng  found  expression  in  his  favorite  excla-  ' 

raation,  "By  Jove!" 

"Wouldn't  I  be  justified  in  wringing  her 

ne^?"  asked  Oacrts,  after  a  pausc.^  "  A,^ 
whats  worse,"  he  continued,  without  waiUng 
•for  an  answer  to  his  question-"  what's  worse 

her  presence  herein  this  unexpected  way  hai 
pven  me,  me,  mind  you,  a  sense  of  guilt,  whUe 
she  .«,  of  course  immacnlate.     /,  mindyou- 
/,  the  injured  husband,  with  the  scar  on  my 
head  frota  a  wound  made  by  /,er  hand,  and 
all  the  ghosts  of  my  ancestors  howling  curses 
over  me  at  n.ght  for  my  desolated  and  rni"^ 
home-/  am  to  be  conscience-stricken  in  her 
presence,  as  .f  Iwere  a  felon,  while  sAe,  the  re- 
aly  guilty  one-the  blight  and  bitter  destruction 
of  my  hfe-^e  is  to  appear  before  me  now  a" 
injured,  and  must  make  her  appearance  here 
.tanding  by  the  side  of  that  sweet  child-ange!' 
and  warning  me  away.     Confound  it  all,  man  ! 
Do  youmean  to  ^ay  that  such  a  thing  is  to.  be 

Dacres  was  now  quite  frantic;  so  Hawburv 
with  a  sigl,  of  perplexity,  lighted  a  fresh  cigar' 
jnd  thus  took  rjfuge  from  the  helplessness  of 

in  which  *dvice  was  uttenjy  U8ei(^"and  conso- 
lation impossible.     What^  could  hi  advise,  ^r 
what  consolation  could  he  ofter?    The  clrild 
angel  was  now  out  of  his  friend's.reach,  anJthe' 
worst  fea«of  the  lover  were  more  than  re 

D.ilres'"''.^?hi"'"  "■"""  °'::""'^'^«>»t.nued 
.yt\     .    f "  "  *"*P'"on  'hat  she  was  alive 
.nd  I. firmly  b«lleV«  she'll  outlive  me  S 
ears  j  bjTt  I  must  sajr  I  nevter  expected  to  i^e 
her  ,„  this  way,   u^der  such  cireumstancis 
And  then  to  find  her  so  infernally  beaSp 
Confound  her!  she  don't  look  over  twenty-five 
How  the  mischief  doe.  fhe  manage  it?^  Oh' 
.he  .  a  deep  one  I     But  ^rhap.  she's  changed.' 

•  MntlTTnT*  ""i'h  ■"**  "V""  '°"» 'he  room  so 
gently,  and  looked  at  me\)  steadily.     Not  a 
t«mor,  not  .  .hake,  a.  I  live.     Ca  m,  8  r! 
cool  a.  .teel,  and  hard  too.     She  looked  away 
«nd  then  looked  back.     They  were  .SrS 

that     Sh-         uT^  !  *"*  *^  "°  occasion  for 

.non,h   r       '•"  '^^""'^  *>»"«  "«"«"  well 
!.r«N  ?.•*«•■••     C«K>I!     And  there  stood  I 


TWE  AME^AN  BAKOir. 


48 

ancestral  house,  that  drove  me  to'  exile   and 
that  now  drives  me  back  from  my  love     'b  "t 
and  iTT'  '  K  "  ""'«  "'°'«  """"her  t^  df  t ! 
before  that  S    "  T"'  "  '  "^o-eJ-her  onc^ 
oelore,  that  Scone  Dacres  is  her  master      And 

herself  to  keep  me  away  from  Minnie  Fay." 
See  here    old  boy,"  said  Hawbury,  "you 

may  as  well  thi^w  up  the  sponge."       ^     ^ 
I  won't,"  said  Dacres,  gruW 
you  sec  it  isn't  your  wife  S&t  you  have  to 

«ror'L"f' "^.  ""'■'  •"""  «^°  yo"°hi„nhe 

giri  or  her  friends  would  have  a  married  man 
paying  his  attention* in  that  quarter?     wS 

;"e%'TjaJir''"^' ""'•'' ^---^^' 

fel^'Ivn"*'*"'"""  ^r^'^  °^^^^  assertion  was 
S  ,C-r"  ^'*"  '"  ••"  "«"•  B"t  the  verv 
fact  that  It  was  unanswerable,  and  that  he  was   ' 

h  !  fT'  -T^t  he  said  nothing;  it  was  only  in 
Jested  H  """'"«'•''>«  his  rage  was  ma.^- 
dTL  ^l  "fT"""^  '^""'«'  '«>  ''"«°'=»te  u„- 
£.„^  7"^  °^^'''^'  «'<"'t«nd«K passions,  bL 
dis  ended  veins  swelled  out  in  his  forehead 
which  was  also  drawn  far  down  in  a  gloomy 
frown  ;  his  hreaih  came  thick  and  fast,  and  Ws 

watchea  him  m  silence  as  before,  feeling  all 

(the  time  the  impossibility  of  saying  any  thing 

tha  could  be  of  any  use  whatever.         ^      ^ 

in.  alt''  K ''  ^i^°^'"  ""•''  »""«"  «'  »'"*t,  giv- 

off  some^nf  r '"•  '"•*'"•=''  '"'  '^«'"«'»  »»  »hSw 
otf  some  of  his  excitement.  jy.ou're  right  of 

forTe'  "  P  '  "■"  ""'P'-^-s  nXnc 
«Pr  me.     Paying  attentions^Blgt  of  the  oum 
W  and  the  only  thing  for^ro  do  ilo'^^e' 
"P  the  whole  thing.     But  that  isn't  tobo  d^ne 
at  once.     It's  been  long  since  I've  seen  any 

litt  e  thin.""?  i  ""  '!^«^™«-.  and  th"^  , 
little  thing,  I  know,  is  foil5?of  me."    I  can'ti^ 

at  least,  and  have  <W«|fuonal  glimpses  at  her 
it  gives  me  a  freslMe  of  dm^t  heave.dy 
sweetness  to  look  atWfair  young  face  Be 
side^  I  feel  .hat  I  am  far  more  to  her  thin  fny 
other  man.  No  other  man  ha.  stood  to  her"^ 
the  relation  in  which  I  have  stood.     RecoUe^t 

ihiL'  ""Z"  •""■  'T  ''•"'"'•  Th«  i.  no  iS 
thing,  .fche  must  feel  toward  me  a.  she  ha. 
never  felt  to  any  other.     She  i.  not  one  who 

d'th'fnd'r  \'T'""' "- '"«-  •"•?"« 

.me  she  look,  at  me  she  seems  to  Convey  \h 
that  to  me  in  her  glance."  ' 

"Oh,  well,  my  dear  fellow,  really  now  "«iid 
Hawbury.  "just   think.      Y^u  can't  di,^ 


^1 


4hjflg=: 


V, 


,-'«. 


with  ifcl  1.1       J  a     .  .        ■  ■"""   "'*"'  Stood  I, 

btajflre  underneath  the  .car  of  her  wound- 
Mw-her  own  property,  for  she  made  it! 
.Tl»t  WM  the  *om.n  that  kicked  me,  ,th.t 


•jButldon't^Wanttodoanyt^ng." 
It  never  eta  end  in. any  thing,  you  know." 

lint  I  ilnn't  want  I<  •.! J  I 


«u...  T   I    7; -"-"J  uiiiig,  you  itno^ 

But  I  don't  want  it  t6  end  in  any  thing." 

airecS"""'^  '"""''  ""'  "^  "tan'gling'^her 
tionfc^"  ^  '''"'''  ***"'  *"  *"'•"«'"  '>«'  •«■«' 


THE  AMERICAN  BARON. 


isr 


"Then  whl^he  misdtjieC  do  you  want  (ift 

do?".     ^  A>  ■       ^    :. 

'>  Why,  ♦ery  little.  I'ltjtkrt  off  soo^opjijwl 
'/^HUttermost  ends  of  the  eartll|Jb»t  I  wish  t(i  ' 
a  little  longer  and  see  her  ftW^^fjice.  Jt'i 
much,  A  it?  It  woa,'t  compfpmise  her,?-* 
it?  She  need  not  run  a^  tiii',  need  sH,ef| 
And  I'm  a  man  of  m)«)r,  ttpi  I  n0|t  ?  Ywu 
don't  su^^se  me  to.  be  capaible.<rf. any  ba8e-«| 
new,  do  ybtl'?"    r-..,  '  '■#» 

how  absjird!     Of  coarse 

raid  by  giving  way  totiiig^ 

fito  a  wors^'^tfltfc  of  mind. 

iiiid^'d  as  she  is  by 

t_tt)at  j.'m  anxious 

old  chap,'  about'  me. 
can  face  my  situation 
.  .  ,-„   .    ,,„-.,,,  the  worst.,   •  While*  I 
^eii'.sfttmg  heh;  t'have  thought  out  the 
4>fuj.u&    I  'yf\\\  stay  here  four  or  five  weeks.    I 
-^ 'tvlli>orilyj(fjiek  solace  for  myself  by  riding  about 
^ , '  wjiere  I-i»ay  mest  her.    I  do  not  intend  to'  go 
to  tlie  hoiitse  at'  all 


thing,'  ev^<iH  it  comes  to  letting  myself,  ij^ 


''^ 


My  demon  of  a  wife  may 
jiave  the  w'hotc  litouse  to  herself.  I  won't  even 
|"(Mve  her  the  pleasure  of  slipposing  that  she  has 
!ipivarted  me.  She  »hall  never  oven  suspect 
we  state  of  my  heart.'  That  would  be  bliss 
indeed  to  one  like  her,  for  then  she  would  find 
herself  able  to  put  mh  oii  the  rack.  No,  my 
boy;  I've  thought  it  nil  oVer.  Scone  Dacres 
is  himself  again.  No  ihote  nonsense  now.  D« 
yon  understand  now  what  I  mean?" 

"Yes,"  said  Hawbui-y,  ^owly,  an4  in  his 
worst  drawl;  'M)ut  ah,  reJlUy,  don't" you  think 
it's  all  nonsense  ?" 

"What?" 

',' Wiiy,  this  ducking  and  diving  about  to  get 
a  glimpse  of  her  face."    ■ 
'  "  1  don't  intend  to  dCick  and  dive  about.     I 
'  merely  intend  to  ride  like  any'  other  gentle- 
man.    Whot  put  tjiat  into  your  head,  man  ?" 

"  Well,  I  don't  know ;  I  gathered  it  from 
the  way  you  expressed  yourself." 

"  Well,  I  don't  intend  any  thing  of  the  kind. 
I  simply  wish'  to  have  occasional  looks  at  her 
— to  get,  a  bow  and  a  smile  of  recognition 
when  I  meet  hes,  and  have  a  few  addition- 
al recollections  to  turn  over  in  (hy  thoughts 
after  I  have  left  her  forever.  ];'erh&p8  lliis 
seetns  odd."   ^^s^ 

"  Oh  no,  it jSB^.  I  quite  understand  it. 
A  passing  gtJJMHW  parting  sigh  is  sometimes 
more  precioMmm^ny  other  meinctry.  I  know 
all  ibont  it,  yon  kno^ — lool^^  glances,  smiles, 
signs,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing,  you  know." 

"Well,  now,  old-^chap,  there's  one  thing  I 
want  you  to.  do  for  me." 

"VVell,  what  is  it?" 

"  It  isn't  much,  old  fellow.     It  isn't  mifch. 


Trfm'pTy  wisli  you  t*  visit  there!" 

"  Afe  r — visit  there  t  What !  me— and  visit  ? 
Why,  my  dear  fellow,  don't  you  know  how  I 
hate  such  bother?" 

"  I  know  all  about  that ;  but,  old  boy,  it's 
only  for  a  few  weeks  I  ask  it,  and  for  my 


ell,  reai 
you  k^i 


.5. 
^dear  boy,  if  you  [ 
df  course,  that  I'll  do  anv 


Sored  to  death. 

ust  a  visit  a  4^  It  Ro." 
jsifca^j}"*     Hiftvbui 
'l^tMa  ^Jftsk,  ypij  kaBw.i^ 

Su  se^  t^^WWtlifcthw 


j4  btlh^si  to 
L'klB-tWJSar  f'wjlilhe 
s,"  and  whether  she 


.  SJ  as 
hear  ^piutBsi'.  „I  s: 
looks,  it't^d  whgt  f^^' 
thinks  of  me." 

"  OJ),  come  now !  look  iiere,  my  dear  fel- 
low, /ou're  putting  it  a  little  too  strong.  You 
don't  exp^cj.  nSe4o  go  there  and  talk  fo  her 
about  you,  JnHj  know.  ,  Why,  man  alive,  that's 
quite  out  of  |by  way.  I'm  not  much  of  a  talk- 
er at  any  tii^j-  and  besides,  you  know,  there's 
something  d«tasteful  in  acting  as— as—  By 
Jove !  I  doii!||||novv  what  to  call  it." 

'  "  My  dear  Jto',  you  don't  understand  me. 
Do  you  think  j^lft  a  sneak?  Do  you  suppose 
I'd  ask  you  to  a6tj|«  a  go-between  ?  Nonsense  I 
I  merely  ask  you^^  go  as  a  cursory  visitor.  J 
don't  want  you  to^reathe  my  name,  or  even 
think  of  me  while  j-ou  are  there," 

"  But  suppose  1"  make  myself  too  agreeable 
f Ov  the  young  lady.  By  Jove  1  she  might  think 
I  was  paying  her  attohtions,  you  know." 

"  Oh  no,  no !  believe  nle,  you  don't  know 
her.  She's  too  earnest ;  she  has  too  nmch  soul 
to  shift  and  change.  Oh  no !  I  feel  that  slio 
is  iHine,  and  that  the  image  of  my  own  misera- 
ble self  is  indelibly  impressed  upon  her  heart. 
Oh  no !  -you  don't  know  her.  If  you  had  heard 
herthrilling  expressions  of  gratitude,  if  you  had 
seeh  the  beseeching  and  pleading  looks  which 
she  gave  me,  you  would  know  that  she  is  one 
of  those  natures  who  love  once,  and  once  only." 

"  Oh,  by  Jov^,  now  !  Come !  If  that's  the 
state  of  the  case,  why,  I'll  go." 

"Thanks,  old  boy." 

"As  a  simple  visitor."  -' 

"Yes— that's  ^.'1  '  v^ 

"  To  talk  aJttAfbe  weather,  "and  that  rot." 

"Yes." 

"And  n 

'No.. 

It  yoti." 


thini 


there 
"  That'i 
"  Very 


quegtiopg,  and  (hat  sort  of 


"Well,  jusi 
every  evening, 


the  kind.-" 

itching,  but  just  as  if  I  went 
rd." 
thing." 
'-■■■MiMK^hatgood  is  all 
my  boy 'i*" 


I  can  talk  to  you  about  her 
and  'you  can  toll  me  how  she 
looks,  and  what  she  aayg,  and  all  that  sort  of 
thing,  yoH  know." 
"  By  Jove  !" 

ou'U  cheer  my  .heart,  old  fellow." 


"Heavens 
seem  to  think 
a  bore." 

"  I  know  it 
I'm  despei;ate 

"By  Jove  I 

And  Hawbu 
lapsed  into  si 
friend's  infatur 

On  the  folio 
he  found  that  1 

dinp  The  o 
you  know.     I'f 
Didn't  see  any 
But  it's  no  end 


'n-Bi 


'''  PAL8E  A 

Tub  day  when 
,  Hdjr  Dalrymple  wai 
I'fe.wdhaditnotl 
Of  hi»,  the  immediat 
have  been  of  a  highly 
•light  pecnliaritf^ 


'«loccailoa_, 

•"•TO  been^h^ 

•wfofB  hig  gijjg  , 

"  tappened  in  tb 
Qp  the  day  when  E 
Psyid  to  be  sittyig 


THE  AMERICAN  SARON. 


45 


ueaveng  and  '«Brth  I   «i,i  i. 


)Mn'.  .e.  .„  rr  V,""'  •»■"■»"»"■  win 


l>»ve  been  of  a  hiahlv  i  J^T    I  u  '  """"  ''''"''' 

""l«llVimn«^B„tc|,g^„pjg|.     This 

fact  that  JiQ 
»ro,  onaverycrit- 
that  which  would 
ilthough  it  wa8  full 


'light  peculiarity 


Lninaof 

t 


.■?'ss>:-£s-:"?" 

along,  and  with  his  ch'^nTn  the  air  t  a  f  T" 
peculiar  to  him,  which  bv  thrw^l'  ''"°" 

glance  that  he  had  civcn  wn«  tL  i?  ?'     ^''° 

Ligr^er^,:;^„Te^e' ^af;  "^^  "-r 

heart.     Yes,  she  wo-ddTdS '%t 
must  prepare  herself  to  encounter  hi;  « 
«a.e     Q„iekl,she  stepped  rth'^.-.^  hX 

verely  she  scrutinized  the  face  and  fiJ^      "" 
^oe^Krd^tVTtrto'o'-^^^ 

and  «4eption-rooms  belQW.""TrtL",S  h""^ 

bu-y^as,  now,  within  hearing  of  Ettl     We";; 

^l^new  that  voice.    She  listened  ^dLZd! 

—^     He  talked  like  a 


'Mloccasioi 
Jure  been^h.^^ 
wor^hisgite.' 
It  Happened  in  ^i^fi^mmi  I   .    i-    -•  """.  "^"nin  neai 

^^''^    vii;^^  [^  "*"'"•''*  •*'*™-«k«»bnttflrfly  of  society 


46 


THE  AMERICAN  BABON. 


— and  that  was  a  class  which  sho  Bcdrned. 
Here  he  was,  keeping  her  waiting.  Here  he 
wnii,  Iceeping  up  a  hateful  clatter  of  small-talk, 
while  her  heart  was  aching  with  suspense. 

"Elhel  ctood  there  listening.  Minute  succeed- 
ed to  minute.  There  was  no  request  for  her. 
Ho\*  strong  was  the  contrast  between  the  cool 
indiflFerence  of  the  man  below,  and  th^  fever- 
ish impatience  of  that  listener  above !  j  A  wild 
impulse  came  to  her  to  go  down,  under  |he  pre- 
tense of  looking  for  something ;  theh  another 
to  go  down  and  out  for  a  walk,  so  that  he  might 
see  her.  But  in  either  case  pride  held  her  back. 
How  could  sho  ?  Had  he  not  already  seen  her  ? 
Must  he  not  know  perfectly  weWk^hat  sho  was 
there  ?  No ;  if  he  dM  not  call  for  m^^j^tfuld 
not  go.     She  could  not  make  advancST 

Minute  succeeded  to  minute,  and  Ethel  Stood 
burning  with  impatience,  racked  with  snspense, 
n  prey  to  the  bitterest  feelings.  Still  no  mes- 
sage. Why  did  he  delay  ?  Her  heart  ached 
now  worse  than  eVer,  the  choking  feeling  in 
her  throat  retnimed,  and  her  eyes  grew  moist, 
.^he  steadied  herself  by  holding  to  the  door. 
Her  fingers  grew  white  at  the  tightness  of  her 
grasp ;  eyes  and  ears  were  strained  in  their  in- 
tent watchfulness  over  the  room  below. 

Of  course  the  caller  below  was  in  a  perfect 
state  of  ignorance  about  all  this.  He  had  not 
the  remotest  idea  of  that  one  who  now  sto«d 
so  near.  He  came  as  a  martyr.  He  came  t6 
make  a  call.  It  was  a  thing  he  detested.  It 
bored  hin».  To  a  man  like  him  the  one  thing 
to  be  avoided  on  earth  was  a  bore.  To  be 
bored  was  to  his  mind  the  uttermost  depth  of 
misfortune.  .This  he  Uad  voluntarily  accepted. 
He  was  being  bored,  ancUbored  to  death. 

Certainly  no  man  ever  accepfed  a  calamity 
more  gracefully  than  Hawbury.  He  was  charm- 
ing, aflFable,.  easy,  chatty.  Of  course  he  was 
known  to  Lady  DalrympU.  The  Dowager  could 
make  herself  as  agreeable^  any  laify  living,  ex- 
cept young  and  beautiful  ones.  The  conversa- 
tion, therefore,, was  easy  and  flowing.  Haw- 
bury«xcellcd  in  this.  ' 

Now  there  are  several  variations  in  the  great 
art  of  expression,  anrf  each  of  these  is  a  miijor 
art  by  itself.    Among  these  may  be  enumerated : 

First,  of  course,  the  art  of  novel-writing. 

Second,  the  art  oF  writing  editorials. 

Third,  the  art  of  writing  paragraphs. 

After  these  come  all  the  arts  of  oratory,  let- 
ter-writing, essay-writing,  and  all  that  Sort  of 
thing,  among  which  there  is  one  to  which  I  wish 
particularly  to  call  attention,  and  this  is : 

The  art  of'snfall-talk. 

Now  this  art  Hawbury  had  to  an  extraor- 
dinary degree  of  perfection.  He  knew  how  to 
beatwit  the  faintest  shred  6f  an  idea,  into  an 
^Mmitabte  snifacs  of  smalr^tftlf7  Mb  iferer 
took  refuge  in  the  weather.  He  left  that  to 
bunglers  and  beginners.  His  resources  were  of 
a  different  character,  and  were  so  skillfully  man- 
aged that  he  never  failed  to  leave  a  very  agree- 
able impression.  Small-talk!  Why,  I've  been 
in  sitnatiom^sometime's  where  I  would  have  giv- 


en the  power  of  writing  like  Dickens  (if  I  had 
it)  for  perfection  in  this  last  alt. 

But  tl^is  careless,  easy,  lim))id,  smooth,  nat- 
ural, plejisant,  and  agreeable  flow  of  chat  was 
nothing  |mt  gaH'and  wormwood  to  the  listener 
above.  I  She  ought  to  be  theife.  Why  was  slie 
so  slighted  ?  Could  it  be  pos{;ible  that  he  would 
go  away  without  seeing  her? 

Sho  wWs  soon  to  know. 

She  heard  him  rise.  She  heard  him  saunter 
to  the  dobr. 

•  "Thaiiks,  yes.  Ha,  ha,; you're  tbo  kind — 
really — yes — very  happy,  you  know.  "•'To-mor- 
row, is  it?     Good-morning.*' 

And  vvith  these  words  he|\fent  out. 

With  pale  face  and  staritlg  eyes  Ethel  darted 
back  to  the  window.  He  did  not  see  her.  His 
bdck  was  turned.  '  He  mounted  his  horse  aiid 
gayly  cantered  away.  For  full  five  minutes 
Ethel  stood,  crouched  in  the  shadow  of  the 
window,  staring  after  him,  with  her  dark  eyes 
bnming  and  glowing  in  the  intensity  of  their 
gaze.  Then  she  turned  away  with  a  bewildered 
look.  ^  Then  she  locked  the  door.  Then  she 
flung  herself  upon  the  sofa,  buried  her  head  in 
her  hands,  and  burst  into  k  convulsive,pi|pBion 
of  tears.  Miserable,  indee^,  were  the-thouglits 
that  came  now  to  that  poor  stricken  girl  as  she 
lay  there  prostrate.  Slie  had  waited  long,  and 
hoped  fondly,  and  all  her  waiting  and  all  her 
hope  had  been  for  thbi.  Iti  was  for  this  that  she 
had  been  praying — S^^is  that  she  had  so  fond- 
ly cherished  his  menirory.  He  had  come  at  last, 
and  he  had  gone ;  but  for  her  he  had  certainly 
shown  nothing  save  an  in4itference  as  profounil 
as  it  was  inexplicable. 

Ethel's  ei^cuse  for  not  appearing  at  thetiinner- 
table  was  a  severe  headache.  Her  friends  in- 
sisted on  seeing  her  and  ministering  to  her  suf- 
ferings. Among  other  things,  they  tried  to  cheer 
her  by  telling  her  of  Hawbury.  Lady  Dnlrym- 
ple  was  full  of  him.  She  told  all  about  his  fam- 
ily, his  incotn^,  his  habits,  and  his  mode  of  life. 
She  mentioned,  with  much  satisfaction,  tliat  he 
had  made  inqairies  lifter  Minnie,  and  that  she 
had  promised  to  introduce  him  to  her  the  next 
time  he  called.  Up<^(|  which  he  had  laughing- 
ly insisted  on  calling  the  next  day.  All  of 
which-  led  Lady  Daliymple  to  conclude  that  he 
had  seen  Minnie  somewhere,  and  had  fallen  in 
love  with,her.  '  ^       t^. 

This  was  the  pleasing  strain  tSl^conversation 
into  which  the  ladies  were  led  ofl"  by  Lady  Dnl- 
rymple.  When  I  say  the  ladies,  I  mean  Ladv 
Dalrymple  and  Minnie.  Mrs.  Willoughliy  said 
nothing,  except  once  or.  twice  when  she  en- 
deavored to  give  a  turn  to  the  conversation,  in 
which  she  was  signally  unsi^ccessful.  Lady  Dal- 
ryipple  and  Minnie  engageid  in  itti  animated  ar- 
pnfiefif  over  the  JntercltirigTiubjecf  of  H»w-^^ 
bnrylk  intentions,  Minnie  faking  her  stand  on 
the  grohnd  of  his  indifilerence,  the  other  main- 
taining th^  position  that  he  was  iil  love.  Minnie 
declared  tlii^tshe  had  never  ^leen  him.  Lsdy  Dal- 
rymple asserted  her  belief  that  he  had  seen  her. 
'The  latter  also  asserted  thi^t  Hawbury  would  iiQ 


♦""wa,  and  liiurno 


r 


f 


iloiibt  be  a  constant 
visitor,  and  gave  Min- 
nie very  sound  advioe 
as  to  the  best  mode  of 
treating  him. 

On    the    following 
day  Hawbiiry  called, 
and  was  introduced  to 
Minnie.     He  chatted 
with  her  in  his  nsual 
style,  and  Xady  Dal- 
rymple  was  more  than 
ever  confirmed  in  her 
first  belief.     Ho  sug- 
gested a  ride,  and  the 
suggestion  was  taken 
np. 

If  any  thing  had 
been  needed  to  com- 
plete Ethel's  despair 
it  was  this  second  visit 
and  the  project  of  a 
ride.    Mrs.  Willongh- 
by  was  introduced  to 
him ;  but  he  took  lit- 
tle notice  of  her,  tr^t- 
ing  her  with  a  kind  of 
reseifve  that  was  a  lit-* 
tie  unusual  with  him. 
The  reason  of  this  was 
his  strong  sympathy 
with   his   friend,  and 
his  detestation  of  Mrs. 
Willoughby's   former 
history.      Mrs.   Wil- 
loughby,       however, 
had     to     ride    with 
them  when  they  went 
out,  and  thus  she  was 
thrown  a  little  more, 
into  Hawbnry's  way. V 
Ethel  never  made -lier 


THE  AMERICAN  BARON, 


"TUKN   8..K  n,CNO  ,«'b8»LF  UPON  lUK  fiOKA." 


appearance. 


2^"£?^^^S--.J^^^^ 


withheart7ch.th;r;::;'rre7S 

Hawbnryr  never  saw  her,  nor  did  he  ever  hear 

I       ^Z  ""'""""«f     J"  general  he  himself  kept  the 

L'^Zrr.  .K  •"  "1^"°"  '  •""*  ""  »-«  never  asked 
ft/'quest.ons,  thejy^our.e,  had  no  opportunity 

•1    ^'^-     ^»  °"'«r  hand,  there  was  no 

nnmber  or  tG^mettfr  of  their  partv.  When 
he  talked  n  w^J^nsually  with  Lady  faalrymple 
.nd  Mmme;  <;,d  with  these  the  convention 
urned  always  upon  glittering  generalities,  and 

Hawbury,  tho»| visitmg  there  constantly,  nev 
er  once  saw  eIJ,  nevej^^heard  iiijr mmZ^ 


^^-  """  "!»■>.  "evexneard  her  name  ntcg. 

nXl«rh  .K^'"''  ""  "'•'  *'"'"  hand,  feeling 

hr7o»»7r  ^  '"'  T  ""^^fi^J"*  «^d  complete 

.  imS^"'"""^  "n«nWmly  he^ld  alpof,  and 

ChU,    "f  V"'"'^/"''  ""'  '"<'« jealous  care, 

9ml  at  last  she  staid  indoors  altogether,  for  fear 

•f  .he  wen,  out.  thj|&ht  .^eet  him  slm^: 


ficiently  strong. 

as^n.ngecomfortinbeinrtir:;r1i.:ts^^^^^^^^^ 
In's  face  ThUI^  ^"  voice  every  day.  and  saw 
nis  lace.  That  was  8oA)cthing.  And  it  wn« 
better  than  absence.  -"na  it  was 

forth  long  accounts  of  Lord  Hawbnry-howhe 
looked,  what  hd  said,  what  he  did,  aM  wha^  he 
proposed  to  d^.     Certainly  there  *as  ^  tho 

SnTirHaTb'  "^^ '---»%/.  or  evrsln! 
timent,  in  Hawbury's  attitude  foWftrd  Minnie 
H.8  words  were  of  the  world  of  s,iiall-7«lk-a 
world  where  sentiment  and  love-makinlLv^ 
;;ffi'^PH-    Still  there  was  the  evide^nt  f" 
^felfilit«..,fA,,  Which  wcn,m  ffequSo'S-- 


over'f( 
Haw 


(ooMHk» 

awn%>apidly 
subject  oyfinni^', 

P'«<MA<-^oK'ft>o„t:}.i 

admn?anpo  h&W  wh 
thern'MS^y.-^glTsai' 
nifle."     ShrtoSiMrs, 


ime  the  most,  prominent 

Hrsation,     iSlie  used  to 

ihe  alluded^ 

"he  thought 

"ftwfttllv 

fy  that  "he 


48 


THE  AMERICAN  BABOl^ 


<i\ 


wag  nicer  than  any  of  them ;  and  then,  Kitty 
dfirlinj?,"  »he  added,  "it's  so  awfully  good  of 
him  not  to  be  coming  and  saving  my  life,  finj 
carrying  me  ^n  his  back  down  a  | 
.    nn  ogre,  and  then  pretending  1^jlltr^'s,idy 

ther,  you  know. 
J?  "  For  you  know,  Kitty  pet,  I've  always  longe^ 
it  so  aurfuUy  to  see  some  really  nice  per80ii,^u 
-•  know,  who  wouldn't  go  and  save  my  liCe'and 
bother  me.  Now  he  doesn't  seem  a^.-^it  like 
proposing.  I  do  hope  he  won't,  pbn't  yOn, 
Kitty  dearest?  It's  so  much  nic^r  not  to  pro- 
pose. It's  so  horrid  when  they  ad  and  propose. 
And  thein,  yon  khow,  I've  ha;)' so  much  of  that 
sort  of  tbing.  So,  Kitty,  I  think  he's  really  the 
nicest  person  that  I  ever^wv,  and  I  really  think 
I'm  ^egiikiing  to  like  pirn." 

]^  diintr^nt  froix'thege  were  the  conversa- 
tions which  Mr^'Willoughby  had  with  Ethel. 
She])was  perf^tly  familiar  with  Et^'s  story. 
It  hkd  beort'  contided  to  her  long  ago.  She 
alone  ^xdvr  why  it  was  that  Ethel  had  walked 
untouched  through  crowds  of  admirers.  The 
terri)^  story  of  her  rescue  was  memorable  to 
her  {(^  other  reasons ;  and  the  one  who  had 
taken  the^Jitominent  part  in  that  rescae  could 
not  be  without  interest  for  her. 

"  There  is  no  use,  ICitty'— no  use  in  talking 
about  it  any  more, '"said  Bt^l  one  day,  after 
Mrs.  Willoughby  hnd  been^ur^g  her  to  show 
heis^lf.  "I  can  not.  *I  will  not.  /He  has 
forg>(tten  me  utterly."^,  ,  "''.       ! 

" f^rha^^te.has  not^a  that  yea  lire  here.. 
He  h8s'i^evliM|^  yott^^pF 

"Has  ho  fflrbeeri  in  Naples  as  long  as  we 
have  ?  Ife  must  have  seen  me  in  the  streets. 
He  saw  Miiroio.'Vfc_^ 

"  Do  you  tl^^i^l^ely  that  he  wo^  come; 
to  this  house  <a?i4iA''g^"  J'O"?  If  he%»id  for- 
gotten you  he  woula  not  comS  hera 

"Oil  yes,  he  would.     He  comes  to  sei 
He  knows  I  Xm'-here,  of  cou 


mentioned'me?  has  he  ever  asked  you  about 
me?  has  he  ever  made  the  remotest  allusion  to 
me?" 

Ethel  spoke  rapidly  and  impetuously,  and  as 
lB«  spdtoehe  raised  herself  from  the  sofa  where 
(fihe-was  reclining,  and  turned  her  large,  enmcst 
eyes  full  upon  her  friend  with  anxious  and  ea- 
ger watchfulness.    Mrs.  Willoughby  looked  btfll^ 


'*Et 
and  tr 

"I 
I  lose 


doesn't  care  one 
pearance  or  not, 
thought.     It' 
has  forgotten 
all  over 
hundred  ad' 
ly,  cherisl 
thins." 


m.,.wheth 
He  doesi 
Jong  sine 
n  piy  existi 
since  the 


laSeTB/ap- 

give  m°e  a 

riejhat  he 

He  41  bee  A 

ind  has  had  a 

intures.     I  have  wgiSn  living  quiet- 

tho  remembrance  of  that  one 


is  it  not  worth  trying  ?\  Go  down 


not  bear  it.  I  can  not  look  at  him. 
1  self-command  when  he  is  near.  I 
«hoald  ijafce  a  fool  of  myself.  He  would  look 
at  me  with  a  smile -of  pity.  Could  I  endure 
that?  No,  Kitty;  niy  weakness  must  never  be 
known  to  him." 
^'Oh,  Ethel,  how  T  wish  you  could  try  it !" 


'Kitty,  just  think  how  utterly  I  am  forgot- 
ten. Mark  this  now.  He  knows  I  was  at  yoiir 
house.  He  must  remember  your  name.  He 
wrote  to  mp  there,  and  I  answered  him  from 
there.  He  sees  yon  now,  and  your  name  must 
be  associated  with  mine  in  his  memory  of  me, 
if  hQ.has  any.   Tell  me  now,  Kitty.ihas  he  ever 


of  sadness,  MritaDi 


loum- 


at  her  with  a  face  full 
fully  shook  her  head. 

"You  see,"  said  Ethel,  as  she  sank  doWn 
again — "you  see  how  true  my  impression  is." 

"I  must  say,"  said  Mrs.  Willoughby,  "that 
I  thought  of  this  before.  I  fully  expected  fthat 
he  would  make  some  inquiry  after  you.  I  was 
so  confident  in  the  noble  character  of  the  man, 
both  from  your  story  and  the  description  of  oth- 
ers, that  I  could  not  believe  you  were  right. 
But  you  arp  right,  my  poor  Ethel.  ,1,  wish  I 
could  comfort  you,  but  I  can  not.  Indeed,  my^ 
d«ar,  not  only  has  hejM^uestioned  me  aboufi' 
you,  but  he  evidently^l^s  me.  It  is  not- that* 
he  is  eUgrossed  with  Minnie,  for  he  is  not  so ; 
but  he  certainly  has  some  reason  of  his  own  for  - 
avoiding  me.  Whenever  he  speaks  to  me  there 
is  an  evident  effort  on  his  part,  and  though  per- 
fectly courteous,  his  manner  leaves  a  certain 
disagreeable  impression.  Yes,  he  certainly  has 
some  reason  for  avoiding  ''(^" 

"The  reason  is  plain  em)ugh,"  murmured 
^bhel.  "  He  wishes  to  prevent  yon  from  speaJ!- 
ilig  about  a  painful  8nbje.et,'or  at  least  a  dis- 
toifcfnl  one.  He  keeps  you  off  at  a  distance  bv 
an  excess  of  formality.  He  will  give  yon  no 
opportunity  whatever  to  introduce  any  mention 
j}f  me.  'And  now  let  me  also  ask  you  this— 
does  he  ever  take  any  notice  of  any  allusion 
that^lfl^  be  made  to  me  ?" 

."i^ally  doriit  remember  hearing  any  alln- 
.^^lon  to  you."   ^^  ^    .    />_ 

V  OI»i  that's  Scarcely  pi^sible !  You  and  Min- 
aie  must  sometimes  j^e  alluded  to  *  Ethel.' " 

"Well, /low  th^t  yon  put  it  in  that  light, I 
Sloreinember  hearing  Minnie  allude  to  you  on 
several  occasions.  Once  she  wondered  why 
'  EtheV  dM  not  ride.  Again  she  remarked  how 
'Ethel'  would  enjoy  a  particular  view." 

"And  he  heard  it?" 

'» Oh,  of  course." 

"  Then  there  is  not  a  shadow  of  a  doubt  left. 
He  knows  I  am  here.  He  has  forgotten  me  «o 
totally,  and  is  so  completely  indifferent,  that  ho 
comes  here  and  pays  attention  to  another  who 
is  in  the  very  same  house  with  me.  It  is  hard. 
Oh,  Kitty,  is  it  not?  Is  it  libt  bitter?  ^How 
could  I  have  thought  this  of  him  f"    ■ 

A  high-hearted  girl  was  Ethel,  and  a  prond 
one ;  but  at  this  final  confirmation  of  her  wont 
fears  there  burst  from  her  a  sharp  cry,  and  she 


rp  I 

buriedTer  face  in  herTTandg,  andmoafiid'  and" 
wept. 


A«L.- 


CHAPTER  Xir. 

0IRA80LB     AOAIN 

nage  on  the  sSe  „e,T  MiL7  "^k^^  ""'  ^•"^- 
ly  their  attention  waB'ar^r.'  '""""  ''"'''^•'°- 
on  horseback  who  was  a^r^  "  Ken,lema„ 
easy  pace,  anrsta^gTa Ta 'Th' ''""  tt "" 
nie's  hand  .uddeniriasned  hL  '™-  .  ^'''■ 
verjr  tightir  while  h^i  ^"^  *""*■■*  «'•'" 
rapidly     ^'  ''''  '=•"*"•  ^^i^^^nd  went 

.'.'^|»'><'"'""KhedM«.WiHoughby 
"Oh,  what  tha/ll  do?"  said  M  n„-     • 
hasty  whisDer      "P»nv        *"""  *"nnie,  in  a 
him?"       ^      -    ^"""'^  P'««n«»  not  to  see 

asgiandathonsan''d:rtit"cr:^^^^^ 

^  imSnTera~rs^;r:r  4 

speak  he  poured  forth  a  tor^nt  of  »     ,   '  '""''' 

faces  of  the  Ldtes  and  finn'n    /"^;'°^^'^  "'« 
™gative',k,ancf;;ontaw  X.  ™:^^^^^^ 
horse  regarding  the  flew-comTr  wUh  a  cer/'" 
mild  surprise  not  nnmineled  wLh^i  T"'" 

ness.     Hawbury'g  chTn  was  in  fh«  T!:^'"*'"'*- 
rested  languidly  nnon.h!  V       ®  "'''  •"'«  ^yes 

Mintroduc^a.   AsitWM  fh„.«  T      ^'"'^  ""^ 
Girasole  thi^w  at  the  R"''  f"  '    "^  ^  '""''' 

with  the  bittrrost  hate  wSk"*  'T'''"^  ''''" 

K^Jcitrrra^drrtV^^^ 
r^-ed^d^t^rrs-^ 

erebrowa  .„^  ."? "T,    H'»»'b\.ry  elevated  his 


THE  AMERICAN  BARON. 


Gir«olo  WM  „rAl"i!.?''*'*  »' «"«  id««  that 
was  qear  tha«^he  was  afrai4-to  fo6k 


-     <9 

b'  y  ""V!""  '""'v'*'*  ""  '•«"•  •"Pnfon  to  Haw- 
he  felt  it     h'".''^"*''- •  ""•*  ^'^"''''^  'bowed  rhi 

•atiSoitrrd-tist^^^^^^^^^^ 

^;^t":^=^Sir3 

excuement  at  Minnie's  slight  mlde  hf^T    ' 
what  incoherent  his  .Vim™.  r    .   "  *"'"«- 

than  English   and  h!«n       '''"'  ^'^  '""  '•"''er 
bad;  he  a  so  had  »r    P™"58"''t">n  was  yery 

wordw;„t'dtdV:trfire^^^^^^^^^^^ 

quarter  of  his  remarks        "  **"®" 

Bta^"ofTSst,Ja''^re1°««'''^'"'"J"^ '••''' 
an  end  to  ifl,      .       ^®  determined  to  put 

theri^Ji^h/dtri"^  ''".'"^«-  S'.e 
so  as  notl^o  make  k  L'''""'"'"''^  '"  •»'»  »•"« 
finally  reached  a  plac:Thior  ""'"=''  ""'» 
Hero  the  tarriage  was  tu^^i  ."""  '"'"'"•'• 
was  half-wav  roLT.,  '■  "'''^"'  J""  ««  «» 

approachi^;  It  wt  ScL"°n '''  "  ''°"«'»«° 
been  followfng  them^II  .h  t-^"'^"'  ''^'^  •-<• 
not  expected    hat  thl  .      ""'  ""''  '^''°  '"»*1 

them  was  impossible,  and  so  he  fode^ri  "f 
h«  approached,  the  ladies  saw  hUfS  it  w«- 
a  face  that  one  would  remember  afterwaT 

S,^hn:  ^rtt'sittretf"^^^  -^  S: 

look  at  Minnie.  His  cnzeSiJ!.  "".r* 
Willoughby.  Herv  ifva^MCr**"- 
od  trying  ,o  read  her  felMf, ''^  ^^ 

r  ;r  r^noVa-'i'  ^^- -  Gii-  '• 

means,  and  was  fllfof  :'•".'  l'"""^  ''>•  ""^^     ' 

Ment'scruti^y-I""  WhotS'^r  '"'^  '»- 
glance.     It  was  for  /V''°-*''?-'levil-are^you  ?" 

and  then  h'e  Zct^^t  MrWiS^"'''^*'' 
and  then  he  had  passed         ^'^^''"^^^y  «««'", 

The  ladies  soon  reached  their  home  and  Af        * 
once  retired  to  Mrs.  Willoughby's  room     Th„ 

she.  '  """""^  "'■«  *«  ♦»  do?"  said 

W  iTwr  ^  •""''  ''"°'''"  ^-d  Minnie.     "J 
wo^d"finTmf3„:"  '^  -     '  -'«»  '^«  »•« 
"He  is  «o  annoying." 

'•Yes,  but,  Kitty  dear,  we  can't  be  rude  to 
?L_you  know^  for  !».  ., -  ,  .. ,.  ™°1 '° 


him 


von  knn,„    /     1     '  ^  ""  ™ae  to 


/„„       A        •'  '"'"' ''«  «"''be  coming  and  call 
fng,  and  tease,  tease  teasing      nl  j       ■  l  !' 
bonder  what  1^,^   h  tT*'"     O"*  dearl  I  do 


:p^ 


T. 


50 


THE  AMERICAN  BARON. 


it  wag  so  awfully  funny  I — did  you  notice  that 
other  man  ?" 

Mrs.  Willoughby  nodded  her  head. 

"  Did  you  notice  how  awfully  black  he  look- 
ed?   He  wouldn't  look  ut  me  at  all.     /know 
why." 
.Mrs.  Willoughby  said  nothing. 

"  lie's  awfully  jealous.  Oh,  /  know  it.  I 
saw  it  in  his  face.  Ho  was  as  black  as  a  thun- 
der-cloud. Oh  dear !  And  it's  all  about  me. 
Oh,  Kitty  darling,  what  shall  I  do  ?  There  will 
be  something  dreadful,  I  know.  And  how 
shocking  to  have  it  about  me.  And  then  the 
newspopers.  They'll  all  have  it.  And  tire  re- 
porters. Oh  dear !  Kitty,  why  don't  you  say 
something  ?" 

"Why,  Minnie  dearest,  I  really  don't  know 
what  to  sny." 

"  But,  darling,  you  must  3»y  something.  And 
then  that  Scone  Dacres.  ,  I'm  more  afraid  of 
him  than  any  body.  Oh,  I  know  he's  going  tor 
kill iome  one.  He  is  so  big.  Oh,  if  you  h^d. 
only  been  on  his  back,  Kitty  darling,  and  h^tf 
him  run  down  a  steep  mountain-side,  you'd  be 
as  awfully  afraid  of  him  as  I  am.  Oh,how  I 
wish  Lord  Ilawbury  would  drive  them  off,  or 
somebody  do  something  to  save  me." 

' '  Would  you  rather  that  Lord  Hawbury  would 
stay,  or  would  you  like  him  to  go  too  ?" 

"Oh  dear!  I  don't  care.  If  he  would  only 
go  quietly  and  nicely,  I  should  like  to  have  him 
go  too,  and  never,  never  see  a  man  again  ex- 
cept dear  papa.  And  I  think  it's  a  shame. 
And  I  don't  see  why  I  should  be  so  jiersecuted.  '■ 
And  I'm  tired  of  staying  here.  And  I  don't 
want  to  stay  here  any  more.  And,  Kitty  dar- 
ling, why  shouldn't  we  uU  go  to  Rome  ?" 

"To  Uomo?" 

"Yes." 

"Would  you  prefer  Rome?''  asked  Mrs. 
Willoughby,  thoughtfully. 

"  Well,  yes — for  several  reasont;.  In  the 
first  place,  I  must  go  somewhere,  and  I'd  rather 
go  there  than  any  where  else.  Then,  you  know, 
Ihot  dear,  delightful  holy-week  will  soon  be 
here,  and  I'm  dying  to  be  in  Rome." 

"  I  think  it  would  be  better  for  all  of  us," 
said  Mrs.  Willoughby,  thoughtfully— "  for  all 
of  us,  if  we  were  in  Rome." 

"  Of  course  it  would,  Kitty  sweetest,  and  es- 
pecially me.  Now  if  I  am,  in  Rome,  I  can  pop 
into  a  convent  whenever  I  choose." 

"A  (invent  1"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Willoughby, 
in  surprise. 

"  Oh  yes — it's  going  to  come  to  that.  They're 
all  so  horrid,  you  know.  Besides,  it's  getting 
worse.  I  got  a  letter  yesterday  from  Captain 
Kirby,  written  to  me  in  England.  He  didn't 
I  hare.  He  has  just  arrived  at  Lon- 
don,  and  was  leaving-  for  our  place  on  what  he 
called  the  wings  of  the  wind.  I  expect  him 
here  at  almost  any  time.  Isn't  it  dreadful, 
Kitty  dearest,  to  have  bo  many  ?  A»  fast  as 
one  goes  another  comes,  and  then  they  all  come 
together ;  and  do  you  know,  darling,  it  really 
makes  one  feel  quit^i|piy.     I'm  snre  /  don't 


know  what  to  do.     And  that's  why  I'mthiuk- 
ing  of  a  converit,  you  know. " 

"  But  you're  not  a  ,€atholic. "  ^ 

"  Oh  yes,  I  am,  you  know.  Papa's  an  Anglo- 
Cathollc,  and  f^on't  see  the  ditt'erence.  Be- 
sides, they're  all  the  time  going  over  to  Rome ; 
and  w6y  shouldn't  I  ?  I'll  be  a  novice — that 
is,  you  know,  I'll  only  go  for  a  time,  and  not 
take  the  vows.  The  more  I  think  of  it,  the 
more  I  see  that  it's  the  only  thing  there  is  for 
me  to  do," 

"  well,  Minnie,  I  really  think  so  too,  and 
not  only  for  you,  but  for  all  of  us.  There's 
Etiiel,  too ;  poor  dear  girl,  her  health  is  very 
miserable,  you  know.  I  think  a  change  would 
do  her  good." 

"  Of  course  it  would ;  I've  been  talking  to 
her  about  it.  But  she  won't  hear<of  leaving 
Naples,    i  wish  she  wouldn't  bo  so  awfidly  sad." 

"Oh  yes;  it  will  certainly  be  the  best  thing 
for  dear  Ethel,  and  for  you  and  me  and  all 
of  us.  Then  we  must  be  in  Rome  in  holy- 
week.     I  wouldn't  miss  that  for  any  thing." 

"And  then,  too,  you  know,  Kitty  darling, 
there's  another  thing,"  said  Minnie,  very  con- 
fidentially, "  and  it's  very  important.  In  Rome, 
you  know,  all  the  gentlemen  are  clergymen—, 
only,  you  know,  the  clergymen  of  the'Romaii 
Church  can't  marry;  and  so,  you  know,  of 
course,  they  can  never  propose,  no'  matter  if 
they  were  to  save  one's  life  over  and  over  again. 
And  oh  I  what  a  relief  that  would  bd  to  find 
one's  self  among  those  dear,  darling,  delightful 
priests,  and  no  chance  of  having  one's  life  saved 
and  having  an  instant  proposal  following !  It 
would  be  so  charming." 

Mrs.  Willoughby  smiled. 

"Well,  Minnie  dearest,"  said  she,  "I  really 
think  that  wo  had  better  decide  to  go  to  Boin<e, 
and  I  don't  see  any  difficulty  in  the  way.'' 

"The  only  difficulty  that  I  can  see,"  said 
Minnie,  "is  that  I  shouldn't  like  to, hurt  their 
feelings,  you  know." 

"Their  feelings!"  repeatisd  her  sister,  in  a 
doleful  voice. 

"  Yes ;  but  then,  yon  see,  some  one's  feelings 
must  be  hurt  eventually,  so  that  lessens  one's 
responsibility,  you  know ;  doesn't  it,  Kitty  dar- 
ling?" 

While  saying  this  Minnie  had  risen  and  gone 
to  the  window,  with  the  intention  of  taking  her 
scat  by  it.  No  sooner  had  she  reached  the 
place,  however,  thaiy  she  started  back,  with  a 
low  exclamation,  and,  standing  on  one  aide, 
looked  cautiously  forth. 

"Come  here,"  shesaid,  in  a  whisper. 

Mrs.  Willoughby  went  over,  and  Minnie  di- 
rected her  attention  to  some  one  outside.  It 
wHs  a  gentleman  on  horseback,  who  was  paw- 
ing  at  a  slow  pace.  His  lead  was  bent  oU  hte 
breast.  Suddenly,  as  he  passed,  he  raised  his 
head  and  threw  over  the  house  a  quick,  search- 
ing ^nce.  They  could  see  without  being  seen. 
The^narked  the  profound  sadness  that  was 
over  hit  face,  and  saw  the  deep  disappointment 
with  which  his  head  fell.  > 


"  Scone  Da< 

on.     "  How  «i 

Mrs.  Willou] 

^'But,  after 

"Why  not?' 

'  V    "  Because  he 

passed  to-day. 

"Nonsense!' 

"  Yes,  and  h 

look.     I  know  1 

"What?" 

"  He'«|,  in  love 

Mrs.  WiUougl 

meftt.     Then  a 

"Child!"  she 

Of  any  thing  in 

Yon  will  find  out 

feelings  than  tha 

"But,  Kitty  d( 

notice  something 

"What?" 

"I  noticed  it. 

I  saw  that  he  fix« 

tHch  a  queer  lool 

too.    He  looked 

yoa  and  lift  yon  o 

just  like  young  L 

"Me!"  said  Mr 

intonation.  ^ 

"Yes,  you— oh 

"Oh,  you  little 

people  rushing  aftt 

"Well,  I'm  sui 

many  people  have 

me,  and  snatching 

«nd  carrying  me  c 

plwjes.     And  I  thi 

wish  they'd  stop  it. 

"What?" 

"About  this  Scot 

think  there's  some 

and  very  deligntfull 

and  all  that  sort  of 

face?" 

"I  think  Scone  1 
deal,"  said  Mrs.  W 
tone.  "But  come  i 
She's  lonely." 

Soon  after  they  jc 
••Iked  over  the  projci 
Dalrymple  offered  n< 
M  she  had  any  choic 
*M  quite  willing  at 
•he  rest  projHMed,  a 
wme  curioiity  as  to 
koly-week.  Ethel  o< 
She  had  fallen  into  a 
Moly,  from  which  not 

.«MsQHhe.li»tenedi» 
"ont  the  subject.  M 
nie  had  the  most  to  i 
ftred  the  chief  reaso* 
"M  finally  decided  to 
'«"art  as  soon  As  pos 

Meanwhile  Girasole 
Mperiences,  He  had  a 


«gf' 


^^ 


Mrs.  Willoughby  said  nothing. 
"wStp'^' ''•°"'' «>«•-«  i'V..- 
;  .    "  Because  ho  didn't  Ibok  at  me  a  bit  when  h« 

"Yes  and  hi,  face  had  «„  awMiy  hungry 

"What?"'*       "'  """'*"'  ^"™  ■"'«'• 
*'He'^,in  love  with  you  " 

just  lilce  young  Lochinvar."  ■  ^  ' 

in.:nX"''''."-'^"'°"«''''->'''^'''-«t-nge 

''Ye8»  you-oh  yes;  really  now." 
Oil,  y»u  little  goose,  yon  alwavs  thint  «<• 

peop^rushing  after  one  ;fcar^.S 

Well,  I  m  sure  I've  had  reason  to      Sin 

many  people  have  always  b««  running  »,£ 

liwqes.     And  I  think  it's  too  bad,  and  I  renllu 

"  whS'""'  ''•  ^'"'  ^"^ '"'"- 

"About  this  Scone  Dacres.   Don't  you  reallv 
h.nk  there's  something  ve,y  peculfarrsj 
•nd  very  deligntfully  interesting^nd  paLtic 
and  aU  that  sort  of  thing,  in  hifps^**:,:! 

Soon  after  they  joined  the  other  ladies  and 
tolked  over  the  project  of  going  to  Kome    Lad  J 

M  .he  had  any  choice,  she 'preferred  it      She 
WM  quite  willing  at  all  time,  to  do  whatever 

tf :L?rt'  t"o1h:'"  ^'^-r'  ^^ 

ioly-week      P,hM    I  "'^  P-^^eedings  during 
Shi ZTf'n      -^  °*'''*^  no  objections  either 

Wat  the  .nbie^t      m   ^^■■"'^''  ^''•^ssJon 

W'tart  as  soon  as  possibfe.  ^W^'  r** 

4S:«'HeS:t|'''^'''?°^»''oughts«nd 
l^nences.  ,Hp  had  already,  some  time  befgie, 


THE  Aa<ERICAir  BAKON. 


ed  lover  .„  the  person  of  Lord  Hawbu^  The 
lofty  superciliousness  of  the  Brkioh  il^Ki 
seemed  to  Girasole  to  be  Se  „",  t  retS?' 
h«  position,  and  it  seemed  the  attkude  of  ,hl 
successful  lover  toward  the  re  e'cSd  su  t'or.'  ''' 
waJ^mor«  r    T'?  r  ">*'  Minnie  herself 

But  Girasole  was  not  easilv  daunted     -In  th. 

■wS;5;""°«'i"r"''"'™'«™»"*«''E . 

beside  Winoie.     The  ladies  bowed  and  fiirl: 

by  .b.  e.m.80,  i.ikl„j  „i,|,  „^  wiUoZbS 

ea  to  be  impassioned  elancea      B...  m-     • 
would  not  look  at  him      Of  :  u**'""'" 

frightened  as  usual,  and  grew  eXd       /" 

before,  talked  with-unusuHiSnAw"! 
Dury.    A^hus  she  overdid  it  Alrn<r«.j,o-        ""w 

I  sn^j^nd  Httwbury  were  affianced 


^.^•ji. 


^;..-  „„„„u.j,  were  amanced. 
pvo  days  after  this  Girasole  called  again 
^.A  buter  disappointment  was  in  stor^  fo. 

They  were  not  there-they  had  goii,. 
Eagerly  he  ihquired  where  T 

To  Rome,"  was  the  reply 

'To  Rome!"  he  muttered,  between  his  <«t 


62 


THE  AMERICAN  BARON. 


■ 


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'"to  BOUXl'  UE  linTTKRKD,  BKTWKEN    IIIB  BET  TEETH." 

teeth ;   and  mounting  his  horse  hurriedly,  he 
rode  away. 

He  was  not  one  to  be  dannted.  He  had  set 
a  certain  task  before  himself,  and  coiild  not  easi- 
ly be  turned  aside.     He  thought  bitM|dy  of  the 

.  ipgratitude  with  which  he  had  been  treated. 
He  brought  before  his  mind  the  "  stony  British 

'  stare,"  the  supercilious  smile,  and  the  imperti- 
nent and  insulting  expression  of  Hawbury's  face 
I  he  sat  on  his  saddle,  with  his  chin  up,  strok- 
bg  his  whiskers,  and  surveyed  him  for  the  first 
time.  All  these  things  combined  to  stimulate 
the  hate  as  well  as  the  love  of  Girasole.  He 
felt  that  he  himself  was  not  one  who  could  bo 
lightly  dismissed,  and  determined  that  they 
should  learn  this. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

U  «•       TAIN   REMOMJtrRANCES. 

■  HA^Brny  had  imn^ofated  hin^self.  for  as 
'  much  ks  h'alf  a  dozen  times  to  gratify  Decree. 
He  had  sacrificed  himself  over  and  over  upon 
the  altar  of  friendship,'  and  had  allowed  hip- 
self  to  be^lor^  to  death  becauM- Dacres  so 
wished  it.  The  whole  number  of  hi?  calls  *ag 
in  reality  only  about  five  or  six  ;  but  that  num- 
-  bcr,  to  oinetrf  his^stA  and  {«ih^min«nt ,  8««ni?* 
positively  enormous,  and  represented  an  im- 
mense amount  of  human  suffering. 

One  day,  upon  reaching  his  quarters,,  after 
one  of  these^icalls,  he  found  Dacrea  there,  itfak- 
ing  himLelf,  as  usual,,  very  much  at  borne 


cheerfully,  "how  waves  the  flag  now?  Are 
y%u  hauling  it  down,  or  are  you  standing  tu 
your  guns  ?  Toss  over  the  cigars,  and  give  an 
account  of  yourself."  ;'-..' 

"Do  you  know  any  thing  about  law.  Haw- 
bury  ?"  was  DacresV  answer. 

"Law?"  \ 

"Yes."        ,         ,  ^      ^\       ■ 

"No,  not  much.  But  what  in  the  world 
makes  you  ask  such  a  question  as  that  ?  Law '. 
No— not  I." 

"Well,  there's  a  point  that  I  should  like" to 
ask  somebody  about." 

"Why  not  get  a  lawyer?" 

"  An  Ifali^  lawyer's  no  use. "    ■ 

"  Wdl,  English  lawyers  ore  to  t)e  found.  I 
dare  soy  there  are  twenty  within  five  minutes' 
distance  of  this  place." 

"  Oh,  I  don't  want  to  bother.  I  only  want- 
ed to  ask  some  one's  6)>inion  in  a  general  w&)\" 

"'WelXwhafa  the  point t'        ^  ,. 

"Why  this,"  said  Dncres,  after  a  little  hesi- 
tation.    "You've  heord  of  outlawry  ?" 

"Should  think  I  hul — Robiii  Hood  and  \»^ 
merry  men,  Lincoln  green,  Sherwood  Forest, 
and  all  that  sort  of  thing,  you  know.  But 
what  the  mischief  sets  you  thinking  about  Ilol^ 
Hood  ?" 

"Oh,  I  don't  mean  that  rot.'  I  mean  jial 
outlawry — when  a  fellow's  in  debt,  you  know"." 

/'Well?"  *^ 

"Well;   if  he  goes  out  of  the  countryjjpil,^. 
stoys  oway  a  certain  number  of  years,  the  dew's"! 
oujlawed,  you  know."  .     "'• 

**  The  deuce  it  is  1  ■  Is  it,  though  ?    I've  been'*" 
jl,  debt,  but  I. always  ^nanagcd  to  p;ill  fhhovglk 
'without  getting  so  far.     But  that's  convenient 
for  some  fellows  too. " 

"  I'm  a  little  muddy  aboiit  it,  but  I've  heard 
something  to  this  effect.  I  think  the  time  in 
seven  years.  If  the  dobt^is  not  acknowledged  ' 
during  the  interval,  it's  outlawed.  And  how, 
'pon  my  life,  my  dear  fellow,  Ircally  dou.'t  know 
but  that  I've  jumbled  up  irnna  fragments  of 
English  low  with  American.  I  felt  Ijiat  I  was 
muddy,  and  so  I  thought  I'd  ask  you." 

"Don't  know. any  more  about  it  than  about 
the  antediluvians."  _    t 

"It's  an  important 'point,  and  I  should  like 
to  have  it  looked  i^. " 

"Well,  get  a  lawyer  here;  half  London  is 
on  the  Continent.  But  still,  my  dear  fellow,  1 
don't  8ee,yhat  you're  driving  at.'  You're  not 
in  debt?"    *      ,  % 

»'  ^o— ibis  i«B,'«  Hcbt;  but  it  struck  iwe  that 
this  miglit  pQsl\k0<  apply  to  other  kinds  of  cow 

"Oh!''JBkv  ^ 

»   "Yes.'f^  \       ^' 
M  Howi  JWfcih  jW  what,  for  initancft?"    - 


'Wei,   my   dearjellow,"   B&id   Hawbnry,  |  you  know."  , 


Welly'ifou  see,  I  thought,  you  know,  roai 
all  cciitract«,might  be^ncluded  under  it ;  and  so 
1  thought  {hat  if  seven  ^enrs  or  so  annulM 
all  contracts,  it  miglit  have  some  effect,*'yon, 
ktiow,  upon— the— the^he  marriage  contwct, 


o 


'imi 


At  this  Hawbnry  started  im   stnrp<l  «t  n„ 

Marriage?  GooSd  !  doS^'vorkn'  ""''• 
thing  can  ^brogate  that?     Of  In       ^  ""^ 

of  crime,  one  ca^n  get  a  dilor^e  u'tTh  '"  ""'' 
othprwnir  e  "  ""^""^ce ;  JHjt  there  IS  no 
other  way.     Seven  years  ?    By  Jove !    A  good 


THE  AMERICAN  BABON. 


S8 

charge  against  you  andYhe^h^fd-aL  tVVT 

Xrd%o''°'"v?"'^'f ""''  "ej-t'VolII; 


idea  that.    Whv  man""'if  th  T"' ""''^'  ."^  K""'*   but  the  mosi 
don,  would  ri^J;jLed'«'H'ff''"«-^''«  '"""'^y-" 

the  subiRpf  '  eu  to 


one,  my  boy.     No,  no;  there's  no  heVfor  k 

You  gave  your  word,  old  chan   '  f.lV   i    VJ    , 

.  ns  part.'  and  you're  in  ?or  it  '"'^'  '^'""'  '^° 

i^l''^r^"!:!;rfe^'^p-d.o 


dispel  his  project  f^omhrS  "EZted    "^^  "^""'^  «'^^™  '-«„;!  trar^'nyde': 


change  the  subject. 

"Ob,  by-the-way,"  said  he,  "yon   needn't 
have  any  further  trouble  about  any  of  them 
You  don't  seem  inclined  to  take  any  definU^ 
action,  so  the  action  »,n  ».„  .„i.._  1'  "enpite 


;-oasmWso;r;r;^;™I,^-^i;-^ 

-'irX^yV.^''*'^'''«r''^-- 

"Well?" 

./^-^fcSowr'''"^''''^"^^"-'^^- 

^jnS;^^::;;;.!r^-''--esprowi- 

.^JOh  ye<  I  heard  something  or  other  to- 

"  What  was  lit  ?"  '  ,        . 

"Well,  it  seems  that  he  sived  hnr  it  ^''."■•^"•ation  of  S( 

Bomeihing  of  that  sort."  ''*"^ ''f«.  o-"   ""ng,  you  know. ' 

iV"Sav(!d  her  life!"    Dacres  sturtprl      "ri      J      ^'^'■**  '"^'"I'^ed  into  sombre  silence       P«, 
V»"e?    Com.. 00!"-*^  ''''"""*'''•       "°*  ^1  r-'V''"" ''"  V"  hour  bo  did  not  say  a  wo!d 
;  Oh,  on  th»  Alps  somewhere."  "     ^^^^  ^^r*^""!  '»*<  «oo/^pd  watched  h  m 

''On  the  Alps  I  saved  her  life  !    Come  now     '"'  '/."'"f'ing  approaching  to  'anxiety. 

;rsheXitr«      D'oh\'.-r" 
weir,  I  didn  t  hei(r  any  thinj?  very  definite 


What  do  you  mean  ?" 
pies." '""'°  """'  '^^y  '"■^  '^'  K"'"*  t»  le-'ve  Na- 

"To  leave  Naples!" 

Dacres  uttered  this  in  d  voice  of  grief  and 
surpr.. Which  astonished  Hawbu>y  a^d"!" - 

"Yes,"  he  said.      "You  know  they've  been 

here  long  enough.     They  want  to  seVLme 

0  >^week,  you  know.    .No  end  of  excitement' 

';rrii«^-^-''«-'^«i''''at:oTo^ 


H^bury,"  said  he  at  last, 
"^^^oldmiin?" 


was  knork«<i  ,;,.„  .  .  "°-  '  "  ^^*>^  she 

Md  her  wayl!"      .  >  '      " '  ^  ■"""*  her 

«io„  wa.troJif„^„l",?r-  -^<i  f-t  flir. 

I     ■        "^,"'"»  »nu  all  her  vices  havg  taken  >hi 


Ha*bu 

W'      -■ 

"^goingtoUome." 
^'Wui^toKome!" 

"Yes,  me, rfo  Rome."  '  ^ife'     ' 

"Oh,  nonsense!    See  here,  oM  boy     Yob'* 

:r„'.'/.'^"^'-  "?^  y°"  ^^o^-   ireak  it^np.    yJ^. 


I  mgoing-to Rome, "repeated  Dacitis,  stol- 
Jdly      "  I  ve  made  up  my  mini"  .  ' 

.  ««'.«-eally,"/emonst^at<^awbnry    "See 
hdVo  now  my  dear  fellow  >  J^enj,  ^^^  i„„7 

U^  Jove  I  .you  don't  co.u<ii4Wr^Jfy,"   '  W  • 

Oh  jies^T;  do".    I  know  -every  thinir  •  I  ohn  ▼^ 

aider  ^Wa-y  thing."  "•^Z  Ming ,  i  con-  :^y 

''But  jrhat  goodwill  it  do?"  ? 

v^'Nothf„^b„tevAV?rcon,e<irit,'V  ,     . 
Ob,  n/ev,l  ne#  n#BM«rily  oome  of  it." 
'  By  Jove  r"  Pxi>'i»!m«-i  i^«._i: .    .  •. 


1^ 


t 


m 


„  iTTa*i"°'7h:t'".r":^^i^-  *^"^- 

«i(MhSr         "  '""'"'^'' '  ""•  •'«.■'•«••   I 


>  »  n  \  ^-  7, '  '"=3»  n<»8M«nly  oome  of  i 

i^^^-]::«^^di«^„ry^M^^^ 

^^*«!i«sd.     ~»Bpry,  my  dear  feUoWlPK 


She  8  Burwunded  by  friends,  yon  know  Sh* 
never  can  be  ydu,»,^au  kno^.^  There's  a  if«lt 
gulfj.e,wcen  you,  .&  .^a^^  ^^^^P^^ 


f:V 


1 


■St 


54 


THE  AMERICAN  BARON. 


tomless  abyss,  never  to  ds  traversed,  where  she 
stands  on  one  side,  and  I  on  the  other,  and  be- 
tween us  hate,  deep  and  pitiless  hate,  undying, 
eternal!" 

"  Then,  by  Jove !  my  dear  fellow,  what's  the 
use  of  trying  to  fight  against  it  ?  You  can't  do 
any  thing.  If  this  were  Indiana,  now,  or  even 
New  York,  I  wouldn't  say  any  thing,  you  know ; 
but  you  know  an  Indiana  divorce  wouldn't  do 
t/ou  any  good.  Her  friends  wouldn't  take  you 
on  those  terms — and  she  wouldn't.  Not  she, 
by  Jove!" 

"I  must  go.     I  mnst  follow  her,"  continued 
Dacres.     "  The  sight  of  her  has  roused  a  devil 
within  me  that  I  thought  was  laid.      I'm  a 
chattged  man,  Hawbury." 
."  I  should  think  so,  by  Jove !" 

"  A  changed  man,"  continued  Dacres.  "Oh, 
Heavens,  what  power  there  is  in  a  face !  What 
terrific  influence  it  hp  over  a  man  !  Here  am 
I ;  a  few  days  ago  I  was  a  free  man  ;  now  I  am 
a  slave.  But,  by  Heaven  !  I'll  follow  her  to 
the  world's  end.  She  shall  not  shake  me  off. 
She  thinks  to  be  happy  without  me.  She  shall 
pot.  I  will  silcittfy  follow  as  an  avenging  fate. 
I  can  not  have  her,  and<no  one  else  shall.  The 
same  cursed  fate  that  severs  her  from  me  shall 
keep  her  away  from  others.  If  I  am  lonely 
and  an  exile,  she  shall  not  be  as  happy  as  she 
expects.  I  shall  not  be  the  onlv  Oil^to  suf- 
fer." 

"See  here,  by  Jove ! "  cried  Hawbury.  "  Real- 
ly. You're  going  too  far,  my  deapboy,  you  know. 
You  ai'e,  really.  Come  now.  This  is  just  like 
a  Surrey  theatre,  you  know.  You're  really  rav- 
ing. Wijy,  my  po*r  old  boy,  you  mxitt  give  her 
up.  Yon  can't  do  Iny  thing.  You  daren't  call 
on  her.  You're  tied  hand  and  foot.  You  may 
worship  her  here,  and  rave  about  your  child- 
angel  till  you're  black  in  the  face,  but  you  nev- 
er can  see  her ;  and  as  to  all  this  aboiit  stopping 
her  from  marrying  any  other  person,  that's  all 
rot  and  bosh.  What  do  you  suppose  any  other 
nuui  would  care  for  your  nonsensical  raving  ? 
Lonely  and  an  exile  I  Why,  man,  she'll  be 
married  and  done  For  in  three  months." 

"  You  don't  understand  me,"  said  Dacres, 
dryly.  ' 

"I'm  glad  that  I  don't;  but  it's  no  wonden, 
old  man,  for  really  you  were  quite  incoher- 
ent." 

"And  so  they're  going  to  Rome,"  said  Da 
cres.      "Well,  they'll  find  |{iat  I'm  not  to 
shi^en  off  so  easily. 

"  (;ome  DOW,  old  roan,  vou  must  give 
that." 

"  And  I  suppose,"  continued  Dacres,  with  a 
sneer,  "our  handaomo,  dark-eyed  little  Italian 
cavalier  is  going  with  ns.     Ha,  hn,  ha  I     He's 


1*1  tliu  lluMW  nil  lliu  flniti,  »i»  duitStr 


"  WeU,  x^j  he  WMlKure  once. 

"  Ah  I  of  couiiie— quite  devoted. " 

"Oh  yes  J  but  dont  bo  afmid;     It  was  not 

to  the  child-nng«l.     She  appears  to  avoid  him. 

That's  really  quite  evident.     It's  an  apparent 

aversion  on  her  put." 


Dacres  drew  a  long  breath. 

"Oh,"  said  he;  "and  so  I  suppose  it's  not 
her  that  he  goes  after.  I  did  not  suppose  that 
it  was.  Oh  no.  There*^  another  one— more 
piquant,  you  know— ha,  ha!— a  devoted  lover 
— saved  her  life— quite  devoted— and  she  sits 
and  accepts  his  attentions.  Yet  she's  seen  me 
and  knows  that  I'm  watching  her.  Don't  she 
know  met  Does  she  Xvant  any  further  proof 
of  what  I  am  ready  to  do  i^  The  ruins  of 
Dacres  Grange  should  serve  her  for  life.  Slie 
tempts  fate  when  she  carries  on  her  gallantries 
and  her  Italian  cicisboism  under  the  eyes  of 
Scone  Dacres.  It  '11  end  bud.  By  Heaven,  it 
will!"  ! 

Scone  Dacres  breathed  hard,  and,  raising  his 
head,  turned  upon  Hawbury  a  pair  of  eyes 
whose  glow  seemed  of  fire. 

"  Bad !"  he  repeated,  crashing  his  fist  on  the 
table.      "  Bad,  by  Heaven ! " 

Hawbury  looked  at  him  earnestly. 

"My  dear  boy,"  said  he,  "you're  getting  too 
excited.  Be  coni.  Really,  I  don't  believe  yoii 
know  what  you're  saying.  I  don't  understnmi 
what  you  mean.  Haven't  the  faintest  idea  what 
you're  driving  at.  You're  making  ferocious 
threats  aitainst  some  people,  but,  for  my  life, 
I  don't  know  wAo  they  are.  Hadn't  you  bet- 
ter try  to  sneak  so  that  a  fellow  can  under- 
stand the  general  drift,  at  least,  of  what  vou 
say?" 

"Well,  then,  yon  understand  this  much— 
I'm  going  to  Rome."  v 

"I'm  sorry  for  it,  old  boy.'-' 

"And  see  hefe,  Hawbury,  I  want  you  to 
come  with  me." 

"Me?     What  for?" 

"  Well,  I  want  .you.  I  may  have  need  of 
you." 

As  Dacres  said  this  his  face  assumed  so  dark 
and  gloomy  an  expression  that  Hawbury  l)cgaii 
to  think  that  there  was  something  serious  in  all 
this  menace. 

"Ton  niy  life,"  said  he,  "my  dear  boy,  I 
really  don't  think  you're  in  a  fit  state  to  be  al 
lowed  to  go  by  ymirsclf.  You  look  (piitc  di-.< 
perate.  I  wish  I  could  make  you  give  up  thii' 
infernal  Roman  notion." 

"  I'm  going  to  Rome !"  repeated  Dacres,  res- 
olutely. 

Hawbury  looked  at  him. 
'  Youll  come,  Hawbury,  won't  you  ?" 
'  Why,  confound  it  all,  of  course.    I'm  afraid 

u'll  do  something  rash,  old  man,  and  you'll 
e  to  have  me  to  stand  between  you  and 
harm." 

Oh,  don't  be  concSVned  about  me,"  said 
Dacres.  "  I  only  want  to  watch  her,  and  sec 
what  her  little  game  is.     I  want  to  look  at  her 


I 

m 

^Boii 

i^Hmv 

Whar: 


fcrnnlly  beautiful,  too ;  hasn't  added  a  year  or 
a  day  to  hef  face ;  more  lorely  than  ?ver;  morr 
beautiful  than  she  was  even  when  J  flnt  sav 
l|pr.  And  ther(i,'t  a  loftnesii  about  her  that  %\\t 
n«ver  had  before.  Where  the  deuce  did  ibe  get 
that  ?  Oood  idea  of  hern,  too,  to  cultifate  the 
»  '       '    . 


Koft  Style.  A 
Can  it  be  ret 
could  be  rea 
It's  her  art. 
She  cultivate 
tract  lovers — 
her  life—who 
yes  ;  and  I — 
gether  and  li 
snicker — " 

"Confound 
on  at  that  ra 
"  Are  you  tak 
er  ?  By  Jove 
this  Roman  joi 
"No,  I'll  ke 
"What  for! 
object. '*^ 

"My  object 

I  can't  give  he 

,  "follow  her.    Sh 

follo^her.     SI 

seeing  me  on  hi 

is  mfnc.     She  i 

fer.    She  shall  I 

terfly  life  which 

fate,  and  she  sh 

"Ry  Jove!" 

deuce  is  all  this  i 

Look  here,  old  i 

you  know.     Wf 

Whom  lire  you  g 

you  going  to  be' 

about  ?" 

"Who?"crie, 
As  hf  nHiil  thi 
the  table. 

"The  deuce !' 
at  him  ;  after  w 
"by  Jove!" 

Not  much  mor 

lence.for  a  long  t: 

in«  violently  at  J 

thing  to  interruf; 

hour  or  so  Dacn 

Hawbury  was  lef 

lion. 

And  this  was  tl 

He  saw  (hat  Di 

had  changed  com] 

stateof  mind  seem( 

,  was  an  evil  gleam 

madness.     What : 

was  the  new  revul 

mMjifest.    It  was  r 

angel  as  Wttcr  and 

The  gender  feelinjf 

er  one.    It  might  t 

nn  argument  ngnin 


THE  AMERICAN  BARON. 


She  cultivates  the  soft,  sad  style  so  as  to  ^1  ".,^'^"2°"  °^^"'^'-''«'«  «o"l-you„g,  beau- 
tract  lovers-Iovers-,vho  adore  her-who  sa"^  i  co„ rtl  1  ,  l"^'  '''«""^'  '•e«"«'J.  Hch,  honored, 
her  life-who  become  her  obedient  sla'e  °  Oh  '  ZZLu  "^^Y'  ^^""'  '"'^  •"  >'<="'«  »' '« 
ves;  and  I-,vh«t  am  I?  Why  they  get  to  is  tult  "?'''''''" '''■•''''*•'"''''''•'' '*"«> 
gether  and  laugh  at  me;  they  giggle  thev  W.,,;?  "*,  '"''""''  '°  «^«  ««  ^e  g^zed. 
snicker—"  ''^  K'ggie ,    tney    Was  it  any  wonder  ?  ' 

"Confound  it  all,  man,  what  are  you  going  Latlll  f!!!\-''^"'V!;""«'''' ""'^'^^'^  f-l'^ym-  " 
on  at  tl^t  .te  .rP-  ^^-pted  LX;f 'C^t^id  S.J^^^^^  ' 


«  *  .  .  'iiicrrupieu   Mawbury 

Are  you  taking  leave  of  your  senses  altogeth- 

1-    J^y  ^'^r^'  0>d  man,  you'd  better  give  up 

this  Roman  journey  "  ' 

"No,  I'll  keep  at  it." 
objec^^""'  ,C°"f°'"'<li''    Idon'tseeyour 

r  can  t  give  her  up.  I  won't  give  her  u...  n 
'follow  her.  She  shall  see  me  every  where  T 
^lojy  her.  She  sha'n't  go  any  Where  withou 
B«..ng  me  on  her  track.  She  shall  see  that  sTe 
.8  mfne  She  shall  know  that  she's  got  a  mas- 
ter She  shall  find  herself  cut  off  from  thati  - 
terfly  hfo  wh,ch  she  hopes  to  enter.  I'll  be  her 
fate,  and  she  shall  know  it." 

"By  Jove!"  cried  Hawbury.     "^Vlmt  tbp 

i:ik';:~  old  f  ""='  .^->o»-'^.  ori";^ 

iMok  here,  old  boy,  you're  utterly  beyond  m, 
you  know.     What  the  mischief  do  yL  ^Z  ? 
Whom  are  you  going  to  follow  ?   Wh<«..  fate  aro 
illfP  '"  ••«■''    Whose  track  are  y ,ki„g 

"  Who  r  cried  Bbcres.     "  Why,  mv  wife !" 
the  table*"'         '  ""^  """'''  '""  ""  '''''"""'■  "" 
"The  deuce!"  exclaimed  Hawbury,  ..„,,„^ 

"  bj'jo've?"""  ""'=''  ""'  "''"''  "-"«'"f"iiy 

Not  much  more  was  said.     Dacres  sat  in  si 


-  —  "^  "u^tcu  uy  nimse 
catastrophe  would  be  sure  to  occur.     He  de- 
termmed    therefore,  to  accompany  his  fnend 
so  as  tq  do  what  he  could  to  a.' rt'^^he  calami?; 
which  he  dreaded.  """"y 

DatcMo  W''"  "*"" '^"■'^ ''^  ^^-'  -'■> 
As  for  Dacres,  he  seemed  to  be  animated  by  , 

over  aTai-r""'  "'"'  "^  ^''P''^'^^'*  ^^  "^ 

"She  stood  between  me  and  mv  child-an- 

halZr''  ''"'"*  ^''"■'^^"  ""  ''"'i  her 


..„.„„..,  ,„ur«  was  said.     Dacres  sat  in  si^ 

lence/or  a  long  time,  breathing  h/rd  and  nuff  m^Z^'"  I'-'^^u'"'  ""^t"  '"  "*"  »''«  coramonesl 

nifi-  vlol^n.w  „,  ..!„  „:.._.      J    S™'  """  l'««-.  q«'eshon  about  her.  All  this,  of  course.  Only  con 

IV  nrmed  her  nrovinno  ^»:„.- -_j..    .     'j      .'»-"" 


ing  vtolcntly  at  his  cigar.     HawBury  «aw'  m 
hu,g  to  interrupt  his  meditation.     After  an 
our  or  80  DacreMramped  off  in  silence,  and 
Hawbury  was  left  .,/  meditate  over  the  situ" 

And  this  wai  the  result  of  his  meditations 
He  saw  that  Dacres  was  greatly  excited,  and 
had  changed  completely  from  his  old  self    His 
state  of  mjnd  seemed  actually  dangerous.   There 
was  an  evil  gleam  in  bis  eye?  that  looked  like 
madness.     What  made  it  more  perplexing  S 
was  the  new  revulsion  of  feeling  that  nj  wa. 
manifest.    It  wo.  not  so  much  love  for  th«  child 
jngel  OS  bitter  and  venomous  hato  for  his  >vif.. 
1  he  geueler  feeling  had  given  place  t"  the  H 
er  onn      ti  mi'.^<  i ■ ..." 


CHAPTER  XIV. 
thk  zouave  officer. 
Whatever  trouble  Ethel  had  experienced  at 
Naples  from  her  conviction  that  Hawbury  was 
bi'!,?7rT^u  ""'^'  '^  P°«''"''«.  intensified 
Rom       T"r  """  '"'  ''"''  '■""°*«'l  'hem  to 
«ilTh   1,^'  «">«  motives  for  this  could  not  pos- 
ed t^at  it"tS  t  '"VT  '■"'  °'*^°"""''  «°"«'"d- 
ed  that  It  *|»  his  infaluatiop  for  Minnie,  and 
h.s  determination  to  j,in  her  for  himself      She 
Itl  •''"•"'^^"ehnt  he  knew  that  she  belongecUo 
the  party^  »  '^a^  st*  utteriy  indifferent  To  her 
that  ho  cyrolotcly  ignored  her,  and  Jiad  not 
sufficient  !;,|frest  in  her  to  a^k  the  commonest 
•Jiieshon  about  her     A  1 .1.;.  „r "     "ouesi 


er  one.  It  might  Uve  been  possible  to  attempt 
an  argiiment  against  the  indulgence  of  flio  fnr- 
mcri  bull  ■» m^  ■ i.i  ,.   .«.        ■■        ,      '"  ■ 


.    °        '  ""^  ■"■jm^KiHjc  ur  ine  for- 
"hat  cuiUU  \M.m  avaH  ogalnst  re- 
'enge?    And  now  there  was  rising  in  the  soul 

ult  of  those  injuries  which  had  been  carried  in 
iiU  heart  and  brooded  oyer  for  yeart.  The  sight 
of  his  wife  ha<l  .evidently  kindled  all  this  If 
tho'had  not  come  across  f>h  p,th  he  might  linvo 


b™.   lu  .        "" '^""'- or  course,  Only  con- 

firmed herprev,ousopinion,and  it  also  deepened 
her  melancholy.     One  additional  offe^  it  also 

,,r.:r,  '.^  T"  *°  '^"P"'"  her  of  any  pleas- 
ure that  migTit  be  had  from  driv,*  about  Rome. 
She  felt  a  morbid  dread  of  meeting  him  some- 
where; she  did  nol^yet  feel  a%  to  encounter 
him  she  could  not' trust  herseT,  she  f«jt  sure 
that  If  she  saw  l^m  she  .would  I^s.i  all  self- 
<ftntrol,  and  make  ah  exhibition  of  humiliating 
d«?>r  \he  dread  of  this  was  miffleiin,",^ 
dotttffi  her  at  home;  and  so  she  remained  In- 
I  doo«  a  prisoftar,  refrnng  her  iil>erty,  broMIng 
over  her  tronW^iL  and  striving  to  ac^ufethat  • 
ndifference  to  *  .vhich  she  believed  he  had 

S   m'k      *,7:  ^""^  "hou.  was ,  the  very 
tb;ng  which  would  have  alleVihted  her  woes,  but 

thiswmtbovorviliini.ti  .1  ui —   ,,   ' 


Uhc  veryiliing  tlint  Hh,-.  was  unwilling  to 


40i  nor  could  any  persuasion  --hnko  her  rtJsolve 
Oi«d«y  Mrs.  \frilloughby  and  Minnie  ktte 
out  driving,  and  in  passing  through  a  street  they 
Mcountered  a  crowd  in  hMt  ef  onTt^  ol 
churches.  Another  crowd  was  inside,  i^rf  „ 
something  *a.  g„ii«  on,  ^.cy  stopped  ih»  c.r 
ringe  and  .sat  looking.   ,The  Sitiss  Qutidfj^e^ 


-A    .i.;4>,  ', 


t 


% 


5U 


THE  AMERICAN  BARON. 


there  in  their  picturesque  costume,  and  the 
cardinals  in  their  scarlet  robes  and  scarlet 
coaches,  and  military  otficers  of  high  ritnk,  and 
carriages  of  the  Roman  aristocracy  filled  with 
beautiful  ladies..  "Soinething'of  importance  was 
going  on,  the  nature  of  which  they  did  not  know. 
Alittle  knotof  Englishmen  stood  near;  and  from 
their  rdmarks  the  ladies  gathered  tliat  this  was 
the  Church  of  the  Jesuits,  and  that  the  Pope  in 
person  was  going  to  ]perform  high-mass,  and 
afterward  hold  a  reception. 

Soon  there  arose  a  murmur  and  a  bustle 
among-  the  crowd,  which  was  succeeded  by  a 
deep  stillness.  The  Swiss  Guards  drove  the 
throng  to  either  side,  and  a  pass;jige-way  was 
thus  formed  through,  tHb  people  to  the  church. 
A  cdrriago  drove  up  in  great  stale.  In  this  was 
seated  an-elderly  gentleman  in  rich  pontifical 
robes.  He'  had  a  mikL  and  gentle  face,  upon 
wliich  was  aswcetjintA'inning  sniile.  No  face 
is  more  attractive  than  that  of  I'io  Nouo. 

"Oh,  look!"  cried  Minnie;  "that  must  bo 
the  Pope.     Oh,  what  a  darling ! " 

Mrs.  Willoughby,  however,  was  looking  else- 
where. • 

"  Minnie,"  said  she.  , 

"What,  Kitty  dear?"  .,     "  ,  * 

"  Are  yon  acquainted  with  any  Zouave  of- 
ficer ?" 

"  Zouave  officer !  Why,  no  ;  wh^it  put  sqch 
a  thing  as  that  into  your  head,  you  old  silly?" 

"Because  there's  a  Zouave  officer  ove^ there 
in  the  crowd  who  has  been  stauing  fixedly  at 
us  ever  since  wo  ci'inie  up,  an(i  trying  to  make 


slim,  thin,  cadaverous  man,  in  his  suit  ofrnsty 
black,  edging  his  way  through  the  crowd,  so  as 
to  get  nearer,  until  at  length  he  stood  immedi- 
ately behind  the  line  of  Swiss  Guards,  who  were 
keeping  the  crowd  back,  and  forming  a  passage- 
way for  the  Pope.  Meanwhile  his  Holiness  was 
advancing  through  the  crowd.  He  reached  out 
his  hand,  and  smiled  and  bowed  and  murmur- 
ed a  blessing  over  them.  At  last  bis  carriage 
stopped.  The  door  was  opened,  and  several  at- 
tendants prepared  to  receive  the  Pope  and  as- 
sist him  out. 

At  that  instant  the  tall,  slim  stranger  pushed 
forward  his  sallow  head,  with  its  long,  lanky, 
and  rusty  I)kck  hair,  between  two  Swiss  Guards, 
and  tried  tto  squeeze  between  them.  The  Swiss 
at  first  s^tood  motionless,  and  the  stranger  had 
actually  succeeded  in  getting  about  half-w^}- 
through.  He  was  immediately  inVront  of  his 
Holiness,  and'^taring  at  him  with  all  bis  might. 
His  Holiness  saw  this  i'ery  peculiar  face,  and 
was  so  surprised  that  ho  uttered  an  involuntarv  'i 
cxclaiqatit^n',  and  stopped  short  in  his  descent." 

The  straYiger  stopped. short  too,  and  quite  in- 
voUmtaf  n5-alsoi>  For  the  Swiss  Guards,  irritated 
by  bis  jiertinacity,  ani  seeing  the  Pope's  ges- 
ture, turi]i(^  suddenly,  and  two  of  them  grasped 
the  stranger  iJy  liis  coat  collar. 

It  was,  of  course,  an  extremely  (indignilied    ' 
attitude  for  the  Swiss  Guards,  whose  position'is    • 
simply  an  ornamental  one.    •  Nothing  bjit  the 
most  unparalleled  outrage  to  their  dignitfcould 
hljvo  movSd  them  to  this.     So  unusual'  a  dis- 
play of  energy,  however,  did  not  last  long.    A 


signals,  and  it's  my  opinion  he's  idgualing  to  !  few  persons  in  citizens'  clothes  darted  forward 
you.     I>ookiit  him;  he's  oven  there  on  the  top  j  fromamongthecrowd,andgecuredthestrnnger; 

wliile  .the"  Swiss,  seeing  who  they  were,  resumed 
their  erect, -rigid,  and  ornamental  attitude.  The 
Pope  found  no  long«;r  any  obstacle,  and  resumeJ 
his  descent.  For  a  moment  the  strdhgerhiul  cre- 
ated a  widQ-spread  coBsteriTiition  in  (lie  breasts 
of  all  the  diffcrent  and. very  numerotis  classes 
of  men  who*composed  t'hat  crowd.  The  arrest 
iVas  'the  signal  for  a  murmur  of  voices,  among 
whicli  the  ladies  heard  those  of  the  knot  of  En- 
glishmen, wIm  stopd  near. 

"  It's  some  Garibaldian,"  said  they. 
And  this  was  the  general  sentiment.  ■  ^ 

Several  hours  after  tfcis  they  were  at  home, 
and  a  caller  was  announced.  It  waK^he  Baron 
Atramonte. 

"Atramonte!"iaidLadyll!flryraplo.  "Who 
is  that  ?  We're  not  at  honie,  of  couwe.  Ajra- 
monte !  Some  of  thesb  italia'n  nobles.  Keal- 
ly,  I  think  we  have  seen  enough  of  them.  Who 
^8  he,  Kitty  ?"        • 

"I'm  sure  I  haven't  the  faintest  idea.  1 
neven  hoard  of  him  in  my  life." 

"  We're  not  tfl  hoipe,  of  couitse.  It's  a  sln- 
hular  way.  ai)d  surely  can  not  ha  Roman  fnah- 


of  the^teps.' 

"i  won't  Took,  "said  Minnie,  pettishly.  "How 
do  I  know  who  he  is  ?  I  declare  I'm  afraid  to 
look  ot  any  body.  He'll  ttd-coming  and  saving 
my  life."  » 

"I'm  sure  this  man  is  an  old  acquaintandc." 

"  Nonsense !  how  can  hiefbb  J" 

"It  may  be  Captain  Kirby." 

"  How  sHly  !  Why,  Captain  Kirby  is  in  the 
Rifles." 

"Perhaps  he  is  dressed  this  way. just  for 
amusement.    Look  at  him." 

"Now,  Kitty,  I  think  you're  unkind.  You 
know  I  don't  want  to  Wok  at'him  ;  I  don't  want 
to  see  him.  I  don't  care  who  he  is — the  great, 
big,  ugly,  old  horrid !  And  if  you  say  any  thing 
more,  I'll  go  ISome." 

Mrs.  Willoughby  was  about  to  say  something" 
but  her  attention  and  Minnie's,  and  thot  of  every 
one  else,  waa  suddenly  diverted  to  another  quar- 
ter. 

Among  the  crowd  they  bad  noticed  a  tall  man, 
very  thin,  with  alean,  cadaverous  face,  and  long, 
lanky,  rusty  black- hair.     He  wore  a  White  neck 


""f^^nmtrs^BnirSrnmf^lHe^^  But  iheToT 

held  a  large,  umbrella  in  his  hand,  *hich1ie  kept:  tinental  nobility  ar<}  j»%dd. "         '  .. 

carefully  up  out  of  thq  way  of  the  crowd.  ThU  4n  a  few  fliiBufts  tjie  ser\ant,  wh6  hiid  been 
figure  was  a  conspicoougwio.oVen  ih  thaloi^wdf  J  digpatched  towjf,  "N«i  at  bqme,,"  (^turned  witji 
«ud  the  ladies  had  noticod  it  jitjhe  very  first; '   the  ■(atoment  that  the  Baron  wishdd  particular- 


i  ■•:,'"> 


, .    As  t^  Pbpedrov*.  tip  thtv  mVr'^tldt  long,   \v  to  *ee  Miai  Far  < 


a! 


At  this  extra 

fymple  and  Mr§. 

another,  and  the 

"I'm  sure /do 

said  Minnie.     "  [ 

doigo  and  see  wh 

pleYse !     Oh,  doj 

'^Well,  J  supp 

son/  said '  Lady 

'"I  here  must  be 

dressed  ?"  she  asl 

•.military  gentlema 

belong  to  the  arm' 

"Yes,  my  lady." 

,  '   At  this  Mfg,  Wi 

■fvit  one  another.     ] 

«Bd  as  no  other  y 

uwal,  in  her  room, 

"I  thought  that 
"Well,  Ikti  sur. 

Minnie.      "I  neve 

mylifeV 
.     "  It  may  be  Capti 

name  and  a  disgnisi 
"Oh  no,  it  Isn't. 

he  such  a  perfectr- 

i.omebody,  " 


nse.  "OH,  what^Ani 
"Jfonseniol.    Yd 

'W'iimy.nndsend.Ki 
"Oh,  I  do  MjhoB 

iewon^t." 

.^^^'""hortiime 


"^. 


THE  AMERICAN  BARQN. 


:.»r' 


dressed?-'  she  asked  theTe^"te   ^'ZV" 
■'•  «t  one  another.     Ladf  nnlrvmnf  "'""' 

my  lifeV  -     "  ^."""^^  officer- in 

■na:eS^a:^:^«'^''>^-'ler,,nassu.ed 

,„m..l .  "  ?J'y^^*^'"°"'''e''.     Ohd(5«rI,    It's 


IWO  OF  TUKM   OBA8PED  Tim  1™  ■*^^^!^ 

BA8PED  TUK  fllyB*N8EE  BT  U,8  OOAt  OOH^" 


yiwebod  V,  thniigh 


like  an  EnRlisJU,      r  ,.     -f  [  ''  *""  """"  "" 
to  be  a  foreigner.     I'm  piS" '""  '  "•"" 

and  that  yo„  were  not  at  home      Ai.H  Jw  i ' 
yo«  think  he  said?"  And  what  do 

;^•on,:^L^1nl.^ntrhar'"is;:^"1 
voj^£'^s^:;rrKu:A£:^---^o. 

Italian?"  ''°->""  '^'""^  ''«/■«'»  an 

'At   .1*""  ''^  "^-^  -' ''°  anl.;  erierr 


,,      On  dear!"  she  s^id. 

,  '•  WhatV  the  'rtiatte^;,  darling  ?' 

ion,^o"f«e7-"""'     «'?,''-■•■':  -"at  „W  ba- 


,,^;o,rdo.,hor.-h^^,,,,,^,,,J^^^er.     ^^ -' .-"«'  ^^  ^- 

-(^-.hortt,„e.ady..dU.^r.t„r.d:^"^^^^  ^  ■^ 

.^^    ,  ..♦,.-.>  1      .,  -  •'I]     Y^-td"' '<^''f'-*»«'»«»|«^^  know  him  1  ••'      , 


-^■>^1. 


/«v 


,^-»> 


58     ♦ 


THE  AMEKICAN  BARON. 


•^  IWio  in  it,  dear?"    / 

'  •  IMi,  Dowdr !     Oh,  Kitty  ! " 

"What'*  the  matter ?" 

"  It  nHK  be  ihat  man.     Oh,  was  there  ever 
nrh  a  tmuole — " 
*     "  Reallv,  Minnie  dearest,  you  are  allowing 
yonrself  to  get  too  agitated.     Who  is  this  per- 

"•«  He — he's — an — American." 

•'  An  Amoncan  ?  Why,  I  jnst  said  that  I 
tkaniiht  he  might  he  one.  I  didn't  know  that 
rma.  were  aaaoainted  with  any." 

-'Oh  yea;  I  did, get  acquainted  with  some  in 
— inCanaoH." 

*'  Oh  :  and  is  this  man  a.  Canadian  ?"' 

"No,  Dowdy  durlint;;  only  an  American." 

"Well,  if  he's  a  fmniJ  of  jours,  I  suppose 
you  know  something  atwnt  him.  But  how  sin- 
gular it  is  that  you  have  so  completely  forgot- 
ten his  name.  Atramonte?  Why,  I'm  sure 
it's  a  vert/  singular  name  for  an  American  gen- 
tleman— at  least  it  seems  so  to  nie — but  J  don't 
•know  much  about  them,  you  know.  Tell  me, 
darling,  who  is  he  ?" 

''He — he  saved  my  life." 

"What!  saved  your  life  ?  Why,  my  precious 
child',  what  are  you  taking  about  ?  It  was  the 
Italian  that  saved  yoor  life,  you  know,  not 
this  ontt." 

"Oh,  but  he  did  too,"  said  Minnie,  despair- 
ingly. "  I  couldn't  help  it.  He  would  do  it. 
I'apu  was  vvashed  away.  I  wish  they  all  wouldn't 
be  so  ■horrid.'" 

Lady  DftJrymple  looked  in  an  equally  despair- 
ing manner  at  Mrs.  Willoughby. 

"What  is  it,  Kitty  dear?  Is  the  child  in- 
sane,'or  what  does  she  mean  ?  How  could  this 
])er8on  have  saved  her  life?" 

''That's  just  what  distracts  me,"  said  Min- 
nie.    "They  all  d«  it.     Every  single  person 
comes  and  saves  my  Kfe.     And  now  I  suppose  ; 
I  must  go  down  and  see  this  person." 

"  Well,  really,  since  you  say  he  saved  your  '• 
life,  perhaps  it  would  b^  as  well  not  to  be  un- 
civil,'" said  Lady  Dalryjnple ;   "but,  at  the  same 
time,  he  »eenis  to  me.  to  act  in  a  very  cxtraor-  | 
dinary  manner.     And  he  calls  himself  a  Baron.  | 
Do  they  have  nobles  in  America?" 

"I'm  sure  I  don't  know,  Dowdy  dear.      I 
'    never-  knew  that  he  was  a  Baron.     Ho  may 
have  been  the  son  of  some  American  Baron ; 
and — and-'     I'm  sure  I  don't  know." 

"'Nonsense,  Minnie  dear,"  said   Mrs.  Wil- 
loughby,    "This  man's  title  is  a  foreign  one. 
He  prdbtfbiy  obtained  it  in  Italy  or  Spain,  or  | 
|)erhap8  Mexico.     1  think  they  have  titles  in  ' 
Mexico,  though!  really  don't  kno^^.'' 

"Why,  of  course,  one  isn't  expecfced  to  know 
any  thing  about  America,"said  Lady  Dalrvm 
=fite 


"  How  can  I  help  it  ?  What  am  I  to  do  ?  I 
must  go,  Kitty  darling.  He  is  so  very  positive, 
and — and  he  insists  so.  I  doiji^vant  tp  hurt 
his  feelings,  you  know  ;  and  1  reSlly  think  there 
is  nothing  for  me  to  do  but  to  go.  What  do 
you  think  aboti't  it,  Dowdy  dear?',,'  and  she  up-* 
pealed  to  her  aunt. 

"Well,  Minnie,  my  child,  I  think  it  would 
be  best  not  to  bo  unkind  ok,  uncivil,  since  lia 
saved  your  life." 

Upon  this  Minnie  accompanied  her  sister  to 
see  the  vJBilor. 

Mrs.  Wtlldughby  entered  the  room  first,  niul 
JImnio  was  close  behihd  hej,  as  though  slie 
soughXprotection  from  some  unknowg  peril. 
On  entering  the  r<!jp«»  they  saw  a  man  dressed 
io  Zouave  uniform-  ,  His  hair  was  cropped 
short;  he  wore  a  mustache  and  no  beard  ;  his 
feature^  were  regular  and  handsome  ;  while  a 
pair  0^  ^ne  dark  eyes  were  looking  eurnesilv 
at  thfif  door,  and  the  face  and  the  eyes  had  the 
expression  of  one  who  is  trinmphantly  await- 
ing the  result  of  some  agreeable  surprise.  Mrs. 
Willoughby  at  once  recognized  the  stranger  as 
the  Zouave  officer  who  had  stared  at  them  near 
the  Church  of  the  Jesuits.  She  advanced  with 
lady-like  grace  toward  him,  when  suddonlv  lie 
stepped  hastily  past  her,  without  taking  aiiv  ' 
notice  of  her,  and  catching  Minnie  in  his  arms 
he  kissed  her  several  times. 

Mrs.  Willoughby  started  back  in  horror. 

Minnie  did  not  resist,  nor  did  she  stronni,  or 
faint,  or  do  any  thing.  She  only  looked  a  lillle 
confused,  and  managed  to  extricate  herHt!lf,  aft- 
er which  she  took  a  seat  as  far  away  as  she 
could,  putting  he«;  sister  between  her  and  the 
Zouave.  But  the  Zouave's  joy  was  full,  and 
he  didn't  appear  to  notice  it.  He  settled  him- 
self in  a  chair,  and  laughed  loud  in  his  hap|ii- 
ness. 

"Only  to  think  of  it,"  said  he.  "Why,  I 
had  no  more  idea  of  your  being  here,  Minnie, 
than  Victor!/.  Well,  here  you  see  me.  Only 
been  here  a  couple  of  months  or  so.  You  got  my 
last  favor,  of  course?  And  ain't  you  regular 
knocked  up  to  see  mc  a  Baron  ?  Yc^,  a  Baron 
— a  real,  live  Baron  !  I'll  tell  you  all  about  it. 
You  see  I  was  here  two  or  (hree  years  ago— the 
tiraoof  Mentana — and  fought  on  the  Pope's  side. 
Odd  thing,  too,  wasn't  it,  for  an  American?  Bu; 
so  it  was.  Well,  they  promoted  me,  and  want- 
ed mc  to  stay.  But  I  couldn't  fix  it.  I  hail 
business  off  home,  and  was  on  my  way  there 
the  time  of  the  shipwreck.  Well,  I've  been 
diHlgin'  all.  round  every  where  since  then,  but 
never  forgettin'  little  Min,  mind  you,  and  at 
last  I  found  myself  here,  all  right.  I'd  been 
specalatin'  in  wines  and  raisins,  and  just  dnipiied 
in  here  to  take  pet-luck  with  some  old  Zona'\'C 


I    rnn   m-ntinn   ,]ii)fr»   a  niimbnr  of  V.n    I  frion.l«,  wbon,  ilnm    una'    if   fhny   didn't   malt 


glish  statcspen,  members  of  the  cabinet,  and 
others,  who  don't  know  any  mora  JtbcNit  Ameri- 
ca than  I  d"o." 

■  "Do  you  really  intend  to  go  down  yourself 
,  and  see  him,  Minnie  dear?"  asked  , Mrs.  Wil- 
Imtghby. 


mb  stay.  It  scoifig  there's  squally  times  aliead. 
They  wanted  a  live  man.  They  knew  I  *«« 
that  live  man.  They  offered  me  any  thing  I 
wanteds  They  offered  me  the,  title  of  Baron 
Atramonte.  That  knocked  me,  i  tell  yon. 
S«y»  I,  I'm  /our  man.      So  now  you  see  me 


THE  AMEKltAN  BARON. 


Baron  Atramonte,  captnin  in  the  Papal  Zo,.- 
av«,  ready  to  go  where  glory  wai,«  Ve-Zt 
fonder  than  ever  of  litrie  Min.     Oh,  1  tell  vo 
Th    '     T^  \«"' of  "bras,  but  rm'.o„L  he're 
The  meh  thmK  I'm  a  little  the  tallest  lot  Tn 

Wh  T  "^  V'""'".""''^^  "'oy  ever  dilVe 
When  Im  .„  Rome  1  do  as.tho  Romans  d„ 
•nd  so  I  let  fly  at  tl„m  a  speech  every  now 
and  them  Why,  I've  gone  through  neaHy  the 
whole    mtional  Speaker'  by  U-is  time     ^'  e 

Yo.U*>w«,ofcolir.e.     (^«««,^  ,„„<^,  ;;;; 
'"ThKnifJ"'  ''T  f*"  *'?"  h«  continned 


«,.'..i  .  —  »6  Tlf^nT!  Tknew  you'd  bo 
ofS  J:  n  "'  "Pk"'."'  »  '""'P  ""en  yo'„  hea^ 
^  ^  u^*""""' ''"'  '  '■'"'"y  '"dn't  think  you'd 
come  all  the  way  he«,  to  see  me.     And  you  do 

Lt?  Yo".T'  You  do  boat  all!  A^tlS 
%L  I  ^*"'"  *  infoduced  me,  you  know." 
I  he  Baron  rose,  and  looked  expectantly  at 

J  *■  t 


al  good  L    !■  jgpr 


Mrs.  Willoughby,  and  then  at  Minnie  Thn 
atter  faltered  forth  some  words,  among  wh^eh 
the  Baron  caught  the  names  Mrs  Willoll  hv 

Sh  "  M  !?"""'  '"^  ""-  "-e  pSS  u' 
« .th  the  m,ddle  initial  and  all,  i„  a  queer,  prli 

sume      Well,  I  m  pleased  to  see  you,  ma'am 

member  your  name  ?     Ifs  associated  with  the 
brightest  bouy  of  my  lifo.     u  was  in  yoir  p„r! 

ot  ner  tiand.     Your  hand,  madam  " 

And,  sfoo0ng  down,  he  grasped  Mn,  Wil 
longhby's  Jund,  which  was  „ot  extenTd  and 
>-nng  U  ..hard  that^she  actually  gave  a' hS 


-  --  ™r  pmt,  imilnnrTre  cohtmued, '^m  ^^ 
not  ashamed  of  my  name^ot  u  mite.     I,t  a 
Rood,  honest  name.;    but  being  as  the  Holy 
Jather's  gone  and  made  me  a  nobto,  I  pre£ 
bemg  addressed  by  my  title.     AH  AraeK. 

Z  tZTl-    "'"'^  '"'^"^  them  •  Tt  r-. 
mg  in  Homo  you  see,  we  must  do  as  the  Ro- 
man, do ;  and  s^o  yon  needn't  know-me  a.  R„f,^ 

4  . 


i 


60 


THE  AMERICAN  BARON. 


Kf.  Gunn,  but  as  the  Baron  Atramonte.  As  for 
you,  Min — ^you  and  I  won't  stand  oh  cferemony 
— you  may  call  me  'Roof,'  or  any  pther  name 
you  fancy.  I  would  suggest  some  pet  name — 
.  something  n  little  loving,  you  know." 

In  the  midst  of.afl  this,  which  was  poured 
forth  with  extreme  volubility,  the  servant  came 
a^d  handed  a  card. 

'^  Count  Girasole." 


'UAWUDBY,  AD  I'm    A    LIVIMO  SU<1IEU !" 


CHAPTER  XV. 

THE   AMERICAN    BABON. 

At  any  other  tfrao  Mr*  Willoughby  would 
perhaps  have  manoeuvred  Minnie  out  of  the 
rogm ;  but  on  the  pitesent  occasion  the  ad- 
vent of  the  Italian  was  an  indxpressibleM^lief. 
Mrs.  Willoughby  was  not  prepai^d  for  a  scene 
like  this.  The  manners,  the  language,  and  the 
acts  of  Rufus  K.  Gnnn  had  filled  her  with  sim- 
ple horror.  She  was  actually  bewildered,  and 
her  presence  of  mind  was  utterly  gone.  As  for 
Minnie,  she  was  quite  helpt,e8s,  and  sat,  looking 
frightened.  The  Baron  Atramonts  might  Rave 
been  one  of  the  excellent  of  th"e  earth — he  might 
have  been  brave  and  loyal  and  just  and  true  a;id 
tender,  but  his  maimer  was  one  to  which  Ihey 
were  unaccustomed,  and  consequently  Mrs. 
Willoughby  was  quite  ovorcplhe. 


The  arrival  of  Girasole,  therefore,  was  greet- 
ed by  her  with  joy.     She  at  once  rose  lo  meet 
.  him,  and  could  jnot  help  infusing  iato-her.  greets  to  ilunk  wKether  she  wo^iLttet 


ing  a  warmth  which  she  had  never  shown  hiis 
before.  Girasole's  handsome  eyes  sparkled 
with  delight,  and  when  Mrs.  Willoughby  point- 
edly.made  way  for  bim  to  seat  himself  next  to 
Minnie  his  cup  of  joy  was  fulK  Mrs.  Wil- 
ionghby's  only  idea  at  that  momeql  was  to 


throw  8ome.,ob8taclo  between  Minnie  and  that 
"  dreadful  person"  who  cUimed  her  as  his  own, 
and  had  taken) such  shocking  liberties.  She 
did  not  know  that  Girasole  was  in  Rome,  and 
now  accepted  his  arrival  at  that  opportune  mo- 
ment as  something  little  less  than  providential. 

And  now,  actuated  still  by  the  idea  of  throw- 
ing further  obstacles  btipveen  Minnie  and  the 
Baron,  she  herself  went  over  to  the  latter, 
and  began  a  series  of  polite  remarks  about  the 
weather  and  about  Rome ;  while  Girasole,  eager 
to  avail  himself  of  his  unexpected  privilege, 
conversed  with  Minnie  in  a  low  voice  in  his 
brokenTCnglish. 

This  arrangement  was  certainly  not  very 
agreeable  to  the  Baron.  His  flow  of  spirits 
seemed  to  be  checked  at  once,  and  his  volu- 
bility ceased.  He  made  only  monosyllabic  an- 
swers to  Mrs.  Willoughby's  %marks,  and  his 
eyes  kept  wandering  over  beyond  her  to  Min- 
nie, and  scrutinizing  the  Italian  who  was  thus 
monopolizing  her  at  the  veiy  moment  when  he 
was  beginning  to  have  a ' '  realizing  sense"  of  her 
presence.  He  looked  puzzled.  "  He  could  not 
understand  it  at  all..^  He  felt  that  some  wrong 
was  done  by  somebody.  He  fell  into  an  un- 
gracious mood.  Ho  hated  the  Italian  who  had 
_t^m  eome  between  him  and  bis  happiness,  and 
who  chatted  with  Minnie,  in  his  abominable 
broken  English,  just  like  an  old  Acquaintance. 
He  cbnldn't  understand  it.  He  felt  m  unpleas- 
ant restraint  thrown  over  him,  and^^egan  to 
meditate, a  departure,  and  a  call  at  some  more 
favorable  time  lat^r  in  (he  evening.  But  b« 
wanted  to  have  a  few  more  words  with  "  Min," 
and  so  he  tried  to  "  sit  out"  the  Italian. 

But"  the  Italian  was  as  determined  as  (he 
American.  It  was  the  first  chased  th^t  he  h^d 
had  to  get  a  word  with  Minnie  sin^e  h^  was  in 
Milan,  and  he  wm  eager  to  avail  himsnf  of  it. 
Mrs.  Wiltoughby,  on  her  part,  having  thus  dis- 
comfited the  Barun,  was  iKt  unmindful  of  the 
other  danger ;  so  she  moved  her  seat  to  a  posi- 
tion near  enough  to  overlook  and  check  Gira- 
sole, and  then  resumed  those  formal,  chilling, 
heartless,  but  perfectly  polite  remarks  which 
she  had  been  administering  to  the  Baton  since 
Girasole's  arrivfll. 

At  length  Mrs.  Willoaghby  began  to  be  dread- 
fully bored,  and  groaned  in  spirit  over  the  sit- 
oation  in  which  Minnie  ^ad  placeii  herself,  and 
racked  her.  brains  to  find  some  way  of  retreat 
from  these  two  determined  lovers,  who  thus  set 
at  naught  the  usages  of  society  fSr^t  their  own 
convenience.  She  grew  indignant.  She  won- 
dered'if  they  would  ever  go.  She  Wondered  if 
it  were  not  possible  to  engage  the  Count  sod 
the  Baron  4n  a  conversation  by  themirives,  and, 
under  cover  of  it,  withdraw.'  f  ifia|ly  she  b«(i»ii 


■  / 


being  rude  to  them,  sinti  they  were  so  incon- 
siderate. She  thought  over  t^istisnd  was  rap- 
idly coming  to  the  decision  that  some  act  of 
rodenesB  was  her  only  bope^  whsn,  to  ,ber  im- 
mense relief,  the  servant  entered  and  announe^ 
Lord  Hawbaiy.  j.     . 


'I^d 


-:^ 


THE  AMERICAN  BARON. 


was  to  Mr8.WilIoughl,y  like  light^i^a  dark    f        ^'.^'^lo  to  the  other,  and  had  led  to  the 
&"■  J'' .'^i""«  "'•*°^'  brought  „^e*se  re     1^^^  ^U  "  ''^'"'^'''''^^  '""  "^  •»"'-'  «PP  t! 


net  in  her  difficult  imition.     the  ladies  msn   I  ;.    ►       "  •, '. '"'  "  """  qualities.     Now  if  i» 

am  wereahouttlffefetthenew-come^^X^^^  if  they  had  not  knowVone 

to  the.r  «mazem/nt,  the  Baron  spronK  forward'   nn      t '  """''""•^  '"'«»"  have  thought  the  Bar 
caught  Lord  Hawbury's  Imnd/an^wrunH;    Hawh     °'"' ""V''''  ""'■°"  "'iK'-t  have  called 


vehemence.       r> 

"Hawbury,  aMm  a  living  sinner'     Th.,n 

atr:- "w^fe''°"  '^'•"^^■•°"='     Good 
A^H  j;  '         ,,  '  ""•  «'*'»b<"-y,  this  is  real  good  ' 
tf""".  «'«"  yo"  look  J     I/ou,  are  yo„  ?     All 
n|ht,Ud  right  side  up?    Who'd  haie  iLugl 

f  I  ev^  was  so  astonished  in  my  life !  YouYe 
the  lastUan  I'd  have  expect  J.  Yes  1^ 
You  mayVbet  high  on  that."  '       ' 

1ow'''^'kiX"^'I  't"'*^  Hawbury,  "my  dear  fel- 
low ilai^erod,  I'm  sure.  And  how  «roes  it 
with  you  ?  >euced  odd  place  to  find  youVd 


"But  you're  not  a  Roman  Catholic  "said 

;^S;zo:!:r"-'""'-"'^p-'^' 

theirT^''To7ef ''   «^"'^  "^^  ""*»  '^'""«««o 

.;«nic..lari„thearm;:'"l''t;krth::th"°;,° 
oH7ler„;^?.-     «-"^-'I'-eBo.nan'ca?h' 

I'Koman  Catholic  leanings?" 
.JfliJJ^^'  "'«  I'^Po-     He's  a  fine  man. 


boy.     And  Ifm  deuced  RTaa"to"soe7or'J'''^    «"^'''  ^  "''' 

know,  and  all^iat  sort  of  .hing  ■-         ^°"'  ^°"   '^--'^  «"«  «-•     I  regard  that  ma"n  m^relike 

Thl'^  M?l'  ■"  """  "P°"  ""^  '■"««  Of  thb  orl  e  r     not  am  .^7  "'71^°  *"  <^°"'"e«sion,  and  you're 
Then  Hawbury  greeted  the  ladies,  a/d  apolo'  >  "°  " '"'^'"''«'-  «f  'be  Church. "'  ^ 

^f  ,^^  f 'f  "K  'bat  the  Baron  was  a  very  oU  '  and  >  >,'      ",  ""'°  ^'™  ^  '"^'"''er  of  the  armv 
and  tried  friend,  wh*>p.  he  had  not  seen  ?,     Sh  2^      "^•''■'"'^  ""^«''"><'  "f  'be  Sn: 
'ears;;  wh.ch  iotelligeice  surprised  Mrs!"^    fite  fiM,'"^  ^""'f     '^''^''^  •"''  •<"■»«  fir«t- 
oughby  greatly,  antl  brought  a  faint  ray  of  I      -llR'""°"^  '.'"""'  '°°-     Yes,  Sir." 
son^ething  like  peace  to  poor  MiHnie.         ^  ,"S^^T  Zf'  "^ »  ^'"""■"K  i"  «"  that." 

The  ladies,  were  not  imprisone.l  much  W  'wtT  *r  ^''•>'  "«  ""  leaning.  Whv 
Ker.,  Girasoie  thre^  a  Mack  look  rLord"  a  ^rim  7^^  '/^'"^'^ber  the  time  when  K 
Hawbury,  and  retreaied     Afternfo,v.r!l  .   *  gnm,  true-blue  Puritan.     Well  I  «;„*  ihT, 

chat  Hawbury  also  ^tired.^lnd  mat\r  Z;  o"f  The  'Jw  ^  """^  ""^  ^^'^  -'  ''■"  ^  1^ 
go  with  h.m.  And  the  Baron  went  wi.S  fiLst  J^  ^.^''-  ■^"''  ""^^  I  'hink  he's  the 
any  urging.  He  infisted,  however  on  BhJkZl  ,  "l^  gentleman  F,  ever  saw.  I  didn't  u4e 
hands  heartily  with  both  of  tiieladi'es  e  Sectf  nfte^  °  Ca'holic^h„pel  ^ell,  now  I  m  there 
ly  Minnie,  whose  poor  little  hanTieTe:,;  !  rtdv  t^^ '"*'^  Besides  Pm 

and  what  mnr<>.  nnn  >!,„,.  _.. ^.  .  "'t."'i 


♦ 


..    u  J  .      '    "'   '"■'■"'  nanrt  lie  nearli 

«  into  a  p  Ip;  and  to  the  latter  he  "hi  •- 
pered  the  consoling  assurance  Jhat  he  would 
como  to  see  hter  on  the  following  day  After 
which  he  followed  his  friend  out  ^ 

teJ*d'Hrwt.!l":!::;:^j^:-i?''--'i"- 


-;^whatn;;.reea„t^-;-r=;S;;:a 
"  You  see,  after  our  war  J  got  my  hand  in  and 

T  too'  '^^nT:'"'-   ■^'''«  Ind'an"  woSdn? 
o— too  ffijidhithroat-"'"'; ■      ,.•«"»' 


,      _.  „,„uo  iiiinseit  very  mucl 

fiome  in  a  rocking-chnir,  which  the  Baron  re-  !  cnlifltPrVT"".  T''' '°°''  "  """^^  '»  »bo  Pope; 
(farded  as  the  „ri,i.  .„^  :_..  __  .     .       "'I  [«     cnliated,  was  at  Mentana,  fit  there,  got  tiromot- 

am'  Z",!  ''°""''  T""^'  «'anVit  'a n/he™   I 
am,  back  as-n  n  ■  th...,«i.  i.„...  i_- ■   v.         .        *• 


m.,^   1         1. ."  -■""■>  """:"  me  iiaron 

P>rdeda«  the  pride  and  joy  and  glory  of 

'"""'>'  I      -  ---  -1  ^-"uiuii  t  sianu  It,  and  here  I 

"By   Jove!"   cried    Hawbury      "This  .     """; '"«='f  "«»!"  i  'hough  how  long  Pm  going  to 


,    '    ,■'      """"i"«ucnap;and 

imagine  how.  the  mischief  you  got  hero  !' 

Ihis  led  to- long  explanations,  and  a  Ions 

nversation,  whicK  was  pK,tra.ted  far  into  th* 

friend's!  ""™*"""  ^njoynent  of  both  of  th' 

^S^-^'?:"F^'^  H.whiny^toi^^ 
ironrmeHa.    He  had  become  acquainted  wiU 

imericr  ^'^\''''T  "P°"  'he*^prairies  of 
America,  near  the  Rocky  Monntahi,.      The 

tZl^  '"*'"**'  •'•'"  f^*""  Indians,  ty  whom 


ik  «»!...•»  .   "'""«  regions,  enduring  per wharevpr  tUlBf         •  .  "^ 

«.«.h..5«,„em.eMndn.ughi„git1„geL^ral.    thethXe^^ 

''••/■-...■  ■■  '  "         .        " 


;;why8o?" 

"  jMi,  it's  an  agpavltin^  place,  flUhe.bestr" 
fere's  such  ah  everlasting  waste' eTre- 
r^WWnf  Oiat  itV  ilwavs  the  case 
Tlffiy'r«^*fii^?.*™V  ""'""""^  '«  do  business, 
lofslf  1!^  WK*"  I """'  "^  "•     I'v«  known 

wnwever  tbeSPt  a  ministerial  committee, 


Ihfaw  thiyt.- 


02 


THE  AMERICAN  BARUN. 


."^:. 


-■  ^'lO 


Yes,  Sir.  Now  tliat's  the  case  here.  Here'it  a 
fine  country.  Why,  round  this  hero  city  there's 
a  country,  Sir,  that,  if  properly  managed,  might 
beat  any  of  pur  prairies — and  look  at  it. 

"Then,  again,  they  complaiu  of  poverty. 
Why,  1  can  tell  you,  from  my  own  observation, 
that  they've  got  enough  capital  locked  up,  lying 
useless,  in  this  hero  city,  to  rcge;p^rate  it  all, 
and  put  it  on  its  feet.  This  capital  wants  to  bo 
ntilized.  It's  been  lying  too  long  without  pay- 
ing interest.  It's  time  that  it  stopped.  Why, 
I  tell  you  what  it  is,  if  they  wore  to  sell  out 
what  they  have  here  lying  idle,  and  realize, 
they'd  get  enough  money  to  form  an  ehdowr 
ment  fund  for  the  Pope  and  his  court  so  big 
that  his  Holiness  and  everyofflcial  in  the  place 
might  get  salaries  all  round  out  of  the  interest 
that  would  enable  them  to  live  like— well,  I  was 
going  to  say  like  prinegs,  but  there's  a  lot  of 
princes  in  Konie  that  live  so  shabby  that  the 
comparison  ain't  worth  frothing. 

"Why,  see  here,  now,  ""continued  the  Baron, 
warming  with  his  thcilSte,  wl}ict)  si|^|med  to  be  a 
conge^yjjyjvne ;  "just  Iook  here ;  see  the  posi- 
toman  court.  They  can  actnally 
|the  whole  world.  Voluntary  dbn- 
f;  arc  a  wonderful  power.  Think 
hiiry  societies — our  Sabbath-school 
i  in  the  States.  Think  of  the  wealth, 
f  Olid  the  action  of  all  our  great  char- 
itable, plnfflnthropic, and  religious  bodie*  What 
supports  them  all?  Voluntary  contj-ibutions. 
Now  what  I  mean  to  sayi^  this — I  mean  to  say 
that  if  a  proper  organization  was  arranged  here, 
they  could  get  annual  receipts  from  the  whole 
round  globe  that  \Vould  make  the  Pope  the 
richest  man  on  it.  Why,  in  that  case  Roths- 
child wouldn't  he  a  circumstance.  The  Pope 
might  go  into  banking  himself,  and  control^the 
inarkcts  of  fhe  world.'  But  no.  There's  a  lot 
of  ministers  here,  and  they  hayen't  any  head 
for  iK  I  wish  they'd  give  me  ft  chance.  I'd 
make  things  spin. 

"Then,  again,  they've  got  other  things  here 
that's  ruining  them.  Therft's  too  much  repres- 
sion, and  that  don't  do  for  the  immortal  mind. 
My  idea  Is  that  every  man  was  created  free  and 
equal,  and  has  a  right  -to  do  just  as  he  darn 
pleases ;  but  you  can't  beat  that  into  the  heads 
of  the  governing  class  here.  No,  Sir.  The 
fact  is,  what  Rome  wants  is  a  republic.  It  'II 
come,  too,  sonie  day.  'The  great  mistake  of 
,  his  Holiness's  life  is  that  he  didn't  put  himself 
at  the  head  of  the  movement  in  '48.  He  had 
the  chance,  but  he  got  frightened,  and  backed 
down.  Whereas  if  lie  had  been  a  rpal,  live 
Yonkee,  now — if  he  had  been  like  some  of  our 
Western  parsons— he'd  have  put  himself  on  the 
tiptop  of  the  highest/'ave,  and  gone  in.  Why, 
-T-ifrcetjld-iayeiuuMCfHlaly  at  hi«  right  hiwid^y 
this  tiilie,TnstMd  of  .having  it  all  against  htm. 
There's  where  he  made  his  little  mistake.  If 
1  were  Popp  I'd  figlit  the  enemy  with  their  own 
we^Jions.  'I'd  accept  the  situation.  I'd  go  in 
h^ad  oter  heels  for  a  republic.  I'd  have  Rome 
the  capital,  myself  president,  Garibaldi  com- 


mander^JKchiei',  Mazzii)i  secretary  of  sjjnte— 
a  man.  Sir,  that  can  lick  even  Bill  Seward  liiin- 
self  in  a  regular,  old-fn^hioned,  tonguey,  sub- 
tile, diplomatic  note;"  And  in  that  case,  with 
a  few  live  men  at'  the  head  of  aD'airs,  where 
would  Victor  Emanuel  be  ?  Emphatically,  no- 
where ! 

"Why,  Sir,"continued  the  Baron,  "I'd  en- 
gage to  take  this  city  as  it  is,  and  the  office  of 
Pope,  and  run  the  whole  Roman  Catholic 
Church,  till  it  knocked  out  all  opposition  by 
the  simple  and  natural  process  of  absorbing  ail 
opponents.  We  want  a  republic  here  in  Rome. 
We  want  freedom,  Sir.  Whera  is  the  Church 
making  its  greatest  triumphs  to-day?  In  the 
States,  Sir.  If  the  Catholic  Church  made  it- 
self free  and  liberal  and  go-nhead  ;  if  it  kept 
up  with  the  ^imes;  if  it  was  imbued  with  the 
spirit  of  progress,  and  pitched  aside  all  old- 
fashioned  traditions — :why,  I  tell  you.  Sir,  it 
would  be  a  little  the  tallest  organization  on  this 
green  globe  of  ours.     Yea,  Sir!" 

While  Hawbury  and  the  Baron. were  thus 
engaged  in  higli  discourse,  ^rsiWilloughby  and 
Minnie  were  engaged  in  discourses  of  a  less 
elevated  but  more  engrossing  character. 

After  the  ladies  had  escaped  they  wcn^  up 
stairs.  Lady  Duhymple  had  retired  some  time 
before  toj  her  own  room,  and  they  had  the 
apartment  to  themselves.  Minnie  flung  herself 
into  a  chnir  and  looked  bewildered ;  Mrs.  Wil- 
loughby  took  another  choir  opposite,  and- said 
nothing  for  a  long  time. 

"Well,"  said  Miliiiie  at  last,  "  you  ^icedn't ' 
be  so  cross,  Kitty  ;  I  didn't  bring  him  here." 

" Cros^ !"  said  her  sister ;  "I'm not  cross." 

"  Weill  you're  showing  temper,  at  any  rate ; 
and  you  know  you  are,  and  I  think"  it  very 
unkind  ini  you,  when  I  have  so  much  to  trouble 
me," 

"  Why,  really,  Minnie  darling,  I  don't  know 
what  to  say."  I 

"  Well,  why  don't  you  tell  me  what  you 
think  of  him,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing?  Y9U 
viiyht,  you  know." 

"  Think  of  him !"  repeated  Mrs.  Willoughly-, 
tlevating  her  eyebrows. 

"  Yes,  think  of  him  ;  and  ycu  needn't  go 
and  mijke  fucefi  about  him,  at  any  rate." 

"  Did  I  inalj^  faces  ?  Well,  dear,"  suid  Mrs. 
Willoughby,  )f)atiently,  "I'll  tell  you  what  I 
think  of  him.  /   I'm  afraid  of  hiifii.V 

"\Vell,  tl^en,"  said  Minnie,  in  a  tone  of 
triumph,  "  ilbw  you  know  how  I  feel.  Sup- 
pose ho  saved  your  life,  and  then  came  in  his 
awfully  bofsterous  way  to  see  you ;  and  got 
you  alone,  and  began  that  way,  and  really 
quite  overwhelmed  yon,  you  know  ;  and  then, 
when  you  were  really  ftlmost  stunned,  8U]>posc 
hff wwjt  Rnd  propoBed^ttryoti  f    Now,  then{"~~ 

And  Minnie  ended  this  question  with  the  air 
of  one  who  could  not  be  answered,  and  knew  it. 

"He's  awful— perfectly  awful!"  said  Mrs. 
Willoughby.  "  And  th«  way  he  treated  you! 
It  was  so  shocking." 

"  I  know ;  and  that's  just  the  horrid  way  he 


THE  AftfERICAN  BARON, 


alira,,,  does,"  gaid  Minnie,  in  a  plaintive  tone 

■Im  sure  /doi^'t  know^what  to  do.  with  him 

And   then   he's  "Xord  Hawbury's  friend.     So 

Wjhat  are  we  to  do  ?"  \ 

"I  don't  kiiow,  unless  we  ha^  Rome  at 
onQc. 

"  But  I  don't  want  to  leave  Rome,"  said  Mih- 
me.     "I  hate  being  chased  a«ay  from  places 
by  people-and  they'd  be  sure  to  follow -me 
you  know-an.i  I  don't  know  what  to  do.    And 
Oh,  Kitty  darling,  I've  just  thought  of  some- 

i'llk'of  U?''°""  '^  '"  '"'^''-     '^"''  '»»  3- 
"  What  is  it  ?" 

"  Why,  this.  ■  You  know  the  Pone  ?" 
"Xo,  I  don't." 

''Oh,  well,  you've  seen  him,  you  llnow." 
"^  w^  '■  ^^  "'^'  ''**'»«  ,get,  to  da  witlHt  ?" 
Why,  I  H  get,  you  to  take  me,  arid  I'll  go 

these  horful  men ;  and  I'll  ask  him  if  he  ci.„'t 
up  somethmg  or  other  to  help  me.  Thev  have 
Jispensations  and  things,  you  know,  that  the 

«ith  these  awfid  people." 


ea 

"Nonsense!"  said 
Mrs.  Willoughby. 

"I  don't  sfee  any 
nonsense  in  it  at  alh 
I'm  in  earnest,"  siiid 
Minnie;  "and  I  think 
it's  a  great  shame." 

"Nonsense!"  said 
her  sister  again ;  "the 
only  thing  is  for  you  to 
stay  in  your  room." 

"  But  I  don't  want 
to  stay  in  my  room, 
and  I  can't." 

"  Oh  dear>'  what 
.can,  I  do  with  this 
child  ?"  exclaimed 
Mrs.  Willoughby, 
whose  patience  was 
giving  way. 

Upon  this  Minnie 
'  went  over  and  kissed 
her,  and  begged  to  be 
forgiven;  and  offered 
to  do  any  thing  that 
darling  Kitty  wanted 
her  to  do. 

Afterthis  they  talk- 
ed a  good  deal  ovep« 
their  difficulty,  but 
without  being  able  to 
see  their  way  out  of  it 
more  clearly. 

That  evenir|g  thev 
were  walking  up  pnd 
down  the  balcony  of 
the  house.  It  was  a 
quadrangular  edifice, 
and  they  had  a  suit 
of  rooms  on  the  sec- 
q,,„  .  o"d  and  third  st(uie^7„x 

which  looked  down  irito  the  court-yard  l«I6w  ' 
A  fountam  w.ts  in  the  middle  of  this,  and  th6 
moon,  was  shining  brightly.         "  ■ 

.^-Thelndies  were  standing  looking  down,  when      , 
M.nnie  gently  touched  her  sister's  arm,  a«d 
whispered,  '    - 

"Look  at  the  man!"  '    / 

"Where?"  -  / 

"By  the  fountain." 

Mrs.  Willoughby  looked,  and  saw  the  face 
of  a  man  w},o  was  standing  on  the  other  side 
of  the  fountain.  His  head  rosembove  it,  and 
his  face  was  turned  toward  them.  He  evidently 
d,d  not  know  that  he  was  seeri,  but  was  watch-  . 
"g  the  ladies,  lihinking  that  he  himself  was  un- 
ob^rved.  ;Th<i  moment jhjUMraJWillougbhy— " 
looked  at  tTia  ?ac6  she  recognized  it.     '    "^'"^  ■ 

"Come  in,"  said  she  to  Minnie.     And  draw- 
mg  her  sister  after  her,  she  wenTinto  /he  house 


w 

(Sit. 


I  knew  the  face;  didn't  ydvi,  KiL  dear?'' 
saidMinnio.  "It's  so  ea^Tyi  ,ell  ^  Jt  was 
Scone  Dacres.  But  wh«Kin Ahe  Lrld  does 
he  want?-   Oh  dc^I^ho^>  >^.t  bother 


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64 


THE  AMERICAN  BARON. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

Till;   INTRUDER. 

JuDCiKO  from  the  Baron's  own  words,  it  will 
bo  perceived  that  his  comprehension  of  the  sit- 
uation was  a  little  ditterent  from  the  actual  fact. 
His  idea  was  that  his  last  letter  had  been  re- 
ceived by  Minnie  in  England,  whereupon  she 
had  been  seized  with  such  an  ungovernable 
longing  to  sec  him  that  she  at  once  set  out  for 
Rpme.  Khe  had  not  sent  him  any  message,  for 
shie  wished  to  surprise  him.  She  had  done  so 
effectually.  He  was  not  merely  surprised ;  he 
was  overwhelmed,  overjoyed,  intoxicated  with 
joy.  This  wos  indeed  kind,  he  thought — the 
true  part  of  a  fond  girl,  who  thus  cast  aside  all 
silly  scruples,  and  followed  the  dictates  of  jicr 
own  noble  and  loving  heart.  / 

Now  the  fact  that  ho  had  made  a  partiarfail- 
ure  of  his  first  visit  to  his  charmer  did  iiot  in 
the  slightest  degree  disconcert  him.  He  was 
naturally  joyous,  hilarious,  and  sanguine.  His 
courage  never  faltered,  nor  could  the  bi-ightness 
of  his  soul  be  easily  dimmed.  A  disappoint- 
ment on  one  day  gave  him  but  liltlo  trouble. 
It  was  quickly  tlirown  off,  and  the)*  his  buoyant 
spirit  looked  forward  for  better  fibrtune  on  the 
next  day.  The  little  disappoiimnent  which  he 
had  did  not,  therefore,  prevent /him  from  letting 
his  reason  feast  and  his  soul  flow  with  Lord 
Hawbury ;  nor,  when  that  Ibstivo  season  was 
over,  did  it  prevent  him  froin  indulging  in  the 
brightest  anticipations  forine  following  day. 

On  the  afternoon  of  that  day,  then,  the  Baron 
directed  his  stops  towara  the  hotel  where  his 
charmer  resided,  his  heart  beating  high,  and  the 
generous  blood  mantling  his  check,  and  all  that 
sort  of  thing.  But^ho  Baron' was  not  alone. 
He  had  a  companion,  and  this  companion  was 
an  acquaintance  wliom  ho  had  made  that  morn- 
ing. This  companion  was  very  tnll,  very  thin,/ 
very  sallow,  witlvlong,  straggling  locks  of  rusty 
black  hair,  whin  neck-tic,  and  a  suit  of  rather 
seedy  black  clothes.  In  fact,  it  was  the  ve»y 
stranger  who/had  been  arrested  almost  under 
his  eyes  as  a/Garibaldian.  His  case  had  come 
under  the  ^otice  of  tho  Baron,  who  had  viiit- 
ed  him,  and  found  him  not  to  bo  a  Garibaldinn 
at  all,  but  a  fellow-countryman  in  distressJ-in 
short,  no  less  a  person  than  the  Reverend  ^ul 
Tozer,/an  esteemed  clergyman^  who  had  bfeen 
traveUiig  through  Europe  for  the  benefit  of  I  his 
health  and  the  enlargement  of  his  knowledge. 
ThW  fellow-countryman  in  distress  had  at  oinco 
be^n  released  by  tho  Baron's  influonco ;  aind, 
n0t  content  with  giving  him,  his  liberty,  he  ^e- 
t^rroined  to  take  him  under  his  protection,  iind 
bffered  to  introduce  him  to  society ;  all  of  wlfich 
generous  offices  wero  fully  appreciated  by  (he 
grateful  clergyman.  \ 


.;; 


L 


the  place  above  mentioned,  and  LbMl^WFobd 
Saul  accompanied  him.  '  .On-.^rnBytthg  it  lie 
knocked,  and  asked  for  Miss  £*Hy. 

"  Not  at  home,",  was  the  reply. 

*■  Oh,  well,"  said  he,  "  I'll  go  in  and  wait  till 


she  comes  home.  Come  along*,  parson,  and 
make  yourself  quite  at  home.  Oh,  never  mind, 
young  man,"  he  continued  to  the  ser\'ant ;  "  I 
know  the  way.  Come  along,  parson."  And 
witli  these  words  he  led  the  way  into  the  re- 
ception-Zoom, in  which  he  had  been  before. 

An  elderly  lody  was  seated  there  whom  the 
Baroiv  recognized  as  having  seen  before.  It  was 
Lady  Dalryinple,  whose  name  was,  of  course, 
unktiown  to  him,  since  he  had  only  exchanged 
a  few  words  oAf  %is  former  visit.  But  as  he  was 
naturally  chivalrous,  and  as  he  was  bent  on  mak-' ' 
'ng  friends  with  all  in  the  house,  and  as  he  was 
also  in  a  glorious  state  of  good-will  to  the  en- 
tire human  race,  he  at  once  advanced  to  the 
lady  and  made  a  low  bow. 

"  How  do  you  do,  ma'am  ?" 

Ludy  Dulrymple  bowed  good-naturedly,  for 
she  was  good-natured  to  a  fault. 

"  I  suppose  you  remember  me,  ma'am,"  snid 
the  Baron,  in  rather  a  loud  voice ;  for,  as  the 
lady  was  elderly,  he  had  a  vague  idea  that  she 
was  deaf — which  impression,  I  may  mentiuii, 
was  altogether  unfounded — *'I  suppose  you  re- 
member me,  ma'am  ?  But  I  haven't  had  tlie 
pleasure  of  a  regular  introduction  to  you ;  so 
we'll  waive  ceremony,  if  you  choose,  and  I'll  in- 
troduce myself.  I'm  the  Baron  Atramonte,  and 
this  is  my  very^,particular  friend,  tho  Reverend 
Saul  Toz'er." 

"I'm  happy  to  make  your  acquaintance," 
said  Lady  Dulrymple,  with  a  smile,  and  not 
taking  the  Baron''s  offered  hand— not,  however, 
from  pride,  but  simply  from  laziness — for  she 
hated  the  bother,  and  didn't  consider  it  good 
taste. 

"I  called  here,  ma'am,"  said  the  Baron,  with- 
out noticing  that  Lady  Dalrvmpio  had  not  in- 
troduced herself—'^  I  called  here,  ma'am,  to  see 
my  young  friend,  Miss  Minnie  Fay.  I'm  very 
sorry  that  she  ain't  at  home;  but  since  I  am 
here,  \  rather  think  I'll  just  set  down  and  wait 
for  heil  I  s'pose  you  couldn't  tell  me,  ma'am, 
about  fcow  long  it  '11  be  before  she  comes  in?" 

Lady  Dalrym))lo  hadn't  any  idea. 

"All\ right,"  said  tho  Baron;  "the  longer 
she  kec/i«,jnc  Availing,  the  more  welcome  she'll 
be  when  sh^hd^^s  come.    That's  all  I've  got  to 

So  the  Bafon  hanSml  a  chair  to  the  Rever- 
end Saul,  and  then  selec'Vhjg  another  for  him- 
self in  a  convenient  position,  n«^ns<;onccdiilm- 
self  in  it  as  snugly  as  possible,  ana<|(it  in  silVn^ 
for  a  few  minutes.  Lady  DalrymfSI*,  took  no 
notice  of  him  whatever,  but  »f>poared  toi»g  en^ 
grossed  with  some  tjiflfl  of  needle-work,     ^v       . 

After  about ^ijrBT'ininutes  the  Baron  rcsumea'^^^J 
the  task  of  making  himself  agreeable. 

H^  cleared  his  throat. 

"  Long  in  these  parts,  ma'am  ?"  ho  asked. 

"Nof  very  long,"  sald^  LndyTJalryifiptefWWr" 
her  usual  bland  good-nature.  -, '  j. 

'*  A  nice  place  this,"  continued  the  BarQ^ 

"Yes." 

"  And  do  yon  keep  your  health,  ma'am?"  in- 
quired the  Baro^^with  some  anxiety.  • 


'  •     „  THE  AMERICAN  BARON. 

«T!L        '^'^  ''^  ""'  «°'"«l  of  footsteps  on    hP        ..  i    ?  "'*  '""^ '"  'ndisposed. "     ^ 
stairs ;  so  he  sat  bolt  unricht  hml  ..      ^  u     ,  Indisposed  ?" 

at  the  door.     There  wrfe'nirf.r       Jh^^^'"      . 

w'^The'r-apSar^d'  '^T^  «— '^  ^    'ou^;;  ^d  dtiitr'""  ''^'-^  ^^  ^"- 
It  was  Mr^wfiCrilT'-   ''  -«  -'  Minnie,    nie'ha J  supulSlharhU  ftS  "^T"",  **- 

be  hurt:  and  this  sll.   /fi"«^.  «''<?"'d  "ot 


It  was  Mrs.  Willonghby 

conversation  with  their  aunt  VVh  ^  ""  ^'''y 
eamestdebate  arose  lZfelt7hat?7°"  "" 
fair  to  leave  their  aunt  alone     i  J    .    r"'  '"" 

anxS  'to  l^To  th*'"T"'"''  ^'""■^  -- 
"•  '       Stlt^.""'"!>:°"jected 


be  hurt;  and  thrs  s^'eS  to  h:irbftf '  ""^ 
est  mode  of  dealing  with  him       °    '  ""*  "'"'- 
I^ndisposed!"  cried  the  Baron. 

serious— or  what  ?"  ^^s  it  any  thing 

th4^°f. ''-^  ««"ous ;  she  has  to  keep  her  room, 

'' She  ain't  sick  abed,  I  hope  ?" 
Ohno-notsobadasthat!" 

blame."  SrLdethL"'*'''"''"^-     ^'""« 


edheroftheVoli'sruLi"  on«fir"''"'-h"  P'"^  «"«  'ookei  v^irLv-  'oh":,"*"r 
easion.     Minnie  simply  rSd^d  I'^Zl ZbT^S'l'^}' ^^^^^^^^^ 

tZt'  tZ  ^..._^'  ■'.-  Mrs.  Wil!   n'iS-r;  i    !"!:  ^-did.he  pass  a  Z 


■a  ,   ~ ""  """I'l.v  ri 


night  ?-does  she  suffer' am'Z^r''"  ^'^ 
any  thing  for  her  ?-w  1,  "^  take  I  mM"  '  '" 
sage  from  me  to  her  ?"  "'^  '"**- 

wi;;oX*!"iiTrr  '^^"  ^'^'^  m™-  « 
-.|^;th^iSt;^-i-p^.^ 

around  for  some    uitabirmean,  off»w'°  '°°'' 
■n  the  conversation,     /s  rrJntdfnC 


Hro»jf        "'""ugnny  Had  already  known  thn        "ti.- 


"No." 

'E 


^'  "'  •■  ">«  graw.  or  like  the  Lm- 


66 


THE  AMERICAN.  BARON. 


ing  flower ;  when  bkstingl  winds  sweep  o'er  the 
Tale,  they  wither  in  an  h<>ur.'  Yes,  ma'am,  I 
have  thig^^|wek  stood  in  i  the  Roman  Forum. 
The  Coli^@n,  also,  m^jam,*  is  a  wonderful 
place.  It  was  built  by  the  Flavian  empwors, 
and  when  completed  couldjhold  eighty  thousand 
spectators  seated,  with  about  twenty  thousand 
standing.  In  hot  weatlier  these  spectators 
were  protected  from  thd  rays  of  the  sun  by 
means  of  awnings.  It  is  a  mighty  fabric, 
ma'am !"  I 

"  I  should  think  so,"  sAid  Lady  Dalrymple. 

"The  arch  of  Titus,  liia'am,  is  a  fine  ruin. 
It  was  originally  built  by  the  emperor  of  that 
name  to  commemorate  the  conquest  of  Jerusa- 
lem. The  arch  of  Septimius  Sevems  was  built 
by  the  Emperor  of  that  ikame,  and  the  arch  of 
Constantine  was  built  by  the  emperor  of  that 
name.  They  are  all  very  remarkable  struc- 
tures." ' 

"I'm  charmed  to  hear  you  say  so." 

"  It's  true,  ma'am ;  but  let  me  add,  ma'am, 
that  the  ruins  of  this  aijcient  city  dp.  not  o<!^^ 
to  my  eyes  a  spectacle!  half  so  melancholy  aS 
the  great  moral  ruin  which  is  presentee)  by  the 
modem  city.  For,  ma*am,  when  I  look  around, 
what  do  I  see  ?  I  behold  the  Babylon  of  the 
Apocalypse !  Pray,  ma'am,  have  you  ever  re- 
flected much  on  that  ?" 

"Not  to  any  great  extent,"  said  Lady  Dal- 
rymple, who  now  began  to  feel  bored,  and 
so  arose  to  her  feet.  The  Reverend  Saul  'f  ozor 
was  just  getting  on  a  full  head  of  conversational 
steam,  and  was  just  fairly  under  way,  when  this 
gad  and  chilling  occurrence'  took  place.  She 
rose  and  bowed  to  the  gentlemen,  and  began  to 
retreat. 

All  this  time  the  Baron  had  been  ponring 
forth  to  Mrs.  Willoughby  his  excited  interroga- 
tories about  Minnie's  health,  and  had  asked  her 
to  take  a  message.  This  Mrs.  Willoughby  re- 
fused at  first. 

"Oh  no  I"  said  she;  "it  will  really  disturb 
her  too  much.  What  she  wants  most  is  per- 
fect quiet.  Her  health  is  really  very  delicate, 
and  I  am  excessively  anxious  about  her." 

"  But  does  she-Hloes  she — is  she — can  she 
walk  aboat  her  o^ra  room?"  stammered  the 
Baron. 

"A  little,"  said;  Mrs.  Willoughby.  "  Oh,  I 
hope  in  a  few  we4ks  she  may  be  able  to  come 
down.  But  the  yery  greatest  care  and  quiet  are 
needed,  for  she  is  in  such  a  very  delicat6  state 
that  we  watch  h«r  night  and  day." 

"A  few  weeks!"  echoed  the  Baron,  in  dis- 
may.    "  Watch  her  night  and  day !" 

"  Oh,  you  know,  it  is  the  only  chance  for  her 
recovery.     She  is  so  delicate." 

,  The  Baron  looked  at  Mrs.  Willoughby  with 
:T»^fais(»mt  apon  which  there  was  real  sufiSer- 


ing  and  real  miseiy. 

"Can't  1  dasomething?"  he  gasped.  "Won't 
yon  take  a  mesMtge  ,tp  her  ?  It  ought  to  do  her 
good.  Perhaps  she  t1iink«  I'm  neglecting  her. 
Perhaps  she  thinks  I  ain't  lierp  enough.  Tell 
her  I'm  ready  to  give  up  my  office,  and  even 


my  title  of  nobility,  and  come  and  live  here,  if 
it  'II  be  apy.comfort  to  her." 

"  Olf,  nSally,  Sir,  you  quite  mistake  her,"  said 
Mrs.  Willoughby.  "  It  has  no  reference  to  you 
whatever.  It's  a  nervous  affection,  accompa- 
nied with  general  debility  and  neuralgia." 

"Oh  no,  you  don't  know  jier,"  said  the  Bar- 
oil,  incredulously.  "  I  know  her.  I  know  what 
tne.     But  she  walks,  don't  she  ?" 

"Yes,  a  little — just  across  the  room;  still, 
even  that  is  too  much.  She  is  very,  very  weak, 
and  must  be  guile  kept  free  from  excitement. 
Even  the  excitement  of  your  visits  is  bad  for 
her.  Her  pulse  is — is — always— accelerated — 
and — shei-rl —    Oh,  dear  me  !*' 

While  Mrs.  Willoughby  had  been  making  up 
this  last  sentence  she  was  startled  by  a  rustling 
on  the  stairs.  It  was  the  rustle  of  a  female's 
dress.  An  awful  thought  occurred  to  her,  whio 
distracted  her,  and  confused  her  in  the  rniddll^ 
of  her  sentence,  and  made  her  scarce  able  to 
articulate  her  words.  And  as  she  spoke  them 
the  rustle  drew  nearer,  and  she  heard  the  sound 
of  feet  descending  the  stairs,  until  at  last  the 
footsteps  approached  the  door,  and  Mrs.  Wil- 
loughby, to  her  utter  horror,  saw,Minnie  hei-self. 

Now  as  to  the  Baron,  in  the  coarse  of  bis 
animated  conversation  with  Mrs.  Willoughby, 
and  in  his  excited  entreaties  to  her  to  carry  a 
message  up  to  the  invalid,  he  had  turned  round 
with  his  back  to  the  door.  It  was  about  the 
time  that  Lady  Dalrymple  had  begun  to  beat  a 
retreat.  As  she  advanced  the  ^M^^^w  her, 
and,  with  his  usual  politeness.  ^^^^Iver  so 
far  to  one  side,  bowing  low  as  hnPH^  Lady 
Dalrymple  passed,  the  !Baron  raisea  himself, 
and  as  Mrs.  Willoughby  was'  yf  |;  speaking,  and 
had  just  reached  the  excta^^ion  which  con- 
cluded her  last  remark,  he  was  astounded  by 
the  sudden  appearance  of  Minnie  herself  at  the 
door.      '  '  *• 

The  effiect  of  this  sudden  appearance  was 
overwhelming.  Btrs.  Willoughby  stood  thun- 
der-struck, and  (he  Baron  utterly  bewildered. 
The  latter  recovered  his  faculties  first.  It  was 
just  as  Lady  Dalrymple  was  passing  out.  With 
a  bound  he  sprang  toward  Minnie,  and  caught 
her  ill  his  arms,  uttering  a  series  of  inarticalate 
cries. 

"  Oh,  Min !  and  yon  did  come  down,  did 
you  ?  And  you  couldn't  stay  up  there,  conld 
you?  I  wanted  to  send  a  message  to  yon. 
Poor  little  Min !  you're  so  weak.  Is  it  any 
thing  serious?  Oh,  my  darling  little  Min! 
But  sit  down  on  this  here  seat.  Don't  stand ; 
you're  too  weak.  Why  didn't  you  send,  and 
I'd  have  cari-ied  yon  down  ?  But  tell  me  now, 
honest,  wasn't  it  me  that  brought  this  on? 
Never  mind,  ni  never  leave  you  again."    '^    f 

This  ia  t}ie  atyla  which  the,  gallant  faron 
adopted  to  express  his  sentiments  coBeemlng 
Minnie ;  and  the  result  was  that  he  slfikeeiled 
in  ^ing  utterance  to  words  that  were  quite  m 
incoherent  a*  any  that  Minnie  herself,  in  her 
most  rambling  moods,  had  ever  uttered. 

The  Baron  now  gave  himself  ap  te  joy.    Ha 


■■/. 


THE  AMERICAN  BARON, 
took  no  notice  of  any  body.     He  gat  hv  iw-      ,      ^   .  ^ 

And  Minnie  obeyed  at  oncn  *^°  *''*  foHowing  day  the  Tiamr,  ..oii  j 

The  Ba,.ninsistLon?t"ender  adieu      M«     oXih  '^^'"'''- '-hVL^Zetd  tXd 


heaving  breaat. 
Minnie  followed  her  np  stairs  in  silence 
"Yon  silly  child  I"  she  cried      "Ar!"' 
--d?     What  „,ade  you  coTe'downl"  C 
broke  your  promise ! " 

tt  1TP     It 


week  for  the  world. 

■'Now,  Kitty,  you're  horrid." 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

THB  BABON's  ASSAOLT8. 

!,.?!»'"  r*""'"'  »'*«™°«n  when  the  Baron 
ha*  effected  an  entrance  into  the  heart  of  ^e 
«nemy  ,  connt^r,  mother  caller  had  come  there 

b";;?  n„»''""^  •"""*  '"•'  ^""^^y  determineT 
buf  not  quite  «,  aggressive.     This  wm  ,h« 

Count  Girasole.  The  same  -Miswer  w«?^ve„ 
Sthrdi'  "'  ^''"  «ivenr^«.be  B^„'f rut 
kil  K  h  T*!!'  ""^^  The  Ban>n  had  care- 
=:^y  brushed  tl»aHgbrob.tacle  aside.  To"he 
Count  It  was  an  impenetrable  Wrier      It  was 

Vey  bad  ohAn«»i  ,u^t, ,.  .  °  "**/• 


«k;d''Mr:'a:X""'''"'^^ 

said.Mlrni'e."""'-     ^'"'-'•""^''orry  for  bim." 

next^nV -!'""'•  ^"P"'"  '^''•'^  '^i"  ^  here 
next      Of  course  yon  will  see  him?" 

I  suppose  so,"  said  Minnie,  resignedlv. 
'  And  how  long  do  you  think  this  ^n  of 
thing  can  go  on?     They'll  meet    anrf  m^ 
will  he  shed."  ^  '  "'"'  '''<^ 

•'Oh  dear  1     ly afraid  so." 
"  Then  I'm  not  going  to  allow  it.     IVe  tele- 
graphed  to  papa.     Hell  see  whether  you  to" 
iCOingto  ha»«  ,o«  own  way  ^Hof,^^^^^^^ 


d„  ./'"  '""  ^  "l""''  «»«  What  dear  papa  can 
Ueve  th«  tjiey  h«i  changed  their  wntimenu  |  JTorriT"^-    "  """"  """"•    ^'"'i''"  »>I 


:.^- 


TfiE  AMERICAN  BARON. 


"This  last  one^this  Gann — is  to^  most  ter- 
rible man  I  ever  saw." 

"  Oh,  Kitty  dearest !  How  can  yon  ?ay  so  ? 
Why,  his  rudeness  and  violence  are  peJ^ctly 
irresistible.  He's  charming.  He  bullies  pne 
so  deliciously." 

Mrs.  Willonghby  at  this  turned  away  in  de* 
spair.  > 

Minnie's  very  peculiar  situation  was  certainly 
t.^  one  which  required  a  speedy  change.  The 
forced  entrance  of  the  Baron  had  thrown  eon- 
atemation  into  the  family.  Ethel  herself  had 
been  roused,  and  took  a  part  in  the  debate. 
She  began  to  see  Minnie  in  a  new  light,  and 
Hawbury's  attention  to  her. began  tb  assume 
the  appearance  of  a  very  monmful  joke.  To 
her  mind  Minnie  was  now  the  snbject  of  despe- 
rate attention  from  five  men. 

Thus: 


"    i;  Xor J  Hawhnry.  '       ~ 

2.  Count  Girasole. 
8.  Scone  Dacres. 
4.  Bnron  Atramonte. 

6.  Cnptain  Kirby,  of  whom  Mrs.  WillougHby 
had  just  told  her. 

i  ■  **..        .        '  '■ 


And  of  these,  four 
had  saved  her  Jlfe, 
and  consequently  had 
th«  strongest  possible 
claims  on  her. 

And  the  only  sat- 
isfaction which  Ethel 
could  gain  out  of  this 
was  the  thought  that 
Hawbury,  at  least, 
had  not  saved  Min- 
nie's lli^. 

And  now  to  pro- 
ceed. 

The  Baron  called, 
as  has  been  said,  on 
the  following  day. 
This  time  he  did  not 
bring  the  Reverend 
Saul  with  him.  He 
wished  to  see  Minnie 
"alone,  and  felt  the 
presence  of  third  per- 
sons to  be  rather  un- 
pleasant. 

On  ijeaching  the 
place  he  was  told,  as 
before,  that  the  ladies 
were  not  at  home. 

Now  the  Baron  re- 
membered that  on  the 
preceding  day  the 
servant  bad  said  the 
same,  while  all  the 
time  the  ladies  were 
"home.  He  was  char- 
itably inclined  to  sup- 
pose that  it  was  a  mis- 
take, and  not  a  delib- 
erate lie ;  and,  as  he 
was  in  a  frame  of 
good-will  to  mankind,  he  adopted  this*  first 
theory. 

"  All  right,  yonng  man,^  said  he ;  "  bnt  as 
you  lied  yesterday — under  a  mistake — I  prefer 
seeing  for  myself  to-day." 

S9  the  Baron  brushed  by  the  servant,  and 
weift  !■.  He  entered  the  room.  No  one  was 
there.  He  waited  a  little  while,  and  thought. 
He  was  too  impatient  to  wait  long.  He  could 
not  trust  these  lying  servants.  So  he  determ- 
ined to  try  for  himself.  Her  room  was  up 
stairs,  somewhere  in  the  story  above. 

So  he  went  out  of  the  room,  and  up  the  8tair% 
until  his  head  was  on  a  level  with  t{)e  floor  ot 
the  story  above.     Then  he  called :     '  ■ 

"Ml/"  / 

No  answer.  / 

"  MiN  1"  in  a  londer  roice. 
No  answer. 


•'MINI  it's  5ffi!»  itiirfonder7 
No  answer.     \ 


"MINr  a  perfect  yell. 

At  this  last  shout  there  was  a  response.  One 
of  the  doors  opened,  and  a  lady  made  her  ap- 
pearance, while  at  two  other  doors  appeared 


"Really?  ] 
The  lady  reti 
"Well,  dam 
pery,"  muttered 
thing.  lonlyai 
Well,  she  must 
she'd  have  made 
go  out  and  hum 
me  altogether  e 
them.  They're 
With  these  ol 
on  descended  th 
the  door.  Here 
upon  the  servant 
the  other  on  the 
of  the  day.  Aft 
parture. 

The  Baron  thi 

and  reappeared  I 

a  gallant  steed,  a 

In  due  time  he  re 

and  then  he  ascei 

he  rode  about  fa 

pereeverance  was 

dowb  from  the  sni 

««M  betow,  when  1 

in  which  were  thre 

the  front  seai,  and : 

en  halt-  seemed  tc 

soaght. 

In  an  instant  he 

rode  down  the  hill 

groat  alarm  of  the 

Mdd#W^^    iRas 

with  the  Arriage. 

right  one,  and  Mini 

I*dy  Dalrymple  a 

(•dies,  on  learning  0 

emotion.     They  we 

signed.     They  hai 

ilioaM  haw^TO  me 

floors;  and  since  tl 

•Itogether,  they  wot 

present  to  his  advam 

'••"oming  desperate, 

_  Iiord  Hawbury  wi 

ne  Baron  came  up. 


THE  AMERICAN  BABON. 


\ 


ful  and  her  face  was  stern,  and  her  dark  eyes 
looked  indignantly  toward  the  Baron  ^ 

what  do  you  want  ?"  ^' 

V     "Me?    I'm  the  Baron  Atramonte-  and  I 
"•^^::'^.,  ^-''yo- know  where  sh;i:?"' 
"Min." 

^Y«,.    MyMin-Minnie,youknow.    Min- 

utter  Co?'  '"'^^  '""•'''*  ■"  *^"  ^»~"  ^i'h 
"I  washer."  ■ 

«w  n"  H." '"""'''"«'•'' the  lady. 

""Yes." 

"  Really  ?    Ho\or  bright  now  ?" 
The  lady  retired^^nd  shut  the  door. 
Well,  dam  it  i 
pery, "  muttered  the  ^ 

wL"if  J ""'^    .    ^  *°l^ qaestion.    OutThev ?  I      Mmnr»"L°''  ""•"*. '"  "'""«"  «rtie«s  replies. 
Well  she  must  be  this\ime.     If  she'd  been  in     hJ^l       "I  "'"'"K  °"  ""e  front  seat  of  the 
she'd haye made  her applrance.    WeH  VdCl  j!^,""''*''  ""*  '""'  *1°»«  «  that  seat     As  he 
go  out  and  hunt  her  upTThe^  dWt  seet  to   W  t"'"  ""*"  '"'"■'^^  ""^^  «f  '"«  c-^.^ 


«r.r ?""" '"  "'•* '"'  *°  *«  fonner.    « fiow  do  ? 
and  Aoio  are  vou  all  ?     ixn.-  ti     V        .  '  ■ 

w.».t;..r„"rs'xi:''  -"••  "••  «■". 

WHS  at  ail  remarkable.     Now  hnwnvo.  i,« 
Uced  the  yeiy  great  family  of  hTt^nea"^^ 

-rrnerLitcTbirnrr^r 

Mou  neednTbe  so  ^r^G^^S^r^'--^^'^^^^^ 
Wn.     "I  didn't  say  any   on's  irnLuLr'^   r^'^L^'""'"'""*'" '» '^e  Bar. 
^••--  -estion.    Out,'hey^   ^nnfe T.'  ZH  Mmnie's  artless  ..plies. 


-  -"vo»*  vuscrruiions  t 

on  descended  the  stairs,  ank  made  his  wa^To 
the  door.     Here  he  threw  An  engaging  sLe 

r"  .V  '  "'"?''  '''"*  '"«"^«  AremariTwhich  ^t 
the  other  on  the  broad  grin  ^r  the  remaindw 
of^he^day.     After  this  the  B^ron  took  his  t 

The  Baron  this  time  went  to  some  stables 
nd  reaDoeaiwrl  )«  »  ,u .  .-  °"""?"i 


aapossible     TheBaYnTasl^redi^gly  hT 

of  hU^        -P'"?*'"  *'""'«^  i'^'lf  in  the  flush 
of  his  face,  ,n  the  glow  of  his  eyes,  and  in  i^e 

Knn'e^'T"*'  *"'  •"-»>»'-c-«  -weVof 
ms  manner      Hip  voice  was  loud,  his  irestnreii 

by^umrto'^:'  "f  ""  •i^"""-'"  -">  addrS 
oCToon  r.''  .rJ:.'^«_-P-y-..   The 


„„  „u„  i,„jB  ^g„j  (^  stablfis     hv  ».,..«.  .      '   .  roinariM  werq  addressed 

and  reappeared  In  a  short  time  mounted  n£  ofh«T  "'"''  ™*'  *"  '^e  company.  %^ 
agaUanlsteed,  and  careering  dbwn  the  00^  left  hairto  Tn"''  ""'  ""«'"'"  »'  '"'k.  «nd 
«^H,if  "1?'  ''"  '""'^'^  '^^  P'««  del  Pop^o  Mn.  wllu^  kk  ^"T"  ''"'*>'  Dalrymple  and 
and  then  he  ascended  the  Pincian  Hill.  K  S^hT  rf,  .''^  «'=»"'"K«d  glances  of  despair 
he  rode  about  for  some  time,  and  finalirh  «  S -^^•-  ''  "^  ° '" '^ 
pej^yerance  was  rewarded.  He  was  Jking  selTanH  r"""''}^  ''*''"'  P^^^^W  «««f-lH^ 
do*-h  from  the  summit  of  the  hiU  upon  Zpi-iA.lh  *='»"'!"«<1  ^'h  her  usual  simplidT 
a«a  betew,  when  he  caught  sight  of  fbaCcS  L«t  u  fl?"^  *•""  "^^  "^  *ey  met  a  hor^ 
mwhichwerethreeladies.  One  of  these  s^f^  iT"'^S«T''^Pj'*  «'""«=«»''«'''»  »f»he^ 
the  front  «,«;.nj  I...  _...•.-,  ..      »«K»  I  It^was  Girasole.     The  ladies  bowed,  and  Mre. 


Will  Xi!  t ',  ^"'  '■"•**  bowed,  and  Mrs. 
WiUoughby  wkbed  that  he  had  coie  .  S 

beside  the  carna,^  where  the  Baron  now  wm! 
But  the  place  w«?now  appwpriatedT  anH  th^t 
w«  no  chance  for  the  CoT'll^:^^^, 

utJ;rrv„t"''L^!i-'««^--p««i- 


.^frout.a,«,dherwW;efrerdro«":,^ 

I^ugh?  *^  '"'*'"'"' '°  ^''^  '•>«  »»«  he 

In  an  insUnt  he  put  spurs  to  hu  horse  and 

^a't  r"  ""?  "i!^'  "  *»"••=''  «  possiS;  the 

greatatorm  of  the  crowds  who  were  goinir  nn  h»a  i^^V" "."  ""'  "'"""'•     ^iirasoie  threw  a 

wtth  the  ^mage.     He  was  right.     It  was  the  U    fh-  J^^  '"^-     H»whury  nodded  Mghtly 

right  one,  and  Minnie  w«,  the^,  toge  her  wifh  ?urttr  nT  '  '?!'""*»'*  •PP'"  »»  ^ke  4 
Ljdy  Dal^rmple  and  M«.  WiUoughby      The  few  mo^nt    "?'!"•  o^  "•^»  '""k  up  but  i 
ladies,  on  learning  of  his  approach  exhibited  n^       kk    T    1' '""'  *"  <^<"""  Pw«ed  on. 
emotion.     They  were  pre^Mfo;  S^^^"  L^i^T^^  '"*'/'"'y  ""«'  -^her  hS^emiS. 

^Wh.«Bomore  fnieryiews  with  himT  wm  turned  triT^''  •^-  ^®*«°^«''  h«^k 
-^  ^mce  they  could  not  imprison  her  M^hisTact  W  m  ""'  ^  ***  "''«  """^  •»«>» 
ley  would  h».  . I,-:.  !.-_    ;      !r°.""  '"ee,  but  his  eyes  were  <l«wi  .,.^„  »#_ 


donr.-  .r^A    •     ^     ■"wmews  with  him  in- 

nl^t^'vf"^. ''*'"''*  "**'•  ««  '"hmit  for  the 
Knt^dt^'.^tS'^-    ^-''-'y-^-Pi^ 


1 


■»«  1.1   f      ■-•—■"  """.  w  Miat  She  could  not 

Will      vu"'  •'"i"'  'y*"  '^«"'  «*ed  upon  M« 
WiUooghby      She  looked  back  at  him  wd 

bowed,  a.  did  also  Lady  Dalvwple.     He  tS^k 
off  hi.  hi,t,  and  the  carri^  roUed  put.     S 

Minnie  caught  right  of  him,  ud  .mUed  wi.. 


'.-^■l 


w 


^,?- 


Ik 


Tj*-- 


"If 


70 


r  \ 
THE  AMERICAN  BARON. 


bowed.     And  then  in  a  few  mon^nu  more  the 
crowd  swallowed  up  Scone  Dacrea. 

The  Baron  thna  enjoyed  himself  iq  a  large, 
^nbrnrant  fashion,  and  monopolized  the  qpn- 
▼etsation  in  a  large,  exuberant  way.  He  out- 
did, himself.  He  confided  to  the  ladies  his, 
pbns  for  the  regeneration  of  the  Roman  Church 
and  the  Roman  State.  He  told  stories  of  his 
adventures  in  the  Rocky  Mount^ns.  He  men- 
tioned the  state  of  his  finances,  and  his  pros- 
pects for  thQ -future.  He  wa^  as  open,  as  free, 
and  as  communicative  as  if  be  had  been  at  home, 
with  (pud  sisters  and  admiring  brothers  around 
him.  The  ladies  were  disgusted  at  it  all ;  and 
by  the  ladies  I  mean  only  Mrs.  WiUoughby  and 
Lady  Dalrymple,  For  Minnie  was  not — she 
actually  listened  in  delight.  It  was  not  con- 
ventional. Very  welL  Neither  was  the  Bar- 
on. And  for  that  matter,  neither  was  she. 
He  was  a  child  of  nature.  So  was  she.  Hit 
rudeness,  his  aggressiveness,  his  noise,  his  talk- 
ativeness, his  egotism,  his  confidences  about 
himself— all  these  did  not  make  him  so  very 
disagreeable  to  her  as  to  her  sister  and  aunt. 

So  Minnie  treated  the  Baron  with  the  utmost 
eomplaisance,  and  Hawbury  was  surprised,  and 
Mrs.  WiUoughby  and  Lady  Dalrymple  were  dis- 
gusted ;  but  the  Baron  was  deUghted,  and  his 
soul  was  filled  with  perfect  joy.  Too  soon  for 
liim  was  this  drive  over.  But  the  end  came,  and 
they  reached  A«  hotel.  Hawbnry  left  them,  bnt 
,the  Baron  lingered.  The  spot  was  too  sweet,  the 
-charm  too  dear — he  could  not  tear  himself  away. 

In  fact,  he'  actually  follbwed  the  ladies  into 
-tbe  house. 

" I'think  ni  just  make  myself  comfortable 
in  here,  Min,  till  you  come  down,"  said  the 
Baron.  And  with  these  words  he  walked  into 
the  reception-room,  where  he  selected  a  place 
(HI  a  sofa,  and  composed  himself  to  wait  pa- 
tientiy  for  Minnie  to  come  down. 

So  he  waited,  and  waited,  and  waited — but 
Minnie  did  not  come.  At  last  he  grew  impa- 
tient He  walked  out,  and  up  the  stairs,  and 
listened. 

He  beard  ladies'  voices. 

He  spoke. 

"Afin/" 
'    No  answer. 

"  Mm !"  louder- 
No  answer. 

"MIN!     HALLO-0-(M)!" 

No  answer. 

"  iffiV/"  a  perfect  shout. 

At  this  a  door  was  opened  violently,  and 
Mrs.  WiUoughby  walked  but.  Hqr  cheeks 
were  fiushed,  and  her  eyes  glanced  fire. 

"Sir,"  she  said,  "this  is  intolerable!     Yon 
must  be  intoxicated.     Cro  away  at  onoe,  or  I 
liftll  certainly  have  you  turned  out  of  the  honsei- 

And  saying  this  she  went  back,  sbnt  the 
door,  and  locked  it.  ' 

The  ^aron  was  thunder-stmck.  ^e  had 
never  bein  treated  so  in  his  life.  Be  was 
ont  to  the  heart.  His  feelings  wei^  deeply 
vounded. 

S      , 


"  Dam  it !"  he  muttered.  "  What's  all  this 
for?     I  ain't  been  doing  any  thing." 

He  walked  out  very  thoughtfully.  He  couldn't 
understand  it  at  all.  He  was  troubled  for  some 
time.  But  at  la^  his  buoyant  spirit  rose  su- 
perior to  this  temporary  depression.  To-mor- 
row would  explain  «U,  he  thought.  Yes,  to- 
morrow would  make  it  all  right.  To-morrow 
he  wotuld  see  Min,  and  get  her  to  tell  him  what 
in  thti^der  the  row  was.  She'd  havu  to  teU, 
for  he  \  could  never  find  out  So  he  made  up 
his  mind  to  keep  his  soul  in  patience. 

That  evening  Hawbnry  was  over  at  the  Bar- 
on's qna^rs,  by  special  invitation,  and  the 
Baron  decided  to  ask  his  advice.  So  in  the 
course  of  the  evening,  while  in  the  full,  easy, 
and  confidential  mood  that  arises  out  of  social 
intercourse,  he  told  Hawbnry  his  whole  story- 
beginning  with  the  account  of  his  first  meeting 
with  Minnie,  and  his  rescue  of  her,  and  her  ac- 
ceptance of  him,  down  to  this  vi^ry  day,  when 
he  had  been  so  terribly  snubbed  by  Mrs.  Wi}- 
loughby.  To  all  this  Hawbury  listened  in  amaze- 
ment. It  was  completely  new  to  him.  '  He  won- 
dered particularly  to  find  another  man  who  had 
saved  the  life  of  this  quiet,  timid  little  girl. 

The  Baron  asked  his  advice,  but  Hanbnry 
declined  giving  any.  He  said  he  couldn't  ad- 
vise any  man  in  a  love-afiair.  Every  man  must 
trust  to  himself.  Na  one's  advice  could  be  of 
any  avail.  Hawbnry,  in  fact,  was  puzzled,  bnt 
he  said  the  best  be  could.  The  Baron  himself. 
was  fiilly  of  Hawbury's  opinion.  He  swore  that 
it  was  trul^  and  deslared  the  man  that  followed 
another's  advice  in  a  love-afikir  was  a  "  darned 
fool  that  didn't  deserve  to  win  his  gal." 

There  foUowed  a  general  conversation  on 
things  of  a  difi'erent  kind.  The  Baron  again 
discoursed  on  church  aAd  state.  He  then  ex- 
hibited some  cnriositie^.  Among  other  things 
a  skull.  He  nsed  it  |o  hold  his  tobacco.  He 
declared  that  it  was/ the  skull  of  an  ancient 
Roman.  On  the  inside  was  a  paper  pasted 
there,  on  which  he  l^d  written  the  following : 

"Ob,  I'm  the  skoU/of  a  Roman  bold 
That  fit  in  the/ancient  war; 
From  East  to  VV'est  I  bore  the  flog 
Of  a  P.  Q.  «9a  B. 

"In  East  and  ^est,  and  North  and  South, 
We  made  the  nations  (ear  ns— 
Both  Nebnc^nesEor  and  Hannibal, 
And  Phar^h  too,  and  Fjrirhns. 

"We  took  their  statntes  from  the  Qreeks, 
And  \ot$  of  manuscripts  too; 
We  set  adrift  on  his  %orld-wlde  tramp 
The  oilginal  wandering  Jew. 

"Bnt  at  Itft  the  beggarlj. Dutchman  came, 
With  bis  U«er  and  ■aUerkrant; 
And  wherever  that  beggaiiy  Dntclunan  went 
He  nrade  a  terrible  rout 

"Wo^MrdK  SeatscbwV)  Vatariaadt 


Is  it  near  the  ocean  wildf 
Is  it  where  the  featheiy  palm-trees  grow?  , 
Not  there,  not  there,  mj  child. 

"Bnt  it's  somewhere  down  aronnd  the  Bhine; 
And  now  that  Bismarck's  come, 
Down  goea  Napoleon  to  the  grooiid, 
And  away  goes  the  Pope  from  Borne  r 


^  .y- J'^}^„dh^^ 


CHAPTER  XVm. 

"Hfc    SAVEb    MT    LIPB." 

Mrl'^w^n'  '^'"  *^^  ""y  '°"««"-'"  exclaimed 
Mrs  WiUoughby.  "  Here  yon  are  getdng 
into  all  sort*  of  difflcultiei^  'each  one  wo.^ 

Sm'  v""":-     '•'*'"«*  I  don't  «>ewhry^ 

should.      You're  ytty  quiet,  Minnie  deir^st, 

but  you  have  more  unpleasant  adventures  than 

any  person  I  ever  heard  of.     You're  run  away 

with  on  horseback,  you're  shipwrecftd,  you're 

swept  down  a  precipice  by  an  avahinche  and 

yon  fa^   into  the  crater  of  a  burning  vokana 

Everr  time  there  is  some  horrid  man  who  mvm 

you  and  then  proposes.     As  for  you,  yoH" 

cep    them  all  with  equal  readineL.l^e  after 

another,  and  what  is  won.e,  you  won't  give  any 

of  It  "^,  ^"^  "'"'''  J^"  explicitly  which 
of  them  you-U  give  up,  and  you  actuaDy  refuse 
to  say      My  dear  child,  what  are  you  thinking 

«nyoTtLr'v''*r.'"-  You  can't  havf 
any  of  them.  None  of  them  are  agreeable  to 
your  family;  They're  horrid.  Wh^re  yo^ 
going  to  do?  Oh,  how  I  wish  yon  hsdlZ 
mamma  to  take  cftre  of  yon !  But  she  is  i^a 
better  world.  And  here  Is  poor  dear  paVk  who 
can  t  come.     How  shocked  he  would  be  if  he 

?.S'll  •  ^'""  '"  "''"''  ""^  •"  'h«t  dread! 
ful  American  savage,  who  is  gradually  killing 
me.  He  certainly  wUl  be  my  death.  Whaf 
ami  to  do.  dear?  Can't  yon  possibly  show  a 
little  sense  yonrsefr-only  a  little,  dL-Jad 

Si«.  nf  I.  "^^  *•*"'  y°"'  '^""e^  "he  has 
troubles  of  her  own,  poor  darling ;  and  aunty  is 
really  quite  ill  with  anxiety,  ^^hat  arelTg^ 
mg  to  do  ?  I  know  on,^.thing.  /'„  not  go£ 
to  put  up  w,*  it.  My  miW  is  made  up.  rn 
leave  Rome  at  once,  and  go  home  and  tell 

"Itw',L°°Kr''l°''  r'"^  **»'"  "'d  Minnie. 
It  8  my  trouble.    I  can't  help  it.    They  would 
come     I'm  sure  /don't  know  what  to  do  '• 
.1.         .  '  ^^  "**^"''  ^  «o  awfully  kind  to 

uTnn  •  J""'"  '""'*  «"«<•»«««.  them  s^ 
It  8  no  use  for  me  to  tiy  to  keep  them  a^ay  if 
you  make  them  aU  so  welcome"  Now  EI 
thatdreadfnlltal&n.  I'm  posifive  heVSg 
to  get  op  some  unpleasant  plot.  These  Italian! 
rf'^/^.l*"'"*"^"'-  And  he  thinks  you-re 
ngnt,  too.  You  always  act  as  -if  you're  fond 
of  him,  and  all  the  rest.  As  To  that  terrible 
f;^Sy"^^'-'^<»'<>*^^-^ofhim; 

«:.''& a^tfe'?.~  "^"''^  -"^'"^  *» 
nf  lKl?l?^°  ^^^  •»«  *0'»ld  deprive  me 


TilE  AMERICAN  BARON. 


«M^M?  *•""*  '"^'  ^'^  "de  to  him,  Kitty," 
«id_Mi„n.e,  severely.  «.nd  ver,.  ^.y  ?h- 

.      "I  intended  to  be  10. " 

^JaIJ^^.  ^\^^^  «»7'nK.  and  ninning  out 
ud  explaining  thingi." 


»K 


dolr^  '  n^  ^''°  ^'^'  '"i^  ""  ^^  »°d'  locked  the 
amle„2^JT  ''^'<=''«d '*"'«  «Uy  goose,  what 
am  1  ever  to  do  with  such  a  child  as  yon  are  I 
You're  really  not  a  bit  better  than  a  bTby  '^ 

wwing  he  Baron's  last  eventful  call.  Poor 
J^TawaW^r  '"'""  '» desperetion.  and 

and  sn  «h  .  •  5"  """""y'  •""  "»»  nnsuccessfnl; 
P^l         ^i"***  *""=«  "«»*  'o  have  some  inflJi^ 

rhe^.^sr''^  """•"--"- -'•>-^^ 

an  Indian/'  '^'"*""'"'  '^^'^^     \^^''^^  ^e's 

hi™ '\*I"*  ^  '^°"''  *««  any  thing  savage  in 
him      He's  as  gentle  and  as  kind  af  he  caf  bi 
And  he's  so  awfully  fond  of  me  " 

InH  !k'  '^"'8  possession  of  the  house 

And  then  poor  dear  aunty  I     Oh,  how  she  «,„ 
shocked  and  horrified  I" 

wal'so irr  *"' " "^  "^""y  ''""'^  "f '»«.  and 
was  so  perfectly  oKtty  to  see  me." 

'And  then,  just  as  I  was  beginning  to  per- 

scrnT  ""^''^  ^"^"'^'  '-^ '"-'  »'?- 

wi.1'^*"'  'f°°>dn't  bear  to  have  him  so  sad. 
whe^  he  safed  my  life,  and  so  I  just  though 
I  <f  show  myself,  so  as  to  put  him  at  ease  " 

<n».»V'*'i^  '''^  '°  *•"'  yourself-to  let  a 
great,  homd  man  treat  you  so." 

*' Well,  that's  what  they  aU do,"  said  Minnie, 
pbintively.     "I'm  sure  /can't  help  if'        ^ 

Whv  MiJn!^!,  T  """*  '''"'  ""*'''  »  ohild! 
M^t         ^  *^''°*  y""  """"  know  that  su. 
things  are  very,  very  iU-bred,  and  very  ve 
indelicate  and  unrefined.    And  then,  S  how 
he  came  forcing  himself  upon  us  when  we  were 

edTNo  ?"''"''  "•  '^''"''  "«  wasnW^ 
tlL  •  ?:  **'*  "''"««•  And  then,  how  he 
kept  givihg  ns  all  a  histoiy  of  his  life  EverJ 
body  could  hear  him,  and  people  stared  «,  th2 
It  was  really  quite  shocking. " 

"Oh,  that's  because  he  is  so  very,  very  frank 

On'll^r'l  °/  '^i*''^'  '  •''«>n»d  think  not 
Only  think  how  he  acted  yesterday-foreing 
his  way  in  and  rushmg  up  stair..  Why  i?i 
actually  quite  frightful.'  H^e's  «S  .  3il' 
We  will  have  to  keep  all  the  door.  lockeTwd 
send  for  the  police.  Why,  do  yon  knol^EtTd 
says  th«t  he  was  here  before;  running  abont 
and  shouting  in  the  same  way:  'Mini'  «Minr 

. '"  V^*' "  *•"**  *''®  """"^d  wretch  eaUs  yon 
—'Mm  I  It's  me.',    ' Come,  Min I' "  ^ 

A,t  this  Minnie  burst  into  a  peal  of  menr 
musical  la^,  and  laughed  orSll  th^SS 
SedllSe?:^    2«r.tt*er1ooke*lnoiilB^ 

"  He's  such  a  boy,"  said  ffflmie ;  «  he's  jott 

child,  he  s  a  big  boy,  and  the«»fi,Ue.t,  fannlett 
boy  I  ever  «iw  And  then  he's  «,  ft,nd  of  mT 
.i^l^^''^*?'  "»••  O*"'  •''•  *''ft«Ily  nice." 
Aooyl    A  beast,  yon  mean— *  horrid  i»T- 


III 


79 


THE  AMERICAN  BARON. 


age.  What  eon  I  do  ?  I  mast  send  for  a  po- 
liceman, TU  certainly  have  the  doors  all  locked. 
And  then  we'll'all  be  prisonem," 

"Well,  then,  A  '11  all  be  your  own  fault,  for,; 
/don't  want  to  ht^ve  any  doors  locked." 

"Oh  deatJIi  sighed  her  sister. 

•'Well,  I  ion't.  And  I  think  you're  very 
unkind." 

"  Why,  yon  silly  child,  he'd  come  here  some 
day,  carry  yon  off,  and  make  you  marry  him." 

"  Well,  I  do  wish  he  would,"  said  Minnie, 
gravely.  "  I  wish  somebody  would,  for  then  it 
wonld  put  a  stop  to  all  thi&  wop7,  and  I  really 
don't  know  what  else  ever- will.  Do  you,  now, 
Kitty  darling?" 

Mrs.  WiDoughby  turned  a^way  with  a  gesture 
of  despair. 

An  hour  or  two  after  some  letters  were  brought 
in,  one  of  which- was  addressed  to 

M188  FaTj 

Potte  Restmte, 

Roma. 

Minnie  opened  this,  and  looked  over  it  with 
a  troubled  air.  Then  she  spoke  to  her  sister, 
and  they  both  wedt  off  to  Minnie's  room. 

"  Who  do  you  think  this  is  from  7"  she  asked. 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know !  Of  course  it's  some 
more  trouble." 

"  It's  from  Coptain  Kirby." 

"Oh,  of  course!'  And  of  course  he's  here 
in  Borne  ?" 

"No,  he  isn't."    . 

"What!     Not  yet?" 

"  No ;  but  he  wro^o  this  from  London.  He 
has  been  to  the  hous^t  and  learned  that  we  had 
gone  to  Italy.  He  says  ho  has  sent  off  letters 
to  me,  directed  to  evei^  city  in  Italy,  so  that  I 
may  be  sure  to  get  it.    Isn't  that  good  of  him  ?" 

"Well?"  asked  Mrs.  Willoughby,  repressing 
an  exclamation  of  vexation. 

"  Well,  be  says  that  in  three  days  he  will 
leave,  and  go  first  to  Rome,  as  he  thinks  we 
will  be  most  likely  to  be  there  this  season. 
And  so,  yon  see,  he's  coming  on ;  and  he  will 
be  here  in  three  days,  yoo  know." 
.  "Minnie,"  said  her  sister,  after  some  mo- 
ments' solemn  thought. 

"WeU,  Kitty  darling?" 

"Do  yon  ever  think?" 

"I  don't  know." 

'  *  Would  yon  like  one  of  these  gentlemen  of 
yours  to  blow  one  of  the  others'  brains  out,  or 
stab  him,  or  any  thing  of  that  sort  ?" 

' '  How  shocking  you  are,  fotty  dear !  What 
a  dreadful  question !" 

"  Well,  understand  me  now.  One  of  them 
wUl  do  that,  "i^ere  will  be  trouble,  and  your 
name  will  be  associated  with  it." 

ySell, "  said  MiB&ie, ' '  I^bow  who  icoii't  be 


shot." 

"Who?" 

"  Why,  Bnfns  K.  Gnnn,"  said  she,  in  the  fun- 
ny, prim  way  in  which  she  always  pronounced 
that  name.  "  If  he  finds  it  out,  he'll  drive  all 
the  others  away." 


"  And  would  you  like  that  7" 

"  Well,  you  know,  he's  awfully  fond  of  me, 
and  he's  so  like  a  boy :  and  if  I'm  such  a  child, 
I  could  do  better  with  a  man,  you  know,  that's 
like  a  boy,  you  know,  than — than — " 

"  Nonsense !  He's  a  madman,  and  you're  a 
simpleton,  you  little  goOse." 

"  Well,  then,  we  must  be  well  suited  to  one 
another,"  said  Minnie. 

"Now,  child,  listen,"  said  Mrs.  Willoughby, 
firmly.  "I  intend  to  put  a  stop  to  this.  I 
have  made  up  my  mind  positively  to  leave 
Rome,  and  take  yon  home  to  papa.  I'll  tell 
him  all  about  it,  put  yon  under  his  care,  and 
have  no  more  responsibility  with  yon.  I  think 
he'd  better  send  you  back  to  school.  I've  been 
too  gentle.  You  need  a  firm  hand.  I'll  be 
firm  for  a  few  days,  till  you  can  go  to  papa. 
You  need  not  begin  to  cry.  It's  for  yonr  own 
good.  If  you're  indulged  any  more,  you'll  sim- 
ply go  to  ruin." 

-  Mrs.  Willoughby's  tpne  was  different  jfrom 
nsual,  a^nd  Minnie  was  impressed  by  it.  She 
sai^  that  her  sister  was  resolved.  So  she  stole 
up  to  her  and  twined  her  arms  about  her  and 
kissed  her. 

"There,  there,"  said  her  sister,  kissing  her 
again,  "  don't  look  so  sad,  Minnie  darling.  It's 
for  your  own  good.  We  must  go  away,  or  else 
you'll  have  another  of  those  dreadful  people. 
You  must  trust  to  me  now,  dearest,  and  not  in- 
terfere with  me  in  any  way." 

"  Well,  well,  you  mustn't  be  unkind  to  poor 
Rufus  K.  Gunn,"  said  Minnie. 

"  Unkind  ?  Why,  we  won't  be  any  thing  to 
him  at  all." 

"And  am  I  never  to — to — see  liim  again?" 

"No!"  said  her  sister,  firmly. 

Minnie  started,  and  looked  at  Mrs.  Willough- 
by, and  saw  in  her  facQ  a  fixed  resolution. 

"No,  never!"  repeated  Mrs.  Willoughby. 
"  I  am  going  to  take  you  back  to  England.  I'm 
afraid  to  take  any  railroad  or  steamboat.  I'll 
hire  a  carriage,  and  we'll  all  go  in  a  quiet  way 
to  Florence.  Then  we  can  take  the  railroad 
to  Leghorn,  and  go  home  by  the  way  of  Mar- 
seilles. No  one  will  know  that  we've  gone 
away.  They'll  think  we  have  gone  on  an  ex- 
cursion. Now  we'll  go  out  driving  this  morn- 
ing, and  this  afternoon  we  must  keep  the  outer 
door  locked,  and  not  let  any  one  in.  I  suppose 
there  is  no  danger  of  meeting  him  in  the  morn- 
ing.    He  must  be  on  duty  then." 

"  But  mayn't  I  see  him  at  all  before  we  go  7" 

"No!" 

"  Just  once — only  once  ?" 

"No,  not  once.'  You've  seen  that  horrid 
man  for  the  last  time," 

Minnie  again  looked  at  her  sister,  and  again 
read  her  rtpolutioB  in  her  face.     She  turned^- 
away,  her  head  dropped,  a  sob  escaped  from 
her,  and  then  she  burst  into  tears. 

Mrs.  Willoughby  left  the  room. 


:tl^. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

JEALOUST.  - 

Lord  Hawbuhv  had  come  to  Rome  for  .h. 
A/«creg.     Bttt  he  had  not  found  it  so  easv  tn 


THE  AMERICAN  BARON 


";^ 


78 


"Miss  Fay?" 

"  Ye« ;  your  child-angel,  yon  know     Hnt  It'. 
an  older  affair  than  yo«„;  u\  reX  sodol' 
are'^TaYC'"'-    ^««"'-'  h-cliX'he 

"Miss  Fay  J     Oh,i8,h„t\„r3„i,,D„,^^ 


he  used  to,  and  for  sevU  dayTl^lX^td        "^l- ^"^^     Oh,  is  that\ll?"  said  Dactx,. 
ard\t';irJV^:  ?_l-''-'»  the  sadness   m^^^^^^   excaement.  >„d   became  cool   once 

I      HawWy  noted  this  very  thoughtfully. 

i.ur.,'    ""^  *'""  nnfe  gned  ioy  L/        ?  ^  ""'"  '  ''""^  but  that  this  was  anm^ 


"  That— oh,  an  old  friend  of  minn      w«'. 
American  named  Gunn.  --He'S^^d  the  P^^ 

thing  It  IS  for  them  to  get  hold,  of  such  a  man 
I^happened  to  call  one  day,  and  found  hi^S  , 

-  np"J?h  itt^%  Z^^'^l'  "^"^  "^^"^ 

.notherofthos'e  precious  a.valii,^"''!;?'^  ''"' 
of  all  lands_n,»f  j    "    «»^«IWs— the  scum 

2isMo.isaf„^;d7:Can'S^::    fX 

oX  Kur/ouT  ^-'^  •*«"'-.  oW 

bitilr^^  ""' '""  ""^  ^^  •«"«'. "  «^d  Dacres, 

co^Siro'urHriSia''''"  ^y>  y--- 

«1L    It's  tl,«  -,1k  '''"'''  your  wife  at 

"Jealous  1"  ^ 

b«Iu  is  aVoTa^r  "S"TW»'>"'"'' 


hJJr  '^'w  '" -r  '1^  '"«"<'  andibreathed 
"B^;  .?!  ,^."f  ^'"^^nHy  "nuch  exlited, 

onn„  r/?..^''^'  "'"-""  »'d  affair.  Vt's  the 


■         .  V  B"o  um  mat  ten< 

love  that  now  lurks  in  her  face.     Good  Hea7 

'Canri"Sl '^  ''"f  "/^    ^-'t  I  knfw  he 
dream ?     r™^""  ^^'.^    '"  "V^^mory  all  « 

..  obliterated  can  that  woma^lXnt """  "" 
now  hl^f  tl  H  ^'??  'P*'."'^°«'  «"  "«  often  did 

I  froml^r  f  '"flammation  that  arose 

'^1.1n     °f  angry  blood  to  his  head, 
my  hrrt  fhT  ^"^^  '""  ""'X  "ay  I  wish  from 

aistant  way;  but  I  must  say  I  think  her  f«o« 

yo"  mel-  "^'J"^  °f  'hat'gent,e„esB';S 
you  mention.  Miss  Pay  treats  her  quite  Uke 
an  elder  sister,  and  is  deuced  fond  of^Ser  too 

that  ^e'^^::si:zz!s^ctrz: 

of;«n  angel  Iferself,  oughtn't  she?" 

;Dacreswa«  silent  for  a  long  time. 
"H   ™ a,  that  confounded  Italian,"  said  he.  * 

.aSt?li  r  H?* '",^r'^*''« '^^^  tJS 
Ta  know  He!L  """"  '^.'''''  •''''"Pted  lo^er, 
riage  "  "^     •""'  "'^'"«  »««''J«  the  carl 

ner  feelings?     Never.      Slimy,  Sir,  and  cold       , 


r 


hit  her  pff  ? 


>nn»~       '      —"",  •■,  B  an  oia  ati 

jwng  one,  jrou  know— Miss  Fav      H«V..i,      T"""  ° — "  """  * 

•«^tshe;,youk«ow.  Tha;'.^:Lt^^''"^iKf'Jjt^"'-  ^"ia' ytth.7;i;r;:rt: 

Jtes,  a  beautiful,  mali^ant,  tod- 


Lix?^*-!,  »-fe»!t    »    n    'jd'i^l-  A.  .   ij 


.il* 


74 


^' 


THE  AMEMCAN  BARON. 


1^.- 


oiftoaa  aerp^nt,  with  nucjnatioii  in  h«r  tyn,  and 
death  and  anguiih  in  her  bite.  But  ihe  ihall 
And  out  yet  that  others  are  not  without  power. 
Confound  Jier  I" 

"Well,  now,  l^  Jove!  old  boy,  I  thiqk  the 
very  best  thing  you  can  do  is  to  go  away  lonm- 
where,  and  get  rid  of  these  troubles."  ' 

"Go  away  1  Can  I  go  away  froia  my  own 
thoughts  ?  Hawbury,  the  trouble  is  in  my  own 
heart.  I  must  keep  near  her;  There's  that 
Italian  deril.  He  shall  not  have  her.  I'll 
watch  them,  as  I  have  watched  them,  till  I  find 
a  chance' for  reVengb." 

"You  have  watched  thelri,  then?"  asked 
Hawbury,  in  great  surprise. 

"Y.eg,  both  of  them.  I've  feen  the  Ital- 
ian prowling  about  where  she  IWjSs.  I've  seen 
her  00  her  balcony,  evidently  I  watching  for 
him."  '^  \J. 

"  But  haVe  you  seen  any,  thing  morri  ?  This 
is  only  your  fancy." 

"  Fancy  1  Didn't  I  see  her  herself  stand- 
ing on  the  balcohy  looking  down.  I  was  con- 
cealed by  the  shadow  of  a  fountain,  and  she 
couldn't  see  me.  She  turned  her  face,  and  I 
saw  it  in  that  soft,  sweet,  gentle  beauty  which 
she  has  cultivated  so  wonderfully.  I  swear  it 
seemed  like  the  face  of  an  angel,  and  I  could 
have  worshiped  it.  If  she  could  have  seen 
my  face  in  that  thick  shadow  she  would  have 
thought  I  was  an  adorer  of  hers,  like  the  Ital- 
ian—ha, ha  1— instead  of  a  pkirsner,  and  an 
enemy." 

"Woll,-ni  be  hanged  if  I  can  tell  myself 
which  you  are^  old  boy ;  but,  aft  amf  rate,  I'm 
glad  to  be  able  to  state  that  y|>nr  ftrouble  will 
soon  be  over."  I 

"How's  that?" 
"She's  going  away, 
''Going  away!" 
"Yes." 

"She!  going  away  I  whe^e?" 
"  Back  to  England 

"  Back  to  Engljind !  wl^y,  she's  just  come 
here.     What's  ^lat  for  ?"  / 

"I  don't  know.     I  only  know  they're  lall 
going  home.      Well,  yoii   know,  holy  week's 
over,  and  there  is-  no  object  for  them  to  stay 
•  longer." 

"Going  away!   (joing  away!"  replied  Da- 
cres,  slowly.    "  Whb  told  you  ?" 
"Miss  Fay." 

"Oh,  IdonVb^Iieveit."      , 
"There's  no  doubt  abont  it,  my  dear  boy. 
Miss  Fay  told  me  explicitly.     She"  said  they 
were  going  in  a(,carrii|e  by  this  way  of  Civita 
Castellana." '       ' 

."What  are  they  going  that  iifay  for?,  What 
nonsense !     I  don't  believe  it."  . 
^QbrW*^*^tuAr    Besides, ; they  evidently 


"Tried'tostopherl    Ah!    Who  were  there  ? 
Wire  you  calling?"  ^ 

"  Oh  no — it  was  yesterday  tnoming.     I  was 
riding,  and,  to  my  surprise,  met  them.     They   ' 
were  driving — Mrs.  Willoughby,^nd  Miss  Fay, 
you  know-yso  I  'chatted  with  them  «  few  mo- 
ihents,  or  riTther  w.ith  Miss  Fay,  and  hoped  I  ^ 
would  see  them  again  soon,  at  some  /^te  or  ' 
0{her,  when  she  told  me  this." 
"  And  my  wife  tried  to  stop  her  ?" 
"Yes."    r  • 

"And  looked  vexed  ?" 
"»»."  „        ^i 

"  Then  it  was  some  secret  of  hen.  Ske  has' 
"some  reason  for  keeping  dark.  The  other  has 
none.  Aha!  don't  I  understai^^ylher ?  She 
wants  to  keep  it  from  me.  She  knows  you're  my 
friend,  and  was  vexed  that  you  should  know. 
Aha!  she  dreads  my  presence,  She  krfows 
J'n  on  her  track.  She  wants  to  get-away 
with  ber  Italian— away  flrom  my  sight.  Aha ! 
the  tables  are  turned  at  last  Aha  I  my  lady. 
Now  well  see.  Now  take  your  Italian  and  fly, 
And  see  how  far  you  cSn  get  away  from  ine. 
Take  him,  and  see  if  you  can  hold  him.  Aha '. 
my  angel  face,  my  mild,  soft  eye*  of  love,  but 
devil's  heart— can  not  I  understand  it  nil  ?  I 
see  through  it.  I've  watched  you.  .Wait  till 
you  see  Scone  Dacres  on  your  track !" 

"  What's  that  ?    You  don't  really  mean  it  ?"  - 
cried  Hawbury. 
"Yes,  I  do." 
"Will  you  follow  her?" 
"Yes,  I  will." 

"  What  for  ?  For  a  vagtte  fancy  of  your  jeal- 
ous^mind?"  _J 

"  It  isn't  a  fancy ;  it's  a  certainty.  I'vft,«een 
the  Italian  dogging  her,  dodging  about  her 
house,  ind  tiding  with  her.  I've  seen  her 
looking  very  much  as  if  she  were  expecting  him 
at  her  balcony.  Is  all  that  nothing?  She's  seen- 
jne,  and  feels  conscience-stricken,  and  longs  to  . 
get  away  where  she  may  Ije  free  fWim  the  te^ 
ror  of  my  presence.  But  I'll  track  hor.  I'll 
strike  at  her— #t  her  heart,  too ;  for  I  Will  strike 
through  the  Italian." 
"By  Jove!" 

*'  I  will,  I  Bweaii!"  cried  Dacres,  gloomily. 
"You're  mad,  Dacres.     You  imagine  «ll 
thif.    You're  like  a  madman  in  a  dream." 

"  It's  no  d«Bam.     Ill  follow  her.    I'll  track  . 
her." 

"Then,  by  Jove,  yonH  have  to  take  me  with 
yon,  old  boy !  I  see  you're  not  fit  to  take  caie 
of  yourself.  Ill  have  to  go  and  keep  you  flrom 
harm."  ^, 

"  You  won't  keep  me  from  harm,  old  chap, ' 
said  Dacres,  more  gently ;  "  but  I'd  be  glad  if 
yon  would  go.     So  come  along." 
"I  will,  by  Jove  1^'- 


don't  want  it  to  be  known." 

"What's  ifia.ti"  asked  Dacres,  OiagerlY; 

"I  say  they  don't  seem  to  want  it  Ki  be 
known.  Mi«  Fay  told  m'e  in  her  childish  way, 
and  I  saw  tftat  Mrs.  WiUoughby  looked  vexed, 
and  tried  to  stop  her." 


VK. 


:»sf 


,THE  AMERICAN  BABON. 


:  WAnmiD  bul 


CHAPTER  X3L        - 

THH    BAHON's  WOK8. 

Dacbes  w»i-i,ot  the  only  excited  visitor 
that  Hawbnor  had  that  day.  Before Ictose 
«.no.W  n.ade  hi.  appearance  in  ti.  per«.S 

-   my  Baron  bold-how  goes/Zv  But,  bT 
Jove  I  whaf.  the  matter,  my  boy?  -Yonr  brow   ni..ht 
deep  .car.  of  thunder  have  intrenched,  Tn^   ^'^'• 
care  s.U  on  your  faded  cheek.     Pour  forth  the 
mournful  tale.     ril„..ympathize." 
B.  J.  "*"^  **''  ***  "^iKhty  bad  J"  cried  the 

"What?" 

"The  way  I'm  getting  humbugged." 
yon?"  ****"      Who's  been  humbugging 

of  ii  hvT.K"  !f  '•'•"'?''  ■"'^  """'•  *l«o  »«>"t 
or  It  by  a  thundering  .ight." 

r^X.  "r  ''"""  *■*"'"''  *f  I  «">  help  you. 

.nofwTK-  °"'°'  thaf.therow.  There  ain't 
anodier  thing  on  this  green  earth  that  would 
tronbleme  for  five  .ecpndi"      .         ""^Z 

"Minnie?    Oh  I    An<J  what  has  happon^^ 
» lover's  qnarrel  ?»  Ft^"^ 

»SS?'?°*"^-     -SV.all^ght."         -) 
'Vl*atisit,then?'f 
"my,  she',  disappeared," 
/•Disappeared  t     W^at   io  yon  mean  by 


that 


that  they  keep  their  place  bolted  and  barred* 

mU  U'^""®*"*  "•'  ^^  "•<»  *«"'•''  no 
Mrvant  to  be  iMn   sn/i  t u  i._j       . 


^         .  75 

"  If.  deuced  odd,  too-qneer,  by  Jove  I     I 

SeV:;^'-'^  ^^«  -^  ''^^  .u 

"CourMlam."  ^       " 

"AnH  no  servants?" 
.  "Not  a  darned  servant." 
I^Did  yon  ask  the  concierge?"  .'      ' 

n...  K   ^T.'  ^'*''  *"''  "'«"'ed  W«  pallii   too. 

ifcht  H  H^'"  "••'  ""^  «tisfactio?'  '  '"*' 
jmrlM,  did  he  say  ?"    -  '     * 

had^&Jt  il^'tV""^  ''?"'  "»,homvfor  they 

'hrkn™,t«^1k  T^   '*!!"  '  went-back  and  near- 

r.re7mr  f  •'^  «''«?-i5n'trs 

they  all  mean  by  it."  t   *         "''" 

«     "ByJovel  odd,too.>  V 

*£«^^^^ni;a5;:s^^^. 

result,  fl  .poke  to  the  conciergTaJain^and 
he  swore  aga  n  that  they  were  til  in     Thev 

"By  Jove  1"  a  _^ 

"Well,  I  was  pretty  tard  up,  I  tell  von 
But  I  wasn'f  going  to  give  up.  So  I  «aM 
felS'^'^V-Ke     I  c';os.ed  thVc?n- 

cba  r.     He  thought  it  was  some  government 

?nfetri^^iiTerir\r«'''''^-^i.- 

the  first  day  I  w^tfiJe^Vd  1^/1^ 

about  there,  w^th  anoiher  f^w,  and  sta^f " 
^/t  me.    I  watched  him,  Ind  said  no^ 

Hes  np  to  something,  I  .wear.      When  he 
^l^  on  the  gn,„nd,  though.  hTttt'! 

««1^*'"'  '  u'*'*''  •"  °'8ht,   and  the  next 
mehiing  watched  again.     I  didn't  knock.     I      . 

Well,  about  nine  o'clock.thedoor  opened. 
^     iH  "^^^  "»« '"oESg  out  very  cJS      • 
IL  1.  M    """"**  '  *••  ""•"ding  before  her 
and  held  out  my  hand  to  shake  hem.     I,  wm 

Sht  rVf^-    ^"*^''«  <J»<^°'t  -hSe  hind"       " 
She  looked  at  me  quite  cooUy. 

ft  *inmnRvo.ce.     '  Good^moming,  ma'am/ 


Good-mominfe,'  she  said. 
"  '.I "°"®  '*»  "«»*'  Minnie, •  wid  L 
idm?.hTwS.^5'^'''''"'"<»«>»«he^ 


Mrvant  to  be  seen,  and  I  c^n't  flnd"on't".n^U„ij    *"  T"  "'"We''  «aid  .he; 


ewlyl    Why,|rl|at'.gother?    Wen,yonjn.t 


*♦ 


76 


f^  THE  AMERICAN  PARON. 


gf)  and  tell  her  I'm  hjSre,  Jttd  T\\  just  step  iai^ 
side  4nd  wait  till  she'coBrie»'<<lo^,'  said  I.    ' 

"  But  the  old  lady  didn't  budge. 

"'I'm  not  a  ^irvant,'  she  said,  very  stiff; 
'I'm  her  aunt,  and. her  guardian,  ajpd  I  allow 
no  messages  to  .jm«  between  her  ao^trange 
gentlemen.'        '  ■,  '  i* 

"'Strange  |5.ei|tliinen1'  I  cfied.  'Why, 
ain't  I  enga^4  ^- .. .    .. 

"'Idon'tJciy 

»'' Wasn't,!  in¥ 

"'No,'say)5 


Let  me  inform  you,  Sir,  that  tf  yon  repeat  it, 
yon  will  be  handed  over  to  the  police.  »The 
police  would  certainly  have  been  called  yester- 
day had  we  not  wished  to  avoid  hurting  your 
feelings.  We  now  find  that  you  have  no  feel- 
ings to  hurt.' 

"  '  Very  well,  ma'am,'  says  I ;  '  these  are 
your  views ;  but  as  you  are  not  Minnie,  I  don't 
Mcept  them.  I  won't  retire  from  the  field  till 
I  hear  a  command  to  that  effect  from  Minnie 
herself.  I  allow  no  relatives  to  stand  between 
me  and  my  love.     Show  me  Minnie^  and  let  me 


**-*Bnt  I'm  engaged  to  Minnie,'  says  I. 

"  'I  don't  recogniM  yon,'  says  she.     'The 
family  know  nothing  abont  you ;  and  my  niece 
is  a  silly  girl,  who  is  going  back  to  her  father, 
who  will  probably  send  her  to  school.' 
' '  Bnt  I  savtd  her  llfq,'  says  I, 


"Vrfiars  Tefy  possible,'  says  she?  'many 
persons  have  done  so;  yet  that  gives  you  no 
right  to  annoy  her ;  and  you  shall  not  annoy 
her.  Tour  engagement  is  an  absurdity.  The 
child  herself  is  an  absurdity.  I'bii  are  an  ab- 
surdity. Was  it  not  jou  who  was  creating 
such  a  fHghtfal  distnrbftnce  here  yesterday? 


hear  what  she  has  to  say.     That's  all 
and  that's  fair  and  square.' 

" '  Yon  shall  not  see  her  at  all,'  says  the  old 
lady,  quite  mild  ;  '  not  at  all.  You  must  not 
come  again,  for  you  will  not  be  admitted.  Po- 
lice will  be  here  to  put  jou  out  if  yon  attempt 
to  force  an  entrance  as  you  did  before.'       ^ 

"  '  Force  an  entrance  I'  I  cried. 

"  'Yes,'  she  said,  'force  an  entrance.  Yon 
did  so,  and  yon  filled  the  whole  house  with 
your  shouts.  Is  that  to  be  borne  ?  Not  by  at, 
Sir.  And  now  go,  and  don't  disturb  us  any 
more.' 


■'S 


,.V-i:.'.-;>^K''J>--i^iiX-.t^'Sa^56A^^^a( 


in  my  lite.  The  old  lady  was  perfectly  calm 
and  cool;  wasn't  a  bit  scared-thonrh  there 
was  no  reason  why  she  should  be      She  jus? 

cSLln  '''"'  "''^-     B"'  when  she'ac 
Zy  i  '^"'■'='"8  ""  entrance  and  kickine 

up  •*  row,  I  was  struck  alL  of  «  7  "^  ''"'f 
couldn't  say  a  word      Lt^  ^*P  """^ 

iW«  kiVIr  nr:  .  .      .        '^'■'=*  a"  entrance! 

Whv  Senu  "°"''  /"•*  ■'»  *«"°i«'«  house! 
w  ny,  the  old  woman's  mad ! 

fi.ol'^''",'T''^  "'"^  '■"^y-*''"'  the  door  in  mv 
face,  and  I  walked  off;   and  I've  been  e^r 

ifTcLTm^aiTer r "''  "'  •""  ^ "  '^^« 
!!..•:  T       -^  ^^^^  •"■  *«'•  of  it-     The  onlv 

Sd  noli"  T  '"^^''^  »"  keepini  MinS 
locKed  up  away  from  me.     Thev  don't  lifcp  m» 

though  why  they  don't  I  can't  s^^erf'l'm  as 

f^^tK   ""^  ^ody,  and  I've  beei  particular 

«^H  Jk  .  '.""''  *'"'y  «««  that  Minnie  docs 
But  b7  r.  "^"?  '°  "'■*"*''  "P  'he  engagemen  ' 
Srnoht^  '  ''!i'"?  J'"«°'"  *°d  the  Baron 
clinched  a  good-sized  and  very  sinewv  fiT 
which  he  brought  down  hard  on  the  1,^11"  bv 
rr/t^,''^:;;r"«-'' they  can't  comet 

•'Is  she  fond  of  you-Miss  Fay,  I  mean ?" 
Fond  I     Course-she  is.     She  dotes  on  me 

"  Are  you  sure  ?"  "ume. 

•  /'^"®L.^*  ?*"■*  as  I  am  of  my  own  ex 

enoZh-1  rA'""  ri''"^  looks  Vr^rt 
enough!  She  has  a  look  of  helpless  trust  an 
innocent  confidence,  a  tender,  child  Ik™  fki'h 

Zugh."  "  '""'"  through  and 

h«?f  J^IT*' "  ""'"  ""T^ed.     He  thought  I 

you  tn^r^V  ^'•''^'"''""•sthochiefthing,  ' 
you  know.     If  you're  sure  of  the  girl's  affeo 
tions,  the  battle's  half  won. " 

«w''!('"'"'     -^in'titallwon?" 

glish  there"*™*!'"'"'^-     ^•"'  ^'"''  '^'"'  '"  En- 

"But  wi  r    T  "^  ?"""y  considerations." 
,nn.M      r      ""  Americans  there  is  only  one 
c^sideiation,  and  that  is.  Do  you  love^mef 

SS^™»„  ?/"*'  "P  "  '"""J'  thousands  as  her 
^rwT;y:S?m"'a^;o'n",^.''"--^''"«^-^o; 

B.|fu.  K.  Gum.   Baron  de  Atramonte."  ' 

Ihe  Baron's  face  flushed 
W^w^^tr-"  •"'•  ?«'  "thaf.  good  in  you. 

Jon  thint  ;^f      '  ''"„"'  """"'y~  to  tell  w,  what 

s  cU°s;'"ii''"'.r'""'''  ■»"  "^  '•""  i^ 


THE  AMERICAN  BARON. 


77 
dol^^/"^*'  "J^  ''*'•'  ''""°^'  !'«•  he.glad  to 

all  go.„g  to  leave  Rome  to-morrow  morning" 
"  Wha7'"h?"' H"r''°"«''  ''^  ''«<'  ''«-«hot. 

"Yes." 
'And  to-morrow  morning?" 

.'.'  L^^  '  ^^'''  ^">'  t°''l  "ne  herself-" 
Miss  Fay  told  you  herself!     By  Heaven ' 
What  do  they  inean  bv  that  ?"     a  .,/.ir^       " 
«at  trembli„g\ith  eSement.        '  ""^  ^""" 

^ '  Well,  the  holy  week's  over  " 

It's  meT  T^Jtt''  ?°'  """"'"K  '°  <^°  with  it !    ^ 
How  „ri  ,  J^'^PfJ^'ng  to  get  her  from  me ! 
How  are  they  ^g?    Do  you  know?" 

.  Ihey  are  going  in  a  carriage  by  the  wav  nf 
Civita  Castellana."  "/me  way  of 

"In  a  carriage  by  the  way  of  Civita  Cant,.! 
ana  1    Darn  that  old  idiot  of  a  woman !  wTll" 
she  tip  to  now?    If  she's  running  awav Ton! 
me  she'll  wish  herself  back  be?.^re'shrg'ets  ?a 
on  that  road      Why.  there's  an  infe^Mnes 
of  brigands  there  that  call  themseK'cs  GariL 

The"v'ilT'''  '^  !!'""*^«'-'  "•«  woman's  "^'?: 
They  11  be  seized  and  held  to  ransom-DTr 
haps  worse.    Heavens!    I'll  go  mad  I     T'll  f^l 

w  atiifr?-  A^";^°'  .'"'^  ""•'  -  - 

wnatllldo?  And  Minnie!  I  can't  mve  hm- 
up.  She  can't  give  me  up.  She's  a  pooT  ^e^ 
bhng  httle  creature,  her  whole  lifeTan^Tn 
mme.  Separation  flPom  me  would  kill^h^ 
Poor  ht,.Ie  girl!  Separation!  By  thuuder" 
they  shall  never  separate  us!  What  devil 
«akes  the  old  woman  g,  by  that  infema  road? 
Bngands  all  the  way  I^-flut  I'll  go  after  , hem  • 
1 11  follow  them.  They'U  find  it  almighty  h^d 
work  to  keep  her  from  me!  I1l3h«r  h„ 
thunder!  and  I'll  get  her  out  of  the  ir  clutche^^ 
I  swear  I  will!     m  bring  her  back  E  J 

t^m^'  "I'h  '1' '''  '"^  I-ope  himself  o  Wn7he^ 
to  me  with  a  knot  that  all  the  old  women  MdM 
heaven  can  never  loosen  !" 

oddTri'n.  ^°''''-«' K^K?  By  Jove!  that's 
roaii."  *     '^  ''"''  '  '■"'"'*  "^  '""^  »«»* 

see",?ri/*^'"-'  Three  ^ers!  And  yon^U 
^ee_the  old  woman,  and  speak  a  good  wo^  fo" 

wUl^byVo".- '  '"'  «•"  *  '='""'''•''  '  «^% 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

AN  ETXHTFDL  JODHHBT. 

Ok  Uie  day  following  two  carriaaa. 

I  of  Khtna     An^  ^ I.   .1  .         ■"" 


I 


out  of  Borne,  and  took  the  road  tov^  BW 
ence  by  the  way  of  Civita  CasteS.^  ^oZ 
carnage  held  four  ladies;  the  ither  one  w« 
occupiedjy  four  lady'^maid.  and  ther„:^ 

£;zr.'^u7&rir;^s  ret- 

dlMipated  g«d.aUy  M  thelun  aroU     A.Thv 


78 


THE  AMERICAN  BARON. 


went  on  the  day  advanced,  and  with  the  de- 
parting mists  there^  opened  up  a  wide  view. 
On  either  side  extended  the  desolate  Cam- 
pagna,  over  which  passed  lines  of  rained  aque- 
ducts on  their  way  from  the  hills  to  the  city. 
Here  and  there  crumbling  ruins  arose  above 
the  plain — some  ancient,  others  medieval,  none 
modem.  Before  them,  in  the  distance,  arose 
the  Apennines,  among  which  were,  here  and 
there,  visible  the  white  outlines  of  some  villa  or 
hamlet. 

For  mile  after  mile  they  drove  on ;  and  the 
drive  soon  proved  very  monotonous.  It  was 
nothing  but  one  long  and  unvarying  plain,  with 
this  only  change,  that  every  mile  brought  them 
nearer  to  the  mountains.  As  the  mountains 
were  their  only  hope,  they  all  looked  forward 
eagerly  to  the  time  when  they  would  arrive 
there  and  wind  along  the  road  among  them. 
Formerly  Mrs.  Willoughby  alone  had  been 
.  the  confid^lte  of  Minnie's  secret,  but  the  events 
of  the  paiJPlevjilays  had  disclosed  most  of  her 


for  this  imaginary  neglect.  So  she  sought  to 
make  the  journey  as  pleasant  as  possible  by 
cheerful  remarks  and  lively  observations.  None 
of  these  things,  however,  produced  any  eflFect 
upon  the  attitude  of  Minnie.  She  sat  there,  with 
unalterable  sweetness  and  unvarying  patience, 
just  like  a  holy  martyr,  who  freely  forgave  all 
her  enemies,  and  was  praying  for  those  who 
had  despitefuUy  used  her. 

The  exciting  events  consequent  upon  the  Bar- 
on's appearance,  and  his  sudden  revelation  in  the 
role  of  Minnie's  lover^  had  exercised  a  strong 
and  varied  effect  upoti  all;  but  upon  one  its 
result  was  wholly  beneficial,  and  this  was  Ethel. 
It  was  BO  startling  and  so  unexpected  that  it 
had  roused  her  from  her  gloom,  and  given  her 
something  to  think  of.  The  Baron's  d^ut  in 
their  parlor  had  been  narrated  to  her  over  and 
over  by  each  of  the  three  who  had  witnessed  it, 
and  each  gave  the  narrative  her  own  coloring. 
Lady  Dalrymple's  account  was  humorous ;  Mrs. 
Willoughby's  indignant ;  Minnie's  sentimental. 


<B>  rBooMnoii  jLtmom  *h>  oaxpaoiia. 


titiiibloa  to  the  other  ladies  alio,  at  least  as  far  as 
the  general  outlinea'l'ere  concerned.  The  con- 
sequence was,  that  they  all  knew  perfectly  well 
the  reason  why  they  were  traveling  in  this  way, 
and  Minnie  knew  that  they  all  knew  it.  Yet 
this  nnpleasant  conscioniness  did  not  in  the 
leait  interfere  with  the  sweetness  of  her  temper 
and  the  gentleness  of  her  manner.  She  sat  there, 
with  a  meek  smile  and  a  resigned  air,  oa  though 
the  only  part  now  left  her  in  life  was  the  pa- 
tient endurance  of  her  unmerited  wrongs.  She 
blamed  no  one ;  she  made  no  complaint ;  yet 
there  was  in  her  attitude  something  so  touch- 
ing, so  clinging,  so  pathetic,  to  forlorn,  and  in 
her  foce  something  so  sweet,  so  sad,  so  re- 
proachful, and  so  piteous,  that  she  enforced 
■y lupathyinmcf  each  bne^pBl<rS«Te  a  half- 
guilty  fear  that  Minnie  had  been  wronged  by 
her.  Especially  did  Mrs.  WilMUghby  feel  this. 
She  feared  that  she  had  neglected  the  artless 
and  simple-minded  child ;  she  feared  that  she 
had  not  been  suiBclently  thoughtful  about  her ; 
•nd  now  longed  to  do  something  to  make  amends 


Out  of  all  these  Ethel  gained  a  fonrth  idea, 
compounded  of  these  three,  which  again  blend- 
ed with  another,  and  an  original  one  of  her  own, 
gained  from  a  personal  observation  of  the  Bar- 
on, whose  appearance  on  the  stairs^nd  imps- 
tient  summons  for  "Min"  were  very  vividly 
impressed  on  her  memory.  In  addition  to  this 
there  was  the  memory  of  that  day  on  whicli 
they  endeavored  to  fight  off  the  enemy. 

That  was,  indeed,  a  memorable  day,  and  was 
now  alluded  to  by  them  all  as  the  day  of  the 
siege.  It  was  not  without  difiicDlty  that  thev 
had  withstood  Minnie's  earnest  protestation*, 
and  intrenched  themselves.  But  Mrs.  Wil- 
loughby was  obdurate,  and  Minnie's  tears,  which 
flowed  freely,  were  unavailing. 

Then  there  came  the  first  knock  of^he^» — 
patient  and  aggressive  visitor,  followed  by  oth- 
ers in  swift  succession,  and  in  ever-incretsing 
power.  Every  knock  went  to  Minnie's  heart. 
It  excited  an  unlimited  amonnt  of  sympathy  for 
the  one  who  had  saved  her  life,  and  was  new 
excluded  from  her  door.     But  as  the  knocki 


'K»i  t: :  tfii.'asioi'-sij,:.'!! 


p«w  Violent  4nd  Operative,  and  Minnie  «t5w 
«»d  and  pitiful,  the otherladies  grew ind  L^t 

Sl?h  "^°ll!  ""^  «"  '''«  St  orsendTng 
off  for  the  polite  and  only  Minnie's  frantic  en? 
treat  es  prevented  this.    At  last  the  door  seemed 

^"ha  «  "•  The";  ""'  **"  ^""«'  "°<^«"'"»' 
a  cnange      They  were  convinced  that  he  was 

mad,  or  else  intoxicated.     Of  the  madness  o7 

love  they  did  not  think.     Once  convinced   hat 

n  u^  T^'  "'•'y '"'«»"'«  terrified.    The  ma^^s 
«U  hid  themselves.    None  of  them  now  wo"fd 
venture  out  even  to  call  the  police.     They  ex 
Kn  '••"'Jr  "-■•««  wo^  intei's?  bu 
in  vain.     The  concierge  was  bribed. 

h.tiJ  *  ^""^  '"'*""^°'  •^*y  "'Kht  came.     Thev 

thaT  it  ra^fh  ?"?«  ""^  •""•  '•°'^">  -""d  knZ 
that  It  was  their  tormentor.     Minnie's  heart 

Xs"e  witrt"  r/^'  "''^  ^-  »"«    "- 1 
:?eti^'^'Xi^^  '"-««».  J""  ."-d,  and 


79 


this  was  not  permitted.  So"  she  we'nTio  bed 
and  fell  asleep.  So,  in  process  of  time  did  the 
others  and  the  night  pissed  withouH'ny  Ji^j! 
ble.  Then  morning  came,  and  there  was  a 
^IW:  "'?  ""r^''  *'°°^"'"  '^^eTemy 


THE  AMERICAN  BARON. 

t^ncZ  «!"«™'*^>  And  so  at  last  the 
7^  Ca«np8gna  was  traversed,  and  the  two 
carnages  began  to  ascend  among  the  monnta,^ 
Several  other  travelers  were  passing  over  tha 
Campagna  road,  and  in  the  same  dirm  on 
They  were  not  near  enough  for  their  fwM  to 
be  discerned,  but  the  ladies  codd  KbaTk-nd 
Beethesignsoftheirpresence.    FSthei^t^ 

beSToT^*  '"°  •""*"'  ■""*  about  two  mu" 
whilst  h"  J""!:  *^*"^"8«  '^"'  '^0  other  men. 

otrr'eili?  ""  ^•''"'^'^  «-'""°«  -  '^^ 
I  ^^r*  '^  '.'  ^^  •*«"  possible  for  Mrs  Wil- 
the  travelem  who  were  moving  along  the  road 
behind  her,  what  a  sudden  overturn  the^wS 

S..  r  'J!.'L«L"P?-  "-  "P-ts  1     But  wt' 


.!,„  k  7  .  "^  "aa  tnmea  h  s  head  and  wonW  !,.„«*  .P  ""'""«»>  ""a  wnat  a  b  igh 
sbif  begged  to  be  allowed  <o  speak  to  him  '  B„t  Wn„  kk  *^"''°  "P""  •>«"■  "P'ri'"  ?  But  M« 
this  was  not  permitted.  So  she  wenTln  f  "H  W»"°"K''«>y  remained  in  the  most  blissful  i^ 
and  fell  asleeo.     So.  in  „JZ.. .,  J*"'   ?.  ^f^  °°™nw  of  the  pei«,ns  of  thp.„  l„.,l_    * 


-o .,     -wmuaiucu    lU    lUC    mOSt    DUSSflll    il» 

norance  of  the  per«,ns  of  these  travS    'i 
so^was  aWe  to  maintain  the  sunshine  of  her 

the'flm  "cf""  "^•'  °^«'  '"«»  "-y  00^ 

h^Jd  "^l?"^  horseman,  who  had  been  riding 
nind,  bad  overtaken  thn  Hi<ro.^„» ._.      * 


*ere     At  Ust  iTdy  Dal.;^pTeT„Zonedr  behlVb;?'^ '.T" \"' '''■°  ""^  »-- ^dii 
her  energies,  and  went  forth  to  do  battle      The       Thf 'fl    f  """"^^^  'he  different  carriages. 

7^1  tl^^^y  ^'"^  'J'"'«ihed  in  the  words  an  Jtfn"!  n"™*"  ?"'«'''•"*  I-"'-!  Hawba^ 

of  the  bold  Baron  himself.  """'  """*  ^°«  ^^acres.     As  the  horseman  passed 


of  the  bold  Baron  himself. 

the^kS"  nl^'  "''^"""■^  ^^  "<"  «ass„,« 
tne  ladies.     Dreading  another  visit,  they  hur- 

"fi  "n  t«  a  hotel,  leaving  the  maid,  to  foEw 
r*.  Lf^  '°«Kage  as  soon  a.  possible.     Onfhe 
following  morning  they  had  1^  the  city 
Events  so  very  exciting  as  these  had  nro 

Ethd  "TbT  TTH  '''''"  "P«"  the  mind'of' 
fctheJ.     They  had  thrown  her  thoughts  out  of 
^eir  old  groove,  and  fixed  them  ini Tew  Jne 
Beside.,  the  fact  that  she  was  actu.Uy  llaZ 

w«  Tl^S"  "^  .r  "*«'  ""^  "^  '»"«>h  so^l 
™«h!    K^^  *  P*"*'^  "'hef.     She  had  dreaded 

Heeo  hell?  """•  '•"'*  "'"'  '"'^  heen  ^.^el 
to  keep  herself  a  prisoner.     A  deep  mief  still 

wHowsl"  «".'""'  h„t.atanyTe  ehe« 

As  for  Mrs.  WiUonghby,  in  spite  of  her  self 
reproach  about  her  purely  ima^arynegLrJf 
Minnie,  she  felt  such  an  extSordfuarfre  ief 
that  It  affected  aU  her  nature      -Thl  Ti, 

=T*  "*  *  mother  conTrfioT  She  was  lavish  in 
her  promise,  of  what  she  wouldTo  t  het 
She  chatted  gayly  with  Ethel  about  a  thouMnd 

hHuaS.       /  "'""^  ^''^  Ddiymple  on 


— --.»o.     «B  ine  norseroan  passed 
h^_  recogmzed  them  with  a  careless  noTTnd 

Scone  Dacres  grasped  Lord  Hawbuiy's  arm. 
.       Did  you  see  him?"  he  cried.     "Theltall 

"By  Jove !"  cried  Lord  Hawbnnr. 

The  horseman  rode  on  further,  and  overtook 
the  next  carriage.  I„  this  th'ere  wero^J 
ZVi!"' '"  ""'  ""'^°™  "^  'he  Papal  Zouave^ 
ttL  H  '"  ""?'  ''''"'''•  =«  '"™ed  tow,^ 
these,  and  greeted  them  with  the  same  nod  ^ 

Ba™?**./^  "•*  ""*.  """'  Paraon?"  said  th. 
B«on  to  his  companion.     "Do  you  rocogni« 

"No." 
caileTn."'  ^"  "" ''''"  "t  Minnie',  house.    He 

"No,  he  didn't." 

"Didn't  he?    No.    By  thunder  it  ».»>» 
that  time.  ^Well,  at  any  L!^X7mL7S^ 

he  »  goi  a  Wd  row  to  hoe  before  he  .ncewwto 


.<d".t^^""*  *?"*•  'he  Baron  Mt  gUrins 
after  theMfan,  with  wmething  in  hi.  eye  thai 

-,  ~.u  cougratuiated  her  over  and   -.rrKf .'"'"  !!?"  **°'     ^  ''«''  ">"«•  ^rther 

--.  u  *„ .,  „.^,  ^^  .."s  r:|r  'X°»"ft„fi2;:'i'"j*£ 


v-^ 


ll^i,A.*/"?4!iu>4lteL»i2 


Ur 


THE  AMERICAN  BARON. 


ij: 


stranger  as  he  advanced.  He  soon  came  near 
enough  to  be  distinguished,  and  Mrs.  Willough- 
by  recognized  Girasole. 

Her  surprise  was'eo  great  that  she  uttered 
an  exclamation  of  teirror,  which  startled  the 
other  ladies,  and  madib  them  all  look  in  that 
direction. 

"How  very  odd!"  said  Ethel,  thoughtfully. 
"And  now  I  suppose  you'll  all  go  and  say 
that  I  brought  hint  too,"  said  Minnie.  "  That's 
always  the  way  you  do.  You  never  seem  to 
think  that  I  may  be  innocent.  You  alwayt 
blame  me  for  every  little  Viite  of  a  thing  that 
may  happen." 

No  one  made  any  remark,  and  there  was  si- 
lence in  the  carriage  as  the  stranger  approached. 
The  ladies  bowed  somewhat  coolly,  except  Min- 
nie, who  threw  upon  him  the  most  imploring 
look  that  could  possibly  be  sent  from  human 
eyes,  and  the  Italian's  impressible  nature  thrill- 
ed before  those  beseeching,  pleading,  earnest, 
unfathomable,  tender,  helpless,  innocent  orbs. 
Removing  his  bat,  he  bowed  low. 

"I  haf  not  been  awara,"  he  said,  politely, 
in  his  broken  Enghsh,  "thatyouar  ladysippa's 
bm  intend  to  travalla.  Ees  eet  not  subito  in- 
tenzion  ?" 

Mrs.  Willoughby  made  a  polite  response  of 
a  general  character,  the  Italian  paused  a  mo- 
ment to  drink  in  deep  draughts  from  Minnie's 
great  beseeching  eyes  that  were  fixed  upon  his, 
and  then,  with  a  low  bow,  he  passed  on. 

"I  believe  I'm  losing  my  senses,"  said  Mrs. 
Willoughby. 

I' Why,  Kitty  darling?"  asked  Minnie. 
"  I  don't  know  how  it  is,  but  I  actually  trem- 
bled when  that  man  came  up,  and  I  haven't  got 
over  it  yet." 

"I'm  sore  I  don't  see  why,"  said  Minnie. 
"  You're  always  imagining  things,  though.  Now 
im't  she,  Ethel  dearest?" 

"Well,  really,  I  don't  see  much  in  the  Count 
to  make  one  tremble.  I  suppose  poor  dear 
Kitty  has  been  too  much  agitated  lately,  and 
it's  her  poor  nerves." 

"  I  have  my  lavender,  Kitty  dear,"  said  Lady 
Dalrymple.  "Won't  you  take  it?  Or  would 
yon  prefer  valerian  ?" 

"Thanks,  much,  but  I  do  not  need  it,"  said 
Mrs.  Willtfughby.  ' '  I  suppose  it  will  pass  off. " 
"I'm  sure  the  poor  Count  never  did  any 
body  any  harm,"  said  Minnie,  plaintively ;  "  so 
you  needn't  all  abuse  him  so— unless  you're 
all  angry  at  him  for  saving  my  life.  I  remem- 
ber a  time  when  you  all  thought  very  different- 
ly, and  all  praised  him  up,  no  end." 

"  Really,  Minnie  darling,  I  have   nothing 

•gainst  the  Count,  only  once  he  was  a  little  too 

intrusive ;  but  he  seems  to  have  ff)t  over  that ; 

^muHf  hcTl  onlylw  nice  and  quiet  and  proper, 

I'm  sure  I've  nothing  to  say  against  him." 

They  drove  on  for  some  time,  and  at  length 
reached  Civita  Castellana.  Here  they  drove 
up  to  the  hotel,  and  the  ladies  got  out  and  went 
up  to  their  apartments.  They  had  three  rooms 
up  stairs,  (^0  of  which  looked  out  into  the  street, 


while  the  third  was  in  the  rear.     At  the  front 
windows  was  a  balcony. 

The  ladies  now  disrobed  themselves,  and 
their  maids  assisted  them  to  perform  the  duties 
of  a  very  simple  toilet.  Mrs.  Willoughby 's  was 
first  finished.  So  she  walked  over  M,  the  win- 
dow, and  looked  out  into  the  street. 

It  was  not  a  very  interesting  place/  nor  was 
there  much  to  be  seen ;  but  she  toot  a  lazy, 
languid  interest  in  the  sight  which  mether  eyes. 
There  were  tWe  two  carriages.  The  horses 
were  being  led  to  water.  Around  the  carriages 
was  a  motley  crowd,  composed  of  the  poor,  the 
maimed,  the  halt,  the  blind,  forming  that  realm 
of  beggars  which  from  immemorial  ages  has 
flourished  in  Italy.  With  these  was  intermin- 
gled a  crowd  of  ducks,  geese,  goats,  pigs,  and 
ill-looking,  mangy,  snarling  cuA. 

Upon  these  Mrs.  Willoughby  looked  for  some 
time,  when  at  length  her  ears  were  arrested  by 
the  roll  of  wheels  down  the  street.  A  carriage 
was  approaching,  in  which  there  were  two  trav- 
elers. One  hasty  glance  sufficed,  and  she  turned 
her  attention  once  more  to  the  ducks,  geese, 
goats,  dogs,  and  beggars.  In  a  few  minutes  the 
crowd  vras  scattered  by  the  newly-arrived  car- 
riage. It  stopped.  A  man  jumped  out.  For 
a  moment  he  looked  up,  staring  hard  at  the 
windows.  That  moment  was  enough.  Mrs 
Willoughby  had  recognized  him. 

She  rushed  away  from  the  windows.  Lady 
Dalrymple  and  Ethel  were  in  this  room,  and 
Minnie  in  the  one  beyond.  All  were  startled 
by  Mrs.  Willoughby's  exclamation,  and  still 
more  by  her  looks. 
"Oh!"  she  cried. 

"  What  ?"  cried  they.     "  What  is  it  ?" 
"  He's  there !     He's  there  1 " 
"Who?  who?"  they  cried,  in  alarm.  - 
"That  horrid  man!" 

Lady  Dalrymple  and  Ethel  looked  at  one  an- 
other in  utter  horror. 

As  for  Minnie,  she  burst  into  the  room, 
peeped  out  of  the  windows,  saw  "that  horrid 
man,"  then  ran  back,  then  sat  down,  then 
jumped  up,  and  then  burst  into  a  peal  of 
the  merriest  laughter  that  ever  was  beard  from 
her. 

"Oh,  I'm  so  glad!  I'm  «o  glad!"  she  ex- 
claimed. "  Oh,  it's  so  auifully  funny.'  Oh,  I'm 
so  glad  I  Oh,  Kitty  darting,  don't,  please  don't, 
look  so  cross.  Oh,  ple-e-e-e^e-e-e-ase  don't, 
Kitty  darling.  You  make  me  laugh  worse.  It'» 
so  auffully  funny !" 

But  while  Minnie  laughed  thus,  the  others 
looked  at  each  other  in  still  greater  constems- 
tion,  and  for  some  time  there  was  not  one  of 
them  who  knew  what  to  say. 

But  Lady  Dalrymple  agaiti  thre.w  herself  in 
ihe  gap. 

"  You  need  not  feel  at  all  nervous,  my  dear^" 
said  she,  gravely.  "I  do  not  think  that  thU 
pehwn  can  give  us  any  trouble.  He  certainly 
can  not  intrude  upon  us  in  these  apartments, 
and  on  the  highway,  you  know,  it  will  be  quite 
as  difflcolt  for  him  to  hol4  any  communicatkw 


4H^  if^ 


« .  K   Mi.  ^*' 


Ai 


'W 


wJtli  n«.     So  I  reafly  don't  .ee  anv  cauM  f„, 
alarm  on  your  part,  nor  do  I  "^^^hv  / 
Minnie  should  exhibk  .uch  iLu"     ^  '''*' 

M™  ^i."'"'?.  *"*"«'"  '=°'nf°rt  to  Ethel  and 
M«  WiUoughby    They«to„ceperceivedthe"r 

Minni^"*^^.  ^"'•^•"P'"'"  '«'■''«»'<=«  to' herself 
Minnie  looked  up  with  a  bright  smile.  ' 

. .  ';.  .   .    ™"  >    ^™'  I  forgive  you.  ■  Only  I 


THE  AMEKICiK  BABON. 


81 

10  speak  to  the  ladies  on  business  of  th«  m!«7 
urgent  importance      At  th.-.        c  """ 

itrxBr^"^'-"^^^^^^^^^ 

Lady  Da,  '  oTe  .r'"'''''  "''''  ^«««°".  "»* 

couiL'^ofss.rhir'"^""^  ''•«  '''^^ 

.^momtf/r  .!5f.-' *°  "-J  P"t  off.     I„ 


b«>«ght  ano.h;;.;^srra^S?' ^^^^^  ""* 

lent  "Im  #'?'",!  '°  ^  "«>'«  «'">  mortj  vio- 
!rAl:?  ^^flR^^^y-P'*-     "Well,d7a«" 


Of  the  ladie;  we;;^rt™iUo;^„T.tvtr'';r^  ^^^^^^^^^^^^^ 

loVoX".;^;.".,..''"''""?-""™'" 

Upon  this  she  sent  down  an  invitation  to  tl,« 

srrrr"^'-'^'''«''«^'e-^K 

Bhalt'har"  ""'^'l'''  ""''•  •"  °"'»''  offered  to 

ean«s,ly  all  ^und  the  roL,  and  gave  ^^ 

w.Vh"""'^.'"^  expected  ti  see  Kie  S 

Tgterthe    ^"'^^D'-'y-Pie  tarkS 
..^T- ""^  '•■«  ""PreMion  which  followed. 
Well,  ma'am,"  said  he,  as  he  seated  him 

SnTl'lan^'^H''''''^''"'  "^  "^^ ''at'^e 
ousiness  I  wanted  to  speak  about  wa.  t.^^1 

r-CtJ  vo"  iir '  ™»"*"  •^^e'rnd  rt 

1  assure  yon  that  it  is.     But  before  I  tell  iti 
want  to  say  something  about  theS^  f„  ^1 
I  have  reason  to  understand  that  I  d^usld^^t 
fie  annoyance  to  vou  all      if  i  j-j  t.  * 

this  journey.     I  want  to  know,  ma'am  tf  Vo^ 
made  any  inquiries  about  this  n;.d  bZ^lt^  \ 

"This  road?    No,  certainly  not." 
Lr"!^L!^L  "'1  '.•?"  B*.""*-     "Well, 


CHAPTER  XXn. 

k«  would  -doptXt^'to  S  .    '^''^*  '■'•" 
wnong  them   ^,  -  "'""  '"  entrance 

•Bch  attemn;  JP^,/^'"*  Convinced  that  some 

"•WW,  1^  ituur  wu  not  Intermoted  Md 


•naata,  I  ve  reason  to  believe  t 
whtwMwifa.^  

<(  VTh ^-  nit 


f,?J 


Unsafe  ?" 
"  Tea  i  particularly  fi^  kdiei." 
"And  why?"  \ 

stail^.'liH  ■""'"•»•  "'V*"^t,7  »•  in  a  disordered 
Sh  hri«  a"  '^u  '^"'^-7  «»e  it  swarm. 
dhSJ^Kr  ^'••7  "•"  them«,lve.  QaribS- 
«««•,  but  betw««,  yon  «d \n.e,  m.'am^yi 


:Mii., 


89 


THE  AMERICAN  BABON. 


neither  more  nor  lesi  than  robbers.  Ton  lee, 
klong  the  boandory  it  ia  convenient  for  them 
to  dodge  to  one  side  or  the  other,  and  where 
the  road  rant  there  are  often  crowds  of  them. 
Now  our  papal  government  means  weU,  bat  it 
ain't  got  power  to  keep  down  these  brigands.  It 
would  like  to,  bat  it  can't.  Yon  see,  the  scum 
of  all  Italy  gather  along  the  borders,  because 
they  know  we  cure  weak ;  and  so  there  it  is." 

"And  you  think  there  is  danger  on  this 
road?"  said  Lady  Daliymple,  looking  keenly  at 
him. 

"Ido,ma'An." 

"  Pray  have  you  h'eard  of  any  recent  acts  of 
violence  along  the  road  ?" 

"No,  ma'am." 

"Then  what  reason  have  you  for  supposing 
that  there  is  knj  particular  danger  now  ?" 

"A  friendlof  mine. told  me  so,  ma'am." 

"  But  do  not  people  use  the  road  ?  Are  not 
carriages  constantly  passing  and  repassing  ?  Is 
it  likely  that/  if  it  were  unsafe  there  would  be  no 
acts  of  violence  ?  Yet  you  say  there  have  been 
none."      / 

"  Not  0f  late,  ma'am." 

"  Bu(  it  is  of  late,  and  of  the  present  time, 
diat  we  are  speaking." 

"  I  can  only  fay,  ma'am,  that  the  road  is  con- 
sidered very  dangerous." 

"  Who  considers  it  so  ?" 

"  If  you  had  made  inquiries  at  Rome,  ma'am, 
yon  would  have  found  this  oat,  anA  never  would 
have  thought  of  this  road." 

"  And  yoif  advise  us  not  to  travel  it  ?" 

"I  do,  ma'am." 

"  What  would  you  advise  ns  to  do  7" 

"I  would  advise  you,  ma'am,  most  earnestly, 
to  torn  and  go  back  to  Rome,  and  leave  by  an- 
other route."- 

Lady  Dairy mple  looked  at  hira,  and  a  slight 
smile  quivered  on  her  lips. 

"I  see,  ma'am,  that  for  some  reason  or  other 
yon  doubt  my  word.  Would  you  put  confi- 
dence in  it  if  another  person  were  t9  confirm 
what  I  have  said?" 

"  That  depends  entirely  upon  who  the  other 
person  may  be." 

"The  person  I  mean  is  Lord  Hawbury." 

"Lord  Hawbnry  ?  Indeed !"  said  Lady  Dal- 
rymple,  in  some  surprise.    "  But  he's  in  Rome." 

"No,  ma'am,  he's  not.  He's  here — in  this 
hotel." 

", In  this  hotel?    Hei«r 

"Yes,  ma'am." 

"I'm  sure  I  should  like  to  see  him  very 
mnch,  and  hear  what  he  sayt  about  it." 

"  I'll  go  and  get  him,  then,*'  said  the  Baron, 
and,  rising  briskly,  he  left  the  room. 

In  a  short  time  he  returned  with  Hawbnry. 
_,L>dy  Dalryrople  expressed  stirprise  to  Me  him, 
and  Hawbury  explained  that  he  was  travel- 
ing with  a  fiiend.  Lady  Dalryrople,  of  course, 
thought  this  a  fresh  proof  of  his  infatuation 
about  Minnie,  and  wondered  how  he  could  be 
a  friend  to  a  man  whom  she  considered  aa  Min- 
nie's persecutor  and  tormentor. 


The  Bar«n  at  once  proceeded  to  explain  how 
the  matter  stood,  and  to  ask  Hawbury's  opin- 
ion. 1 ' 

"Yes,"  said  Lady  Dalrymple,  "I  should  re- 
ally like  to  know  what  you  think  about  it." 

"Well,  really,"  said  Hawbnry,  "I  have  no 
acquaintance  with  the  thing,'  you  know.  Never 
been  on  this  road  in  my  life.  But,  at  the  tome 
time,  I  can  assure  you  that  this  geiftleman  is  a 
particular  friend  of  mine,  and  one  of  the  best 
fellows  I  know.  I'd  stake  my  life  on  his  per- 
fect truth  and  honor.  If  he  says  any  thing,  you 
may  believe  it  because  he  says  it.  If  he  says 
there  are  brigands  on  the  road,  they  most  bo 
there." 

.  "Oh,  of  course,"  said  Lady  Dsflry  mple.  'fYou 
are  right  to  believe  your  friend,  and  I  sl^ould 
trust  his  word  also.  But  do  y()u  not  see  that 
perhaps  he  may  believe  what  he  says,  and  yet 
be  mistaken  ?" 

At  this  the  Baron's  face  fell.  Lord  Haw- 
bury's warm  commendation  of  him  had  excited 
liis  hopes,  but  now  Lady  Dalrymple's  answer 
had  destrtwed  them. 

"  For  my  part,"  she  added,  "I  don't  really 
think  any  of  us  know  much  about  it.  I  wish 
we  could  find  some  citizen  of  the  town,  or  some 
reliable  person,  and  ask  him.  I  wonder  wheth- 
er the  inn- keeper  is  a  trust-worthy  man." 
The  Baron  shook  his  head. 
"  I  wouldn't  trust  one  of  them.  They're  the 
greatest  rascals  in  the  country.  Every  man  of 
them  is  in  league  with  the  Garibaldians  and 
brigands.  This  man  would  advise  you  to  take 
whatever  course  would  benefit  himself  and  his 
friends  most." 

"  But  surely  we  might  find  some  one  whose 
opinion  would  be  reliable.  What  do  you  say 
to  one  of  my  drivers  ?  The  one  that  drove  onr 
carriage  looks  like  a  good,  honest  man." 

"  Well,  perhaps  so ;  but  I  wouldn't  trust  one 
of  them.  I  don't  believe  there's  an  honest  vet- 
tnrino  in  alTItaly." 

Lady  Dalrymple  elevated  her  eyebrows,  and 
threw  at  Hawbnry  a  glance  of  despair. 

He  speaka 'English,  too,"  said  Lady  Dal- 
rymple. 

"  So  do  some  of  the  worst  rascals  in  the  conn- 
try,"  said  the  BarQp. 

"  Oh,  I  don't  think  he  can  be  a  very  bad  ras- 
cal. We  had  better  question  him,  at  any  rate. 
Don't  yon  think  so.  Lord  Hawbury?" 

"Well,  yes ;  I  suppose  it  won't  do  any  hwrm 
to  have  a  look  at  the  beggar." 

The  driver  alluded  to  was  summoned,  and 
soon  made  his  appearance.  He  was  a  square- 
headed  fellow,  with  a  gricKlcfd  beard,  and  one 
of  those  non-cbmmittal  faces  which  may  be  worn 
by  either  a«  honest  man  or  a  knave.  Lady  Dal- 
rymple thought  him  the  foriner^  the  Baron  the 
latter.  The  result  will  show  which  of  these 
was  in  the  right. 

The  driver  spoke  very  Mr  English.  He  hsd 
been  two  or  thre«  times  over  the  road.  He  had 
not  been  over  it  later  than  two  years  before. 
He  didn't  know  it  was  dangerous.     He  had 


)^^iiiikjiUim,,,ijj^AJ$MiA^ik^iJiAi^Ji'-A,i^ 


never  heard  of  brigands  being  here     B.^m  . 

know.     There  was  a  signore  «t  f^l  w  f  "*?  ' 

.^    might  know.      HewMt^,"   ^'"'-^'«'*''» 

alone.     H™  o^  hZS'*"*  »»  ^'— 

termined  to  have  his  advice  abTati;     s  "  ^t 
-t  a  private  reqnest  to  th:* fC"'    ""  "'^ 

tionGi^eViS^fSi^^^^^ 

dargll^^alnl':'""'''^--^^-     No 
Another  smile  from  Lady  Dalrymple 

eiy  in  his  face  **'  n>o«k- 

. .   A  uttle  farther  conversation  foIlownH     n  ■ 
«ole  evidently  was  nerf JI  „  f      ,°       *    ®"*- 

-•/The  Count  withdrew.     Th« "«.«.»  *  n 

S«l,  b?t%hy™"uM  hT«''',~°''«'^-  • 
And  yet  he  believej  that t  w^h.""''!!"!' 


THE  AMERICAN  BAROlT. 


88 

»Ce7  .r  i°oL°hl°'t*?  "  *»  *"«  »«->'• 
atMinnie7a„d3t;"J'.«l«'°'"''«K«tapeep 

Rome  by'sSly  sfoL  H^""""  """"  "'«=''  «» 
forded  herTeat  &ph""ff  ^'^'"-  ^f" 
sympathized  with  ».  T  k  .    *?"""«.  "«  "snal, 

for  Ithel.  ebe"su*dd£"^?aro?r!tL"«-  .  ^ 
was  overwhplm!n„    ^rr      <?' ^^nl  Hawbarv 

i>er  forr'-e^S -^  TTetn^  fT  "' ^ 
again  vibrated  thm„»k  /^  "**  "^  *»*  ^oice 
began  toTrise  no  end  of^ird'^  '"'  '"'"^ 

however.  we«  as  qui?kt  dsSfed'^r''"''' 
tion  arose.  What  h«,„„k»  ^P^    ."•    ^^e  ques- 

seemed  to  hrb'toXLtr^'^H'''!^  ^"^^ 
infatuation  for  M  nnTe  S'' "'k  """  ""^  '"' 
to  Lady  DalrvmDla  itL.  i  ''"'  "  ''ell  as 
he  should  K  wa'™  ar''*;"''^,""»"''"i4h« 
"nentor.    iVw^  a T^^    '^".'^  *"  ^'""i«'^or- 

did  not  knowTat  th«  R '"^  ""'"«•  ^«h«P«  Jie 
Perhaps  hnht:KrKr,!f.^^^^^ 


Perhaps  hrthZht  »h  /k-  T ^""'e'"  '«'«'• 

her  up*;  anVh^To'u  dtSater™  A  T'^P" 
thoughts  there  came  «J^^^^  k  •  /^'""^'"  these 
did  not  love  Mi^es^!''i''°P\*''"  perhaps  he 
this  hope  soon  WM  dtlZJ""""^  '^""•""-  »" 
events  if  th^  oT^aT  «    "^  "'"'  '^•'•"ed  the 

easy  indffferXCemhW  ""'"•'' '=°°' '"«» 
her.  '"y  'hing  connected  with 

aunt  once  mo^^nS  de^uSf  ^^^ «» '"•'■' 
no  part  in  th«  h«k..     u         ""     ^'nmetpok 
Hke'an  iSrld,e  n*^**'^"  «"  apart,  looktg 
all  the  same  opinoj  and  tt!.       "u°°«  '''«°» 
aU  a  clumsy  deviw  of  S«  «       "^  """  ''  ^'^ 
them  back  ,^o  Rome      Such  S^.'^h/''  '">"'•"• 
they  did  not  occudv  „„.T"8 'heir  opinion, 
about  their  co^e" ^^„  Zi^l '"  ^t^?* 
ffiv't"'''  "«  enter  thTLd?"""* 
ing  to  Cte  '  hT''''  T''  '^^•""e  feel- 
thfn  thTy  haT  ki^^"''  ^.'^  ^"'''^"•P'e 
aware   that  the  S„  T*!?  '^^^  '""»  been 
They  felt  that  tLf^^     had  followed  them. 

cult;.  The?  h^"^„^et  tlfr'''''^  *'"' '''«  *««- 
him.     BesideiL^««L  '*'°'''"^'°'*''efe«ted 

of  iUelfX^a'^lnt  l?;:Z  "'i?r "  V;!! 
no  further  danirer  of  -n^  ,  *"*  "^^  •»• 
while  HawbuiTs  with  hL  ""Pl«««"«  -cene. 
ence,  also,  wa7fdt  t^^  h.m.  Ginwole's  pH^. 
tee  of  safet^  '°  '^*"?°*'  f"""- 

.ticeTr'^'L^LVmS  rr"^'""  «•--  ■ 

them  on  ithev  Za  '•'""''1  '"'^«  '«"o*ed 

secret  jonmey     Thei  I'h''"'^'"^  1*  '»""*  * 
«^.k.i_  "'•.    ^"ese  gentlemen  who  follow-       . 
I  vervoDAa  ...J  .1 .  .^ 


Wt  think  much  o^^rLole'   T^'  '"''  '"'M^"'  '^homThly  Sd^' """^  ^-.""'^  o"*., 


M  the  party  t 

MHwWtJ^.  Jk"  ""'^■^"^"Ofa    Uisonetrou 

Th  doot.  .m  uii,.  ,»dl»  1,.?;  "S^"- 


•   ,        /  pMwa  inem  a  few  miles  along 


now.  «,d  defy  hVCn       .'?'  '"'"'  '^  ««»»• 
">«ti.    BnffhLde?a^wr'"'''*^"''^""»"'er 

they  looked  forward  to^hlt^  '^^^  «''*"  "P' "««« 

""'slTthrur^-^i^^joTmi^^^^^^ 


»•  ^i(.jt^  '-l      <  '■^v.t    .*.S^j-»       *>i*4. 


84  -      / 

the  road.  The  /Baron  and  the  Reverend  Saul 
left  next ;  and  last  of  all  cf  me  Hawbnry  and 
Dacres.  The  /latter  was,  if  possible,  more 
gloomy  and  vengefifl  than  ever.  '  The  visit  of 
the  Italian  ou  the  preceding  evening  was  fully 
believed  by  mm  to  be  a  scheme  of  his  wife's. 
Nor  could  apy  amount  lof  persuasion  or  vehe- 
meot  Btaten^nt  on  Hawbury's  part  in  any  way 
shake  his  b|6lief. 

"No,"^le  woold  say,  "you,  don't  nnder- 
standC  pepend  upon  it,  she  got  him  np  there 
to  feast  tier  eyes  on  him.  Depend  upon  it,  she 
mariagea  to  get  some  note  from  him,  and  pass 
one  to  Uim  in  return.  He  had  only  to  run  it 
under  |1ie  leaf  of  a  table,  or  stick  it  inside  of 
«o^e  ^k :  no  doubt  they  have  it  all  arranged, 
-aiid  ^ass  their  infehhal  love-letters  backward 
'  and  forward.  But  I'll  soon  have  a  chance. 
My  time  is  coming.  It's4|;ear,  too.  I'll  have 
my  Vengeance;  and  then  for  all  the  wrongs 
of  ^  my  life  that  demon  of  a  woman  shall 
pay  M^'dear!" 

To  all  of  which  Hawbury  had  nothing  to  say. 
He  coald  say  nothing ;  he  could  do  nothing. 
He  ««uld  only  stand  by  his  friend,  go  with  him, 
and;:watch  over  him,  hoping  to  avert  the  crisis 
which  he  dreaded,  or,  if  it  did  come,  to  lessen 
the  danger  of  his  friend. 

The  morning  was  clear  and  beantifnl.  The 
road  wound  among  the  hills.  The  party  went 
in  the  order  above  mentioned.       ,         ^ 

First,  Girasole,  on  horseback.     ''*'<. 

Next,  and^two  miles  at  least  behini^,  came 
the  two  carriages  with  the  ladies  and  their 
maids. 

Third,  and  half  a  mile  behind  these,  came 
the  Baron  and  the  Reverend  Saul. 

Last  of  all,  and  half  a  mile  behind  the  Baron, 
came  Hawbnry  and  Scone  Dacres. 

These  last  drove  along  at  about  this  distance. 
The  scenery  around  grew  grander,  and  the 
mountains  higher.  The  road  was  smooth  and 
well  constructed,  and  the  carriage  rolled  along 
with  an  easy,  comfortable  rumble. 

They  were  driving  up  a  slope  which  wound 
•long  the  side  of  a  hiU.^  At  the  top  of  the  hill 
trees  appeared  on  ea«i  side,  and  the  road  made 
a  sharp  turn  here. 

Suddenly  the  report  of  a  shot  sounded  ahead. 

Then  a  scream. 

"  Good  Lord !  Dacres,  did  yon  hear  that  ?" 
cried  Ha wbuiy.  "  The  Baron  was  right,  after 
all." 

The  driver  here  tried  to  stop  his  horses,  but 
Hawbury  would  not  let  him. 

"  Have  you  a  pistol,  Dacres?" 

"No." 

"Get  onti"  he  shouted  to  the  driver;  and, 

kicking  him  out  of  the  seat,  he  seized  the  reins 

Htimielf,  and  drov»  the  faoraea  straight  forward 

to  where  the  noise  arose. 

^  "It's  the  brigands,  Dacres.     The  ladies  are 

there." 

"My  wife!  O  O04I  my  wifel"  gnoaned 
Dacres.  Bat  a  minute  before  be  had  bclpn 
cursing  her. 


THE  AMERICAN  BAB0J!7.    ' 


ve 


"Get  a  knife  I    Get  something,  man  I     Ha 
a  fight  for  it!" 

Dacres  murmured  something. 

Hawbury  lashed  the  horses,  and  drove  them 
straight  toward  the  wood. 


CHAPTER  XXIIL 

CAUOHT    IM    AMBUS  R. 

Thb  ladies  had  been  driving  on,  quite  uncon- 
scious of  the  neighborhood  of  any  danger,  ad- 
mi^ng  the  beauty  of  the  scenery,  and  calling 
one  another's  attention  to  the  various  objects  of 
interest  which  from  time  to  time  became  visible. 
Thus  engaged,  they  slowly  ascended  the  incline 
already  spoken  of,  and  began  to  enter  the  for- 
est. They  had  not  gone  far  when  the  road 
took.a  sudden  turn,  and  here  a  startling  spec- 
tacle burst  upon  their  view. 

The  road  on  turning  descended  slightly  into 
a  hollow.  .On  the  right  arose  a  steep  acclivity, 
covered  with  the  dense  forest.  On  the  other 
side 'the  ground  rose  more  gradually,  and  was 
covered  over  by  a  forest  much  less  dense.  Some 
distance  in  ftant  the  road  took  another  turn, 
and  was  lost  to  view  among  the  trees.  About 
a  hundred  yards  in  front  of  them  a  tree  had 
^en  filled,  and  lay  across  the  way,  barring 
their  progress. 

About  twenty  armed  men  stood  before  them 
close  by  the  place  where  the  turn  was.  Among 
them  was  a  man  on  horseback.  To  their 
amazement,  it  was  Girasole. 

Before  the  ladies  could  recover  from  their 
astonishment  two  of  the  armed  men  advanced, 
and  the  driver  at  once  stopped  the  carriage. 

Girasole  then  came  forward. 

"  Miladi,"  «aid  he,  "  I  haf  de  honore  of  to 
invitar  you  to  descend." 

"Pray  what  is  the  meaning  of  thi8?".iii- 
qnrred  Lady  Dalrymple,  with  much  agitatioit 

"It  means  dat  I  war  wrong.  Dere  are  brig- 
and on  dis  road." 

Lady  Dalrymple  said  not  another  word. 

The  Count  approached,  and  politely  offered 
his  hand  to  assist  the  ladies  out,  but  they  re- 
jected it,  and  got  out  themselves.  First  Mrs. 
Willoughby,  then  Ethel,  then  Lady  Dalrymple, 
then  Minnie.  Three  of  the  ladies  were  white 
with  utter  horror,  and  looked  around  in  sick- 
ening fear  upon  the  armed  men;  bnt  Minnie 
showed  not  even  the  slightest  particle  of  fear. 

"  How  horrid  1"  she  exclaimed.  "And  now 
some  one  will  come  and  save  my  life  again. 
It's  always  the  way.  I'm  sure  M$  isn't  mjr 
fault,  Kitty  darling." 

Before  her  sister  conld  say  any  thing  Gira- 
sole approached. 

"  Faixlon,  niea^''^h6  said  f 
dis  reception  for  yon.     Yon  sail  be  well  tnat 
Do  not -fear.     I  lay  down  my  life. " 

"  Villain ! "  cried  Lady  Dalrymple.  "  Anwt 
her  at  your  periL  Remember  who  she  is.  She 
has  ilHends  powerful  enough  to  avenge  bar  if 
yon  dare  to  ii^jura  her." 


"Touarra 

"8e  is  mine, 

8e  is  fiance  t 

niy  love — mak 

8e  is  my  flanc^ 

else  sail  I  do  i 

I  am  an  Italia 

i«  no  harm  for 

^  right.     But 

Lady  Dalryi 

bnt  now  her  y 

eyes  flashed  wi 

red;   she  gaspi 

ground.     Ethel 

of  the  maids  c 


With  Mrs.  W 
ent.  She  burst 
"  Count  Giras 
If  you  love  her,  1 
If  we  opposed  y 
tion  to  you;  ii 
child." 

"  Yon  mistaki 
his  shoulders. 
Se  love  me.     It 
come  too.     You 
Be  my  sistaire. 

Mrs.  Willoughl 
this,  and  flung  h 
moaned  and  wept 
."Well,  now,  « 
rid.  You're  nev, 
finding  fault.     I't 

K.  Gunn,  you " 

But  Minnie's  v 

•ound  of  approach 

riage  of  the  Baron 

had  feared  brigan 

expecting  to  come  1 

brigands  had  been 

tnrned  it  was  suddi 

ri«ges  in  front,  and 

The  Baron  gave 

•nrveyed  the  who 

move,  bnt  hij  form 

was  braced,  and  hig 

«w  it  alj— the  crov 

of  Minnie,  and  the 

Mrs.  Willoughby. 

"Well,  by  thund« 

Girasole  rode  np  1 

"  Surrender  t     Y) 

"What I  iir's  yon 

"d  he^Ured  for  « 

look  a^  Girasole. 

"Descend,"  said 
bound." 

"Bound?  All  r 
^  down,  aaiteri 
•The  Baron  stood 
••ood  up  too.  The 
•«2  down  very  carefi 
««d  wound,  most  of  I 
WH*  the  two  were 
WMend  Saul  had  ju 


I.     To   their 


honore  of  to 


"  al^^°  '•"*  ""'"'■''^  "  ■"''  Girasole,  politely 
He  18  mine,  not  voimi      T  o™  i.     'r"""j- 

8e  is  flancA,  to  me    7"«.v„  h     ^'J  "^^  '^^•'• 

n.y  love-m.k^  r;;op„  ".L„      fi''^'*" '■''' 
8e  is  my  fiance      t  ».  .  ^  "'=*'«?'  «ne. 

jSu'nd     Sff    f°'  k™.,!,,  „d  fell  r^ 
JfSl  ■_  5  ^  ""'»*  ■"  ""i"  li«r,  .Id  t>a 

child."  '  "  »>ecau8e-8he  i«  s„ch  a 

luy.     I  ou  sail  see  se  is  haoov      P/^m,. 
Be  my  s.staire.     It  is  love-"  ^^^'       """'• 

rid'^You""'^'  ^'"^  ''.'"■""^>  I  'hink  it's  hor- 
n«J.      You  re  n«,«.  satisfied.      You're  always 


/ 
THE  AMERICAN  BARON. 


8ff 


I  The  Jiaron  was  just  preparing  to  follow      Th. 

was  rushing  up  the^L-n  k-.'i      l"  '""^  '^•""J». 
One  sho?  wL  fi«n.     V-"**  ""  °'"««h»- 

the  8hot  thrHawbuX'^l'dV"'  '"!!'*- 
Two  men  sprang  after^ir  •.?*!.'**  ^'^"^^ 
catching  him  '       "°  '""'  ">«  ''°P«  «*' 

the  "w^JdT  ■"""^"'^  ''  '"'••^  ''•y  -«  "eard  from 
"MINI" 

from  Weyrl  s.;."  '^if"'"  "'  "«»"  «««'«<1 
her  lips     ^  "'  *  ""•'*'  "'^  '""""Ph  «•»«  over, 

.'.'  w!!"-"-"-"-'  '"  "h*  called  in  reply. 

bacJrdThrwrLxi;:,rr  ^'""•' 

Dacres  had  heard.  ^         Hawbury  and 

.ellingVeThal^''^  ,''SS:„;'''''  ^h""'"^  "? 
wait  if  this  ho.;id  Italics  w'n-t  let  mTp^'rJ^ 
"ure  he  might  be  moife  considerate  "  ""'  ^    ^  ™ 

Poor  Mrs.  Willonghbv  who  h.'^  «• 
ment  been  roused  to^  b^  the  IJ^  *  X 


of  Etherrnd  ^rmaidT'  Thr  "' '"''  ''"■°«' 
been  mo,*  to  hlZt.  J?-!  ^_'="'^'«=«  had 


had  feared  bn^andrbnt  he  1         ^''•^"'"    '''«  tho«Bht  o^he  b"^' n?*''     '?*»  *'""»•'. 
expecting  to  come  n^„?h       '"^  ^""'"'^  not   solemn  entreatL  1^^"'  '"*"""«  «"<»  h'"" 


been  rnor*  to  her  than  «  nT  *^'='"^"«e  had 
brigands,  n  wL  the  »h„  t™  «»«""««'  with 
lessness  hat  oXheimed  h  "^  t'' "''"  '^""^ 
the  thought  of  IL  S'n^'-  '?  »»  •"'"*« 
-lemn  eLeals%\strjJ!!r«  «"<»  "is 


««  hr.„„-i      ^  u.   ''"*  "«'"'  "nd  every 

«w  it  an  'r      "  7'^  «''^°"'d  fiercely.    He'  t"he  W  »  """^"^  fdvancing  more  swiftly  Aan 


the  last, accompanied  bvth«  1..1.  „/:".X  '""n 


•What I  If 8  you,  |g  itr 


mstant  ixssolved  to  m.h  .k"'  :-"!  ^e  had  ,„  an 


"Descend,"  said  Oimmio      uv 
bound."  wrasole,     ••Yon  mns  be 


"Bound?     AH  riirht.     n«~  *^*"'  bis 


-»a  I  ■  ..         ■  """f  parson, 

"2^^^"S^-     Th«  K«ve«,nd  Sam 
«««  up  too.     The  Reverend  Saul  benn  tn 

2H1hV.!?u'!!'?  -hout  ,o_  descend.     The 


»weap8Kron 


^    ttiovght  he  tnlgliiallteli 
rom  some  one  of  the  enemy. 


Tn  !^-.-  *~J' '"""  **•"•«  "no  Of  the  ewmT 
In  addition  to  this,  he  wished  to  strike  a  bMw 
to  save  the  ladies  from  capUvitr  2l„  sr  u^ 
blow  should  be  nnavailij;^    EvenThi  h^ 

S»T«;?fir?H"r  •hout^o-d;;c;';rd.""Th:  h\""LS  "''•*•"  ."''^'■•^--w^^^^^^ 

8.»e«nd  S.U,  had  just  stepped  to  th,  gt.„«C  I  feS  W;':?et^^^^ 


s.*iSsi>e^*MtSL^ 


THE  AMERICAN  BARON. 


WS8  some  trick  Concocted  by  bis  wife  and  ^e 
Italian,  'tlioagh  why  they  should  do  30  he  did 
not  stop,  in  his  mad  mood,  to  inquire.  A  vague 
idea  that  a  communication  had  passed  between 
them  oil  the  preceding  evening  with  reference 
to  this  was  now  in  his  mind,  and  his  vengeful 
feeling  was  stimulated  by  this  thought  to  the 
utmost  pitch  of  intensity.  I 

Ilawbury  thus  lashed  his  horses,  and  they 
flew  along,  the  road.  After  the  first  cry..and 
the  shot  that  they  had  beard  there  was  no  fur- 
ther noise.  The  stillness  was  mysterious.  It 
showed  Hawbury  that  the  struggle,  if  there  had 
been  any,  was  over.  Bat  the  first  idea  still  rc- 
'^inained  both  in  his  own  mind  and  in  that  of 
Dacres.  On  they  went,  and  n^w  they  came  to 
the  tarn  in  the  road.  Round  this  they  whirled, 
and  in  an  instant  the  scene  revealed  itself. 

Three  carriages  stopped ;  some  drivers  stand- 
ing and  staring  indiiierently ;  a  group  of  wo- 
men crowding  around  a  prostrate  form  that  lay 
in  the  road  ;  a  pale,  beautiful  girl,  to  whom  a 
beautiful  woman  was  clinging  passionately ;  a 
crowd  of  armed  brigands  w'ith  leveled  pieces ; 
and  immediately  before  them  a  horseman — the 
Italian,  Girasole. 

One  glance  showed  all  this.  Hawbury  could 
not  distinguish  any  face  among  the  crowd  of 
women  that  bent  over  Lady  Dalrymple,  and 
Ethel's  face  was  thus  still  unrevealed ;  but  he 
saw  Minnie  and  Mrs.  Willoughby  and  Girasole. 

"Wh^pt  the  devil's  all  this  about?"  asked 
Hawbury,  haughtily,  as  his  horses  stopped  at 
the  Baron's  carriage.  ' 

"You  are  pMsoners —    began  Girasole. 

But  before  he  could  say  another  word  he  waj. 
interrupted  by  a  cry  of  fury  from  Dacres,  wl>6, 
"the  moment  that  he  had  recognized  him,  sp/^ng 
to  his  feet,  and  with  a  long,  keen  knifu/ln  his 
hand,  lc;^ped  from  the  carriage  into  tb^  midst 
of  the  brigands,  striking  right  and  1^,  and  en- 
-  deavoring  to  force  his  way  toward  Girasole. 
In  an  instant  Hawbury  was  by  Ms  side.  Two 
men  fell  beneath  the  fierce  thrusts  of  Dacres's 
knife,  and  Hawbury  tore  the  rifle  f^om  a  third. 
With  the  clubbed  end  of  this  he  began  dealing 
blows  right  and  left.  The  men  fell  back  and 
leveled  their  pieces.  /Dacres  sprang  forward, 
and  was  within  thr^e  steps  of  Girasole — his 
face  full  of  ferocity,  hi*  eyes'flashing,  and  look- 
ing not  so  mucli'like  an  English  gentleman  as 
one  of  the  old  vikings  in  a  Berserker  rage. 
One  more  spring  brought  him  closer  to  Girasole. 
The  Italian  retreated.  One  of  his  men  flung 
himself  before  Dacres  and  tried  to  grapple  with 
him.  The  next  instant  he  fell  with  a  groan, 
Btabhed  to^  the  heart.  With  a  yell  of  rage  the 
ot|ier8  rushed  upon  Dacres ;  but  the  latter  was 
p6w  suddenly  seized  with  a  new  idea;  , Turning 
an  instaat  he  held  bis  assailants  at  bay  ;^  and 
then,  selling  the  opportunity,  sprang  into  the 
wood^  and  ran.  One  or  two  shots  were  fired, 
and  then  half  a  dozen  men  gave  chase. 
-^Meanwhile  one  or  two  shots  had  been  fired' 
arHawbary,  but,  in  the  confusion,  they  had  not 
taken  effect.     Suddenly,  as  he  stood  with  up- 


lifted  rifle  ready  to  ytrike,  his  enemies  made  a 
simultaneous  rush  ;dpon  him.  He  wiw  seized 
by  a  dozen.strong  Arms.  He  struggled  fierce- 
ly, but  his  effoFt%  were  unavailing.  The  odds 
were  too  great.  Before  long  he  was  thrown  to 
the  ground  on  his  face,  and  his  arms  bound  be- 
hind him.     After  this  he  was  gagged. 

The  uproar  of  this  fierce  struggle  had  roused 
all  the  ladies,  and  they  turned  their  eyes  in 
horror  to  where  the  two  were  fighting  against 
such  odds.  Ethel  raised  herself  on  her  knees 
from  beside  Lady  Dalrymple,  and  caught  sight 
of  Hawbury.  For  a  moment  she  remained  mo- 
tionless ;  and  then  she  sa'w  the  escape  of  Dncre^ 
and  Hawbury  going  down  in  the  grasp  of/his 
assailants.  She  gave  a  loud  shriek  and  piished 
forward.     But  Girasole  intercepted  her 

"  Go  back,"  he  said.  "  De  milor  i«  my  pris- 
oner.    Back,  or  you  will  be  bounds*' 

And,  at  a  gesture  from  him  t^o  of  the  men 
advanced  to  seize  Ethel.  /  , 

"Back!"  he  said,  oneeAnore,  in  a  stem 
voice.     "  You  mus  be'  tci^f  to  miladi." 
'    Ethel  shrank  back. 

The  sound^  of  that^  scream  had  stmck  on 
Hawbury's  ears,  but  he  did -not  recognize  it. 
If  he  thought  of/it  at  all,  he  supposed  it  was 
the  scream  of  ^mmon  terror  from  one  of  the 
women.  He/Was  sore  and  bruised  and  fast 
bound.  He  was  held  down  also  in  such  a  way 
that  he  ceroid  not  see  the  party  of  ladies.  The 
Baron 's^carriage  intercepted  the 'view,  for  he 
had  Allien  behind  this  during  the  final  struggle. 
After  a  little  time  he  was  allowed  to  sit  up,  but 
sdll  he  could  not  see  beyond. 

There  was  now  some  delay,  and  Girasole 
gave  some  orders  to  his  men.    The  ladies  wait- 
ed with  fearful  apprehensions.     They  listened 
lagerly  to  hear  if  there  might  pot  be  some 

unds  of  approaching  help.  But  no  such 
sotuids  came  to  gladden  their  hearts.  Lady 
Dalrymple,  also,  still  lay  senseless ;  and  Ethel, 
fuK  of  the  direst  anxiety  about  Hawbury,  had 

return  to  renew  her  efforts  toward  reriving 
her  aunt*  ^ 

Before  long  the  brigands  who  had  been  in 
pursuit  of  the  fugitives  returned  to  the  road. 
They,  did  not  bring  back  either  of  them.  A 
dreadful  question  arose  in  the  minds  of  thi  la- 
dies as  to  the  meaning  of  this.  Did  it  mean 
that  the  fugitives  had  escaped,  or  had  been 
shot  down  in  the  woods  by  their  wrathful  pur- 
suers ?  It  was  impossible  for  them  to  find  ont. 
Girasole  went  over  to  them  and  conversed  with 
thop  apart.  The  men  all  looked  sullen ;  bat 
whether  that  arose  from  disappointed  venge- 
ance or  gratified  .ferocity  it  was  impossible  for 
them  to  discern. 

The  brigands  now^nmed  their  attention  to 
their  own  men.  Two  of  thes«  had  receired 
bad  but  not  dangerous  wounds  from  the  dag- 
ger of  Dacres,  and  the  scowls  of  pain  and  rage 
which  they  threw  upon  Hawbary  and  the  other 
captives  boded  nbtbing  but  the  most  cruel  fata 
to  all  of  them.  Another,  however,  still  Isj 
there.     It  was  the  one  who  had  intercepted 


THE^^ERICAN  BARON, 


Dacres  fn  his  rn,h  apon  GiraSole.    He  lav  mo- 

ove"  hIwC'"''?!.'^''-  T^tarnedTta 
^1h  ,  "  *••««.  f>8>d  face,  as  it  became  ex- 
po^d  o  view,  «ixhibited  the  Onmistakable  marie 

W8  rM§  had  met  him,  »       ■ 

The  brigands  uttered  loud  cries,  and  ad- 
21"^  .;?*"^Hawbn,7.  H^  sat\gardf„g 
them  with  perfect  indifference-  They  raised 
Je.r  rifles  some  cluBbing  them,  othe«'S 

Hawbniy,  however,  did  not  move  a  mnsde 
of*.,  face,  nor  did  he  show  the  slighLTfee 

and  h,g  clothes  were  torn  and  splashed  with 

TJ'Z^  '.""  k'*'^.""'^  •'«"'"«>' ««» his  month 
=^^*'lV*'"*  J"  I^"wrved  «  coohies.  tS2 
=«wrt«teed  hT.  enemies.     Had  it  not  been  for 

?n    ^    V'u"  '"^"''  "'^'''  »"'^«'  been  Wo^ 
J»  look  which  made  the  Italians  pause,  g;ve 


TUX  utiia. 


.fs^^T^^  then  came  up  and  made  his  men 
stand  back,     they  obeyed  sullenly. 

Uirasole  removed  the  gag. 

Then  he  s.pod  and  looked  at  Hawbnir 
Hawbuiy  sat  «,d  returned  his  look  with  hC 
nsual  nonch^,  regarding  the  Italian  4" 
a  cold  steady  sfSre,  which  produced  upon  the- 
latter  Its  usual  maddening  effect. 

"Milor  will  be  ver  glad  to  hear,"  said  he. 
^th  a  mocking  smUe,  "dat  de  mees  will  1^ 

an  soltakediioccajaonetomakhermine.    f  ' 
sail  love  her,  an'  se  sail  love  me.     I  haf  save 
her  hfe.  an'  «,  haf  been  fiancee  to  me  sS 

^.  NowGirasole  had  chosen  to  say  this  to  Haw- 
bury  ftom  the  conviction  that  Hawbnry  wS== 

would  inflict  a  pang  upon  the  heart  of  his  sup. 

CT'^I*'""''  r"'"^  '•""toy  his  coolneJ£ 
Thus  he  d»«e  rather  to  strike  at  Hawba^ 
jealousy  Aan  at.his  fear  or  at  his  prid  J  ^^ 

But  he  was  disappointed.    Hawbiuy  baud 
bit  statement  with  otter  indifference,      i^ 


ja^fV* 


THE  AMEKICAK  BAROX. 


"Well,"  Mid  he,  "all  I  c»n  tmj  U  th»  tt 
I  0  a«  to 1m  •  deviUih  odd  way  of  %vm0 
to  wvrii  J^>ut  it." 

"Aha  I  »aid  Ginaole,  fiercely.  "You  sail 
■ee.     8e  sail  be  mine.     Ahul"       « 

Hawbury  made  no  reply,  and  Oinuole,  after 
a  i^featufe  of  impatience,  walked  oflT,  baifled. 

In  *  few  minutes  two^  men  came  up  to  Hnw- 
bury,  and  led  him  away  to  the  woods  on  4be  left. 


#3- 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

AIIO.HO    THB    BBIOANDS. 

GnusoLB  noW  returned  to  the  ladies.    They 

were' in  the  same  position  in  which  ha  had  left 

them.   Mrs.  Willoughby  with  Minnie,  and  Ethel, 

witOfllie  inaid's,  attending;  to  Lady  Dalrymple.' 

"said  Girasole,  "I  beg  your  atten- 

'  '^de  bonore  to  inform  yoo  dat  dis 

~  give  me  her  heart 

I  love  Wr.    I  was 

haf  to  take  her  in 

atdeprtyrha^vjS- 

it  was  ine^pmS.    Yoa 

more.     Yon  are  freel 

llees,"^  continned,  taking  Minnie's  hand, 

^-you  haf  promis  me  dis  fair  ban',  an'  you  are 

J^f^XtrnxnM  UyvM  who  loves  you  betteire 

Mn  life,  an'  who  yon  love.    You  owe  youair  life 

to  me.  I  sail  make  it  so  happy  as  nevair  wa^." 

"I'm  sure  /  don't  want  to  be  happy,"  said 

Minnie.     "I  don't  leant  to  leave  darling  Kitty 

—and  it's  a  shame— and  you'll  maka  me  hate 

tjronifyondoio." 


"MiUdi,"said  Oirasole  to  Mr|.  Willoughby, 
"  de  roees  says  se  not  want  to  leaf  you.  Eel' 
yoh  want  to  come,  you  may  come  an'  be  our 
sistaire." 

"Oh,  Kitty  darling,  yon  won't  leave  me,  will 
yooi  all  alone  with  this  horrid  man  f"  said  Min- 
nie. 

"My  daffing,"  moaned  Mrs.  Willoughby, 
"how  can  I?  I'll  go.  Oh,  ipy  sweet  sister, 
what  misery!"  ' 

"Oh,  now  that  will  b«  rbally'^vita  delightful 
if  yon' will  come,  Kitty  darling.      Only, I'm « 
afraid  you'll  find  it  aiofiilly  uncomfortable." 
Girasdle  turned  once  more  to  the  other  ladies. 
"I  beg  you  will  assura  de  miladi  when  g!ie 
recovaire  of  ray  considenuion  de  mos  distingue, 
an'  convey  to  her  d6  regrettas  dat  I  haf.     Mi- 
ladi," ho  continued,  addressing  Ethel,  "you  are 
Ave,  an'  can  go.     You  will  hot  be  molest  by 
me.    You  sail  go  safe.    You  haf  not  v«r  far. 
You  sail  fin'  houses  dere-^forward — before— 
not  far."    ' 
,|With  these  words  he  turned  away. 
■"You  muB  come  wit  me,"  he  said  to  Mrs. 
Willoughby  and  Minnie.     "Come.     Eet  ^s 
opt  ver  far."  ; 

r»  ,)ji^'He  walked  slowly  into  tho  woods  on  the  left,  ' 
and  the  two  sisters  followed  him.  Of  the  two 
Minnie  was*  far  tlie  more  cool  and  collected. 
She  was  as  composed  as.nsualj-and,  as  there 
was  no  help  for  it,  she  walked  on.  Mrs.  Wil- 
loughby, however,  was  .terribly  agitated,  and 
wept  and  shuddered  and  moaned  incessantly.' 
"Kitty  darling,"  said  Mihnie,  "I  iri«A  you 
wouldn't  go  on  so.  Yon  really  make  me  feel 
(|uite  nervous.  I  never  saw  you  so  bad  in  my 
life." 

"FoOr  Minnie!  Poor  chifal ( •'^oor  sweet 
child!"  / 

"Well,  if  I  am  a  child,  you  needn't  go  and 
tell  me  about  it  all  the  tinae;(^It'S,Teally  quite 

Mrs.  Willoughby  said  "plil|BHiMW''<>P»- 
\f  tried  to  repress  her  adji||MiBjHBfc.not 
to  give  distress  to  her  ■■|E8|^MP^na^^. 

After  the  Count  had  en^rernie  wood  with 
the  two  sisters  thfl  drivers  removed  the  horses 
from  the  carriages  and  went  away,  led  off  by 
the  man  who  had  driven  the  ladies.  This  was 
the  man  whose  stolfd  face  had  seemed  likely 
to  belong  to^an  honest  man,  but  who  now  wad 
shown  to  beI6ng  to  Uie  opposite  class.  Thene 
men  went  down  the  road  over  which  they  had 
conte,  iMVing  the  carriages  there  with  the  ladies 
and  th«i>oaaid8.  ^ 

Oirasc^e'  naw  led  the  way,  and  Minnie  and 
her  sister  followed  him.  The  wood  was  Viery 
thick,  and  grew  more  to  as  they  advanced,  but 
there  was  not  jDjich  nnderbmsb,  and  progress 
was  noc^cuiiivux&    oorvnu^Xi  _ 

of  flight  carob  to  Mrs.  Willoughby',  bht  was  at 
once  dispelled  by  a  helpless  sense  of  its  utier 
impossibility.  How  could  she  persuade  the 
impracticable  Minnie,  who  seemed  so  free  fix>m 
all  concern  ?  or,  if  she  conld  persuade  her,  bow 
coold  she  accoilipUtl^  her  deairef    She  would 


i4il-ii..j 


;«?;& 


-.&M 


^1 


•tonce  be  panned  and  •arronnded  whil.  .«- 
J^Je  did  n..„.^  to  escape,  how  «'„Td  t  eve" 
ftnd  her  way  to  any  pUce  of  refnge?     EvI' 

iSyftr^'^""  '*"  »""'/  gone 
i  ffiSk!r„PBiP  e«^«ping  ceased  to  ,ug- 
H  ""flfttpnff TH|re  remained  only  a  diUJ  de 

inse  of  utter  helplessne.,  and  hope- 

doo-n,.^"  r"       '""  *''°  "  «"'"«  '^o 

'^-.^'!**!lf  '***'  """''"K  whatever;  but  led  the 
way  inftlence,  Walking  slowly  enough  to  ac! 
.      ~mp«^ate  the  ladies  and  BoJnetimef  hlbg 

inVlTw  •"'^l"?  '',"•"''' '"  P"^""'  *'  from  spring* 
ng  back  .n  their  faces.    Minnie  walked  od  liKhl 
>y,  and  with  an  elastic  step,  looking  around  with 
f;;"*^'"'^""?^"  the  forest.    OnceaZl 
ing   .«rd  grew  from  her  a  pretty  little  Cc 

.^jrs  •^^-^y-tth^m^iuts^ 

Object  that  affected  her  fancr.    Mrs  WH?o^^h 

smiled  at  the  brigands,  .truck  her  as  a  problem 
quite  beyond  her  power  to  solve 

tJ.  ^r"^'  ""*  '^«'"' '"  ««>'»  "-inner.  The 
iround^     r'  '"•*  ^*"'"'«'  "P««.  •»«»  rose  •" 

At  length  there  appeared  before  them,  through 
^e,™„yofthe  trees,  the  gleam  ofwat;r.MT 
mSA'A^f"^  thiynd  wondered  whatli 
might  be.    At  first  she  thought  it  was  a  harbor 

er-ttTnlV.  *"«" '"•«/''-«''t  itwassjm'e^nt 
ii£i  f-^j'j'.^fmJns  nearer,  she  saw  that 
"  WM  a  lake.  In  a  few  minutes  after  the  v  first 
oanght  sight  of  it  they  had  reached  its  baYk! 
All  Zln'n'"'^'  '^.^f  "' »"''  •equestered  spot, 
vond  S  ^"^^^«^  *««»«<1  eminences,^: 
ilrintf  ^  nnduhting  summits  arose  thelow- 
^h.i  iTf  ""^  *?."  ^P*""*"«  '■eight..  AmoL 
and  breadth,  whose  surface  was  as  smooth  as 

i^^S£:tJ:i-K^ 
5^ti;:itis""c^Si:';^^^^^^^^^ 

wJn'f *'.?!!'"'  "°°f  ""  *•  *"'^'  "f  '»"•  '•k«.    It 

Tht  l.r  "^  ""n  ""  **«  «'«""  '■»  height. 

LTf  »  Jk^  T  ""  '''^'  •*"'  •'•'f  *  dozen  or 
•oof  the  brigands  stood  there,  and  formed  a 
.uffiqent  gnard  to  prevent  the  escape  oflnv 
prisofler.     These  men  bad  dark,  w^^ed  -v^i^ 

■VH"^::.^^^^^^  "ffordeda  tetjto 
— mtt9t  WmQUttlmg. .  ^r&K^  t_j   *» -mr.. 


THE  AlfEBICAN  BARON. 


et      . "cnii  terror  ro 

"d«n»«Zr"!r'' L.  ""^  thought,  In  her 
SKk  •  *»'^"'?'''"«  «>•»>«  ofTort  to  eicape  by 
E&i^"  ""'"l'"'*  *"  thorough-bred  nU«d! 

«wis  .hewed  her  that  tSiey  were  the  reiy  fel- 
"wwMd.    If  ii^  had  been  able  to  speak  It«l- 


the  prospect  of  some  future  reward  after  e.c.2^ 
ing :  bat.  a.  i,  was,  she  could  not  ,p«ik  .  w'r^ 
of  the  language,  and  thus  cod1«|  notour  Tiln 
even  the  preliminaries  of  an  e.^.^!  *^ 

aside,  staring  hard  at  them.     Mrs.  Willoughbv 

£^::e^s:;:rsj::'^r^S 

Zc&aZit '  ''!"  !•"""•  *"•"  "«  «"    ee- 
S:ndT.o;  ""  *"^  •"•  '"^^  "^  •  "«'-  o"  'he 

ac^*fc  "'*"""".*  •'^  '■"•««  ""o.  extending 
across  tNe  liouse,  with  a  window  at  each  «n7 

."helror,'"*  •''°-     ""  "•"  «-'  thfre  wi. 
thrown  ^fc'  •*'""■  *'"'=!?  •«""«  -'"'"'  '-e" 
inyTaWe.  T     ^'^  "^  '  ""'^  ""  """^ 

"Scusa  nie,"  .aid  Girasole,  "  miladi   for  m.% 

bridt  mLsl'   T  '"  ""  '"  ^'P"^ 

"  But  i  don't  want  to  stay  here  at  alLin  such 
*hc.r„dpUce,"saiaMi„^;j^^^ 

.    ".  Only  dis  day  an'  dis  night,"  .aid  Girasole 
nnplonngly.     "Aflaire  yoUlI  havf  aCii 

.    "  Well,  at  any  rete,  Ithink  if.  very  horrid  / 

Girasole  ajniled  faintly. 

hut^'^  '"'  ^""-J*"  '""'''  P'*"".^  of  de  wood-     >* 
butto-morra.     You  w4it  here  now.    Allsafe- 
oh  yes-secure-all  aright-oh  yes-slip  1^ 
night,  an'  m  de  momin'  early  yo,/s«l|  be  mine 
Dere  9j«  come  a  priest,  an'  we  U  have  de"^ 

/'  WelM-think  it  wa.  very  ijtfkind'lyou  to 

I^tl""'^T*""'"'^''P'»«'-  Andhowca^ 
Wk».  '  ^"T^^'h'vehadachair.  AnS 
K.f«  ^'L  •*"""«  '^'"J^-  Yon  may  be  nn- 
kmd- to  me,  bat  you  needn't  make  her  sit  on  the 
floor.  ^  You  never  saved  her  life,  and -you  hare 
no  right  to  be  unkind  to  her."  , 

"  Unkind  1    Oh,  mees !— mv  heart,  my  life  all 
.r«youai«,  an'I  lay  my  life  at  y^a?ffi.^ 

w„„M  „  "u*"""  ^  '■•'•  -"o™  hind  if  yon 
wodd  put  a  chair  at  poor  Kittj's  feet,"  retort, 
ed  Minnie,  with  some  show  of  temper 

But,  oh,  carissima,  tink-de  wild  wood- 
noting  here-no,  noting-not  a  chair-only  de 


m' 


K 


u 


itcaw.^ 


.i 


,  "thenyon  ^dno  bdsinesAtoJbring  me  her^ 
You  might  have  known  that  there  weriiio  c^a^ 
here.  I  can't  sit  down  on  notbirfg.  Butlsun! 
pose  you  expect  me  to  stand  up.  And  if  thai 
isn't  hOhId,  I  don't  know  what  U.  Tm  llare  { 
don  t  know  what  poor  dear  pap.  would  say,lf 
I  he  were  to  see  me  BowA  «■"/« 

■■■.  .  -,   .:  •   r-  '■■:'■  ■  »  ■-  ■ 


«f 


-it- 


':--t~- 


THA  AMBBtCAN  BABON. 


"wuAi  IS  TUis  rost". 


"Do  not  grieve,  carimima  inia — do  not, 
oharmiAg  mees,  decompose  yourself.  To-mor- 
ra  you  sail  go  to  a  bettaire  place,  an'  I  will 
cam  you  to  my  castello.  You  sail  haf  every 
ynlbt,  yon  sail  enjoy  every  wis,  you  sail  be 
happy." 

"But  I  don't  see  how  I  can  be  happy  without 
a. chair,"  reiterated  Minnie,  in  whose  mind  this 
one  grievance  now  became  pre-eminent.  "  Ton 
talk  as  though  you  think  I  am  made  of  stone  or 
iron,  and  you  think  I  can  stand  here  all  day  or 
all  night,  and  you  want  me  to  sleep  on  that 
horrid  straw  and  those  horrid  furry  things.  I 
suppose  this  is  the  castle  that  you  speak  of;  and 
I'm  sure  I  wonder  why  yon  ctwr  thought  of 
bringing  me  here.  I  suppose  it  doesn't  make 
so  much  difference  abont  a  earpt ;  but  you  will 
not  even  let  me  have  a  dudr ;  and  I  think  you're 


ole  was   in   despair.      He    stood   in 
I  for  some  tiilitf.     He  felt  that  Minnie's 
was  deserved.     If  she  had  reproached 
I  waylaying  her  and  oarrying  her  off,  he 
(Muld  have  borne  it,  and  could  have  found  a  re- 
ply.    But  such  a  charge  •«  this  was  nimnswei^ 


able.  It  certainly  was  very  hard  that  she 
should  not  be  able  to  sit  down.  But  then  how 
was  it  possible  for  him  to  find  a  chair  in  the 
woods  ?  It  was  an  insoluble  problem.  How 
in  the  world  could  he  satisfy  her  ? 

Minnie's  expression  also  was  most  tonching. 
The  fact  that  she  had  no  chair  to  sit  on  seemed 
to  absolutely  overwhelm  her.  The  look  that 
she  gave  Girasole  was  so  piteous,  so  reproach- 
ful, so  heart-rending,  that  his  sool  actually 
quaked,  and  a  thrill  of  remorse  passed  all  through 
his  frame.  He  felt  a  cold  chill  running  to  the 
very  marrow  of  his  bones. 

"  I  think  you're  very,  very  unkind,"  said  tfin- 
nie,  "  and  I  really  don't  see  how  I  can  ever  speak 
to  yon  again." 

This  was  too  mnCh. '  Girasole  turned  away. 
He  rushed  down  stairs.  He  Wandered  fVantie- 
alty  abotir^^  He  looked  tn  all  direetionf  I 
chair.  There  was  plenty  of  wood  certainly— 
for  all  around  he  saw  the  vast  forest— but  of 
what  use  was  it?  He  could  not  transform  a 
tree  into  a  chair.  He  communicated  his  diffi- 
culty to  some  of  the  men.  They  shook  their 
heads  helplessly.    At  last  he  Aw  the  stump  of 


\- 


a  tiw  which  was  of  snch  a  shape  that  it  looked 
as  though  It  might  beQised  as  a  seat.     It  was 
his  only  resource,  and  he  seized  it.     Calling 
two  or  three  of  the  men,  l^ad  the  stump  ear- 
ned to  the  old  house.     He  rushed  up  stairs  to 
acquaint  Minnie  with  his  success,  and  to  try  to 
console  her.     She  listened  in  coldness  to  his 
hasty  words.     The  men  who  were  carrying  the 
stump  canaenp  with  s  clump  and  a  clatter, 
breathing  hard,  for  the  stump  was  very  heavy 
and  finally  placed  it  on  the  landing  in  front  of 
Minnie^door.     On  reaching  that  spot  it  was 
found  Okt  it  would  not  go  in. 

Minnie  heard  the  noise  and  carfo  out.  She 
looked  at  the  stump,  then  at  the  mer  and  then 
at  Girasole. 

"  What  is  this  for  ?"  she  asked. 

"Eet— eet  ees  for  a  chair."  " 

"A  chair!"  exclaimed  Minnie.  "Whv  it's 
nojnng  but  a  great  big,  horrid,  ugly  old  stump, 

.n^l'  T"w'''  *"!*''  ?"  » '""^'"»-    She  turned 
and  ran  back  into  the  room. 

"What- what  is  de  mattaire?"  cried  the 
Count,  l«K)king  into  the  room  with  a  face  pale 
with  anxiety.  .  ^ 

"Oh,  take  it  away!  take,  it  j^wayl"  cried 
Minnie,  m  terror.  ./r     /      vwon 

"What?  what?" 

pealed'!'"'  "'  **'^'   *"^^  ''  *'^"y'"   «'»«"- 
"But  eet  ees  for  yon— eet  ees  a  seat." 
I  dont  want  it.     I  won't  have  it!"  cried 

And  It's  dre«dful-«nd  ver;,,  very  cruel  in  you 
to  bnng  them  up  here  just  to  teas,  me,  when 
you  know  I  hate  them  w.  Take  it  away  I  take 
It  away !  oh,  do  please  take  it  away !  And  oh 
do  please  go  aWay  yourself,  and  leave  mo  with 
dear,  darling  Kitty.  ^Ae  never  teases  me.  She 
18  a/toayi  kind." 

then  he  wandered  away.  He  was  quite  at  a 
loss  what  to  do.  He  was  desperately  in  love 
and  It  was  a  very  small  request  for  Minnie  to 
ui^!'^J"'u'^  i"  '^"^  ""<^°f  •»i'"l  ''hen 
WiSh ;  but  here  he  found  himself  in  a  difficulty 
from  which  he  could  find  no  possible  means  of 

Gii^?.^  TT'  ^'"^  "l«'«n«."''«id  Minnie,  after 
birasole  had  gone-"  now  yon  see  how  very 

<Jear  good,  kind,  nice  Rufus  K.  Gunn.  Be 
would  never  have  treated  mo  so.      ffe  wonld 

SmI  "'"'".'"•'  ^  •  P'"««  ''k«  this -a 
horria  old  house  by  a  horrid  damp  pond,  with- 

^-doota^^  wiBde#i^>juiHih4..  ft  beggart 
hopse-and  then  put  me  in  a  room  withoT^a 
Chair  to  sit  on  when  I'm  so  a«;fully  tired.     He 

Ton'&M'"'*  *«/»'''*"«»  'hat  was  the  reason 
yon  hated  him  so,  because  you  couldn't  bear  to 
haveprople  kind  to  me.     And  I'm  to  tired." 

ConMi,  then,  poqr  dariing.    I'll  make  a  nice 
•••t  Sprjrou  9ut  of  theae  skini." 


THE  AMERICAN  BAKON. 


'  91 

t),<i"'^  Mrs  Willoughby  began  to  fold  some  of 
them  up  and  lay  them  one  upon  the  other. 
What  IS  thatfor,  Kittydear?"asked  Minnie. 
.<  n  .Ti!  ^''"  ■  "^"^  «'*■'  "e"'.  dearest. " 
.1,    iT"  I  1^"  '  ^'"'  *hem,  and  I  won't  sit  on 
the  homd  things,"  said  Minnie.  ° 

lon.     bee .       And  her  sister  pressed  her  hand 
on   hem,  so  as  to  show  how  soft  they  were, 
nie.  -»n^'  think  they're  soft  at  ali,"  said  Min- 
nie;   'and  I  wish  you  wouldn't  tease  me  so 
when  I'm  »o  tifed."  \  ' 

J'  ^v.''^r  *:''°"^  •*"""« !  1  will  sit  on  them,  and 
yon  shall  sit  on  my  knees."! 

"But  I  don't  want  to  go  near  those  horrid 
furrythings.  They  belong  to  cows  and  thS 
I  think  everif  body,  unkind  to  me  to-day  " 

v„„  ^»r'''  "l?"""'  y°"  "«"y  "onnd  me  when 
you  taijf  m  that  way.     fib  reasonable  now 
^e  what  pains  I  take.     I  do  aU  I  can  for 

"  But  I'm  a/irqjff  reasonable,  and  it's  uou  that 
are  unreasonable,  when  you  want  me  to  sit  on 

X  iSuy  dtr."''""  "'^'  ""^  *"^'«"'--'«  - 
Mrs.  Willoughby  said  nothing,  but  went  on 
Xolding  some  more  skins.  Thesejihe  placed  on 
the^straw  so  that  a  pile  was  form^«bout  as 
*igh  as  an  ordinary  chair.  This  pile  was  placed 
against  the  wall  so  that  the  wall  served  as  a 
support.  =«  w  » 

Then  she  seated  herself  upon  this. 

"Minnie,  dearest,"  said  she. 

I'Well,  Kitty  darling." 

"  It's  really  quite  soft  and  comfortable.     Do 

only  for  five  minutes.  See!  I'll  spread  my 
dress  over  ,t  so  that  you  need  not  touch  it 
^°f«' dearest,  only  for  five  minutes." 

*VelI,  I II  sit  on  it  just  for  a  little  mito  of 
a  time,  if  you  promise  not  to  tease  me." 

Com?'"'^  ^°"'  **"*"     ^'■y*  °'  «•""*  "ot- 

side"  ***""'*  ^*"'  "^*  *°*^  """y  •""■  *"**''• 
In  about  an  hour  Girasole  came  back.  The 
two  sisters  were  seated  there.  Minnie's  head 
was  resting  on  her  sister's  shoulder,  and  she 
was  fast  asleep  while  Mrs.  WillougKbv  sat  mo- 
tionless, with  her  face  turned  toward  him,  and 
such  an  expression  in  her  dark  eyes  that  Gira- 
sole felt  awed.     He  turned  in  silence  and  went 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

8EEKi;«0    FOB   HBLP. 


!.„../',"'•  ^^^  *•'*'•"  *lth  their 
horses  had  increased  the  difflcnlties  of  the 
party,  and  had  added  to  their  danger.    Of  that 

r««  i^  .'  r"  """  ""  '"""'•  •"•»  her  effort, 
were  directed  more  lealously  than  ever  to  brine 
back  Lady  Dalrymple  to  her  senses.  At  laM 
these  efforta  were  crowned  with  success,  and. 
•fter  being  Mnseless  for  nearly  an  hour,  she 


^l3^ti}J^,,&^^A-fi^.i4.S^^I!S^V-^'A^%&6hAiL>.v  ^ufi^^j^^' 


LV. 


THE  AMEKICAN  BARON. 


"iTHiL  outauhd  a  paib  or  soibbobs." 


came  to  herself.  The  restoration  of  her  senses, 
however,  brought  with  it  the  discovery  of  all 
that  had  occurred,  and  thus  caused  a  new  rush 
of  emotion,  which  threatened  painful  conse- 
qnences.  But  the  consequences  were  averted, 
liiid  at  length  she  was  able  to  rise.  She  was 
•then  helped  into  her  carriage,  after  which  the 
question  arose  as  to  their  next  proceeding. 

The  loss  of  the  horses  and  drivers  was  a  very 
embarrassing  thing  to  them,  and  for  a  time  they 
were  utterly  at  a  loss  what  course  to  adopt. 
Lady  Dolrymple  was  too  weak  to  wallt,  and  they 
hod  no  means  of  conveying  her.  The  maids  had 
rimply  lost  their  wiu  from  fright;  and  Ethel 
could  not  see  her  way  elearly  out  of  the  diffl- 
cnlty.  At  tliis  juncture  they  were  roused  by  the 
approach  of  the  Rev.  Saul  Tozer. 

This  reverend  man  had  been  bound  as  he  de- 
scended fVom  his  carriage,  and  had  remained 
bound  ever  since.  In  that  state  he  had  been  a 
spectator  of  the  struggle  and  its  consequences, 
and  he  now  came  forward  to  offer  his  serv- 
ices. 

"  I  don't  know  whether  you  remember  me, 
ma'am,"  said  he  to  Lady  Dalrymple,  "  but  I 
looked  in  at  your  place  at  Rpme ;  and  in  any 
case  I  an)  bound  to  oflTor  you  my  assistance, 
since  yoo  are  companions  with  me  in  my  bonds, 
whioli  I'd  be  much  obliged  if  one  of  you  ladies 
woul4  umia  or  <iut>  Perhaps  ^woaU  to  best 
to  uAtis  it,  as  rope's  valuable." 

i|M^,  request  Ethel  obtained  a  pair  of  scis- 
■owlBB  one  of  the  maids,  and  after  vigorous 
offor»||jjBeeded  in  freeing  the  reverend  gentle- 
man. ^ 

"  Beollji  Sir,  I  aip  very  much  obliged  for  this 
*       ■    i  ,W .'  • 


kind  offer,"  said  Lady  Dalrymple,  "and  I  avail 
myself  of  it  gratefully.  Can  you  advise  us  what 
is  best  to  do  ?" 

"  Well,  ma'am,  I've  been  taming  it  over  in 
my  mind,  and  have  made  it  a  subject  of  prayer; 
and  it  seems  to  me  that  it  wouldn't  be  bad  to  go 
out  and  see  the  country." 

"There  are  no  houses  for  miles,"  said  Ethel. 
"  Have  you  ever  been  this  road  before  ?"  said 
Tozer. 
"No." 

"  Tlien  how  do  you  know  ?" 
"  Oh,  I  was  thinking  of  the  part  we  had  pass- 
ed over." 

"  True ;  but  the  country  in  front  may  be  dif- 
ferent. Didn't  that  brigand  captain  say  some- 
thing about  getting  help  ahead  ?" 

"Yes,  so  he  did;  I  remember  now,"  said 
Ethel. 

"Well,  I  wouldn't  take  his  advice  generally, 
but  in^his  matter  I  don't  see  any  harm  in  fol- 
Igflfig  it ;  so  I  move  that  I  be  a  committee  of 
o4e  to  go  ahead  and  investigate  the  country  and 
bring  help." 

"Oh,  thanks,  thanks,  very  mijch.  Really, 
Sir,  this  is  very  kind,"*'  said  Lady  Dalrymple. 

"And  I'll  go  too,"  said  Ethel,  as  a  sudden 
thought  occurred  to  her.  "Would  you  be 
afraid,  aunty  dear,  to  stay  here  alone  ?" 

"Certainly  not,  dear.  I  have  no  more  fear 
for  myself,  but  I'm  afraid  to  trust  you  out  of  int 
sight."  ' 

"  Oh,  yon  need  not  fear  for  me,"  said  Ethel. 
"  I  shall  certainly  be  as  safe  farther  on  as  I  am 
here.  Besides,  if  we  can  find  help  I  will  know 
best  what  i»  wanted."' 

"  Well,  dear,  I  suppose  you  may  go." 
Without  further  delay  Ethel  started  off,  and 
Tozer  walked  by  her  side.   'They  went  under 
the  fallen  tree,  and  then  walked  quickly  along 
the  road. 

"  Do  you  speak  /talian,  miss  ?"  asked  Tozer. 
"  N<J." 

"I'm  sorry  for  that.  I  don't  either.  I'm 
told  it's  a  fine  language." 

"  So  I  believe ;  but  how  very  awkward  it  will 
be  not  to  bo  able  to  speak  to  any  person  1" 
«  "  Well,  the  /talian  is  a  kind  of  offshoot  of  the 
Catin,  and  I  can  scrape  together  a  few  Latin 
words — enough  to  make  myself  understood,  I 
do  believe." 

"  Cin  you,  really  ?     How  very  fortunate !" 
"It  is  somewhat  providential,  miss,  and  I 
hope  I  may  succeed." 

They  walked  on  in  silence  now  1^  some 
time.  Ethel  was  too  sad  to  talk,  and  Tozer 
was  busily  engaged  in  recalling  all  the  Latin  at 
his  command.  After  a  while  he  began  to  grow 
sociable. 

are?" 

"  Persuasion  ?"  said  Ethel,  in  sarprise. 

"Yes,  'ra;  de-nomination— religions  body, 
you  know." 

"Oh!  why,  I  belong  to  the  Church." 

"Oh I  and  what  cburoh  did  you  say,  'ra t" 


don't 
Are 


1*^?.  * 


''  The  Church  of  England." 
"  H'm;     The  Tiscopalian  body,     wjell   it's 
a  high-toned  body."  "P",  its 

Ethel  gave  a  faint  smile  at  this  whimsical  ap- 
plication of  a  name  to  her  church,  and  then 
Tozer  returned  to  the  charge. 
"Are  Jou  a  professor?" 
"A  what?" 
"A  professor." 

"  A  professor  ?"  repeated  Ethel.     "  I 
think  I  quite  understand  you." 

"Well,  do  yon  belong  to  the  church? 
you  a  member?" 
"Oh  yes." 
*-     "  I'm  glad  to  hear  it.     It's  a  high  and  a  holy 
1  a  happy  perrivelege  to  belong  to  the  church 
Id  enjoy  the  means  of  grace.     I  trust  you  live 
iptoyonrperriveleges?"  ' 

^       '' Live  what  ?"  asked  EtheL 

"Live  ap  to  your  perriveleges,"  repeated 
Tozer--"  attend  on  all  the  means  of  grat^be 
often  at  the  assembling  of  yourself  together  " 
.     /^f  assembling  of  myself  together?     T 
don  t  thinki  j«te get  yourmeaning,"  snid  Ethel 
Meeting,  you  know-church-meeting." 
Oh  yes;  I  didn't  understand.     Oh  yes  I 
always  go  to  church."  "    yes,  i 

hef ,     and  I  suppose,  now,  you  feel  an  interest  in 
the  cause  of  missions  ?" 

"Missions  ?  Oh  I  don't  know.  The  Roman 
Catholics  pmct.ce  that  to  some  exten^  and  sev- 
eral of  my  fnends  say  they  feel  benefit  from  a 
miMion  once  ay«ir;  but  for  my  part  I  have  not 
idsm"^  '"■y  ^'^'^^  l««">in«»  to  Roman  Cathol- 

".L?.*"'  ''""u",'  ''*""■  '""'"  cried  Tozer, 
"tha  8  not  what  I  mean  at  all;  I  mean  Prot: 
esiant  missions  to  the  heathen,  you  know.  " 

I   beg  your  pardon,"   said   Ethel.      "I 
thojight  you  were  referring  to  something  else.' 

then  asked  her,  abruptly, 

!!^*'"J*  ^''"'"  ^'P'"'""  »''«>"»  the  Jews  ?" 
The  Jews?"  exclaimed  Ethel,  looking  at 
him  m  some  surprise,  and  thinking  that  her 
conjpanion  must  be  a  little  insane  to  carry  on 
such  an  extraordinary  conversation  with  such 
very  abrupt  changes—"  the  Jews  ?» 

"Yes,  the  Jews." 

"'Oh,  I  don't'like  them  at  all," 

"But  they're  the  chosen  people  " 

.h.'I^**"V*''P"V"-    "on't  like  them.    But 
then,  you  know.  I  never  reaUy  ww  much  of 

"I  refer  to  their  fhtnre  prospects,"  said 
Tozer-"  to  prophecy.  I  should  like  to  ask 
you  how  you  regard  them  in  that  light.     Do 


THE  AMEMCAN  BARON. 


'  "— -   •■■"■■•   111   i.iini   llgni.       iJo 

I  beliewin  ft  spiritual  or  »  Jemporal^ignf" 
•  8plrit«al  Zion  ?    Temporal  Zion  ?" 

"Yes,  'm." 

"  Well,  really,  I  don't  know.  I  don't  think  Ii 
MlleTo  any  thing  at  all  about  It."  i  "   ( 

"But  you  nutt  believe  in  either  one  or  the 

u'^lTTr' '"'"  •*'•'  T"*"-.  Po-ltlvely, 
Bat  I  don't,  yon  know  j  and  bow  can  I V 


Tozer  threw  at  her  a  look  of  commiseration 

much  h'^tr  '\*''''"'  ""•'  '••''  ""npanirjL'^"; 
much  better  than  a  heathen.     In  his  own  home 

o  Tin  who'""'''  '"'•'  P"  *"*  »""«»  -  «""«  S 
kan  agai"  ?""  "'^"^  ^"^  *  '^"'«>  »"d  then  be- 
"ve^much.'-"  "''' ^"^  •*"«'•''"«•"  -'d  he, 

''What  is  it?"  asked  Ethel.  "* 

'.,hi;°  yp"  ,^.»«ve,»  asked  Tozer.  solemnly 

»  V T/*^'''*  '"  »'"'  S^^""""  Vial?''       ^' 
amazImiL. ''"'"'' '^"'^"'^'''^'''^'.-fr-'' 

sep^h^Iltict""* ''"''""••*  ^''"^' -- 

"Living  in  the  Seventh  Vial?    I  really  don't 
know  how  one  can  live  in  a  vial  "  ^ 

«r  """f^*".'  Tribulation,  you  know.'- ' 
"Great  Tribulation?" 

■•    I'J^a'  ^°\  '"^t^nfce.  now,  don't  you  believe 
in  the  Apocalyptic  Beast  ?" 

.'.'4/?."'  ''"°"'''*  '»••'  ^'hel,  faintly. 
Well,  at  any  rate,  you  believe  in  his  num- 
ber—yon  must."    ■'  "um- 
"His  number?" 
"Yes." 

"  What  do  you  m^n  ?" 
''Why,  the  number  six,  six,  six-six  hnn- 
dred  and  sixty-six."  '     ^     *    "ix  nnn- 

'''doS^v^''"k  ""''"""/""J  ""is,"  said  Ethel, 
done  ?■•    A'5      "'^  "^'  "•*'  S^""  Vial  is 
"Sixth  Vial?    What,  another  vial?" 

.. nZ  V""u  *"  *'I''"«  "*■ "'«  Euphrates." 
«n  «  ,  .^^."Phwtes  ?  drying  ?"  repeated  Ethel 
in  « trembling  voice.  She  began  to'^be  alarmed 
She  felt  sure  that  this  man  was  insane.  She  hiul 
I  never  heard  such  incoherency  in  her  life.  aS 
she  was  alone  with  him.  She  stole  a  timid  loo^ 
and  saw  his  long,  sallow  face,  on  which  there 
was  now  a  preoccupied  expression,  and  the  look 
did  not  reassure  her. 

But  Tozer  himself  #88  a  little  puzzled,  and 
felt  sure  that  his  companion  must  have  her  own 
opinions  on  the  subject,  so  he  began  again : 

Papacy  r    '"^'^  ^°"''^  ^'"'  *^'"'"'''8  *>"  »»«  "" 
' '  No,  I  haven't.     I  never  heard  of  it. " 
Strange,  too.      You've  heard  of  Elliot's 
Hone  Apocalyptic^,'  I  suppose?" 
"No,"  said  Ethel,  timidly. 
"Well,  it's  all  in  Cumming-«nd  you've  read 
hiro,  of  course  ?"  .  .?  »« 

is  her  """'"*  ^    I  never  heard  of  him.     Who 

"What,  never  heard  of  CnmminK?" 
"Never."  *' 


t  '        .'     ' '     I  i 


"  5*^.  "•''"  "^  "••  '  O"*-'  Tribnlatlon  V  " 

"  Nor  his  '  Great  Expectation  V  " 
"No,"' 

^  J' What  I  not  even  bis  'ApocalypUo  Sketeh^ 

"I  nerer  heard  of  them." 

Toier  looked  at  her  in  astonUhmenti  bat  M 


^  1^^  -^'i*!^^         h^  e. 


lite'  td 


M 


m- 


TBfE  AMiBBICAN  BABOK. ' 


this  moment  they  came  tb  a  tarn  in  the  road, 
when  a  sight  appeared  wifch  drew  from  Ethel 
an  expression  of  joy.        j 

It  was  a  little  valley  ojn  the  right,  in  which 
was  a  small  hamlet  with  it  church.  The  houses 
were  but  small,  and  could  not  give  them  much  ac- 
commodation, but  they  hoped  to  find  help  then. 

"I  wouldn't  trust  the  people,"  said  Ethel. 
"I  dare  say  they're  alt  brigands;  J>ift  there 
ought  to  be  a  p^st  there,  aplf  we  can  ap- 
peal to  him."  !       ,    t 

This  proposal  please^  Toze*,  who  resumed 
hla  work  of  collecting  ajmong  the  stores  of  his 
memory  scraps  of  Latipi  which  he  had  once 
stored  away  there. 

The  village  was  at  jno  very  great  distance 
away  fW>m  the  road,  and  they  ileached  It  in  a 
■taorttinie.  They  wem mmiee  to  the  church. 
The  door  was  open,  and  a  priest,  who  seemed 
the  village  priest,  was  standing  there.  He  was 
stout,  with  a  good-natured  expreMion  on  his 
hearty,  rosy  face,  and  a  fine  twinkle  in  his 
eye,  vhich  lighted  np  pleaaantly  aa  he  saw  the 
■tTKngers  enter.  [V. 

'*,  ^m^^  '% 


Toier  at  once  held  out  his  hand  and  shook 
that  of  the  priest. 

"Boon  giomo,"  said  the  priest. 

Ethel  shook  her  head. 

"  Farlate  Italiano  ?"  said  he.' 

Ethel  shook  her  head. 

"Salve,  domine,"  said  Toier,  who  at  once 
nlungod  headlong  into  Latin. 

"  Salve  bene,"  said  the  priest,  in  some  sur- 
prise. 

"Quomodo  vales?"  asked  Toier. 

"Optime  valet),  Dei  gratia.     Spero  vos  va- 
lere." 

Tozer  found  the  priest's  pronunciation  a  lit- 
tle difficult,  but  managed  to  understand  him. 

"Domine,"  said   he,  "snmns  viatorcs  in- 
felices  et  innocentes,  in  qnoa  ftires  nnper  i 
petum  fecemnt.    Omnia  bona  nosMra  arripue- 
nint— " 

"  Fieri  non  potest  1"  said  the  priest 

"Et  omnes  amicos  nostros  in  captivitatem 
laehrymabilem  tractavemnt — " 

"Cor  dolet,"  Mid  the  priest;  "miMret  ma 
veatnuB." 


v^ 


"Cujasmodi  term  est  hec  in  qaa  sastenen- 
dum  est  tot  labores  ?"  -  ""leiien- 

The  priest  sighed. 

"Tonitrnendum  est  malnml"  exclaimed  To- 
«r  exceed  b/ the  recollection  of  hirw«„g«" 

liie  priest  stared. 

"In  hostium  manibus  fuimus,  et,  bonum  toiii- 
in.  I  omnia  impedimenta  amissimus.   ^   „i 
mw  omnipotens  malum  I" 


THE  AMERICAN  BARON. 


.;    /■■■ 


I; 


95 

-^ttriHoS:  ^""^"-^  ''^  »"""- 

»h.^*"'^  l*  T*"  **''''"«  "■e'-e  came  a  man  to 

indw°:s':;„?f '""•'""?-'•     Hewento„t 
ana  was  gone  for  some  time.     He  came  back 
at  last,  looking  veiy  serious. 
;;  I've  just  got  a  missage  from  thim, "  said  he 

fid!'  "qS^v-S^  *«  P-^''  •-''^"«   Whatrm ^^^TJr''^'''*'''  "'^-•"-P 


poMled.     "  Quid  tibi  vir?" 

"Est  nimis  sempiternnm  durum!" 

one  "  rri«!?l"if  *"""'•""  "anctorum  apostoloram- 
qne     cned  the  pnest,  "quid  vis  dicere?" 

h~.  I»T'  ""J"^*"""  "O"."  continued  Tozer.  "in 
h«M:  lachrymabile  tempore?  Volo  unum  v;n,m 
Tivnm  virum  qui  possit— " 

Terbnm  intelUgere!"  cried  the  priest.    "  Be  ia 
Ofhi.Jsitorswereperi'ectly^totl?"*  "^'N  i'"!"'.*':7  *'«'*  "-e  ^r. 


They  want  a  praste,  and,theyVe  «nt 


rfKi.  .i  17 ^*      """  '"  "•»  race,  t 

"  «ri    "  '^*"""'  P*'^«'«'J'  astomid^d. 
G*od  gracious!"  cried  Tozpr.  i.„-i     •  • 

«  ott.  Why,  what  a  providehcet  Whv 
'S^^n  A'  ^"^  "'"»  »n  IrishmarSl 
"  sZ  and  w?f  "•'5''  ^""  "P*"'  English  r 
«rl«H  »!.  "  ^"'  """*'«  you  spake  Latin?" 
cried  he  pnest.     "  And  u  hat^as  it  you  were 

InT-'^.'*^  "id  ycr  •«,mpitemum'dur^m  • 
'll^l'.  i.?,"'-""'".'^''"'  "'"I"-?'     Sure  a™"'e 


Yis. 
for  me. ' 

"A  priest?"         , 

n„  1^"^ '  °°'  '.''*y  ''"'*  "  maid-servant  to  wait 

*^r*I  f?'";  "'  ''^^  "''"'  ">^"'^- 

a  ^l  ^  J  ^  '  ''*''*  '*'  *'*"  off  soon.  There's 
a  ^^n  dead  among  thim  that  wante  to  l«Tnt 
undherground  to-night,  for  the  rist  ay  thim 
aregoin  «ff  in  the  morning  an' accordin' tJln 
!  ^' J  """''•nt  wondher  but  what  I'd  be 
wanted  for  somethin'  else  afore  momin'."      ^ 

toki?hiSen!"'''*'^'''''''"*"'^'-«-« 

"Kill  him!     Kill  who?    Sure  an' it's  not 

It's  the  other— it's 


made  me  fairly  prof;;;  wTd  '^talk  TyeV^'   J*""^'"  .*-»"«•  f"'  all  orus.  Tn'- 1^ 
„xT«»!  '."^^  -y.-'-id'w'l'didt'-   ^;.,.?;"??'".-°?---»be.r. 


«  Woii  T  J  '■•■'.»«..  wm  yer  taifc,  so  ye  did  " 
"Well  I  dare  s«y,"«,id  Tozer  candidly- 
Tnl  oTtS  i"'"'' °"«kely  that  I  iifintrS^^ce 
one  or  two  Americanisms  in  the  Latin;  but 
then  you  know.  I  ain't  been  in  pmctice."' 

The  pnest  now  brought  chairs  for  his  vis- 
h^Lh"**;  T^"  *"•  '"  »»'«  «hurch.  they  told 
tdaT  ^u"  •^/«'«»«'^  "d  ent^ated  him 
to  do  something  for  then.     To  all  thi.  Ih- 

£  tr"'  "!!*•  '•'-S'f-l  atteitiS  and 

-Xt^fprr:h5:;.-rdrwtS^^^ 

to  find  some  accorirtnodations 

He  then  left  them,  and  in  «bont  half  an 
hour  he  returned  with  two  or  three  D«l„t? 
each  of  whom  had  a  horse.  Peasants, 

nrl«f ''»^''!,'lf  "^'l'°  **""«"«»  '«edie»."  «id  the 

'"?h?nkmi«.''Tyr'«""'*«^«"ht^^^ 
1  think,  miss,"  said  Toiter,  "that  vou'd 

•^Su«Cr    .I'"' »«>'»'' fo;  you  SwX  " 

^iT  f?v^  '^'"  back,"  «id  the  priest  Z 

SiL  t  l^r  "•" '  "^°  "J'  «"d.  an'  you'd  be^ 

Et2  «  fl'rr'-  ^•"'""d  •"  be  enough." 

i-.l .   1.     ""'  .""'"«''»  *"  ''•'king  back,  bit 

■"fy  'J'  "''  that  it  would  be  quite  nwle,. 

i"  t  ^""^  Vr'»  -"'-it  f'rCr 
"wi.    Bo  Toier  went  off  witi)  the  men  ud 


marryin'. 

M^^^rof"  ""'^  ^""''-     "P°°''  darting 
Mmn« !     Oh,  you  can  not-you  wiU  not  man? 

T  n'»?T  ""'  '.^°"'*  ''"'"'  •»"'  it'*  the  best  thing 
I  «;^n  d,^a8  things  a«,"  said  the  priest.         " 

moan^dEthS.*'^  '  '"'   "'•-*  """^  I  do!" 
"Well  ye've«got  to  bear  npj  so  ye  have 


■         — - ..  ^.^^  a,  UB  can  Dear." 
for  s„™i!?  '"  *'"'  •''"■''"''*  '»d  bitterest  grief 

were Trfl^'^  '  ""^^  **"  *'"»'«'"«  «°d  feamTat 
were  perfect  agony  to  her. 

her'Vti^'^J^''"f'  *""""  '»  '"'  ''Weh  m-de 
l«,k1S[l  'nf  "f-  "P"  •"''  *"»«  •'  the  priest  a 
look  full  of  wonder  and  entreaty.  The  orieM 
watched  ^er,,,  ,,e  deepest  sy^pa^h^S 

!', r^*  ""V  *»''«  them  I"  she  «ied. 

that  L°l""  '•!?  r  """  •"•d*'  °P  ""»  »o5nd  to 
Srre^:;:^.^''''^'"''"-'^' 'didn't  want 

.tro'n^Lphl""  *'*"»•"  "*'»  ^'»«"'  -^h 
"Wer    What  can  yon  dor- 
Ethel  got  np,  walked  to  ti^e  cKnreh  do^r 

r.r^.r*'"'''^"'-?''^''"^ 


CHAPTER  XXVtI  ' 

THB  AVBKOKB  OH  THB  TH|ICK. 

When  Dacres  had  sprung  aside  ii  {to  the  woods 

fn  the  moment  of  his  fieree  msh  „,  on  g1.^„ 

he  had  been  animated  by  .  ,„d!  len  th^fi 

i  escane  for  himuir  —_. .v  ""««» 


jf--7«'<" himj;z'poL7b;.Vndt;  ^. 

it  would  be  mow  ^.rriceaUe  to>i.  frfeSl 


ill!      < 


;^Nj 


96 


THE  AMERICAN  BARON. 


Thns,  ^en,  he  had  bonnded  into  the  woods,  and 
with  sWift  steps  he  forced  his' way  ^mong  the 
trees  deeper  and  deeper  into  the  fofest.  Some 
of  the  brigands  had  given  chase,  but  withoat 
effect.  iDacres's  superior  strength  and  agility 
gave  hipa  the  advantage,  and  Ms  love  of  life 
was  a  ^eater  stiranlus  than  their  thirst  for 
vengtance.  In  addition  to  this  the  trees  gave 
every  assistance  tpward  the  escape  of  a  fugi- 
tive, while  they  threw  every  impediment  in  the 
way  of  a  pursuer.  The-  consequence  was, 
therefore,  that  Dacres  soon  ^nt  a  great  distance 
between  himself  and  his  pursuers,  and,  what  is 
more,  he  ran'  in,  such  a  circuitous  route  that 
they  soon  lost  all  idea  of  their.own  locality,  and 
had  not  the  faintelt  idea  where  he  had  gone. 
-In. this  respeci,  however,  Dacres  himself  was 
riot  one  whit  wiser  than  they,  for  he  sooo  found 
himself  completely  bewildered  in  the  mazes  of 
the  forest;  and  when  at  length  the  deep  si- 
lence around  gave  no  further  sound  of  pursuers, 
he  sank  down^to  take  breath,  with  no  idea  what- 
ever in  what  direction  the  ro»d  lay. 

After  a  brief  rest  he  appse.and  plunged  deep- 
,  er  still  into  the  forest,  set  as  to  pk  an  addition- 
al distance  between  himself  and  any  possible 
pursuit.  He  at  leilgth  found  himself  at  the 
foot  of  a  precipice  about  fifty  feet  in  height, 
which  was  deep  in  the  recesses  of  the  forest. 
Up  this  he  climbed,  and  found  a  mossy  place 
among  the  trees  at  its  tpp,  where  he  could  find 
rest,  and  at  the  same  time  be  in  a  more  favor- 
able position  either  for  hearing  or  seeing  any 
signs  of  .approaching  pursuers. 

Here,  then,  he  flung  himself  down  to  rest, 
and  soon  buried  himself  among  thoughts  of  the 
most  exciting  kind.  The  scene  which  he  had 
just  left  was  fresh  in  his  mind,  and  amidst  all 
the  fury  of  that  strife  there  rose  most  promi- 
nent in  his  memory  the  form  Of  the  two  ladies, 
Minnie  standing  calm  and  unmoved,  while  Mrs. 
Willoughby  was  convulsed  with  agitated  feel- 
ing. What  was  the  cause  of  that  ?  Could  it  be 
possible  that  his  wife  had  indeed  contrived  such  a 
plot  with  the  Italian  ?  Was  it  possible  that  she 
had  chosen  this  way  of  striking  tv4  blows,  by 
one  of  which  she  conld  win  her  Italian,  and  by 
the  other  of  which  she  conld  get  rid  of  himself, 
her  husband  ?  Such  had  been  his  conjecture 
during  the  fury  of  the  fight,  and  the  thought 
had  roused  him  up  to  his  Berserker  madness; 
but  now,  as  it  recurred  again,  he  saw  other 
things  to  shake  iiis  full  belief.  Her  agitation 
seemed  too  natural 

Yet,  on  the  other  hand,  he  asked  himself^ 
why  should  she  not  show  agitation  ?  She  was 
a  consummate  ncfress.  She  could  show  on  her 
beautiful  f|ce  the  softness  and  the  tenderness 
of  an  angel  of  light  while  a  demon  reigned  in 
her  malignant  heart.     Why  should  she  not 


choose  this  way  of  keeping  np  appearai](bes? 
She  had  betrayed  her  friends,  and  sought  her 
husband's  death ;  but  would  she  wish  to  have 
her  crime  made  manifest  ?  Not  she.  It  was 
fi>r  this,  then,  that  she  wept  and  clong  to  the 
ohUd-angcJtyt 


*  Such  thoughts  as  these  were  not  at  all  adapt- 
ed to  give  comfort  to  his  mind,  or  make  his 
rest  refreshing.  Soon,  by  such  fancies,  he  kin- 
dled anew  his  old  rage,  and  his  blood  rose  to 
fever  heat,  so  that  inaction  became  no  longer 
tolerable.  He  had  rest  enough.  He  started 
up,  and  looked  all-around,  and  listened  attent- 
ively. No  sound  arose  an^  no  sight  appeared 
which  at  all  ex^cited  suspicion.  Hejdetermined 
to  set  forth  once  more,  he  scarcely  kaew  where. 
He  had  a  vague  idea  of  finding  his  way  back 
to  the  road,  so  as  to  be  able  to  assist  the  ladies, 
together  with  another  idea,  equally  ill  defincd| 
of  coming  upon  the  brigands,  finding  the  Itall 
ian,  and  watching  for  an  opportunity  lo  wreak 
vengeance  upon  this  assassin  and  his  guilty 
partner, 

•  He  drew  his  knife  once  more  from  a  leathern 
sheath  on  the  inside  of  the  breast  of  his  coat, 
into  which  he  had  thrust  it  some  time  before 
and  holding  this  he  set  forth,  watchfully  and 
warily.  On  the  left  side  of  the  precipice  the 
ground  sloped  down,  and  at  the  bottom  of  this 
there  W^w  a  narrow  valley.  It  seemed  to  him 
that  this  might  bef  the  course  of  some  spring 
foirent,  and  that  By  following  its  descent- be 
might  c8Jsp  out  up|bn  some  stream.  With  this  • 
intention  he  descetjded  to  the  valley,  and  then 
walked  along,  following  the  descent  of  the 
ground,  and  keeping  himself  as  much  as  pos- 
sible among  the  thickest  growths  of  the  trees. 

The  ground  descended  very  gr»dually,^and 
the  narrow  valley  wound  along  among  rolling 
hill}  that  were  covered  with  trees  and  brush.  As 
he  confined  himself  to  the  thicker  parts  of  this, 
hij  progress  was  necessarily  slow ;  but  at  the 
end  of  that  turn  he  saw  before  him  unmistak- 
able signs  of  the  neighborhood  of  some  open 
place.  Before  him  he  saw  the  sky  in  such  a 
way  that  it  showed  the  absence  of  forest  trees. 
He  now  moved  on  more  cautio()«ly,'  and,  qsit- 
ting  the  valley,  he  crept  up  the  hjll-slepe  among 
the  brush  as  carefully  as^osMJjle,  until  he  was 
at  a  sufficient  height,  aq^  Jhed,  turning  toward 
the  open,  he  crept  forward  (rpm  cover  to  cover. 
At  length  ffs  stopped.  A  slight  eminence  was 
before  hin^teyond  which  all  was  open,  yet 
concealed  from  his  view.  Descending  tlie  slope 
a  little,  he  once  more  advanced,  and  finally 
emerged  at  the  edge  of  the  forest. 

He  found  himself  upon  a  gentle  declivity. 
Immediately  in  front  of  him  lay  a  lake,  circu- 
lar in  shape,  and  about  a  mile  in  diameter,  em- 
bosomed among  wooded  hills.  At  first  he  saw 
no  signs  of  any  habitation ;  but  ag  his  eyes  wan- 
dered round  he  saw  upon  his  right,  about  a 
quarter  of  a  mile  away,  an  old  stone  house,  and 
beyond  this  smoke  curling  up  from  among  the 
forest  trees  on  the  borders  of  the  lake. 

The  scene  StartlAd  him         Tt  vmm  an  nntnf    ■ 

lonely,  and  so  desertbd  that  it  seemed  a  fit 
place  for  a  robber's  haunt.  Conld  this  be  in- 
deed the  home  of  his  enemies,  and  had  he 
thna  M  wonderfully  come  open  them  in  th« 
very  midst  of  their  retreat  ?  He  believed  that 
it  waq  lo.     A  little  further  observation  showed 


■h 


other  placerwhchth '/"■"""'  °'  '"»°''«  '•» 

the  fugitive,  but  «th7the":iu  rT!  "t" 
ed  down  upon  this  aa  tJ.«  .:  ,  ,  "°  '•'°''- 
Jungle  npi:  si" '^i"^;i;;''^  2°™/" 
were  numerous  but  ho  „,  -      '"»®-     ""«  foes 

presence  un^^^eetLf  "^ ''^^  *^"«''^e V"*'  "■'• 

ger  with  a  firmer  cLoh       5    J""^  ''"  «'"K- 

i  for  «  feW  nUnTt^    o"'2.»""*'  '^"  P°"dered 

\  next.  "°  *•"»'  J'o  had  better  do 

discovejr.      A^L"^,''!  P"'«''''J'  «=<»'ld  without 

ahowedlm  ttt  ftig^nl'u  '  m  "'r'"" 
err  and  his  eye  ran  aIon».  thl  ilT  """='•  "«»••- 
jvhich  lay  bet;erhi'raVd:K«;°''''«'ake 
he  saw  that  it  was  all  ^„„1    i        °  '""'*«•  «nd 

fringe  of  treLTnd'bS'^^'S-''-'' 
valley  along  which  he  Ca  ^  ^^  ""'"row 

•hore  of  the  lake  inst  f.M     T'  *"''««'  "'  ""e 

•nd  beyond  ZZ^Z^J^^  ""  ••"  "^^t, 

h««ht  equal  to^he^t'orwl'^t  '"." 

that  opposite  height  was.now  172^  tik  *"'" 

be^^'rtrKrrr  b""  -™""''-'-  - 

went  back.for  som"  Z«°„"^'.'*-     ^^en  he 

-  descended  into   hrvat  o""'  ''^'  ^^'''^  »•« 

crawling   stealthii;  amon.  Z   i"*  [""''  ""'^ 

Moyingthns.heatIenr«i,   *       .  brush- wood. 

the  opf  ite;l;:w£Vs:itr'''"« 

,  tracted  any  attention  fr«L  '^'^     ^^  "*  ''*''«  "'" 

'this  slope  Lntw  IS  J^LLT'"-     ^P 
not  relaxing  his  yKM^jT      '=."*'^""J'  «»  ever, 

We,  callinXo  pffevL""',-""'  •""•  ^^P"""' 

he  found  himSf  dr^wLn '  '"'«'''■  "'""''"' "" 

'bebeganto.„,gl'^rhifp"rr '»'''"''•' '*'>°'» 

.tSKll';^fc'^"V/ 
here  «iK,n,r  the  fo««  ?'^'  ""•*  '^""'^  himself 
They  w^Lre  ev^n  dL    "  k'"''  ""«l«rbru,h. 
the  place  whl"  hThadTuTl  ft  "  T\  ^'"^  "" 
•long  he  saw  no  !nHi„  .•         f   *   ^^  he  moved 
trave^'wed  ";  hnmat  flT,  """  '""l^  ^^'^  heen 
gave  indication  of  an  .^h  I*"-      ^""^  'hing 
ed  solitude     After  LLlt-"  """^  '^«"""^h* 
with  all  the  cautfon  *lTch  h«  "'"^  ."'°"«  '«'^«  I 
he  finally  ventu  J  t^waidfhe!h"„'''''''.r"="«' 
wd  found  himself  aWeii:  ^T^  ""> '»!«'. 

2;h.t.mi„.eoanyoperpro;:^^^^^ 

^sShfaj^ors^p'^ 

to  the  old  house  Uth«ri^  ^'T?  '""^''  ""'"'r  | 
line  of  shor^"  H'e  nSitw*^^^^^^^^  "'"'  "■"  *'""«' 
J»en  by  thedoOTof^T'^n  't"™ '^ere some 
PWit  that  rtKaf  ^thS"*";  ""!**'«'"' '»  "n"- 
qnarteraandci^eloJtrA'""'  '.^'"  "•«  ''««'J- 
of  the  shore  n^w. bowed  htT^  ^'"' *'«''' 

G 


THE  AMERICAN  BAKON. 


difficu,t;r„'pLlsr'''  ^  r  ^  '"""•» "» -ore 

ing  wha^'l"„;3j';^-«''  iV"-  •"  '— 
heexerci«,d  here  was  aT^.i'"'  '»"'"•"  *hich 
progress  was  as  Z^  Zf^  ^'"''l  ""'^  •"« 
he  found  him^^lfur^n^l"^  ••?"■«•  At  length 
crawling  cautio  .»lw  ""^jl^^'red  point,  and, 
looked  down  uDo'^hI""'"^f°  """  "''"^o.  he 
had  desired  to^reach     '"^  ""  '"""*  *'"'=''  he 

to  be  more  than  fifty^yJrds^wa;  '^^IT'^ 
and  windows  were  gowB  pfl  ^'  .^hf  doors 
ing  fellows  were  nea?^h!'dn  "'  ""'  '""'''ok- 
ing  on  the  gre^d  othe„  "^"r^-  ^T  "P"'*'- 
about.  One  gS^e  at  7hl  *  ""''  '°'"'«'"8 
to  assure  him  that  they  wereT  iT^  'f  "^"* 
also"  to  show  him  th«  ,h„?  i!  .  "^""'^'^  """^ 
"coufr  or  outpo  rof  anv  klL  "  T  «""^'^  °' 
direction.  ^  '"'"^'  "'  '««"  in  this 

couU^rSforrbetSs't'  ""''='"'•'•     ^e 
l^nifp  in  his  Lnd  readv  to  h".  °5\.With  his 

case  of  need,  and  ^is  U°  u  f  "^^  ''*«"^'f  '" 
perfectly  by  the  thiol  J  !^""  concealed 
midst  of^wWch  he  had.  ""''rhmsh,  into  the 
through  "he  overbid  ■T'"''  •"*  P^^^d  forth 
in  breTth  ess  in  eJt^' V:""!?  """  "«<""'«»  ' 
he  now  was  he  S'        T"  .*'"'  P°'°'  '^here 

house,  wrre^rstkrwl';''rfir  '^r'^  '"* 

now  see  that  tbp«  „      *«»  riBing.     He  could 

ferent  coluls  o7  s^l  ""  ""^  """>  <"""  "if- 

many  fiSs    "L  saTa,' mlf" '"«  ''"»  "" 
thirty  fi-ture.  m„J:     "*  """J'  »«  twenty  or 

consJicuorbyThe  bVXr^  ""'  '"«''  ^- 
tumes.     They  seelrt  f  1'°^*'"'  °^  "'*'''  <=««- 

thing  whichlrdt^rre^'^''^"--- 

itwii^tSkTsorr^^'^' '''--«. 

open  windl'o'/throVCr  ^^d'  '"^ 
noticed  this  befon.      h1  .     "®  had  not 

tentively     fiSore  I'on.  b    """'  'r''^**  "*  ''  »*" 

window'and  rern!"  Ywra^r  r  r*  "« 

calmed  dunnj  th«  L    "'  i"'  *'"''=''  had  been 
been  putting  fori     The'^;''''"'  *'"'=''  »•«  had 

of  "SSI' I^^'l!-- ''''•'^'''  '^'-> 

fiercer  thirst  for  some  fiST,  T""*'  ""*^  * 
might  disclose  what  he  S^teT  H Kr 'l^b' 
«ng  came  thick  and  h.-^  ^^  t-   .  "^  breath- 

gi-mV  ov:;'l,rg'.S'ng'"4e''s"  """^  '»''"'^ 


flgiS  p^agaln.    '  "'"''  "-"'"'eir.Sd  Ih^ 
He  still  watched. 

It  wL'tlnV^irr.'Err"*  •'  •'«  -'"^ow. 

en  carr..>^   The  ;i«     °"*l*'  *'"'  "''««  «SoW. 
him      Conld  h     "««7"  familiar  indeed  to 


98 


THE  AMERICAN  BABON. 


was  aware  of  his  presence,  and  was  thns  turn- 
ing toward  him  this,  mute  appeal.  Her  face 
was  near  enough  for  its  expression  to  be  visi- 
ble. He  could  distinguish  the  childish  face, 
with  its  soft,  sweet  innocence,  and  he  knew 
that  npon  it  there  was  now  that  piteous,  plead- 
ing, beseeching  look. which  formerly  had  so 
thrilled  his  heart.  And  it  was  thus  that  Da- 
cres  saw  liis  child-angel. 

A  prisQner,  turning  toward  him  this  appeal ! 
What  was  the  cause,  and  what  did  the  Italian 
want  of  this  innocent  child?  8iich  was  his 
thought.  What  could  his  fiend  of  a  wife  gain 
by  the  betrayal  of  that  angelic  being  ?  Was  it 
possible  that  even  her  demon  soul  could  com- 
pass iniquity  like  this  ?  He  had  thought  that 
he  had  fathomed  her  capacity  for  malignant 
wickedness ;  but  the  presence  here  of  the  child- 
angel  in  the  power  of  these/miscreants  showed 
him  that  this  capacity  waf^  indeed  unfathoma- 
ble. At  this  sudden  rev«>lation  of  sin  so  enor- 
mous bif  very  soul  tamed  sick  with  horror. 

He  watched,  and  still  looked  with  an  anxiety 
that  was  increasing  to  positive  pain. 

And  now,  after  one  brief  glance,  Minnie  drew 
back  into  the  room.  There  was  nothing  more 
to  be  keen  for  some  time,  but  at  last  another 
figure  iHipeared. 

He  expected  this ;  he  was  waiting  for  it ;  he 
was  sure  of  it ;  yet  deep  down  in  the  bottom 
of  his  h^rt  there  was  a  hope  that  it  might  not 
be  so,  thl^t  his  suspicions,  in  this  case  at  least, 
might  belunfoanded.  But  now  the  proof  came ; 
it  was  m^de  manifest  here  before  his  eyes,  and 
in  the  light  of  day. 

In  spite  of  himself  a  low  groan  escaped  him. 
He  buried  his  face  in  his  hands  and  shut  out 
the  sight.  Then  suddenly  he  raised  his  head 
again  and  stared,  as  though  in  this  face  there 
was  an  irresistible  fascination  by  which  a  spell 
was  thrown  over  him. 

It  was  the  face  of  Mrs.  Willoughby— youth- 
ful, beautiful,  and  touching  in  its  tender  grace. 
Tears  were  now  in  those  dark,  luminous  eyes, 
but  they  were  unseen  by  him.  Yet  ha  could 
mark  the  despondency  of  her  attitude ;  he  could 
see.  a  certain  wild  way  of  looking  up  and  down 
and  in  all  directions ;  he  noted  how  her  hands 
grasped  the  window-ledge  as  if  for  support. 

And  oh,  beautiful  demon  angel,  he  thought, 
if  yon  could  but  know  how  near  you  are  to  the 
avenger  I  Why  are  you  po  anxious,  my  demon 
wife  ?  Are  you  impatient  b^u^vour  Italian 
is  delaying?  Can  yon  not  live  fornve  seconds 
longer  without  him?  Are  you  looking  in  all 
directions  to  see  where  he  is  T  Don't  ft«t ;  he'll 
soon  be  here. 

And  now  there  came  a  confirmation  of  his 
thonghts.  He  was  not  surprised ;  he  knew  it ; 
he  iOTpecteitit.  ^t^was  all  as  it  should  be. 
Was  it  not  in  the  coiiQd^nt  expectation  of  this 
that  he  had  con^  here  vlltk  his  daggeiv-on 
their  trail?  < 

It  was  Giraiole.     I       - 

He  came  from  the  place,  ftirther  along  the 
■hot«,  when  the  brigands  were  around  their 


fires.  He  was  walking  quickly.  He  had  a 
purpose.  It  was  with  a  renewed  agony  that 
Dacres  watched  his  enemy — coming  to  visit  his 
wife.  The  intensity  of  that  thirst  for  venge- 
ance, which  had  now  to  be  checked  until  a  bit- 
ter opportunity,  made  his  whole  frame  tremble. 
A  i^'ild  desire  came  to  him  then  and  there  to 
bound  down  npon  his  enemy,  and  kill  afld  be 
killed  in  1W  presence  of  his  wife.  But  the  oth- 
er brigands  deterred  him.  These  men  might, 
interpose  and  save  the  Italian,  and  make  him  a 
prisoner.  No ;  he  must  wait  till  he  could  meet 
his  enemy  on  something  like  equal  terms — when 
he  could  strike  a  blow  that  would  not  be  in  vain. 
Thus  he  overmastered  himself. 

He  saw  Girasole  enter  the  house.  He  watch- 
ed breathlessly.  The  time  seemed  long  in- 
deed. He  could  not  hear  any  thing ;  the  con- 
versation, if  there  was  any,  was  carried  on  in  n 
low  tone.  He  could  not  see  any  thing ;  those 
who  coilversed  kept  quiet;  no  one  passed  in 
front  of  tlje  window.  It  was  all  a  mystery,  and 
this  made  the  time  seem  longer.  At  length 
Dacres  began  to  think  ):hat  Girasole  would 
not  go  at  alL     A  ^ong  time  passed.      Hours 


went  away,  and  stilt.  Girasole  did  not  quit  the 
house. 

It  was  now  sundown.  Dacres  had  eaten 
nothing  since  morning,  but  the  conflict  of  pas- 
sion drove  ftway  all  hunger  or  thirst.  The  ap- 
proach of  darkness  was  in  accordance  with  bis 
own  gloomy  wishes.  Twilight  in  Italy  is  short. 
Night  would  soon  be  over  all. 

The  house  was  on  the  slope  of  ^he  bank.  At 
the  comer  nearest  nim  the  house  was  sunk  into 
the  ground  in  such  a  way  that  it  looked  as 
though  one  might  climb  into  the  upper  story 
window.  As  Dacres  looked  he  made  up  his 
mind  to  attempt  it.  By  standing  here  on  tip- 
toe he  could  catch  the  upper  window-ledge 
with  his  hands.  He  was  strong.  He  was  tall. 
His  enemy  was  in  the  house.  The  hour  was 
at  hand.     He  was  the  man. 

Another  hour  passed. 

All  was  still. 

There  was  a  fiickering  lamp  in  the  hall,  but 
the  men  seemed  to  be  asleep. 

Another  hour  passed. 
'  There  was  no  noise. 

Then  Dacres  venttired  down.  He  moved 
slowly  and  cautiously,  crouching  low,  and  thus 
traversing  the  intervening  space. 

He  neared  the  house  and  touched  it.  Be- 
fore him  was  the  window  of  the  lower  stoQ-. 
Above  him  was  the  window  of  the  upper  story. 
Ho  lifted  up  his  hands.  They  could  reach  the 
window-ledge. 

He  put  his  long,  keen  knife  between  his  teeth, 
and  caught  at  the  upper  window-ledge.  Ex- 
erting all  his  strength,  ha  raised  himself  SR 
high  that  he  could  fling  one  elbow  over.  For 
a  moment  he  hung  thus,  and  waited  to  take 
breath  and  listen. 

There  was  a  rush  below.  Half  a  dozen  shs* 
owy  forms  surrounded  him.  He  had  b^n  «««ii' 
He  had  been  trapped. 


''"-^"f*:' 


-%*i 


THE  AMERICAN  BARON. 


99 


CHAPTER  XXVn, 

FACE  TO  FACE. 

Hawbitby,  on  hia  capture,  had  been  at  once 
taken  into  the  woods,  and  led  and  pushed  on 

tilheYrf'^r^'-     H^hadthusgoCnun- 
t.l  he  had  found  himself  by  that  same  lake  which 

onut.     The  door  was  in  the  middle  of  it  «nH 
rooms  were  on  each  side  of  the  haH      rLTn 

fronT?!,  ^''^  """  '^hich  a  door  opened 

I^°     SftdT^v!^^  "'"^^  ''^  '•'^  head  of  tS; 

stairs,  Ad  a  third,  which  was  oDDositH  thl 

room  first  mentioned.  '^^  opposite  the 

Hawbnry  was  taken  to  thi,  house  and  l-^ 

heap  of  straw  with  a  few  Ai^„  .  .  * 

In  the  waH  a  beamWltt^Jh-^K  °P°°  ''• 

ring  was  fastened.  CwlMkl.'^  "",  T 
hpH  on  J  1,  V-  .  V  ™  taken  toward  this 
bed,  and  here  his  legsVer*  bound  together  and 
he  rope  that  secured  tfcm  was  runfround  the 

ltw"fr"Hr„  •'•:"'"" '"°''' -°^-'ht 

.he^tf.hirxr„Te2t;i:„r- 
Si:'; '"  'T  ^  '■'--^^-VetLX:: 

position  easier  than  any  other.     In  this  wavhe 

7£rnV5r'  r""  '""«*•»  "e  w^^Sl 
&w.tl  r  .     '*^""'P''  ""cending  the  stairs 
ae«nU  people  were  passing  his  room.     H^ 

worn.™.  ■**.'«"«*''  'here  was  the  soond  of  a 
«.    It  was  a  fretful  voice  of  complaint.     Gl- 

«»rmSi;d  ^^TK  '"  T"  '""•    Then  Gi- 
••iwe  returned.    Then  there  wm  .  clattering 


noise  on  the  stairs,  and  the  bumping  of  «>me 
heavy  weight,  and  the  heavy  breatbinrof  meT 

Sich  .IZ^  ^'""•"•'  W  .omething,Xr 
which  arose  Alinnie'g  voice,  close  bv  as  thonLh 

utT  J"  "'^''^"'•""''  ''^  woKe"  ':°a' 

take  U  away,  take  it  away  I"  followed  bv  Ion„ 
reproaches,  which  Hawbui^  did  nSy'^de"- 

This  showed  him  that  Minnie,  at  least,  was 
a  prisoner,  and  i,^  this  house,  and  in  S  Id 
jcmng  room,  along  with  some  one  whom  he' 
nghtly  supposed  was  Mrs.  WiUoughby 

After  thU  there  w««  .  r-.^t,..    f,\ 


thing  which  presented  itself.  The  cUtter  and 
the  noise  approached  nearer,  wLnd bl  S 
stairs,  untn  at  last  he  «.*  th^t^y  lefe  ^ 
tenng  his  room.  Two  of  the  brigands  came  ' 
first,  canying  something  carefully  In  a  f^w 
moments  the  burden  which  they'^re  w«  ^ 

esjastened  together.     Upon  this  lay  the  dead 
body  of,  a  man,  his  white  face  upturned  and 

:»e^Srd:rbX^ii^^^^^ 

pri«.d  to  see  that' the.,  hrb^^'l-;,"- 

aS°d  rthl^r'n"  "r  ""'•  '^'"'  brigands  who 
cS  with"  If  *!?'»P«°'on  looked  at  the 
captive  with  a  sullen  ferocity  and  a  scowling 

more  turned  his  face  to  the  waU.  so  as  to  A^ 
out  the  sight.  Once  mor«  he  »^ve  h"mSl?  „n 
o  his  own  thoughts,  and  so  the  time  S-^ 

room  where  Miss  Fay  was  confined.    mhJZ  ' 

wheThe"  tt:  *'"  ""•'"^ "'''  •"'^  could  notiS 
Whether  they  were  still  guarding  the  door  or 

had  gone  away.    Various  projects  <Ze*  to 
him,  foremMt  among  which  wm  the  idea  of 

way.    There  was  about  this  howAVAr  thT.. 
difficulty  which  Mm.  WiSo^X  baVJo«"d- 
his  Ignorance  of  the  langu^e.    He  Z^t 
that  this  would  be  an  effectual  bar  to  anTiS 

to  wait  Girasole  s  pleasure.  It  seemed  to  him 
that  a  ransom  would  be  asked,  and  he  felt  .nS^ 

fTit.  Ha  &!,"*••  ®".*  *'"'™  *"  "o  help 
for  fij  ?  (*"  '"°"»  "°°"ed  about  Mis.  Par. 
for  Ginuole'.  remark,  idwut  her  wemed  to 


100 


THE  AMERICAN  BARON. 


point  to  views  of  his  own  which  were  incompat- 
ible with  her  liberation. 

In  the  midst  of  these  reflections  another  noise 
arose,  below.  It  was  a  steady  tramp  of  tw<<  or 
three  men  walking.  The  noise  ascended  the 
stairway,  and  drew  nearer  and  bearer.  Haw- 
bury  turned  once  more,  and  saw  two  men  enter- 
ingthe  room,  carryingbetween  them  a  box  about 
six  fee.t  long  and  eighteen  inches  or  two  feet 
wide.  It  was  coarsely  but  strongly  made,  and 
was  nndoubt^ly  intended  as  a  coffin  for  the 
corpse  of  the  brigand.  The  men  put  the  coffin 
down  against  the  wall  and  retired.  After  a 
few  minutes  they  returned  again  with  the  coffin 
lid.  They  then  lifted  the  dead  body  into  the 
coffin,  and  one  of  them  put  the  lid  in  its  place 
and  secured  it  with  half  n  dozen  screws.  Aft- 
er this  Hawbury  was  once  more  left  alone.  He 
found  this  far  more  tolerable,  for  now  he  had 
no  longer  before  his  very  eyes  the  abhorrent 
sight  of  the  dead  body.  Hidden  in  its  coffin, 
it  no  longer  gave  offense  to  his  sensibilities. 
Once  more,  therefore,  Hawbury  turned  his 
thoughts  toward  projects  of  escape,  and  dis- 
cussed in  his  mind  the  probabilities  for  and 
against. 

The  day  had  been  long,  and  longer  still  did 
it  seem  to  the  captive  as  hour  after  hour  passed 
slowly  by.  He  could  not  look  at  his  watch, 
which  his  captors  had  spared ;  but  from  the 
shadows  as  they  fell  through  the  windows,  and 
from  the  general  appearance  of  the  sky,  he 
knew  that  the  close  of  the  day  was  not  far  off. 
He  began  to  wonder  that  he  was  left  so  long 
alone  and  in  suspense,  and  to  feel  impatient  to 
know  the  worst  as  to  ^is  fate.  Why  did  not 
some  of  them  come  to  tell  him  ?  Where  was 
Girosole  ?  Was  he  the  chief?  Were  the  brig- 
ands debating  about  his  fate,  or  were  they  thus 
leaving  him  in  suspense'  so  as  to  make  him  de- 
spondent and  submissive  to  their  terms  ?  Iffrom 
all  that  he  had  ever  heard  of  brigands  and  their 
ways,  the  latter  seemed  not  unlikelyj  and  this 
thought  made  him  see  the  necessity  of  guard- 
ing himself  against  being  too  impatient  for  free- 
dom, and  too  compliant  with  any  demand^  of 
theirs. 

From  these  thoughts  he  was  at  last  roused 
by  footsteps  which  ascended  the  stairs.  He 
turned  and  looked  toward  the  door.  A  man 
entered. 

It  was  Girasole. 

He  entered  slowly,  with  folded  arms,  and 
coming  about  half-way,  he  stood  and  surveyed 
the  prisoner  in  silence.  Hawbury,  with  a  sud- 
den effort,  brought  himself  up  to  a  sitting  po8>- 
ture,  and  calmly  surveyed  the  Italian. 

"Well,"  asked  Hawbury,  "I  should  like  to 
know  how  long  you  intend  to  keep  up  this  sort 
T)f  thlMgT~  WharBreyWjjofng  to  (To  abdift TFf 
Name  your  price,  man,  and  we'll  discuss  it,  and 
settle  upon  something  reasonable."  ' 

"My  price?"  repeated  Girasole,  with  pecul- 
iar emphasis. 

"  Yes.  Of  course  I  understand  you  fellows. 
It's  your  ^ade,  you  know.     You've  caught  me, 


and,  of  course,  yoall  try  to  make  the  best  of 
me,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing.  So  don't  keep 
me  waiting." 

"  Inglis  milor,"  said  Girasole,  with  a  .sharp, 
quick  ac^nt,  his  face  flushing  up  as  he  spoke 
— "  Inglis  milor,  dere  is  Ao  pric6  as  you  mean, 
an'  no  ransom.  De  price  is  one  dat  you  will 
not  wis  to  pay."  ^  " 

"Oh,  come,  now,  my  goojl  fellow,  really  yon 
must  remember  that  I'm  tied  up,  and  not  in  n 
position  to  be  chaffed.  Bother  youiKltalran 
humbug!  Don't  speak  in  these  confounded 
figures  of  speech,  you  know,  but  sayijAB- and 
down — how  much  ?"  SJ> 

"  De  brigands  haf  talk  you  ovair,  aqj^i^.will 
haf  no  price."  />"  ^      . 

"What  the  devil  is  all  that  rot  about?" 

"Dey  will  haf  youair  blood."  « 

"My  blood?" 

".Yes." 

"And  pray,  my  good  fellow,  what  good  is 
that  going  to  do  them  ?" 
'  "  It  is  vengeance,"  said  Girasole. 

"Vei'lgeance'?  Ppdh!  Nonsense  I  What 
rot !     What  have  I  o^esr.^one  ?" 

"  Dat — dere — his  mid,"8aid  Girasole,  point- 
ing to  the  coffin.    '..„'■' 

"  What !  .thAt  scoundrel?"  Why,  man  alive, 
are  you  crazy  ?  That  was  a  fair  stand-up  fight. 
That  is,  it  was  two  English  against  twenty  Ital- 
ians, if  you  call  that  fair;  but  perhaps, it  is. 
His  blood!  By  Jeve!  Cool^  that!  Con)c, 
I  like  it."     • 

"An'  more,"  said  Girasole,  who  now  grew 
more  excited.  "  It  is  not  de  brigand  who  con- 
demn you ;  it  is  also  me.     I  condemn  you." 

"You?"  said  Hawbury,  elevating  his  eye- 
brows in  some  surprise,  and  fixing  a  cool  Haro 
upon  Girasole.  "And  what  the  devil's  this 
row  about,  I  should  like  to  know?  I  don't 
know  you.     What  have  you  against  mef" 

"Inglis  milor,"  cried  Girasole,  who  wns 
stung  to  the  quick  by  a  certain  indescribable 
yet  most  irritating  superciliousness  in  Haw- 
bury's  tone— r"  Inglis  milor,  you  sail  «ee  what 
you  sail  soffair.  Yoii  sail  die!  Dere  ig  no 
hope.  You  are  condemn  by  de  brigand.  Itou 
also  are  condemn  by  me,  for  you  insult  me." 

"Well,  of  all  the  beastly  rot  I  ever  heard, 
this  is  about  the  worst !  What  do  you  mean 
by  all  this  infernal  nonsetise?  Insult  you! 
What  would  I  insult  you  for?  Why,  man 
alive,  you're  as  mad  as  a  March  hare!  If  I 
thought  yon  were  a  gentleman,  I'd— iby  Jove, 
I  will,  too!  See  here,  yon  fellow:  jl'll  fight 
you  for  it — pistols,  or  any  thing.  Co^e,  now. 
I'll  drop  all  considerations  of  rank.  I'll  treat 
you  as  if  you  were  a  real  count,  and  not  a  sham 
one.  Come,  now.  Wbai  do  you  say  ?  Shall 
we  BiifeTl  out  f  PiftoB^in  the  ■w^oAn  there.  - 
You've  got  all  your  infernal  crew  around  yon, 
you  know.  Well?  What?  You  won't  I  By 
Jove!"  ■ 

Girasole's  gesture  showed  that  he  declined 
the  proposition. 

"  IdkHs  milor,"  said  he,  with  a  venomoDa 


r 


■^ 


THE  AMERICAN  BAROli 


«/   1 


101 


■4 


g'V',. 


.  S I ;  ' ' 


"INQMS  MILOB,  I  BALL  UA».,yoirAni  Lira." 


glitter  in  hig  ies  .'Isall  hnf  youair  life-wis 
de  pistol  bnt  M  k  de  duello.    I  sail  blow  your 
brain  out  myseW'." 
^^"BIow  and  jbe  'ganged,  then!"  said  Haw- 

;    And  with  th^se  words  he  fell  back  pn"  his 
straw,  and  took  «o  further  notice  of  the  Italian. 


^ 


CHA^^R  XXVIII, 

TOB^, ASUNDER^    ,  ^ 

,  Wheh  Dncres  in)(de  his  attkipt  npbtf'the 
hrr.!ir  /".l"'"^'!  ^nobservpJa,  he  sj^^posed 
Imnself  to  be.  ^,„i,ie  Kn^'jirs.  Willo.ighby 
-happened  afrthsTtrmwiBh/sfttlng  6n  the  floor 
by  the  window,  one  on  ^  side,  and  they  were 
Taking  out.  They  \M  chosen  the  seat  as 
affording  sonio  prosp^t  of  the  outer  world. 
There  wag  ,n  Mrs.  W  jloughby  a  certain  in- 
«inct,ve  feeHng  that  #  any  resJme  came,  it 

.r!?  i.T\'"""  *"  '"r  "'•*« '  "nd^herefore, 
though  the  hope  w^.«idt  indeed,  it  netorthe^ 


less  was  sufflc.enily  well  defined  to  inspire  her 
with  an  uneasy  and  incessant  vigilance.    Thus 

?;/'"'  '""'  *"'"'='l  »'«"e'f  by  the  window 
and  Minnie  had  taken  her  place' on  thTopp:! 
site  side    and  the  two  sisters,  with  claTK 
hands  sat  listening  to  the  voices  of  the  iMght 
At  ength  they  became  aware  of  a  movement 
npon  the  bank  jnst  above  them  and  Iving  op- 
posite.   The  sisters  clasped  one  anotheP's  hand, 
more  closely,  and  peered  earnestly  through  the 
gloom.     It  was  pretty  dark,  and  the  forest  ' 
threw  down  a  heavy  shadow,  bnt  still  their 
eyes  were  by  this  time  accustomed  to  the  dark 
and  they  could  distinguish  most  of  the  objects 
there.     Among  these  they  soon  distinguished 
a  mavmg  figure;  but  what  itwag,  wlwiAtrmro 
or  beast,  they  could  not  make  out. 

This  moving  figure  was  crawling  down  the 
I'ank.  There  was  no  cover  to  afford  conceal, 
ment,  and  it  was  eivident  that  he  was  tmstinR 
altogether  to  the  concealment  of  the  darknes^ 
It  was  a  hazardous  experiment,  and  Mre.  Wi|. 
longhby  trembled  in  suspense.  "™  " " 

Minnie,  howerW,  did  not  tremble  «t  all,  nor 


*Atli  ^Vni-    a."V|i 


.>i>l'j/'„»  ",,1 


i.. 


:^ 


102 


THE  AMERICAN  BABON. 


\ 


was  the  inapenie  kt  all  p«infal.     Wlien  \(f |«: 
Willonghby  first  caattously  directe4  her  attftn- 
tion  to  it  in  a  whisper,  Minnie  thouj^bf  ^t  was 
■  some  animal.  '  ;^ 

"Why,  Kitty  dear,"  she  s^iid,  speaKi^K  back 
in  a  whisper,  "why,  it's  an  aaim&l;  I  wonder 
if  thecreatjire  iaa'wild  beast.  I'm  sure  I  think 
it's  very  dangeipus,  and  no  dodrs  or  .windows. 
But  it'sa/uMjr*  the  way.  He  wouldn't  give  me 
a  chair ;  and  so  I  dare  say  I  shall  be  eaten  np 
by  a  bear  before  morning."  "^ 

Minnie  ^ave  utterance  to  this  expectation 
without  tj^  slightest  excitement,  just  as  though 
tfce  prospect  of  becoming  food  for  a  bear  was 
one  of  the  veiy  coniimonest  incidents  of  her 
life. 

"  Oh,  I  don't  think  it's  a  bear.* 
"  Well,  then,  it's  a  tiger  or  a  lion,  or  perhaiis 
a  wolf.     I'm 'sure  /  don't  see  what  difference 
it  makes  w{iat  one  is  eaten  by,  wheti  one  has  to 
be  eaten." 

"It's  a  mani"8aid.Mrs.  Willongbby,  tremi;- 

lously.  ^    '  ■' . 

"  A  man  .'—nonsense,  Kitty  darling.    A  man 

walks ;  he  doesij'f  go  on  all-fours,  except  when 

he  is  very,  very  small. " 

"Hash  I  it's  some  one  coming  to  help  ns. 
Watch  him,  Minnie  dear.  Oh,  how  danger- 
ous 1" 

"  Do  you  really  think  so  ?"  said  Minnie,  with 
Evident  pleasure.  "Now  that  is  really  kind. 
But  I  wonder  who  it  con  be  ?" 

Mrs.  Willoughby  squeezed,  her  hand,  and 
made  no  reply.  She  was  watching  the  slow 
and  cautious  movement  of  the  shadowy  figure. 
"  He's  coming  nearer!  "said  she,  tremulously. 
Minnie  felt  her  sister's  hand  thr<&  at  the 
quick  movement  of  her  heart,  and  heard  her 
short,  quick  breathing. 

"Who  can  it  be,  I  wonder?"  said  Minnie, 
full  of  cnrioiity,  but  without  any  excitement  at 
alt 

"Oh,  Minnie!" 

"What's  Ae  matter,  darling?" 
"It's  so  terrible." 
"What?" 

"This  suspense.    Oh,  I'm  so  afraid !" 
"  Afraid  I     Why,  I'm  not  afraid  at  all." 
"Oh!  he'll  be  caught."  ; 

"No,  he  won't,"  said  Minnie,  confidently. 
"I  knew  he'd  come.  They  always  do.  Don't 
be  afraid  that  he'll  be  caifght^  or  that  he'll  fail. 
They  never  fail.  They  always  wiU  save  roe. 
Wait  till  your  life  has  bpen  saved  as  often  as 
mine  has,  Kitty  darling.  Oh,  I  expected  ft  all ! 
I  was  thinking  a  little  while  ago  he  ought  to  be 
here  soon."  ' 

"He!   Who?" 

"  Why,  any  person ;  the  person  who  is  going 
rsave  me  this  {tffle.  I  don't  know,  of  course, 
who  he  is ;  some  horrid  man,  of  course.  And 
then— oh  dear!— I'll  have  it  all  over  again. 
Hell  carry  me  away  on  his  back,  and  through 
those  wretched  woods,  and  hump  me  against 
the  trees  and  things.  Then  he'll  get  me  to  the 
road,  and  pat  me  on  »  horrid  old  hone,  and 


ga^ilop  away.  And  by  that  time  it  will  be  morn- 
ing. And  then  he'll  propose.  And  so  there'll 
be  another.  And  I  don't  know  whlit  I  ihail 
do^bontlt.     Oh  dear!" 

Mrs.  Willoughby  had  not  h^ard  half  of  this. 
All  her  soul  was  intQnt  upon  the  figure  outside. 
She  only  pressed  her  sister's  hand,  and  gave  a 
warning  "Hus-s-ft-h  I" 

"I  knoijr. one  thing  I  do  wish,"  said  Minnie. 
Her  sistbr  made  no  reply. 
"  I  do  wish  it  would  turn  out  to  be  that  nice, 
dear,  good,  kind  Rnfus  K.  Gunn.    I  don't  want 
any  more  of  them.     And  I'm  sure  he's  nicer 
than  this  horrid  Count,  who  wouldn't  take  the 
trouble  to  get  me  even  «  chair.     And  yet  he 
pretends  to  be  fond  of  me." 
"  Hn»-s-».b  I"  said  her  sister. 
But  Minnie  was  irrepressible. 
"I  don't  want  any  horrid  stranger.     But, 
oh,  Kitty  darling,  it  would  be  so  aii;fully  funny 
if  jjie  were  to,  be  caught  I  and  then  he  couldn't 
propo^  yoD  know." 

By  this  time  the  figure  had  reached  the 
hous6.  "^^Minnie  peeped  over  and  looked  dowd. 
Then  she  drew  back  her  head  and  sighed. 
"  Oh  dear!"  slie  said,  in  a  plaintfve  tone 
"What,  darling?" 

"  Why,  Kitty  darling,  do  you  know  he  really 
looks  a  little  like  ^a|%reat,  big,  horrid  man 
that  ran  with  me  down  the  volcano,  and  then 
pretended  he  was  my  dea^.  papa.  And  here  he 
comes  to  save  me  again.  Oh,  what  shall  I  do  ? 
Won'-t  you  pretend  you're  toe,  Kitty  darling, 
and  please  go  yourseslf  ?  Ob,  ple-e<ease  do ! " 
But  now  Minnie  was  interrupted  by.  two 
strong  hands  grasping  the  wind<»w-sill.  A  mo- 
ment, after  a  shadowy  head  arose  ^ove  it. 
Mrs.  Willoughby  started  back,  but  through  the 
gloom  she  was  able  to  recognize  the  strongly 
marked  face  of  Scone  Dacres. 

For  a-jnoment  he  stared  through  the  dark- 
ness.    Then  he  flung  his  elbow  over. 

-There  arose  a  noise  below.  There  was  a 
rush.  The  figure  disappeared  from  the  win- 
dow. A  furious  struggle  followed,  in  the  midst 
of  which  arose  fierce  oaths  and  deep  breathing*, 
and  the  sound  of  blows.  Then  the  struggle 
subsided, '  and  they  beard  footsteps  tramping 
heavily.  They  followed  the  sdund  into  the 
house.  They  Leard  men  coming  up  the  sudt» 
and  into  the  hiOl  outside.  Then  they  all  moved 
into  the  front-room  opposite  theirt.  After  a 
few  minutes  they  heard  the  steps  descending.' 
the  stairs.  By  this  <hey  judgfld  that  the  prW*^ 
oner  had  been  taken  to  that  r|om  which  was 
on  the  other  side  of  the  hall  anUin  ^he  firont  of 
the  house.  \ 

"There  dies  onr  last  hope  I"  Mid  Mrs.  Wil- 
loughby, and  burst  into  tears.  

■"I'm  sure  I  don't  see  what  you're  crying 
about,"  said  Minnie.    "  You  certainly  oughtn't 


to  want  me  to  be  carried  off  again  by  that  per- 
son. If  he  had  me,  he'd  never  give  me  np— es- 
pecially after  saving  me  twi<;e." 

Mrs.  Willoughby  made  no  reply,  and  the  lis- 
ten sa^  in  aUence  for  noar]^.  an  hoar.    They 


THE  AMERICAN  BABON. 


/■> 


108 


It 


Dere  haf  ben  an  attemp  to  a  rescue.     I  m^; 

l)is  man  was  almo.  up  here.      It  wm  onlv 
chance  dat  I  saw  hi&,  in  time."  ^ 

..„"^'l'  ^''■'"  ""^'^  **■■»•   WiUonghby,  "von 
can  not-you  will  not  separate  ns      Yon  o«n 

rth'ar::'"?r  '"■  ip^-Seis^iir 

t^gether  "  ""  ""'  ""'"'"  ''  y°"  ""^^  "^ve  us 
Girasole  shook  his  head. 
_  "I  can  no^"  said  he,  firmly;  ''de  mees  is 
too  precious.  I  dare  not.  If  you  an,  pri!^,^ 
mre  se  will  not  try  to  fly,  ««'  sTl  se^u^r^^"; 
de  more;  but  if  you  are  togeder  yoa^H  find 
8ome  help.  You  will  bribe  de  men.  I  can 
not  trust  dem."  "° 

"Oh,  do  not  separate  US,  Tie  us.  Bind  us 
Fasten  us  with  chains.  Fasten  me  with  chain  ' 
but  leave  me  with  her. "  ' 

TL         ^"i"'  °°5  °°''°  »""  affection-tiU 

S^TT":  uK  '^'"'  **"  "'*""'  ""J"  ^  "ny  wife 
De  pnest  haf  come,  an'  it  sail  be  allarlght  t^ 
monj,  an-  you  sail  be  wit  her  again.  An'  now 
yon  hat  to  come  away;  for  if  you  do  not  bl 

to^morra  w.t  de  mees  when  se  become  my  Con- 

ri.t?r"aS^*^*'{  ^'^"^  •«"•  "-T""  "»»<""  her 
P«  „    ^  K>«y  darhng,"  said  Minnie,  "don't 

we  might  have  expected,  yon  know.  He's  been 
as  unkind  as  he  could  be  about  the  chair  and 
ofcou«»*^oaUhecan  to  tease  me     Ct 

hZliH  ^°"""'"8».I«nPP08e,8in^that 

horrid  man  talks  and  scolds  so  about  it ;  oVlr  be 
«re  to  be  back  early,  but  how  I  am  ffl  t^ 
C«„«  ",f  .'•r  •"  •»»"«  "d  BtandiK 

I  m  sore  /  Hnn't  knn~  n  °     " 


What,  my  own  maid  ?— Dowlas  ?" 
I  am  ver  sorry,  but  it  is  not  dat  one 
li^anoder— anitalian."  «-»  one, 

-'Well,  I  think  that  is  ven,  unkind,  when  yon 
W  I  can't  speak  .  word  of  the  lanBuaw, 

1  ioi»A  ijiad  never  seen  yon." 
Girasole  looked  hurt 


were  then  oronsed  by  the  approach  of  footsten. 
It  was  Girasole. 

signed;!'' '•""'^^  "«•"." -'I  Minnie,  r- 

"Miladl,"  said  Girasole,  turning  to  Mr. 
WiUonghby,  « I  .n,  ver  son^  fo^dif  leetle^ 

"Do  not  mourn.  You  sail  be  able  to  talk  to 
wIT:^"'  """  ?!'  '=°"'«>'««on.  But  coSe  " 
With  these  words  Girasole  led  tBe  wav  out 
>nto  the  hall,  and  into  the  frent-,<«m  on  °he 
opposite  side  He  carried  the  lam^  i"  m! 
hand.  Mrs.  Willoughby  saw  a  figure  ly  X 
the  other  end  of  the  room  on  the  8^^   His 

ne?»  r  '"""^f  '"""'^  """°'  hut  in  the  daS- 
ness  she  could  not  see  it  plainly.  Some  strew 
was  heaped  up  in  the  comer  next  hw 

sorra.  Do  not  be  trouble. " 
With  this  he  went  away. 
Mrs.  Willoughby  flung  herself  on  her  knees 

She  heard  the  heavy  step  of  Giresole  as  he 

Sh  w  T"-.  ^^  «"'  impulse  was  t^ 
tin^^ack  to  her  sister.  But  she  dreaded  dis- 
cove^,  aild  felt  that  disobedience  wTuld  only 
make  her  fate  harder.  ^ 


['m  sure /don't  know. ■ 
"Aldne^? 


«„»  .;:^ ^^  no,"  said  GirBTOle.    » cawrm- 

ing  mees  yon  sail  not  be  alone;  Ihaf guard  for 
aat.    I  haf  sent  for  a  maid. " 

miidi"*  T  i!°!*  '"*'  '^^"^  y""  horrid  old 
«ftL    ^.^^^y  own  maid,  or  none  at  all." 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

FODND  AT  LAST. 

Ih  a  few  moments  Girasole  came  back  anH 

wor'^X^'T"™-  Hewasfollow^Jb;^ 
womapwh^as  dressed  in  the  garb  of  an  Ital- 
jan  i>easant  girl      Over  her  bZ  she  wore  . 

foT  y^^^i"  ^'  '^"'  *•">  "'«ht  nir,  the  limp 
lltf  ''''l'=\h'»"8  o^'er  her  face.    Minnli 


dhsnnii^ 


nrew^^-sair  CBSSli), 
maid  fnr  Aia  m:n>i.*      it 


•I  haf 


brought  you  a  maid  for  dis  night.    Whtowe 
leaf  dis  you  sail  haf  what  maid  yon  wU."  ' 

'That  hor^a  old  ftightl"  said/Minnlfc    "I 
don't  want  her."  '      ™"*     =  * 

"Yon  saU  only  haf  her  for  dia  nightl"  Mdd 
Girejole.     "Yon  will  be  taken  c«,  to-." 
i  suppose  ncAody  ctues  for  what  /  warn," ' 


1^^^<'»ui**ll&*'  ^kiisSffc^d., 


f? 


o^ 


^m 


( 


i^. 


l'l>f 


J04 


THE  AMERICAN  BARCHwT 


«on  ABU  wmn  iaatnm  un  mws," 


said  Minnie,  "mi  I  may  as  well  speak  to  the 
wall,  for  all  the  good  it  does." 

Girasole  smiled  and  bowed,,  and  put  his  hand 
on  his  heart,  and  then  called  down  the  stairs : 
"Padre  Patricio!" 

A  solid,  Ann  step  now  sonnded  on  the  stairs, 
and  in  a  fe^  moments  the  priest  came  up.  Gi- 
rasole led  the  way  into  Hawbury's  room.  The 
prisoner  lay  on  his  side.  He  was  in  a  deep 
sleep.  Girasole  loolced  in  wonder  at  the  sleep- 
er who  was  spending  in  this  way  the  last  hours 
of  his  life,  and  then  pointed  to  the  coffin. 

"Here,"  said  he,  in  Italian,  "is  the  body. 
When  the  grare  is  dag;  they  will  tell  yon.   You 
most  stay  here.     You  will  not  be  afraid  to  be 
with  the  dead." 
The  priest  smiled.    * 

Girasole  now  retreated  and  went  down  stairs. 
'  Soon  all  was  still. 
^     The  Italian  woman  had  been  standing  where 
\she  had  stopped  ever  since  she  first  came  into 
\the  room.    Minnie  had  npt  paid  any  attention 
i|o  her,  but  at  last  she  noftced  thin. 
•   "I  wuh  yon  wouldn't  stand  there  in  that 
Way*     You  really  make  me  feel  quite  nervous. 
And  what  with  the  dark,  and  not  having  any 
light,  and  losing  poor  dear  Kitty,  and  not  hav- 
ing any  chair  to  sit  upon,  really  one's  life  is 
scaice  worth  havfag.     But  all  this  la  thrown 
nway^nvytra  cm^npuk  BngllilF^nd  how  hor- 
rid  It  is  to  have  no  one  to  talk  to." 

The  woman  made  no  reply,  but  with  a  quiet, 
stealthy  step  she  drew  near  to  Minnie. 

"  What  do  you  want  t  You  horrid  creature, 
keep  ftway,"  said  Minnie,  drawing  back  in  some 
alarm.  ,v 


"Minnie  dear  .'"said  the  woman.  "H-s-s-s-h!" 
she  added,  in  a  low  whisper. 

Minnie  started. 

"  Who  are  you  ?"  she  whispered. 
,    One  arm  went  around  her  neck,  and  another 
hand  went  over  her  mouth,  and  the  woman 
drew  nearer  to  her. 

"Not  a  word.  H-s-s-s-h!  I've  risked  my 
life.     The  priest  brought  me." 

"  Why,  my  darling,  darling  love  of  an  Ethel  V 
said  Minnie,  who  was  overwhelmed  with  sur- 
prise. 

"H-s-s-s-h!" 

"  But  how  can  I  h-s-s-s-h  wh«A'm  so  per- 
fectly frantic  with  delight?    Oh,  you  darling 

p6t  * 

"H-s-s-s-h!  Not  another  word.  I'll  be 
discovered  and  lost." 

"  Well,  dear,  I'll  speak  very,  very  low.  But 
how  did  yon  come  here?" 

"The  priest  brought  me." 

V The  priest?"  -  ,,;< 

"Yes.  He  was  sent  for,  yon  know;.-lmd  I 
thought  I  could  help  you,  and  he  is  going  ^o 
save  you."  '  . 

"He!     Who?" 

"  The  priest,  you  know." 

"  The  priest !  Is  he  a  Roman  Catholic  priest,  • 
Ethel  darling?" 

"Yes,  dear." 

"  And  he  is  going  to  save  me  this  time,  is 
he?" 

"I  hope  so,  dear."  * 

"  Oh,  how  perfectly  lovely  that  is !  and  it  was 
*o  kind  and  thoughtful  in  you  I  Now  this  is 
really  quite  nlSe,  for  you  know  I've  longed  so  to 
be  saved  by  a  priest.  These  horrid  men,  yon 
know,  all  ^o  and  propose  the  moment  they  save 
one's  life ;  but  a  priest  can't,  yon  know— no,  not 
if  he  saved  one  a  thousand  times  over.  Can 
he  now,  Ethel  darling?" 

"Oh  no!"  said^thel,  in  a  little  surprise. 
"But  stop,  darling.  You  really  must, not  say 
another  word— rno,  not  so  much  as  a  whisper — 
for  we  certainly  will  he  heard ;  and  don't  notice 
what  I  do,  or  the  priest  either,  for  it's  very, 
very  important,  dear.  But  yon  keep  as  still 
as  a  little  mouse,  and  wait  till  we  ara  all 
ready," 

"Well,  Ethel  dear,  I  will;  but  it's  mpfully 
funny  to  see  you  here — and  oh,  racA  a  funny 
figure  as  yon  are!" 
- "  H-s-s-s-hV 

Minnie  relapsed  into' silence  now,  and  Ethel 
withdrew  near  to  the  door,  where  she  stood  and 
listened.  All  was  still.  Down  stairs  there 
was  no  light  and  no  sound.  In  the  hall  above 
she  could  see  nothing,  and  could  not  tell  wheth* 
er  any  guards  were  there  or  not. 


Wi. 


HawBn'rjTs  room  wai  at  the  back  of  the  honse, 
as  has  been  said,  and  the  door  was  just  at  the 
top  of  the  stairs.  The  door  where  Ethel  was 
standing  was  there  too,  and  was  close  by  the 
other,  so  that  she  could  listen  and  hear  the 
deep  "breathing  of  the.  sleeper.'.  One  or  two 
indistinct  Muiitla  Mcafad  Uin']tk«a  time  to 


time,  and  % 
ness. 

She  wai| 

which  all  4 

Then  a  sh^ 

Hawbury's  j 

der.  ! 

Not  a  wo 

Ethel  stql 

bnry's  roort, 

see  the  two  \ 

her  the  posii 

Slowly  ai) 

him.  I 

She  reach( 

She  knelt* 

Her  lips  tous 

TS5  sleep* 

some'words. 

"Allfire.f 

It  is  a  fumaj; 

Then  he  si, 

Ethel's  h^f 

he  spoke  (old 

dering.     She 

eyes  and  tipon 

"Mydarlii 

will  land  her^. 

•  Don't  cry,  defa 

The  house  n 

Ethel  still  beti 

these  words  vfl 

"Ethel!"  ^ 

jon  ?    Lost ! ! : 

A  heavy  gig 

echo  in  the  hei 

liis  forehead 

I       Pered, 

I  "My  lord!*' 

Hawbury  stts 

I  "What's  tl^i 

I  "A  friend," 

At  this  IlaWl 

"  Who  are  [j 

Wing  voice,     f' 

sake,  speak  ag^ 

"Harry,"  gai 

Hawbury  ref  ( 

A  slight  cry^ 

ly  suppressed,  |i 

I    words  followed 

I        "Oh,mydaJl 

I    What  is  this?  I 

!   Oh,  amiawakf 

my  darling  I     Q 

Ethel  bent  >i 

I  around  him  till 

I  liim.    She  had]  i 

j.  this  alw ewtli^ 

self,  without  wii 

'  «nd  caught  Ethja 

'  embntce,  and  pi 

;  to  Us  heart. 

!     Ethel  with  diu 

.   i     "There's  noil 

j  ouae  to  tare  yi 


THE  AMERICAN  BARON. 


timo,  and  (biii  was  all  that  broke  the  deep  still- 
She  waited  thus  for  nearly  an  hour,  during 

Sin        h""?  """•/■"*  ^*""'«  •""<»  not'aword 
Then  a  shiidowy  figure  appeared  near  her  at 
Ha^vbury's  door,  and  a  hand  touched  hershoul- 

-        Not  a  w(^rd  was  said.  ^ 

i  Ethel  stqle  softly  and  noiselessly^fii^  Haw- 

bury  s  roon^,  where  the  priest  was.     She  could 
see  the  two  Windows  and  thefriest  indicated  to 
her  the  position  of  the  sleeper. 
^Slowly  ai|d  cautiously  she  stole  over  toward 

She  readied  the  place. 
She  kneltfby  his  side,  and  bent  low  over  him 
Her  lips  tonfched  his  forehead 

Wword^f  ""'"'  '"'''''''  "-^  "'—•l 

'^Trrther"'-     «"—<»-" 
Ethel's  hJart  b^at  wildly.     The  words  that 
he  spoke  folj  her  where  his^houghts  were  wan 

"My  darljng,"  mnrmnred  the  sleeper,  "we 

D™r""."t   I''.l»«o°''thefi«h.    Howpalll 
•  iJon  t  cry,  deftrest. "  *^ 

Ethel  st.ll  bent  down  and  listened  for  more  of 
these  words  ^hich  were  so  sweet  to  her 

vor^'tsu'^olu""''"'*'"''^'^"'^^-''- 
A  heavy  sigh  escaped  him,  which  found  an 

Insjorehoad  |jently  with  one  hand,  a^d  whis- 

"  My  lord  .'f 
Hawbnry  stjarted. 

"What's  tlijis?"  he  murmured. 
"A  friend,"  said  Ethel. 
At  this  Ha^f  bury  became  wide  awake. 
Who  are  ,you?"  he  whispered,  in  a  trehi-  ' 
bling  vo.ce.     f'For  God's  sake-oh,  for  God's 
»«ke,  speak  ag^in  1  tell  me  I" 
"Harry,"  said  Ethel. 
Hawbniy  recognized  the  voice  at  once. 
A  slight  cry  escaped  him,  which  was  instant- 

IvVrfrwe'dl  "'  "•'"•  *  '*"™'"  '»'''••»•-"«' 

m.?'!:1l^.'*f^"S?'  "y^lingJ  my  darling  I 

Oh,«mIaw.k*?   I.  it  you?    Oh,  mv darling ! 

%f  •*»« '     ^'•' ''  "y  •"»•  '^«"  but  free  I  " 

.i*hfr;iir.h;tt\rcoT'2'^^^^     ...E™-'-pl.nwa.h..ti,yreve.,ed.    Th.  po- 

^k«^wr  th»  «mh."»iw6Biy^T^  him-      It  w^T-t^T^^.!"?  f  *»"P«-— — 


waTtrir'^^i*^'!!^-^'''""-''  Oh. 
wait  I  she  added^s^wbury  made  another 
effort  to  clasp  beflThi.  arms.  ^  "  Oh'  do  wha[ 
I  say,  for  mf  sake !"  '  '* 

iJt '"'  *""■■ '"''  '■*'*'•  ""^  *="'  *«  «>«'  »f  w, 

"What  am  I  to  do ?"  asked  Hawburv  clasD 

"Escape." 
wirdr."^"""^'     I'»'-P-'h  you  from  the 

swZs°wkh\-'^''!  ^"""^  ""-J   «"  """"d 
closeT"  *^      •      ^"'^  '"'"*=''   ""  *" 

'  !<'™  ^«'"  "^.f  J^"y  *«>ugh  them.",. 

Then  you'll  be  killed,  and  I'll  die.'^'-         " 
well,  i  II  do  whatever  you  say  " 

"  What" I  "''?•.    ^°"  "■"''  •"««?«  '"''°«-" 
<  <  rV       '  *""  '«*^«  you  ?     Never !  " 
Im-wft.     I'm  disguised,  and  a  priest  is 
w.th  me  as  my  protector"  "^ 

thi's r'"' "'"  ^'°" '"  ""'■"' '"  '"'"^  »  P'««  M 

"I  am  safe.  Do  not  argue.  There  i>  nn 
Mme  to  lose.  The  priest  bright  I^^L'Z 
wiji  take  me  away."- 

"But  there  are  others  here.     I  can't  leave 

:rrdy?^''**'^'^-^»p"-"-?-'i-or 

hnl'/f" ;.!""  "•*  P"^*'  ""^  I  ''!"  be  able,  I 
hope  to  liberate  them.     We  have  a  plan." 

_^  But  can  1 1  go  with  you  and  help  you  ?" 
Oh  no!  itj,  impossible.     Yon  could  not. 
We  are  go.ng  to  take  thein  away  in  disguise 
We  have  a  dress.    You  coufdn't  be  disgufsed/' 

" And  wtiitl  go  alone?" 

"You  must." 

„h"^'"f°  ,•''*•**"•  Tell  me  what  it  is.  But 
oh,  my  dari.ng.'  how  can  I  leave  you,  and  in 
such  a  place  as  this  ?"  ^     '  "* 

"I  assure  you  I  am  not  in  the  slightest  dun- 
ger, 

''  I  shall  feel  terribly  anxious." 

..  We'll r"'  "**  """^  "'  """•    ^'''*'«'  "o"-" 

Ethel  bent  lower,  and  whispered  in  his  ear 

.n  even  lower  tones  than  ever,  the  plan  wh'ch 

she  had  contrived. 


CHAPTER  Xxk. 

A    DBBPBBATB    PLAH. 


^i«  '  ii™*^  *»  cordt.     nawDury  raised  him- 
••''•  without  waiting  for  hi.  feet  to^  be  freed, 
i  •»<»  caught  Ethfel  in  hi.  freed  arm.  in  .  .ilen 

■  STL"  "t^ ""  ^'"  '"•' "'''  •«•'» 

:     Ethel  with  diiflculty  extricated  herself. 

'  Tham'a   nn  tin.   t^  i it   .   >■ 


time  to  low,"  said  she.     "I 


I  ""•  ••  ••«  7^-    Don't  WMte  ".'noVhw  mo^ 


h.  K  '[•f ''•"' P"«""  ''ho  had  cdncocted  it,  and 

Hawboiy  .  re«!ae  conid  be  effected.  ThI.  In- 
Ken  on.  XrishSai,  had  .!«,  formed  anothVp  pta„ 
tor  the  rescue  of  Minnie  and  her  sister,  wh  oh 
WM  to  be  attempted  in  due  conrw  of  tiie. 

huZ  M  "f"*"^  ""^•'  "f  «»«P«  was  poMi- 
bta  for  Hawbnry.     A  .trict  watch  wu  l»pt. 


■J. 


106 


THE  AMERIC-^f  BARON. 


The  prie8t  had  noticed  on  his  approach  that 
guards  were  posted  in  different,  directions  in 
such  a  way  that  no  fugitive  from  the  house 
could  elude  them.  He  had  also  seen  that  the 
guard  inside  the  house  was  equally  vigilant. 
To  leap  from  the  window  and  run  for  it'would 
be  certain  death,  for  that  was  the  very  thing 
which  the  brigands  anticipated.  To  make  a 
sudden  rush  down  the  stair^was  not  possible, 
for  at  tke  door  below  there  were  guards ;  and 
there,  most  vigilant  of  all,  was  Girasole  himself. 

The  decision  of  the  Irish  priest  was  correct, 
as  has  been  proved  in  the  case  of  Dacres,  who, 
in  spite  of  all  his  caution,  was  observed  and 
captured.  Of  this  the  priest  knew  nothing,  but 
judged  from  what  he  himself  had  seen  on  his 
approach  to  the  house. 

The  plan  of  the  priest  had  been  hastily  com- 
municated to  Ethel,  who  shared  his  convictions 
and  adopted  his  conclusions.  She  also  had 
noticed  the  vigilance  with  which  the.  guard  had 
been  kept  up,  and  only  the  fact  that  a  woman 
had  been  sent  for  and  was  expected  with  the 
priest  had  preserved  her  from  discovery  and  its 
consequences.  As  it  was,  however,  no  notice 
was  taken  of  her,  and  her  pretended  ""character 
was  assumed  to  be  her  real  one.  Even  Girasole 
had  scarcely  glanced  at  her.  A  village  peasant 
was  of  no  interest  in  his  eyes.  His  only  thought 
was  of  Minnife,  and  the  woman  that  the  priest 
brought  was, only  used  as  a  desperate  effort  to 
show  a  desire  for  her  comfort.  After  he  had 
decided  to  separate  the  sisters  the  woman  was 
of  more  importance;  but  he  had  nothing  to 
say  tq  her,  and  thus  Ethel  had  effected  her  en- 
trance to  Minnie's  presence  in  safety^  wkl»«b« 
result  that  has  been  described. 

The  priest  had  been  tnrQitfg  over  many  proj- 
ects in  his  brain,  but  al^fast  one  suggested  it- 
self which  had  originat^<l  in  connection  with  the 
very  nature  of  his  errand. 

One  part  of  that  errand  was  that  a  man  should 
be  conveyed  out  of  the  house  and  carried  away 
and  left  in  a  certain  place.  Now  the  man  who 
was  thus  to  be  carried  out  was  a  dead  man,  and 
the  certain  place  to  which  he  was  to  be  borne 
and  where  he  was  to  be  left  was  the  grave ;  but 
these  stem  facts  did  not  at  all  deter  the  Irish 
priest  from  trying  to  make  use  of  this  task  that 
lay  before  him  for  the  benefit  of  Hawbury. 

Here  was  a  problem.  A  prisoner  anxious 
for  escape,  and  a  dead  nan  awaiting  burial'; 
how  were  these  two  things  to  be  exchanged  so 
that  the  living  man  might  pass  otat  without  go- 
ing to  the  grave  7 

The  Irish  priest  puzxled  and  mtdered  and 
grew  black  in  the  face  with  his  e^t«  to  get  to 
the  solution  of  this  problem,  and  at  length 
anccefided-^to  his  own  satisfaction^  at  any  ratg. 
What  is  more,  when  he  explained  his  plan  to 
Bthel,  she  adopted  it.  She  started,  it  is  true ; 
■he  shuddered,  she  recoiled  from  it  at  first,  but 
Anally  sh^  adopted  it  Farthermore,  she  took 
it  upon  herself  to  perauade  Hawbnry  to  fall  in 
with  it. 

80  much  with  regard  to  Hawbtiry.     For 


iy!>B4    \ 


Minnie  and  her  sister  the  indefatigjable  priegt 
had  already  concocted  a  plan  before  leaviiig 
home.  This  was  the  very  commouplace  plan 
of  a  disguise.  It  was  to  be  an  old  woman's  ap- 
parel, and  he  trusted  to  the  chapter  of  accidents 
to  make  the  plan  a  success.  He  noticed  With 
pleasure  that  some  women  were  at  the  place, 
and  thought  that  the  prisoners  might  be  con- 
founded with  them. 

When  at  length  Ethel  had  explained  the  plan 
to  Hawbury  he  made  a  few  further  objections, 
but  finally  declared  himself  ready  to  carry  it 
out. 

The  priest  now  began  to  put  his  project  into 
execution.  He  had  brought  a  screw -driver 
with  him,  and  with  this  he  took  out  the  screws 
from  the  cofiBn  one  by  one,  os  quietly  as  possi- 
ble. 

Then  the  lid  was  lifted  off",  and  Hawbury 
arose  and  helped  the  priest  to  transfer  th§ 
corpse  from  the  coffin  to  the  straw.  They  then 
put  the  corpse  on  its  side,  with  the  face  to  the 
wall,  and  bound  the  hands  behind  it,  and  the 
feet  also.  The  priest  then  took  Hawbury's 
handkerchief  and  bound  it  around  the  head  of 
the  corpse.  One  or  two  rugs  that  lay  near  were 
thrown  over  the  figure,  so  that  it  at  length  look- 
ed like  a  sleeping  man. 

Hawbury  now  got  into  the  coffin  and  lay 
down  on  his  back  at  full  length.  The  priest 
had  brought  s<^io  bits  of  wood  with  him,  and 
these  he  put  on  the  edge  of  the  coffin  in  such  a 
way  that  the  lid  would  be  kept  oif  at  a  distance 
of  about  a  quarter  of  an  inch.  Through  this 
opening  Hawbury  could  have  all  the  air  that 
was  requisite  for  breathing. 

Then  Ethel  aaaisted  the  priest  to  lift  the  lid 
on. 

Thus  far  all  had  been  quiet ;  bnt  now  a  slight 
noise  was  heard  below.  Some  men  were  mov- 
ing. Ethel  was  distracted  with  anxiety,  bnt 
the  priest  was  as  cool  as  a  clock.  He  whis- 
pered to  her  to  go  back  to  the  room  where  she 
belonged. 

"  Will  you  be  able  to  finish  it  7"  she  asked. 

"Sure  an'  I  will — only  don't  yon  be  afUier 
stayin'  here  any  longer." 

At  this  Ethel  stole  back  to  Minnie's  room, 
and  stood  listening  with  a  quick-beating  heart. 

Bnt  the  priest  worked  coolly  and  dextrous- 
ly.  He  felt  for  the  holes  fimkUlniie  screws  be- 
longed, and  succeeded  in  putting  in  two  of 
them. 

Then  there  was  a  noise  in  the  hall  below. 

The  priest  began  to  put  in  the  third  screw. 

There  were  footsteps  on  the  stain. 

He  screwed  on. 

Nearer  and  nearei^came  the  itepi. 

The  priest  still  kent  to  his  1 


At  last  a  man  entered  th^  room.  Ethel, 
who  had  heard  all,  waa  faint  with  anxiety.  She 
was-afVaid  that  the  priest  had  not  finished  hit 
task. 

Her  fean  were  gronndless. 

Just  as  the  foremost  of  the  men  entered  tin 
room  die  priest  finished  icrewing,  and  stood  If , 

•J    • 


^  ,^i. 


THE  AMERICAN  BARON. 


the  coffin,  having  dipped  the  Bcrew-drive!'  Into 
his  pockety  as  calm  as  though  nothing  had  hap- 
pened. Three  of  the  screws  were  in,  and  that 
was  as  many  as  were  needed. 

The  men  brought  no  light  with  them,  and 
thw^  circumstance  was  in  the  priest's  favor       . 
You  ve  been  keeping  me  waiting  lonaJ- 
said  the  priest,  in  Italian.  ^^ 

"Yott  may  be  glad  it  wasn't  longer,"  mU 
one  of  them,  in  a  sullen  tone.  "Where  is  ifp' 
"  Here, "  said  the  priest. 
The  n^en  gathered  around  the  coffin,  and 
stooped  down  over  it,  one  at  each  corner. 
Then  they  raised  it  up.  Then  they  carried  it 
out  i  and  soon  the  heavy  steps  of  the  men  were 

burden"*  ''^"'  **""'"  "*"  *'**"  '*'"'  "'^'' 

Ethel  stiU  stood  watching  and  listening. 
As  she  listened  she  heard  some  one  ascend 
mg  the  stairs.     New  terror  arose.     Something 
was  wrong,  and  all  would  be  discovered.     But 
the  man  who  came  up  had  no  light,  and  that 
was  one  comfort.    She  could  not  see  who  it  was 
The  man  stopped  for  a  moment  in  front  of 
Minnies  door,  and  stood  so  close  to  her  that 
she  heard  his  breathing.     It  was  quick  and 


''     u        T.     "•" .""^"""MK-     It  was  quick 
0  '>e»ry'J'''«'*'«*"-eat»'ingofaverytiredoraverv 
I        r.ir.r.^P^"''^''"-'^  away  and  w:'^ 


-      •  ""  •uiiicu  away  ai 

to  the  door  of  the  front-room  opposite.     Here 
he  also  stood  for  a  few  moments. 

All  was  still. 

Then  he  came  back,  and  entered  Hawbury's 

.ll^™ril?\!"j!'  •"*•*  come-the  moment  when 
all  might  be  discovered.     And  if  so.  thev  all 

rZrl-  ^^',1  ^T  '■'^  '■""^'^''l  a»d  tried 
to  peer  through  the  gloom.  She  saw  the  dark 
figure  o?  the  new-comer  pass  by  one  of  the  win- 
dows, end  by  the  outline  she  knew  that  it  was 
Girasole  He  passed  on  into  the  shadow,  and 
toward  the  place  where  the  straw  was.  She 
could  not  see  him  any  more. 

Girasole  stepped  noiselessly  and  cantionslv 
a.  though  fearful  of  waking  the  sleeper.     aI 
every  step  he  paused  and  listened.      The  si 
lence  reassured  him. 

He  drew  nearer  and  nearer,  his  left  hand 
groping  fonvard,  and  his  right  hand  holding 
apwtol.     His  movements  were  perfectly  noise- 

Hii  own  excitement  was  now  intense,  his 

irait'^'H^"''"-^'^ ""«» •'•'»»«  SA 

he  approached  his  victim. 

kn«  '"h  *"?•  T'^fr  ""  '^^  """l  knelton  one 
knee.  He  listened  for  a  moment.  Thew  was 
no  noise  and  no  movement  on  the  part  of  the 
figure  before  him. 


the  most  comfortable  attitude  which  could  bo 
•Mumed,  where  arms  and  legs  were  bound. 

How  soundly  he  sleeps  1"  thought  Girasole. 
luS  ^'".'^  ■■■  moment,  and  seemed  to  hes- 
itate j  but  it  was  only  for  a  moment.  Then, 
•ninming  up  hi.  resolution,  he  held  his  pi,to 
doM  to  the  h«Ml  of  the  figure,  and  fired. 


The  loud  report  echoed  through  the  house. 
A  shnek  came  from  Minnie's  room,  and  a  crv 
T-f  i'T  .M"- Willoughby,  who  sprang  to- 
ward the  hall.  But  Girasole  came  out  and  Z 
tercepted  her. 

"Eet  ees  notin,"  said  he,  in  a  tremulous 

Mrs.  Willonghby  retreated  to  her  room,  and 
Mmnie  said  nothing.  As  for  Ethel,  the  sus- 
pense with  her  had  passed  away  as  the  report 
of  the  pistol  came  to  her  eare 

Meanwhile  the  coffin  was  carried  out  of  the 
house  and  the  men,  together  with  the  priest, 
walked  on  toward  a  place  further  up  the  shore 
and  on  the  outskirts  of  the  woods.  They  reach- 
ea  a  place  where  a  grave  was  dug. 

At  this  moment  a  pistol-shot  sounded.  The 
pnest  stopped,  and  the  men  stopped  also.  Thev 
did  not  understand  it.      The   priest  did  n«i    , 

f!^  A  T "  J"*  ?"deavored  to  excite  their 
teani.^  One  of  the  men  went  back,  and  was 
cursed  by  Gii'asolo  for  his  pains.      So  ho  re! 

rUf^  '"I''®  «™^«.  '""ing  every  body. 

The  coffin  was  now  lowered  into  the  grave, 
and  the  pnest  urged  the  men  to  go  aw.r«.d 
let  him  flnmh  the  work,  but  they  refused. 
The  fellow  seemed  to  have  some  affection  for 
their  dead  comrade,  and  wished  to  show  it  by 
Pottiag  laar  ttndwgnmiid,  «n^  doing  the  iS«^ 
honors      So  the  efforts  of  the  Irish  priert 


.u  .  —  '  —•"•"■  vt  we  xnsn  pnest. 
though  very  weU  me«,^  and  very  nrgent,  and 
very  persevering,  did  not  meet  ^th  Uiat  suc- 
cess which  he  anticipated. 

Suddenly  he  stopped  in  the  midst  of  the 
Stmit.'"^"^'  '""'*  ''^  *"  P™'»»«tag  to  tb. 

"  Hark  I"  he  cried,  in  Italian. 


■\fh 


& 


f 


108 


^ 


THE  AMERICAN  BARON, 


^ 


"What?"  they  asked. 

"It's  a  gun!     It's  an  alarm!" 

"There's  no  gun,  and  no  alarm,"  said  they. 

AH  listened,  but  there  was  no  repetition  of 
the  s(>und,  and  the  priest  went  on. 

He  had  to  finish  it. 

He  stood  tremhling  and  at  his  wit's  end. 
Already  the  men  began  to  throw  in  the  earth. 

But  now  there  came  ,a  real  alarm. 


CHAPTER  XXXL 

DI8COVEBBD."\\, 

,  The  report  (Jf^he  pistol  had  startlol  Minnie, 
and  for  a  moment  had  greatly  agitated  her. 
The  cry  of  Mrs.  Willoughby  elicited  a  response 
from  her  to  the  effect  that  all  Was  right,  and 
would,  no  doubt,  have  resulted  in  a:  conversa- 
tion, had  it  not  been  prevented  by  Girasole. 

Minnie  then  relapsed  into  silence  for  a  time, 
and  Ethel  took  a  seat  by  her  side  oa  the  floor, 
for  Minnie  would  not  go  near  t)ie  straw,  and 
then  the  two  interlocked  their  ahra  in  an, af- 
fectionate embrace. 

"Ethel  darling,"  whispered"  Minnie,  "do 
you  know  I'mbeginning  to  get  awfully  tired  of 
this?" 

"  I  should  think  so,  poor  darling !" 
"If  I  only  had  some  place  to  sit  on,"  said 
Minnie,  still  reverting  to  her  original  griev- 
ance, "it  wouldn't  be  so  very  bad,  you  know. 
I  could  put  np  with  not  having  a  bed,  or  a  sofa, 
or  that  sort  of  thing,  you  know ;  but  really  I 
must  say  not  to  have  any  kind  of  a  seat  seems 
to  me  to  be  very,  very  inconsiderate,  to  say  the 
least  of  it." 

"Poor  darling!"  said  Ethel  again. 
"And  now  do  you  know,  Ethel  dear,  I'm  be- 
ginning to  feel  as  though  I  should  really  like 
to  rup  away  from  this  ^  place,  if  I  thought  that 
horrid  man  wouldn't  see  me  ?"  ,?' 

"Minnie  darling,"  said  Ethel,  '« that's  ;the 
very  thing  I  came  for,  you  know." 

"Oh  yes,  I  know!      And  that  dear,  nice, 
good,  kind,  delightful  priest!     Oh,  it  was  so 
nice  of  yon  to  think  of  a  priest,  Ethatodear ! 
I'm  «o  grateful !     But  when  is  he  comiH ?" 
"Soon,  I  hope.    But  do  try  not  to  talk  so." 
"But  I'm  only  whispering." 
'WTes,  but  your  whispers  are  too  loud,  and 
I'm  afraid  they'll  hear." 

"  Well,  I'll  try  to  keep  still ;  but  it's  so  aw- 
fully hard,  yon  know,  when  one  has  to  much  to 
say,  Ethel  dear."  * 

Minnie  now  remained  silent  for  abont  five 
minutes. 

"How  jid  yon  say _yoa  were  going  to  take 


ma  away  ?"  she  asked  at  length. 

" In  disguise,"  said  EtheL 

" But  loAat  disguise?" 

"  In  an  old  woiiian's  divss— but  hu-s-s-s-sht" 

"  But  I  don't  want  to  be  dressed  up  in  an  old 
woman's  clothes;  they  make  me  luch  n  figure. 
Why,  I'd  be  a  perfect  fright." 


"  Hu-s-s-s-sh !  Dear,  dear  Minnie,  yon're 
talking  too  lond.  They'll  certainly  hear  us," 
said  Ethel,  in  a  low,  frightened  whisper. 

"  But  do — do  promise  you  won't  take  me  in 
an  old  woman's  clothes !" 

"Oh,  there— there  it  is  again!"  said  Ethel. 
"Dear,  dear  Minnie,  there's' some  one  listen- 
ing." 

"  Well,  I  don't  see  what  harm  there  is  in 
what  I'm  saying.     I  only  wanted—" 

Here  there  was  a  movement  on  the  stairs 
just  outside.  Ethel  had  heard  a  sound  of  that 
kind  two  or  three  times,  and  it  had  given  her 
alarm;  but  now  Minnie  herself  heard  it,  and 
stopped  speaking. 

And  now  a  voice  sounded  from  the  stairs. 
Some  Italian  words  were  spoken,  and  seemed 
to  be  addressed  to  them.  Of  course  they  could 
make  no  reply.  The  words  were  repeated, 
with  others,  and  the  speaker  seemed  to  be  iml 
patient.  Suddenly  it  flashed  across  Ethel's 
Aiind  that  the  speaker  was  Girasole,  and  that 
the  words  were  addressed  to  her. 

Hep.  impression  was  correct,  and  the  speaker 
was  Girasole.  He  had  heard  the  sibilant  sounds 
of  the  whispering,  and,  knowing  that  Minftie 
could  not  speak  Italian,  it  had  struck  him  as 
being  a  very  singular  thing  that  she  should  be 
whispering.  Had  her  sister  joined  her  ?  Ho 
thought  ^e  would  go  up  and  see.  So  he  went 
up  softly,  and  the  whispering  still  went  on.  He 
therefore  concluded  that' the  "Italian  womnn" 
was  not  doing  her  duty,  and  that  Mrs.  Wil- 
loughby had  joined  her  sister.  This  he  would 
not  allow;  but  as  he  had  already  been  sufll- 
ciently  harsh  he  did  not  wish  to  be  more  so, 
and  therefore  he  called  to  the  "  Italian  woman." 
"Hallo,  you  woman  there!  didn't  I  tell  you 
not  to  let  iho  ladies  speak  to  one  another?" 

Of  coulee  no  answer  waS  given,  so  Girasole 
grew  more  angry  still,  and  cried  out  again, 
more  imperatively :  > 

"  Why  do  you  not  answer  me  ?  Where  are 
you  ?     Is  this  the  way  you  watch  ?" 

Still  there  was  no  answer.  Ethel  heard,  and 
by  this  time  knew  what  his  suspicion  was ;  but 
she  could  neither  do  nor  say  any  thing. 
"  Come  down  here  at  once,  you  hag !" 
But  the  " hag'  did  not  come  down,  nor  did 
she  give  any  answer.  The  "  hag"  was  trem- 
bling violently,  and  saw  that  all  was  lost.  If 
the  priest  were  only  here !  If  she  could  only 
have  gone  and  returned  with  him !  What  kept 
him? 

Girasole  now  came  to  the  top  of  the  stairs, 
and  spake  to  Minnie. 

"  Charming  mees,  are  yon  awake  ?" 
"  Yes,"  said  Minnie. 
'Ecfl  your  sistaire  wit  yoay 


"No.  How  can  $he  be  wiMi  me,  I  should 
lik^  to  know,  when  you've  gone  and  put  her  in 
some  tionid  old  room?" 

"Ah!  not  wit  you  f  Who  are  vou  whisper, 
in' to,  Hen?"  ^-  ' 

Minnie  hesitated. 

"To  my  maid,"  said  sho.  '     \     , 


imSJ; 


'%,  J-  ^  -''•n' 


109 


"what  DIT  TO0  OOIOI  VOBT"— "lOX 


"  Does  de  maid  gpik  IpglU  ?"  asked  Ginwole, 

"Yes," said  Minnie. 

"Ah!  I  did  not  knQw  eet.  I  mns  have  a 
look  at  de  contadina  who  spiks  Inglis.  Come 
hare,  Italiana.  You  d0n't  spik  Italiano,  I  tink. 
vwe  here.  ' 
^Ethel^ose  to  her  feet. 
^Irasole  ran  down,  and  came  back  after  a 
Ifcw  minutes  with  a  lamp.     Concealment  was 

"^rt  ?•*  f"  ^""''  ''''*  "<"  ^^er  her  face 
wi  h  the  hood.  It  had  faUen  off  when  she  was 
sittmg  by  Mmnie,  and  hung  lobsejly  down  her 
shoulders  from  the  iftrings  which  were  around 
her  neck,  Glrasoje  r«eogniied  her  at  one 
glance. 

"Ahr  said  he;  %nd  then  he  stood  thinking. 
„!i^L         •  "°*  'hatjlie  suspense  wai  oYet 
T*  .7?^  realhe^lier  agitation  ceased. 
She  stood  looking  at  him  with  perfect  calm. 
What  dit  you  come  for?"  jie  asked. 

^S^,     .'"  ••''*  ^""'''  '"•'^"K  »  gesture  to- 
ward Minnie.  * 

"  What  could  you  do  wit  her  ?" 

1^1  could  see  hv  and  comfort  her." 

'  Ah  I  an'  you  ho|)«  to  make  hbr  escape.  Ha, 


I 


\d 


hli  »?'.!*"•  7°"  "•"*  "°*  •'O'npJoin  eef  von 
nat  to  soffnir  de  consequence.     Aha!  an'  so 
ae  pnest  bring  you  here— ha  ?" 
Ethel  was  silent. 

4e  prie'liha" i^'"  '"  "^-^""  ''"'  ^°"  '"'"»» 
Minnie  had  thus  far  said  nothing,  but  now 

Ethel  s  waist,  and  turned  her  large,  soft,  child- 
ish eyes  upon  Girasole. 

"What  do  you  mean," shfsaid,  "by  alwavt 
coming  hew  and  teasing,  atid  worrying,  and 
firing  off  pistols,  and  frightening  people?  I'm 
sure  It  was  horrid  enough  for  you  to  make  n<e 

dZ'Il^lf '!^!i!^  PlBCCj^when  yon  know  I 
aojtt^iMifr  jtj  withont  annoyin]}  me  so.     Why  " 
did  yon  go  and  take  away  poor  darling  Kitty? 

here?  I  never  was  treated  so  unkindly  in^my 
life.  I  did  not  think  that  my  ow  could  bo  to 
very,  very  rude." 

"  Charming  meej,"  said  Girasole,  with  a  dm. 


4^ 


b-»* 


110 


THE  AMERICAN  BABON. 


"  It  don't  pain  yon,"  jaid  Itid^ei— "  ft  don't 
pain  you  at  all  Ybu'r^  o/icayf  teasing' me. 
You  weeer  do  what  I  waioii-jrc  a  to.  Yon  wouldn't 
even  give  me 'a  chaif."  , . , 

'Alas,  carisaima  mia,  to-morra  you  sail  haf 
all!     But  displace  is  ao  re  note." 

' It  is  Mt  remote,"  said liinnie.  "  It's  close 
by  roads  and  villages  and  iliingg.  Why,  here 
is  Ethel ;  she  has  been  in  ^'village  where  there 
are  houses,  and  people,  and  as  many  chairs  as 
she  wants."  '  ■ 

"Oh,  meet,,  eef  you  will  but  wait  an'  lie 
-  patient— eef  you  will  but  wait  an'  see  how  ten- 
der I  wiD  be,  an'  how  I  lof  you."  ^ 

"You  don't  love  me,"  said  Minnie,  "one 
bit.  Is  this  loTe — not  to  give  me  a  chair?  I 
have  been  standing  np  till  I  am  nearly  ready  to 
.  drop.  And  yon  have  nothing  better  than  some 
wretched  promises.  I  don't  care  for  to-mor- 
^  row ;  I  want  to  be  comfortable  to-day.  Yon 
won't  let  me  have  a  single  thing.  And  now 
you  come  to  tease  me  again,  and  frigh^n  poor, 
dear,  darling  EtheL" 

"Eet  ees  because  she  deceif  me — she  come 
wit  a  plot — she  steai  in  here.  Eef  she'^had 
wait,  all  would  be  well." 

"You  mustn't  dors  to  touch  her,"  said  Min- 
nie, vehemently.  "You  tha/l  leave  her  here. 
She  shaU  stay  with  me."  - 

"I  am  ver  pain->^b,  very;  hut  oh,  my  an- 
gel—sweet—charming mees — eet  ees  dangaire 
to  my  lof.  She  plot  to  take  you  away.  An' 
all  my  life  ia  in  yon.  Tink  what  I  haf  to  do 
to  gain  yon  I"  ' 

Minnie  looked  upon  Girasole,  with  her  large 
eyes  dilated  with  excitement  and  resentment. 

"Y9U  ar«  a  horrid,  horrid  man,"  she  ex- 
claimed.     "lAoteyou." 

"  Oh,  my  angel,"  pleaded  Oirwole,  with  deep 
agitation,  "  take  back  dat  word." 

"I'm  sorry  you  ever  saved  my  life,"  said 
Minnie,  very  calmly ;  "  and  I'm  sorry  I  ever 
saw  you.     Ihatayoa," 

"Ah,  yon  gif  me  torment.  You  do  not  mean, 
dis.    Yon  say  once  you  lof  me,"  - 

"  /  did  not  say  I  loved  you.  It  was  yott  who 
said  you  loved  me.  /never  liked  gou.  And 
I  don't  really  »pe  how  I  could  bd  engaged  to 
you  when  I  was  enj^ged  to  another  man  be- 
fore. He  is  the  only  one  whom  I  recognize 
now^J  don't  know  yon  at  all.  For  I  couldn't 
be  bind  to  two  men ;  could  I,  Ethel  dear?" 

Ethel  did  not  reply  to  |his  strange  ques- 
tion. 

But  npoo  Gimsole  its  efflsct  was  very  great. 
The  manner  of  Minnie  h«d  been  excessively 
perplexing  to  him'  all  through  this  eventful 
day.  If  she  had  stormed  and  gone  into  a  fine 
frenxjr  he  could  have  borne  it.  It  would  have 
-tHNHi^Miiral.  But  the  wav^^erfectiy  nncon- 
cemed,  and  her  only  complaint  was  about  tri- 
fles. Sncb  trifle*  tool  He  felt  ashamed  to 
think  that  he  could  have  (ubjacted  tb  such  an- 
iloyanoes  a  woman  whom  he  so  dearly  lored. 
And  now  he  was  once  more  puxiled.  Minnie 
confronted  him,  lookioftat  him  fixedly,  without 


one  particte  of  fear,  with  her  large,  earnest,  in- 
nocent eyes  fastcined  upon  his— with  the  calm, 
cool  gaze  of  some  liigh-mlnded  Aild  rebuking, 
a  yoanger  child-companion.  This  was  s  pro- 
ceeding which  he  was  not  prepared  for.  Be- 
sides, the  child-innocence  of  her  face  and  of 
her  words  actui^y  daunted  hinn  She  seemed 
so  fearless,  because  she  was  so  innocent.  She 
became  a  greater  puzzliT  than  ever.  He  had 
never  seen  much  of  her  before,  and  this,  day's 
experience  of  her  had' actually  daunted  him 
and  confounded  him.  And  what  was  the  worst 
to  him  of  all  her  words  was  her  calm  and  shn- 
ple  deckration,  "I  hate  you!" 

"Yes,"  said  Mifinie,  thoughtfully,  "it  must 
be  so;  and  dear  Kitty  would  have  said. the 
same;  only  she  was  so  awfully  prejudices.  And 
I  always  thought  he  was  so  nice.  Yes,  I  think 
I  really  must  be  engaged  to  him.  But  as  for 
yon,"  she  said,  turning  full  upon  Girasole,  "I 
iiate  you ! " 

Gii:psole'8  face  grew  white  with  rage  and 
jealousy. 

"Ahal"  iaid  he.     "You  lof  him.'    Aha! 
^'  you  w^re  engage  to  ^m.     Aha  I" 
"Yes,  iVeally  think  so." 
"Ahal     Well,  listen',"  cried  Girasole,  in  a 
hoarse  voice — "•listen.     He— he — de  rival— de 
one  you  say  you  are  engage-<-he  is  dead ! " 

And  with  this  he  fastened  upon  Minnie  his 
eyes  that  now  .gleamed  with  rage,  and  had  an 
expression  in  them  that  might  have  made  Ethel 
quiver  with  horror,  but  she  did  not,  for  she  knew 
that  Girasole  was  mistaken  on  that  point. 

As  foe  Minnie,  she  was  not  at  All  impressed 
by  his  fierce  looks. 

"I  don't  thinl  you  really  know,  what  you're 
talking  about,"  said  she;  "and  you're  very, 
Tery_  unpleasant.  At  any  rate,  you  are  alto- 
gether in  the  wrong  when  you  say  he  is  dead." 
"Dead!  He  is  dead!  I  swear  it !"  cried 
Girasole,  whose  manner  was  a  little  toned  down 
by  Minnie's  coolness. 

"This  is  getting  to  be  awfully  funny,  yon 
know,"  said  Minnie.  "  l'  really  think  we  don't 
know  what  one  another  is  talking  about.  I'm 
sure  /  don't,^and  I'm  sure  ke  don't,  either; 
does  he,  Ethel  dariing?" 

"De  Inglis  milor,"  said  Girasole.  "He  is 
dead." 

"  Well,  but,  I  don't  inyn  him  at  all,"  said 
Minnie.  ■    V 

"\Yho— who?"  gasped  Girasole.  "Who- 
who— who  ?" 

"Why,  the  person  I  mean,"  said  Minnie, 
very  placidly,  "is  Bufns  K.  Gnnn." 

Girasole  uttered  something  like  a  howl,  ud 
retreated. 


CHAPTER  XXXn. 

CNDBB.  ARBIMT. 

GiRABOLB  retreated  half-way  down  the  stain, 
and  then  he  stopped  for  some  time  and  thought. 
Then  he  came  back  and  motioned  to  EtheL 


|pBJ^<«    ^-      fi"     Jl-^Sti 


it 


■(A&(*  •  >!i 


* '  Yon  mtet  come, "  be  said,  ffrufflr 
;;Yoa.hkU„ot,»'«idMin„ir   ^' 

And  I  U  be  bacK  as  (oon  as  I  can  " 

soie.  .  ine  latter  said  nothine.     Ethel  i\«u,A 

h.l  A'  ^'?f'  *""  Standing  over,  the  g«ve 
bathed  m  a  dold  perspiration,  hi,  hekrt  tC 
bing  violently  erery  new  thud  of  the  ZrTT. 

fi  coW^chill  if  horror  thn,ngh  eve.^  nerve'^ 
4^  enongt  earth  had  been  thrown  to  c^vl 
oWbreM-arter.  df  the  lid,  and  at  the  foot  it 
was  heaped  np  some  distance.  He  tried  to 
frapie  some  excuse  to  get  the  men  away.  His 
br«n  whirkd;  his  mind  was  confosTi-  hs 
thoughts  refused  to  be  collected  ' 

Apd  now,  in  the  midst  o>this,  the  attention 

^j.L""  ^"^^^  •'y  *  '»'«*  «^  voice,  wUch 
wmided  from  some  one  near  The  nri^t 
teoked  around.  Jhe  men  s^ped  shoveZ? 
mud  tirned  to  see  the  cause  of  thenoise.        * 

Girdle  was  seen  approaching,  and  was  al- 

ffi^  fiSr"*^  *^}^  distinguished.  Be- 
hind  him  followed  a  female  form.  At  this 
right  the  priest's  mind  misgave  him 

th.tt'JTi"  "r"  "P-  ""^  ""''  the 'priest  saw 
that  the  female  was  no  other  than  Ethel. 

.„11*^  !L1!^*^,P'*-""  '«'k«d  Girasole, 
angrily,  speaking,  of  conrse,  in  Italian. 

The  pnest  advanced.  • 

At  this  change  in  the  state  of  affaire  the 
pnest  regained  his  presence  of  mind  The 
^iZ  •"  •^Ti«-«  I"™  -««0  -d  ena 


THE  AMERICAN  BARON. 


Wed  him  to  recall  his%c;tto«d  and' S^d"  beeii^t'^f^?'"'' *  ^A"" « '*^^' ^''° »««  "-« 


thoughts    The  men  stoodlooklng  "aTthe  s"S* 
ers  and  bstening,  leaning  on  their  shovels: 
You  were  sent  for  ?"  * 
^Yes." 

"And  a  maid?" 
"Yes." 

"You  brought  this  ladv?" 
"Yes."  ' 

off^^lSianV"*"''^""'  ^"^  ^'^^^^ 
"Yes." 

The  priest  made  no  attempt  at  denial 'or 
equnrocation.  He  knew  that' this  would  hi 
nMle«  He  waited  for  an  opportunity  to  ex- 
cuse himself,  and  to  explain  rather  than  to 
deny.  But  ereiy  answer  of  his  only  served  to 
tocre.se  the  fury  .of  Gin«ole,  who  seemed  de- 

I^pThli^..''"'*  "'^."  ""'  ^"^  °f  'he  priest 

^«if!il  $,'■'*?  "'**  ''•'  f""  •'  »>»  '"t  in- 
terview with  Minnie. 

.  tnck  us?    Don't  you  know  the  punishmeht 
we  give  to  spies  and  traitors  ?" 
tore  "  *"''  •••***"«  to  do  with  spies  and  trai- 

"Yonareoneyonrsel£" 
"I  am  not" 
0    ^YottHel" 


111 

"I  do  not,"  said  the  priest,  mildly.     « Hear 

U^„  r  ""'  ■  '^'°'  '•  °''  ''y*"*  don't  wish  to 
Jisten,  then  question  me." 

"S*™  .**  *""  ''°*  question.     What  made  ^ 
yon  bring  this  lady  ?" 

.*5.'i!^'l'  *™P>y  "Mwered,"  said  the  priest 
•With  unfaltering  calmness.      "This  ladv  «nd 

htpSty  'ir "  ""^  ^f »«" »«'  ^^-^ 

SaT-^J    They  were  in  distress.     Some  of 

message  came  from  you  requesting  mrnret 
ence  and  also  a  lady's-maid.  Thf re  waS^ 
Bt^ulation  about  the  kind  of  one  ThruSJ 
was  the  intimate  friend  of  the  captive,  and  m- 
jreated  me  to  Uike  her.  so  that  l,  sLZ  Le  ' 
her  fnend,  and  comfort  her,  and  share  her 
captmty.     I  Mw  no  harm  in  the  wish      Sh" 

''Why  did  she  disguise  hereelf?" 
So  as  to  pass  without  trouble.     She  didn't 
7n-."„d  °  '"  *""^'"'-     «''«'  ''«'"«d  to  see  heJ 
tS  ^  '"^''  "^  P*^'""-     If  y°°  h«d  ques- 
tioned her,  you  would  no  doubt  have  let  her 

the' kinT""'  ""  *'°"''*'  '^^^  *''"•«  "««""8  of 

"'oK'^/V^J^''*"''"  "'•d  the  priest  " 
'Objection?    She  is  a  spy!"  *^      ^     . 

"A  spy?    Of  what,  pray?" 
•^  She  came  to  help  her  friend  to  escape." 
To  escape?    How  could  she  possibW  help 
herto  escape?    Do  you  think  it  so  easy  to  Z 
cape  from  this  place  ?"  />««»- 

Girasole  was  silent      • 
Do  you  think  a  young  lady,  who  has  never 

tout  ofthnran>  Aft...  iU.'L.v    -  .! 


^ .   . — "  "■  ^""  'tieuus  oeiore,  coi 

do  much  to  assut  a  friend  like  hereelf  in  in  , 
cftpo  r 

"She  might" 

Th»t^hn  ^°^  ^  "^'^  "  "*"  *«  ""•««'  of  a  city. 
That  house  is  watched,  I  think.    There  seem  to 

tak«n  r'"''M"\.''""'^  ""^'^  >*  I  ""^  "ot  mis- 
taken Could  this  young  lady  help  her  friend 
to  elude  all  these  guards  ?  Why,  you  know  very 
well  that  she  could  not."  ^ 

"  Yes ;  but  then  there  is " 

'.'Who?" 

".Youreelf." 

"Myself?"  '     '  . 

"Yes." 

"What  of  me?" 

«  wi?*.'  Ii"  '. ''°'"'  ''^'"  yo"'  designs  ?» 

think /could  plan  an  escaoe?" 
"Whynot?'>  *    *^      . 

"Why  not ?    What t  living  hero  dwa^ 


>  lii^dNi^'i^iavik' 


rtde  yoirr  /be»t«|'tirf  /,  wUh  my  lifeTT 
i^n  suoT^T  "  »"  ""•'-with  my  throit  with- 
in such  easy  reach  of  wy  assassin  who  might 
choose  to  revenge  my  treachery  ?"  ^^ 

^^We  are  not  assaisint,"  said  Girwolo,  m- 

mlldi""*"'  »»»»4»o'.""J0ii«ed  thepritit, 


■  i  fti 


IM 


TBA  AMEBICAK' BABON. 


mom  4VABIX 


Girasole  was  ailent,  and  stood  in  thonght 
The  men  at  the  grave  had  heard  every  word  of 
this convertation.  -Once they langhed in. scorn 
when  the  priest  ailaded  to  the  absurdity  of  a 
young  girl  escapiV  It  was  too  ridiculous. 
Their  sympathies  w^dvidently  with  the  priest. 
The  chai^  against  him  could  not  be  main- 
tained. 

"Well,"  said  Girasole  at  length,  ««I  don't 
tinst  you.  Yon  may  be  traitors,  after  all.  I 
will  have  yon  guarded,  and"  if  I  And  out  any 
thing  that  looks  like  treasAn,  by  Heaven  I  will 
have  your  life,  old  man,  even  if  yon  should  be 
the  Holy  Father  himself;  and  as  to  the  lady- 
well,  I  will  find  plenty  of  ways,"  he  added, 
with  a  sneer,  "of  inflicting  on  her  a  punish- 
ment commensurable  with  her  crime.  Here, 
yon  men,  come  along  with  me,"  he  added.  Ipok- 


-«ir«the  men  by  the  g»v«;~ 

"But  wo  want  to  finish  poor  Antonio's 
g»ve,"  remonstrated  one  of  the  men. 

"  Bah !  be'Ukeep,"said  Girasole,  with  a  sneer. 

"  Can't  one  of  ns  stay  ?"  asked  the  man. 

"No,  not  one ;  I  want  yon  all.  If  they  are 
»»ltors,  they  an  deep  oap.    Theji  must  be 


guarded ;  afid,  mind  yon,  if  they  escape,  you 
shall  suffer." 

With  these  words  he  led  the  way,  and  the 
priest  and  Ethel  followed  him.  After  these 
came  the  men,  who  had  thrown  down  their 
shovels  beside  the  grave.  They  all  walked  on 
in  silence,  following  Girasole,  who  led  the  way 
to  a  place  beyond  the  grave,  and  within  view  of 
one  of  the  fires  formerly  alluded  to.  The  place 
was  about  half-way  between  the  grave  and  the 
fire.  It  was  a  little  knoll  bare  of  trees,  and 
fW)m  iMhey  could  be  seen  by  those  at  the  near- 
est fire.  Here  Girasole  paused,  and,  with  some 
final  words  of  warning  to  the  gturds,  he  turned 
and  took  his  departure. 

The  priest  sat  down  upon  the  grass,  and  urged 
Ethel  to  do  the  same.  She  followed  his  advice, 
and  sat  down  by  his  side.  The  guards  i 
around  them  so  as  to  encircle  them,  and,  mind^^ 
ful  of  Girasole's  charge,  they  kept  their  faces 
turned  toward  them,  so  as  to  prevent  even  the 
very  thought  of  flight  The  priest  addressed  a 
few  mild  parental  words  to  the  men,  who  gave, 
him  very  civil  responses,  bnt  relaxed  not  a  pw^ 
dele  of  their  vigilanoe.  . 


•.•.  \  r .  VSaS 


.v" 


W' 


-^> 


o^;™V^      •  ^"*'""  ^"^  "»•"  he  h-d  dared 


THE  AMERICAN  BARON.     ' 

CHAPTER  XXXriI. 


118 


XHB  DBMOir   WIFK. 


Whbic  Dacres  was  overpowered  bv  his  «». 


f    ..  .u      . — ■" '"'B"'' "o  "Oie  to  breathe     Ts.   ..:■     • "  "'erpowered  bv  his  mu 

fact  thatihB  Wi>rk  had  been  so  une^Mcledlv^^'  "'^  "°  "^"^  '^'«'  "ho^Vhim.     His  han^ 

terrnpted  was  one  which  fined  hrwHyV^iM'™  '^""V''^'''  '^''""'  ""m,  and  £cks  a„d 

ail  this  was  h,s  own  captivity,  but  that  was  aTer^  .teh^  '"""^t  ''*'  **«  P^-^ed  and  dragged  inYo 
xenons  one.  Besides,  he  knew  that  his  iTfehm^  mp  !^^  "i  '"^  "P  «'*'"  «°  «he  room  already 
"pon  a  thread.     Before  the  next  da^  gL^  !   ZJTf'     ^''«"' ''«  ''»«  «'"  f-rthw  secTred 


«.„»»*.!.    .  wrrow  trouoie,  and  so  ih« 

*L  ™„i  •  '"""'"""•'  "fi^y  ofHawbury  wXf 
far  more  importance,  and  attracted  far  more  of 

ost^„''x[efv''"An'' ""  "!?"  "  P^y^"  •'"'  deeP- 
"  anxiety.     All  was  discovered  excent  th« 

rhrwonM^rL?""""'^''  "'""'-''  andlTlon'g 
FV«I  J^     ^T"''''='«'««**ecould  notknow 

thoJwT""" V''!  *'*P"^'«'» «°  hear  the  cry  of 
Jose  who  might  discover  the  exchange  And 
Hawbujy,  so  long  lost,  so  lately  fonnd-nlw- 
bnry,  whom  she  had  «n.m.„»oj  _*/...        ."* 


Jruiscs,  and  thongh  -Tbo'll^^^^ZTeJ '';:; 
his  pain  was  great.     I„  addUion  to  this  Ihl 

it  was  SJbJm.  !'""**"*''*•  •""'"'"'  tobnwtin? 

£te«:^rt--£H 

^rr::s^r'^^!:«^^"«ov:t^ 


'.nrr,  whom  she  had  suslctZrfelshvT;^""'"  P"  """  """"^^'"^  «ve, 

and  so  long  avoided,  whHow  had^2e"  S  ^Z:?T'  "T""""--     ^"'"'his  she  had"  ^ 

nelfso  constant  and  so  trne-whatwaThlsfatr?  IT  K*"""'  ""^  her  friends,  and  the  innoce^^ 

Shp  had  gazed  with  eyes  of  horror  at  tW„.  *"'  'T'"'  '"""'  her  companion.    AH  the  m«H» 

Xrein  he  lay,  and hLi  seen Zmen  shtS  ""'"/eP'-IP'  which  had  filled  his^uf  th^  /h 

in  the  earth  as  she  came  ud     tZI    »     -^  •"*  ^"^  ""w  swelled  within  him   till  ^1^^ 
ofthisflUedherwithiri'l;     S'l".  r!".°".««l'"!  I -«»  "  ni«h  mad.    MostileS;  of  ill  ^^^ 


Mm  1."  Yo'^  ","  '^*  ""«""•'•  H«<J  they  bn^riel 
h  m?_how  deep  was  the  earth  that  lay  over 
h.m?-couId  there,  indeed,  be  any  hope?^ 

All  depended  on  the  priest.  She'h^d  that 
ShA'*'/""'*'?'"'*  •'•'"«»  f«"»  going  K  far 
nwuess.    What  did  that  inactivity  mp^n  ?    Was 

;  b^"?.Shl''"M'"^ r  ^"^«'°"'- ''•»"" 
ly  bMaose  he  conld  not  do  any  thing  ? 

«i  tfir""«  **T'*'^  •'^  •'"='»  ««rfn»  thoaghts 
M  these  Her  heart  once  more  throbbed  with 
tho«,  pamfnl  pulsations  which  she  had  feU  when 

Srrttn*'"''"^-  ^°'  «""«  «"•«  "he  .at 
Mpportmg  her  agony  as  best  she  could,  and  not 
danng  to  ask  the  priest,  for  fear  theirTaris 

S  f '  ''^'i''!  ~"'''  '^ «'  "°  longer. 
She  touched  the  priest's  arm  as  he  ut  beside 
hejv  without  looking  ai  him.  "^*' 

The  priest  returned  the  touch. 

"He  Is,"  said  the  priest 

.drf.f- *'"'"'.''**'''"'«  "  'he  man  before  him  he 
«dded  immediately,  in  an  nnconcerned  1™' 
_  'She  wants  to^ know  what  time  it  i.  md  I 

"itT?,"?***'-     That's  right,  w'iS" 

About  right,"  Mid  the  man 
JNow  that  was  a  lie,  but  whether  it  was  insti- 

Hfted  S  hi,  •  ?"/""»«■"«  «o«d  of  anxietr  was 
Bftjd  offher  mind,  .„d  .he  begw  u,  briathe 


I,!.         T     —  ""^  inioieraoie  of  al 

his  position  now -the  baffled  enemy      He 
had  come  as  the  avenger,  he  lad  come  a.  the 

f«  rr'  ''!J'  ""^  '"'1  *««•*  entrapM  before 
he  had  struck  hi,  |,low,  and  here  he  VaTnow 

followed  the  fa;;.':'lvSt?a;,Sr^^^^^^ 
2'  """'•'l""'''' "«"'«'"  «"  ""dne™.  Lad  fhey 

Bnt^air;;.'"'"'  r^  '.*""«  *«  •^'«"h  tSm 

But  all  these  thoughts  and  ravinw  were  d^ 
tmed  to  come  to  a  full  and  sudden  S^I'Tnfto 
U,  changed  .»  othem  of  .  far  different^  W 
ter.    This  change  took  place  when  Girwote 

loZl'Ti^''  ''^'*»'  *»"'<'.  with  mAwk 

SA-Vi*'."^"-  ^  »»«"«  lay  on  the 
?-SiS  *"«/»',?'*' 'he  It.lian.'^.^S  2e 

ro^SlT^^V^"^^"^  *»"•»  «f»  woman's 
voice  and,  finally,  he  s^w  the  flash  of  a  light. 
¥»d  knew  that  the  Italf^  was  coming  to  hU 
r^*".  and  perhaps  this  wbmanalM.     He  held 


n 


other  lighter,  the  step  of  awomal    ».  wkiSS 
almost  breathless.  «6  waited 

At  last  she Rpfemd.  Theresbe  wm  before 
?im'^rf  ""'•^•""  '»-*oh,ho!I^„S 
from  that  demon  woman  of  bis  fanci«,,Jho 


114 


THE  AMERICAN  BARON. 


n 


v) 


was  to  appear  before  him  with  his  ene^y  a%d 
gloat  over  his  sufferings !     Was  there  a  trace 
of  a  fiend  in  that  beautiful  and  gentle  face  ? 
Was  there  thought  of  joy  or  exultation  over 
him  in  that  noble  and  mournful  iady,  whose 
melancholy  grace  and  tearful  eyes  n<iw  riveted 
his  gaze  ?    Where  was  the  foul  traitd-  who  had 
done   to  death  her  husband  and  her  friend? 
Where  was  the  miscreant  who  had  sacrificed 
all  to  a  guilty  passion  ?    Not  there ;  not  with 
.    that  face ;  not  with  those  tears  :  to  think  that 
was  impossible  — it  was  unholy.      He  mi 
rave  when  he  did  not  see  her,  but  now  that 
eyes  beheld  her  those  mad  fanues  were  all 
sipated.  * 

(There  was  only  one  thing  there — a  woma: 
fall  of  loveliness  and  grace,  in  the  very  blooi 
of  her  life,  overwhjl||ied  with  suffering  which 
this  Italian  was  mflicting  on  her.  Why? 
Could  he  indulge  tie  nnlioly  thought  that  the 
Italian  had  cast  herwff,  and  supplied  her  place 
with  the  younger  be|uty  ?  Away  with  such  a 
thought !  It  was  noi^ealousy  of  that  younger 
lady  that  Dacres  percWved ;  it  was  the  cty  of 
a  loving,  yearning  hear«,that  clung  to  that  other 
one,  from  whom  the  Italian  had  violently  sev- 
ered her.  There  was  no  mistake  as  to  the 
source  of  this  sorrow.  Nothing  was  left  to  the 
imagination.    Her  own  woMs  told  all. 

Then  the  light  was  taken  »way,  and  the  lady 
crouched  upon  the  floor.  Dteres  could  no  lon- 
ger see  her  amidst  that  gloofei ;  but  he  could 
hear  her ;  and  every  sob,  and^very  sigh,  and 
every  moan  went  straight  to\his  heart  and 
thrilled  through  every  fibre  of  hk  being.  He 
lay  there  listening,  and  quiverink  thus  as  he 
listened  with  a  very  intensity  of  slmpathy  that 
shat  ont  from  his  mind  every  othei  thoaght  ex 
cept  that  of  the  monming,'^  stricken  one  before 
him>-^ 

Thus  a  long  time  passed,  and  the^dy  wept 
stiU,  and  other  sounds  arose,  and  thVre  were 
-footsteps  in  the  hoose,  and  whisperinVs,  and 
people  passing  to  and  fro;  but  to  alf^thpse 
Dacres  was  deaf,  and  they  caused  no  mora  im- 
pression on  his  senses  than  if  they  were\ot. 
His  ears  and  his  sense  of  hearing  existed  obly 
for  these  sobs  and  these  sighs. 
At  last  a  pistol-shot  roused  him.     The  lady 


In  the  midst  of  this  prayer  Girasole's  voice 
sounded,  and  then  Minnie's  tones  came  clearly 
audible.  The  lady  rose  and  listened,  and  a 
great  sigh  of  relief  escaped  her.  Then  Gira- 
Bole  descended  the  stairs,  and  the  lady  again 
sank  upon  her  knees. 

Thus  far  there  seemed  a  spell  upon  Dacres  ■ 
bat  this  last  incident  and  the  clear  child-voice 
of  Minnie  seemed  to  break  it.  He  could  no 
longer  keep  silence.  '  His  emotion  was  as  in- 
tense as  ever,:  but  the  bonds  which  had  bound 
his  lips  seemed  now  to  be  loosened. 

* '  Oh,  Arethusa  I "  he  moaned. 

At  the  sound  of  his  voice  Mrs.  Willoaghby 
started,  and  rose  to  her  feet.  So  great  had 
been  her  anxiety  and  ag{||tion  that  fo^  some 
time  she  had  not  thought  or  another  being  in 
the  room,  and  there  had  been  no  found  from 
.him  to  suggest  his  existence.  But  now  his 
Voice  startled  her.  She  gave  no  answer,  how- 
■  aver. 
\  "Arethusa!"  repeated  Dacres,  gently  and 
longingly  and' tenderly. 

V?oor  fellow  1"  thought  Mrs.  Willoughby; 
'Vhe's  dreaming." 

■"^  "ArAthnsnl  nti 


sprang  up  and  called  in  despair.     A  cry  „ 
back,  and  the  lady  was  about  to  venture  to 
other  room,  when  she  was  driven  back  by 
stem  voice  of  Girasole.     Then  she  stood  f( 
moment,  after  which  she  knelt,  and  Di 
heard  her  voice  in  prayer.    The  prayer  was  f.^. 
audible,  but  now  and  then  words  struck  u^on 
his  ears  which  gave  the  key  to  her  other  wolds, 
and  he  knew  that  it  was  no  prayei'  of  rem<, 
for  guilt,  but  a  cry  for  help  in  sqre  afllictioni 
Had  any  thing  more  been  needed~t» 


the  last  vestige  of  Dacres's  former  suspicioni, 
was  famished  by  the  words  which  he  now  heai™. 
"  Oh,  Heaven !"  he  thought ;  "  can  this  woman 
be  what  I  have  thought  her  ?  'Snt  if  not,  what 
a  villain  am  1 1.  Yet  now  I  mast  rather  believe 
myself  to  b«  a  viUain  than  her  I " 


"J^rethusa!  oh,  Arethusa!"  said  Dacres  once 
■more.\  "Do  not  keep  away.  Come  to  me. 
I  am  c^lm  now." 

"Pobr  fellow!"  thought  Mrs.  WiUoughby. 

He  di:>esn't  seem  to  be  asleep.  He's  talking 
to  me.     I  really  think  he  is." 

Arethasa,"  said  Dacres  again,  "will  you 
answer  meWe  question  ?" 

Mrs.  WillVghby  hesitated  for  a  moment,  but 
now  perceived  that  Dacres  was  really  speaking 
to  her.  "He's  11^  delirium,"  she  thought.  "Poor 
fellow,  I  must  hi^mor  him,  I  suppose.  Bat  what 
a  funny  name  tomve  me!" 

So,  after  a  little  preparalBj  cough,  Mrs. 
Willoughby  said,  irt^a  low  voMi; 

"  What  question  ?'' 

Dacres  was  silent  fo^r  a  few  moments.  He 
was  overcome  by  his  emotions.  He  wished  to 
ask  her  one  question— th^  question  tit  all  ques- 
tions in  his  mind.  Already  her  acts  had  an- 
swered it  sufficiently ;  but  h^  longed  to  have 
the  answer  in  her  own  words.  'Yet  he  hesitated 
to  ask  it.  It  was  dishonor  to  %er  to  ask  It. 
And  thus,  between  longing  and  hesitation,  be 
delayed  so  long  that  Mrs.  Willoughby  imagined 
that  he  had  fallen  back  into  his  dream;  or  into 
Ij^s  delirium,  and  woal(^  8ay  no  more. 

Bat  at  last  Dacres  staked  every  thing  ob  the 
issue,  and  asked  it: 

"Aretligsa!  oh,  Arethusa!  doyon— doyok 
love— the-r-the  Italian?"  ^ 

"The  Italian!"  said  Mrs.  WiUoughby - 
"love  the  Italian!  me!"  and  then  in  a  mo- 
ment she  thoiight  that  this  was  his  delirinm, 

sighed  again ;  "  how  he  foaght  them !  and  no 
doubt  he  has  had  fearfdl  blows  on  his  head." 

'  ■  Do  fou  ?  do  you  ?  Oh,  answer,  I  implore 
yoa!"  cried  Dacres. 

" No !"  said  Mrs.  WUIonghby,  solemnly.  "I 
hate  him  at  I  never  hated  man  before."    She 


spoke  hw  ir 

the  other  w 

A  sigh  ,d1 

Dacres,  so  c 

"And  ol 

have  3'ou  ov 

"I  alwaj 

Mrs.  Willoui 

tone,     "is 

— in  his  face 

"Oh,ma3 

word!"  excl 

of  fervor  tha 

She  now  bel 

dreams  with 

sense  by  rem 

"It  was 
fond  of." 
"Vhat! 
"Yes;  oh 
him." 

"Oh,Heav 

ens,  what  a  fc 

have  been! 

And  can  gou  i 

no— you  can  i 

At  this  app< 

and  did  ndt  ki 

much  of  this  i 

she  could  >not  i 

to  her,  and  thi 

not,  he  took  h 

was  so  full  of  1 

hearted,  that  1 

him. 

"Oh,"  he  or 

and  have  all  mj 

last?  Andyoti- 

beautiful  yon  a 

in  your  glance- 

touching  grace 

swear  to- you,  bj 

at  yon  in  placet 

And  thought  I  sa 

■biped  you  in  m 

son  why  I  have 

I  saw  yon  when 

pies  till  this  nig 

image.    I  fough 

not  overcome  it. 

•0  dear  as  you  ai 

Now,  of  contB 

aidered  as  the  h 

•^nd  seeking  a 

(ranged  wife ;  bn 

as  the  language  < 

to  *  yonpg  and  e 

win  perceive  that 

t  under  ordina 

•*«  a  sensation. 

Upon  Mrs.  W 
«Biply  tremendou 
•Boring"  the  deliri 
kfa  delirium  takim 
"•Jy  embanyssinc 
"w  truth  enough 


in,  "will  yoo 


r'^l^*'"*"'!.""''  ''""^  "I'hoogh, he 'thought 
the  other  was  deliriou*  """ugni 

Datr«i*tf  H  "'"!u  '"?  "'  '•'PP'"*""  <"»■»«  from 

And  oh,     he  continued,  "teU  itie  this- 
have  you  over  loved  him  at  all?" 

Mrs.  W.  Ipughby,  in  the  same'  low'^nd'^olemn 
-?n  his  fi:*"  "'""'"^«  bad-altogether  baS 
"Oh,  may  Heoven  forever  bless  yon  for  that 
word!"  exclaimed  Dacres,  with  such  a  depth 
She  now  tv  ^"^^  Wyioughby  was  surpSL'J 
She  now  believed  that  he  was  intermingling 
dreams  with  realities,  and  tried  to  lead  hR 
sense  by  reminding  him  of  the  truth 

fond  of.^"  **'°°'*^  ^*'"  ^°°*'  *^»  ^^  ^a" 

"Viiat!    Minnie  ||pr?» 
^•Jes;  oh  yes.    /never  saw  anyi thing  of 

"Oh,  Heavens!"  crfed  Dacres;  "oh  Heav 

AnH  ^  ,  '•  •"•"  '  •'*'*'  misjudged  «o«  .< 
And  can  yo«  forgive  me  ?  Oh,  can  you  ?  But 
no— you  can  not, "  .  "«  /uu  r    jjut 

«.d  did  ndt  know  what  to  say  or  to  d^.  How 
mnch  of  this  was  delirium  and  how  much  r^^ 

to  hrlnHf '     ^^  "■'»«  «««-««»  «^d^ 
llf:?  1,^'  !:"  *"*»  *••«"«*  delirious  or 

r«JL^  ii  f  r^  *"■  ""•  •"** ««  '•'y  tender- 
hearted, that  her  only  idea  was  to  "humor" 

and'S™  ilf  **'*"'  '^°'  "«*"  this  all  be  true, 
Md  have  aU  my  suspicions  been  as  mad  as  thes^ 
tast?  And  jr<w-how^  have  changed  I  How 
beautiful  yon  arel  What  tenderness  the«  h 
m  your  glanee-what  a  pure  and  genUe  wd 
touching  grace  then,  is  in  your  expression  f  T 
^ear  taynu,  by  Heaven!  \  haveS  gX 
•t  yon  m  places  where  you  have  not  seen  ml 
and  thought  I  saw  heaven  in  your  f  J.  rd\"^ 
»^hrr°,,"'  ""y 'r""*  ■"'"'•    Thi8  i^  the  reiL 

i^Tr  J'"'"  r"  *"»«  •"»«  fte  rtK.m  at  Na- 
pteBUU  this  Bight  I  could  not  get  rid  of  your 


115 


HE  AMERICAN  BABON. 


-. — —  u.ui  mce  oi  inis  mi 
before  her  in  different  places      H«,  .t*^™.."" 

him?    Jt  was  terrible  for  this  man  to  lirth^ 

Would  you  like  to  be  loosed  ?"  she  asked 

coming  nearer.     "  Shall  I  cut  yo«  £nd"r   ' 

She  spoke  in  a  low  whisper.  - 

Oh,  tell  me  .first,  I  implore  youl      P.n 

, „.  yon  forgive  me?"  F^reyoui      Can 


not  overeome  it.    Never,  neve;";;'^^  "yoaV^f'  I  ^t'Safirst'  v"''?>''  *°  *'^"-    S''^  ~»W 
«o  dear  as  you  are  now!"  '      ^     1°\a      \^  """"  'y*"*  ">ug  in  pain,  which 

Mered  as  the  language  of  «n  estranged  hus- 

^^^7"  r  '?«"«^«tion  ^ith  an  el 

ranged  wife;  but  when  one  regards  it  simply 

M  the  language  of  a  pa«,ionate  lover  directed 

to  a  young  and  exceedingly  pretty  wido^  one  h 
ir„r'U'"'*  "  r«3m>/aUve.yweH.'n  , 
^nnd«  ordinary  dreniwtencwitmlgficrr^' 

•»e  a  sensation.  -    *^  ^ 

amply  tremendous.     (She  had  begun  by  "hn- 

K£umd?'*°'"""'"'  butno'^sh/found 
hrdv^^il  *^.'"«  •  •"'»"•'  *bich  was  excess- 
"«ly  embanjwsing.  The  worn  of  it  waa  Zre 
"•truth  enough  in  hi.  language"  to "™ 


"Forgive  yon?"  she  said,  in  a  voice  fill  of 
sympathy  and  nitv  "Thl~  " '^oice  fuu  of 
we  to  for^ve."  "  "  '"**'°«  '«' 

thll^""  """^  °**''*"  '■°«^er  bless  yon  for 
that  sweet  and  gentle  word  1"  saidJ)«,res  who 
altogether  misinterpreted  her  wwSr.nJ^K 
emphasis  she  placeTon  them  andt'us  vo le' 
there  was  such  peace,  and  such  a  gent£  eS 
ant^happiness.  that  Mrs.  WiUough1>y  ^^Z 

ha;;i;s'?.'^'"«^«'^o-«'>''"bowhe«.. 

"Where  are  you  festened  ?"  she  whisnered 

forever  thu.^  with  ker  bending  over  him! 

My  hands  are  fastened  behind  me, "  said  he 
fihlJ-,*"!  *  knife,"  said  Mrs.  WiUouJhS" 
She  did  not  stop  to  think  of  danger,  if  wTi 
chiefly  pity  that  incitener  to  tfisr^^he  Sould 

for  her  ""fc '"•'""'  ^"PP^-^'  ~^ 
thomrh;„f  K-  ^"^  ^Pnl*^,  and  though  she 
Sff  i"^  assistauMM^^ard  the  escipe  of 
Minnie  and  hen«lf.^pity  and  compilion 
«  '"'LSbief  inspirfng  motivep.  ""P^"" 
Mr*.Willoughb/had  told  Girasole  that  sh« 

slS""'"'^'  but  this  was  npt^SSS  fir 
^  now  produced^ne,  ««dnc»r*,,^sS^ 

writhT":  AgainathrillflashedSrt 
him  at  the  touch  of  her  litUe  fingere ;  shethan 
cut  the  co*rds  that  bound  his  ankteL" 
Dalcres  sat  up.     His  ankle,  and  wrist,  were 

of  .w   I       *'*  7"  ™P'""  «  Ws  sooL  and 
of  that  alone  waa  he  conscion..  ^ 

"Be  careful J»  .he  whi.pe«d,  WOTfagiyj 


if>i 


116 


AME 


THE  AMERICAN  BARON. 


'i 


'*>gi(ardi  are  all  aroon-",  and  listeners.     Be 
careful  I     Ifyon  can  think  of  a  way  of  escape. 
^    do  80."  "^ 

Dacres  rubbed  his  hand  over  his  forehead. 
"Am  I  dreaming?"  said  he;  "or  is  it  all 
true  ?     A  while  ago  I  was  suffering  from  some 
hideoiu  vision ;  yet  now  you  say  yon  forgive 
me  I " 

Mrs.  Willoughby  saw  in  this  a  sign  of  re- 
turning delirium.    "But  the  poor  fellow  must 
be  humored,  I  suppose,"  she  thought. 
,    "  Oh,  there  is  nothing  for  tne  to  forgive," 
said  she. 

"But  if  there  wei;e  any  thing,  would  yon  ?" 
"Yes." 

"  Freely  ?"  he  c^ed,  with  a  strong  emphasis. 
"Ye%  freely."  \ 

"  Oh,<  could  ypii  answer  me  one  more  qaes- 
„   tion  ?     Oh,  could  you  ?"  ^ 

"  No,  no ;  not  now — not  now,  I  eiitraat  yon,'* 
said  Mrs.  Willoughby,  in  ner>ous  di^d.  Ske 
was  afraid  that  his  delirium  wOnld  bring  him 
upon  delicate  ground,  and  she-^ried  to  hold 
him  back. 

"But  I  must  ask  you,"  said  Dncres,  trem- 
bling fearfully—"  I  must— now  or  never.  TBll 
me  my  doom ;  I  have  suffered  so  mach.  Oh, 
Heavens  I  Ajiswer  me.  Can  yon  ?  Can  you 
feel  toward  me  as  yon  once  did  ?" 

"He's  utterly  mad,"  thought  Mrs.  Willough- 
by; "  but  he'll  get  worse  if  I  don't  soothe  him. 
Poor  fellow !  I  ought  to  answer  him."  - 
"Yes,"  she  said,  in  a  low  voice. 
"Oh,  my  darling!"  murmured  Dacr$s,  in 
rapture  inexpressible;   "my  darling!"  he  re- 
peated ;  and  grasping  Mrs.  Willoughby's  hand, 
he  pressed  it  to  his  lips.     "  And  yon  will  love 
)  me  again— yon  will  love  rae?" 
.  '    Mrs.  Willoughby  patMed.      The  man  was 
mad,  but  the  ground  was  so  dangerous !    Yes, 
she  must  humor  him.     She  felt  his  hot  kisses 
on  her  hand. 

"  Yon  w»tf— yon  will  \on  me,  will  joa  not  ?" 
he  repeated.  "  Oh,  answer  me !  Answer  me, 
or  I  shall  die!" 

"  Yes,"  whispered  Mrs.  Willbnghby,  faintly. 
As  she  said  this  a  cQ]d  chill  passed  throngh 
her.    Bat  it  was  ioo  late.    Dacrea's  arma  were 
around  her.    He  had  drawn  her  to  him,  and 
pressed  her  against  his  breast,  and  she  felt  hot 
tears  upon  her  head. 
"Oh,  Arethnsa!"  cried  Dacres. 
"WeU,"  said  Mrs.  Willonghby,  aa  soon  aa 
she  could  extricate  herself,  "  there's  a  mistake, 

you  know."  

"A  mistake,  darling r 
"Oh  ^w,  what  *«ci/7I  do?"  thoaght  Mrs. 
Willough^;  "Ae's  beginning  again.     I  must 
4top  this,  and  bring  him  to  his  senses.     How 
JSniMsitJI-to  hnmnr  ■  rtnlirinns  msnl" 


"  I'm  not  Arethusa  at  all ;  that  isn't  my  name. ' 

"  Not  your  name  ?" 

"  No ;  my  name's  Kilty." 

"Kitty!"  cried  Dacres,  starting, to  his  feet.> 

At  that  instant  the  report  of  a  gun  burst 
upon  their  ears,  followed  by  another  and  an- 
other ;  then  there  were  wild  calU  and  loud 
shouts.    Other  guns  were  heard.   . 

Yet  amidst  all  this  wild  alarm  there  was  no- 
thing which  had  so  tremendous  an  effect  upon 
Dacresas  this  but  remark  of  Mrs.  Willoughby's. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 


'Oh,  Arethusa  t"  sighed  Dacres  once  more, 

Mrs.  Willoughby  arose. 

**I'm  not  Arethnsa  at  all,"  said  she ;  "ti^kt 
isn't  my  mami  It  you  can  shake  off  your  ^ 
lirium,  I  wish  yon  would.    I  really  do."      / 

."  Wlmt  I"  cried  Dacres^  in  amaiemeBt.  / 


TRB  OBiaiS  or  LIFB. 

Wrbr  the  Irish  priest  conjectured  that  ii 
was  about  -two  o'clock  in  the  morning  he  wsi 
not  very  far  astray  In  bis  calculation.    The 
short  remarks  that  were  exchanged  between 
him  and  Ethel,  and  afterward  between  hfm 
and  the  men,  were  followed  by  a  profbond  li- 
knee.     Ethel  snt  by  the  side  of  the  priest, 
fwith  herliead  bent  forward  and  her  eyes  closed 
as  though  she  were  asleep ;  yet  sleep  was  fiulher 
tram  her  than  ever  it  had  been,  and  the  thriO- 
ing  OTento  of  the  night  aflTorded  snfflcient  nu- 
4»dal  to  keey  her  nwake  fef  many  ■  hwg  Bear 
yet  to  come.     Her  mind  w^s  now  filled  with  » 
thousand  conflicting  and  most  exciting  fandei, 
in  the  midst  of  which  she  might  again  hsn 
sunk  into  despair  had  she  not  been  snstainsi^ 
the  assurance  of  the  priest.  ' 

Sitting  near  Edial,  the  print  fofomtlm 
4 


looked  flxe< 

conteinplati 

meditating 

truth,  the  sc 

serving  evci 

priest  appea 

liim  lay  the 

ulmgit  at  the 

ed  hiJIs,  wh. 

gloom  of  nil 

the  opposite 

tended  on  o 

were  flres,  n 

sending  forth 

distance,  niig 

the  old  stoni 

forest,  vast,  j 

shade,  in  whi 

yet  where  ev« 

guards  of  the 

them.     Once 

gain  freedom 

an  impassable 

also  lay  a  still 

grave  where 

they  <^nld  fly 

death;  yet  to 

ivonld  be  to  d< 

atad  themselvei 

Seated  there 

the  water,  the 

'  before  him  5  hi 

v^irtso^ghts  w« 

4he  situation  a 

cated  was  that 

dilemma  in  whic 

'  where  death  p* 

the  good  priest 

gradnally  more 

the  difficulty,  ai 

sinking  down  de 

of  despair  from 

trieated  himself. 

And  still  the 

moments,  laden 

bni7,bntofallt] 

Bight  daring  whi 

tbonght  of— moT 

Now  in  this 
priest  bethought 
^»d  been  proved 
a  life— a  friend  ^ 
htd  found  in  his  i 
«)>ich  a/ond  and 
h«artofamoref( 
Mend,  a  fragrant 
CifflyfHend;  itv 
.it  was  of  day;,  in 
•  4Bdeen. 


liFttelr 

lived  in  this  rami 
•mblem  of  his  gre 
had  brought  it  wit 
wken  he  first  tum« 
or  perhaps  he  had 
9D«rter  which  had 


J-^fi-. 


l''  ' 


'iZ-Pr. 


tUn'tmjnMine.' 


looked  flxedjy  ahead  of  him  ..  though  he  were 
contemplating  ,he  .olomn  midnigKe„ro^ 
meduating  upon  the  beautiea^of^.t^r' !„ 

:!rfe'^1.-^^-/-  .  A-unditaro^eTe":;:? 


THE  AMERICAN  BABON. 


cutting  up  the^Xcco^d"  uhbr;K" "' 


-J  v-ii'  •-•—•■vol..     ."ruuna  It  arose  the  wnhH     .:«„     e 


,h!  M  '  ^"^  ^®  "*«"  ">«  dusky  outline  of 
the  old  .tone  houw.  Behind  thum  wm  the 
foreae,  mt  gloomy,  clothed  in  iZereTrable 
Bh.de   .n  which  lay  their  only  hope'^f  slfetT 

fh«m  n  ^«"''«-  It  was  close  behind 
them  Once  iq  iu  shelter,  and  they  St 
gain  freedom;  yet  between 'them  and  ir*.^ 

^ve'-^herHrurr'To'^^^^^^^^^^ 

aeatd;  yet  to  remain,  as  thev  miiRt  r^nili 
*ouW  be  to  doom  him' to  death  Zm  SS' 
aiK]  themselves  too  " 

thf^lS  fh?'  '''*'*  ''"  "y*"  ''^«d  toward 

ittfTn.  T.'  '  •'^*"  **"'  «»ed  on  Yacancy 
)^#ought8  were  endeavoring  to  g«pple  wkh 
^Mituation  and  master  it.  Yef Tcompt 
cated  was  that  situation,  and  so  perplexing  Se 

ih:rdeath  t'  t^^"'*  w-«ES™': 

wnere  death  perched  upon  either  horn-that 
^«ood  priest  fonnd  his  facukies  becomZ 

the  difficulty,  and  he  felt  himself  once  mo,« 
dnking  down  deeper  «,d  deeper  into  that  2Z 

SiffiiV'''^'' ''»'''''' '^"'---'^  " 

mnt!,''/"."]''-  **""  ^"^  ••"!  the  precious 
moments,  laden  with  the  fate  not  only  of  Haw 

^l  5"?^'".'^.  othe«-,he  mom/nts  o^thJ 
S-J?."l"«  which  alone  any  escape  was  to  K 
thOBght  of-mored  aU  too  swifUy  iway 

nriS'L'.^  "•!?  *°"'"  "f  P«T>«exity  the  good 
prie«bethought  him  of  a  friend  whose  fldS 
hijb^n  proved  thropgh  the  varied  evenu  i>? 
•H«^-.fnend  which,  it,  hi.  life  of  celiluLJ 
tad  found  ID  hi.  hem  wmething  of  thTE 

&  of  f  ™  "^  '""'^'  *'*  "'y  how  iS 
Mart  of  «  more  fortunate  man.     It  wa.  a  l!tt>« 

^tmtT^  «<'!"'.rw„7andrm*e!:La 
Vmy  fHend ;  u  was  in  th«  pocket  of  hi.  coat  • 


«.M.^  V' """•""  *'°™^'  «f  Italy  got  that 
•nWem  of  hk  green  native  i.le  ?    Perbap.  h" 

iSw'hichli?"'"^-"j\!'  '""»  »•••'  "^^ 
4B«ner  which  had  supplied  him  with  tbu  vary 


The'^»n        '  ""fe  enough  here." 

.boTt'LTwi^  rrr„r%rn"""™*'''  '-■• 

h«   blessing,  and'^etd'^i^bSl'^tt?'" 
Saying  this,  he  ligjited  hi.  pipe.     Thi.  one,^ 

confusion  departed,  «,d  g«dnS  «.  fl^ 
o?«"r  hi"""'",''*'*  «o  th,  skies,Tre  w«  diffuSi 

his^S.'''''^:Sw'l^«'«''»  difficulty  of 

sibirand  death  inTvTtaJTe  He'lL":  ™T 
mind  to  die  Ti,«  ■,."'"®-  "«  ""ade  up  hi. 
made  in  ih!"n,      ?  ''"'covery  would  .nrely  be 

Sitirforr  ".\r.  rwtfd^f  ^ 


himaelfaaiafiwl  fo>.y:L  Y -T^  Mongnt^-for 
^J~f^^^^y^rEiHerBnxroa«-andtuniinijr 
over  m  Jiu  mind  all  the  various  mode,  bv  whii.h 


rt 


i 


—■--  ^- 


^■m 


118 


■.^- 


TBB  AHl^IttCAN  BARON. 


\ 


diatipated  and  scattered  to  the  winds  by  a 
moat  startling  cry. 

Ethel  started  to  her  fset. 
"Oh   Hearens!"   she    oried,    "what   was 
that?"  I       y 

"  Down !  down  1"  cri^the  men,  wrathfully ; 
bnt  before  Ethel  coul^^obey  the  sonnd  was  re- 
peated, and  the  meA  ^themselves  were  arrested 
by  it.  ■    /    I 

The  sonnd  ^t  thas  interrupted  the  medita- 
tions of  the^^riest  wala  the  explosion  of  a  rifle. 
As  Ethel^tarted  ap  another  followed.  This 
excited  the  men  themselves,  who  now  listened 
iutejotly  to  learn  the  caase. 
/They  did  not  have^to  wait  long. 
/  Another  rifle  explosion  followed,  which  was 
succeeded  by  a  l«ad,  long  shriek. 

"An  attack!"  cried  one  of  the  men,  with  a 
deep  cur8«i.  They  Ibtened  still,  yet  did  not 
move  away  A-om  thej  place,  for  the  duty  to 
which  they  had  been  fssigned  was  still  prom- 
inent in  their  minds,  j  The  priest  had  already 
risen  to  his  feet,  still  smoking  his  pipe,  as 
,1  .  though  in  this  new  turn  of  affairs  its  assistance 
>N  might  be  more  than  ever  needed  to  enable  him 
to  preserve  his, presence  of  mind,  and  keep  his 
soul  serene  in  the  midst  of  confusion. 

And  now  they  saw  all  around  tham  the  signs 
of  agitation,     figures  in  swift  motion  flitted  to  ^, 
and  fro  amidst,  the  shade,  and  others  darted,  t:'.. 
past  the  smouldering  fires.     In  the  midst  ^  [fk'^'Diavolol" 
this  another  shot  sounded,  and  anothc^  j^       These  wordi 
still  another.     At  the  third  there  was  ^Wild 
yell  of  rage.and  pain,  followed  by  the  shdR  cry 
of  a  woman's  voice.     The  fact  was  evidmt  that 
some  one  of  the  brigands  had  falle^  and  the 
women  vfeye  lamenting.  ^' 

The  confusion  grew  greater.  Loud  cries 
arose ;  calls  of  encouragement,'ofentreaty,  of 
'*  command,  and  of  defiance.  Qver  by  the  old 
house  there  wav  the  uproan-oT  rushing  men, 
^ijf;^  in  the  midst  of  it  a  l^dT  stem  voice  of 
ttJmmafid.  The  vpices  ancTthe  rushing  foot- 
steps moved  from  the^  house  to  the  woods. 
Then  All  ws  still  for  a  time. 
•  It  was  but  for  a  short  time,  however.  Then 
came  shot  after  shot  in  r^pid  succession.  The 
flashes  could  be  seen  among  the  trees.  All 
around  them  there  seemed  to  be  a  struggle 
going  on.  There  was  some  unseen  assail- 
ant striking  terrific  blows  from  the  impenetra- 
ble shadow  of  the  woods.  The  brigands  were 
firing  back,  but  they  fired' only  into  thick  dark- 
ness. Shrieks  and  yells  of  pain  arose  fW>m 
time  to  time,  the  direction  of  which  showed 
that  the  brigands  were  sofiering.  Among  the 
assailants  there  was  neither  voice  nor  cry. 
But,  In  spite  of  thair  Iossm  and  the  disadvan- 
toge^  under  which  they  labored,  the  brigands 


moment,  and  were  impatient  at  their  enforced 
inaction. 

"They  must  be  soldiers,'^  said  one.       f- 

"Of  course,"  said  another. 

"■Diey  fight  weU." 

"  Ay ;  better  than  the  last  time. " 

"How  did  they  learn  to  fight  so  well  under 
cover?" 

"  They've  improved.  The  last  time  weimet 
them  we  shot  them  like  sheep^  and  drove  them 
back  in  five  minutes." 

"They've  got  a  leader  who  understands 
fighting  in  the  woods.  He  keeps  them  under 
cover." 

"Who  is  he?"     ,- 

"Diavolo.'  who  knows?  They  get  new 
captains  .every  day."         "    >• 

"Was  there  not  a  famous  American  Indi- 
an—" 

"  True.  I  heard  of  him.  An  Indian  war- 
rior from  the  American  forests.  Gniseppe  saw 
him  when  he  was' at  Rome."^ 

"  Bah ! — yon  all  saw  him." 

"Where?"     .. 

"Onthe(road." 

"W*  didn't." 

"  Yo)^  did.  He  was  the  Zonave  who  fled  to 
the  woods  first." 

"pS?"  ■       ' 

•^Yes." 


-ttragtir  WBil,  and  nMl^'itHtnMriflf .'  Trom 
time  to  time  a  lond,  stem  voice  arose,  whose 
commands  resounded  for  and  wide,  and  sus- 
tained the  courage  of  the  men  and  directed 
their  movements. 

,    The  men  who  gitarded  the  priest  and  Ethel 
were  growing  mora  hnd  more  excited  every 


words  were  exchanged  between  them 
as  they  looked  at  the  fighting.  But  suddenly 
there  came  rapid  flashes  and  rolling  volleys  be- 
yond the  fires  that  lay  before  them,  and  the 
movement  of  the  flashes  showed  that  a- rush 
had  been  made  toward  the  lake.  Wild  yells 
arose,  then  fierce  returning  fires,  and  these 
showed  that  the  brigands  were  being  driven 
back. 

The  guards  could  endure  this  no  longer. 
"  They  are  beating  us,"  cried  one  of  the  men, 
with  a  curse.     "  We  must  go  and  fight. " 
"  What  shall  we  do  with  these  prisoners  ?" 
"  Tie  them  and  leave  them.'' 
"  Have  you  a  rope  ?'' 
" No.     There  is  one  by  the  grave." 
"Let's  take  the  prisoners  there  and  bind 
them." 

This  proposition  was  accepted ;  and,  seising 
the  priest  and  Ethel,  the  four  men  hurried 
them  back  to  the  grave.  The  square  hole  Uy 
there  just  beside  them,  with  the  earth  by  its  . 
side.  Ethel  tried  to  see  into  it,  but  was  not 
near  enough  to  do  so.  One  of  the  men  found 
the  rope,  and  began  in  great  haste  to  bin^ili^V 
arms  of  the  priest  behind  him.  Another  be- 
gan to  bind  Ethel  in  the  same  way. 
But  now  there  came  loud  cries,  i 
of  men  near  them.     A  loud,  stem  voice  wss 


'Follow  me  I    We'U 


t. .« 


encouraging  the  men. 

"Onion  I  "he  cried, 
drive  them  back  I" 

Saying  this,  a  man  hurried  on,  followed  by 
a  score  of  brigands. 

It  was  Qirasole. 


('^)>j  t.*  •   j^  k 


1^ 


He  hAd 

sidowhe^ 

made  far^hi 

in,  and  v^i 

retrieve  t|ie 

came  up  io 

He  Btopp 

"What's 

"Thepri 

It  was  in 

dawn  was  i 

sole  were  ^ 

convulsed  w 

was  not  caUi 

as  by  the  sS| 

pected  treaic 

them  for  a  i 

suspicions  v 

sudden  assac 

and  by  such 

to  treachery, 

him  seemed 

priest  and  £i 

His  suspic 

the  circnmst 

he  regarded  i 

ands  identifi 

and  Garibald 

poses  to  do  si 

were  under  tl 

any  priest  mi 

good  service 

enemjes.     Ai 

against  him. 

of  the  countr 

he  had  come  i 

ciroumstancec 

disguise.     H< 

the  cross-qoe 

were  eibpty  v 

the  presence « 

before  him  in 

These  thouj 

and  the  sight 

rage  to  madi 

pose  of  venge 

as  he  looked 

He  gave  one 

men. 

"Onion!" 
instant;  and 
"  wait  a  momc 
The  briganc 
sist  tlAir  comn 
four  waited. 

All  this  time 
airwaa  filled  w 
shouU  of  men, 

■s  though  the 
brigands.     But 
fluting  was  ci 
the   brigands 
tftm  cJDver  to 
ment  t^  make  i 
nts  4i«d  gaint 


BO  well  nader 


re  who  fled  to 


He  hid  been  gnaraing  the  woods  at  this 
side  whei.  he  had  eeen  the  rush  that  had  been 
made  farther  up.  He  had  seen  his  men  driven 
in,  and  #as  now  hurrying  np  to  the  place  to 
retrieve  the  battle.  As  he  was  running  on  he 
came  up  to  the  party  at  the  grave. 
He  stopped. 

"What's  this?"  he  cried. 
"The  prisoners— we  were  securing  them." 
It  was  now  ligh^r  than  it  had  been,  HtS 
dawn  was  not  far  off.     The  features  of  Gira- 
sole  were  plainly  distinguishable.     They  were 
convuhied  with  the  most  furious  passion,  which 
WM  not  caused  so  much  by  the  mge  of  conflict 
as  by  the  sSght  of  the  prisoners.     He  had  sus- 
pected^ treachery  on  their  part,  and  had  spared 
then^  for  a  time  only  so  as  to  see  whether  his 
suspicions  were  true  or  not.     But  now  this 
sudden  assainlt  by  night,  conducted  so  skillfully 
and  by  «„ch  a  powerful  force,  pointed  clearl; 
to  twacheiy,  as  he  saw  it,  find  the  ones  who  to 
him  seemed  most  prominent  in  guilt  were  the 
pnest  and  EtheL 

His  suspicions  were  quite  re^onable  under 
the  circumstances.     Here  was  a  priest  whom 

Anr^fn  5« 'J"'u"^""'  ^'""y-  These  brig- 
ands .dent.fied  themselves  with  republicans 
and  Ganbaldians  whenever  it  suited  their  pur- 
poses to  do  so,  and  consequently,  a^  such,  they 
were  under  the  condemnation  of  the  Pope:  and 
any  pnest  might  think  he  was  doing  the  Pope 
good  service  by  betraying  those  vdio  were  his 
enemies.  As  to  this  priest,  eve^thing  was 
against  h.m.  He  lived  close  by;  every  step 
of  the  country  was  no  doubt  familiar  to  him; 
he  had  come  to  the  camp  under  very  suspicioui 
clroumstances,  bringing  with  him  a  stranger  in 
•^guise.  He  had  given  plausible  answers  to 
the  cross-questioning  of  Girasole;  but  those 
were  empty  words,  which  went  for  nothing  in 
the  presence  of  the  living  facts  that  now  stood 
before  him  in  the  presence  of  the  enemy. 

These  thoughts  had  all  occurred  to  Gimsole. 
and  the  sight  of  the  two  prisoners  kindled  his 
rage  to  madness.  It  was  the  deadliest  pur- 
pose of  vengeance  that  gleamed  in  his  eyes 
M  be  looked  upon  them,  and  they  knew  it 
He  gave  one  glance,  and  then  turned  to  his 
men. 

«•  On  t  on !."  he  cried ;  '<  I  will  join  yon  in  an 
instant;  and  yon,"  be  said  to  the  guards, 
"wait  a  moment."  ^ 

The  brigands  rushed  on  with  ihonts  to  as- 
sist thiir  comrades  in  the  flght,  while  the  other 
four  waited. 

AH  this  time  the  flght  had  not  ceased.  The 
airwa.  filled  with  the  reports  of  rifle-shots,  the 
a1^  ^1^^  ^^Z'"*  °|^he  wounded.  The 
-flaaU*  wNHBedto^gnnnntlyilniwniii  nearer, 
■s  though  the  assaihmu  were  still  driving  the 
brands.  But  their  progress  was  slow,  for  the 
«W«ing  was  carried  on  among  the  trees,  and 
•he  brigands  resisted  stubbornly,  retreating 
ft«m  cover  to  cover,  and  stopping  every  mo- 
ment t^  make  a  Atish  stand.  But  the  assail- 
Uts  4i4d  gained  much  ground,  and  were  al- 


THE  AMERICAN  BARON. 


119 

ready  dose  by  the  Urders  of  the  lake,  and  ad- 
▼ancing  along  towafd  the  old  stone  house. 

Ihe  robbers  had  not  succeeded  in  bindine 
their  pnwners     The  priest  and  Ethel  both 
stood  where  they  bad  encountered  Ginwle 
and  the  ropes  fell  from  the  robbers'  hands  aJ 

ml„T  """T^Ption-  The  giHve  with  its 
mound  was  only  a  few  feet  away 

sword  ,n  his  right.  He  sheathed  his  sword  and 
drew  another  pistol,  keeping  his  eyes  fixed 
steadily  all  the  while  upon  his  victims. 

You  needn't  bind  these  prisoners,"  said 
c^urhlT"''  """'"'••«'"- -5  to  se- 

.    "In  the  name  of  God,"  cried  the  priest.  " I 
implore  you  not  to  shed  innocent  blood!" 
"Pooh!"  said  Girasole. 

spaJSrr^'  '^  *°"°'''"*'  y°"  ''•"  •'  '*"«" 
"She  shall  die  first!"  said  <5ira8ole,  in  n 
fory,  «nd  reached  out  his  hand  to  grasp  Ethel 
The  pnest  flung  himself  forward  between  the 
two.     Girasole  dashed  him  aside. 

"Give  us  time  to  pray,  for  Gods  sake- 
one  moment  to  pray!" 

at  ESel."  '"°""'"""  "'^•'•^  G''""!*.  grasping 
Ethel  gave  a  loud  shriek  and  started  away  in 
hortor.  Girasole  sprang  after  her.  The  four 
men  turned  to  seize  her.  With  a  wild  and 
frantic  energy,  inspired  by  the  deadly  terror 
that  was  in  her  heart,  she  bounded  away  to- 
ward the  grave. 


SHAPTE 


R  XXXV, 

BURIBD  ALIVK. 

Hawbuht  last  vanished  from  the  scene  to  a 
pUce  which  is  bnt  seldom  resorted  to  by  a  liv- 
ing man.  Once  inside  of  his  tenible  retreat  he 
became  a  prey  to  feelings  of  the  most  varied 
and  harrowing  chanwter,  in  the  midst  of  which 
there  was  a  suspense,  twofold,  agonizing,  and 

fS      h\k^"^"1'"'  »"•  suspense  mS.  for 
fcthel,  and  then  for  himself.     In  that  narrow 
and  restricted  retreat  his  senses  soon  became 
sliarpened  to  an  unusual  degree  of  acutenbss 
Every  touch  against  it  communicated  itself  to 
his  fVame,  as  though  the  wood  of  his  inclosare 
had  become  part  of  himself;  and  every  sound 
intensifled  itself  to  an  extraordinary  degree  of 
distinctness,  as  though  the  temponuy  loss  of 
vision  had  been  compensated  for  by  an  exan-  k 
geration  of  the  sense  of  hearing.     This  waai 
particularly  the  case  as  the  priest  drove  in  the 
*<"***» — He  heard  thaahnfflf^n  thf  n^jn-i^ 


whisper  to  Ethel,  her  retreat,  and  the  aMending 
foottteps ;  while  at  the  same  time  he  wm  aware 
of  the  unalterable  coolness  of  the  priest,  who 
kept  calmly  at  his  work  until  the  very  last  mo- 
ment. The  screws  seemed  to  enter  bU  own 
nr»me,  and  the  slight  noise  which  was  made, 
nandibie  as  it  was  to  others,  to  him  seemed 
loud  enough  to  rouse  all  in  the  houM. 


■  I 


gfc^i.  4^^*,^ 


120 


THE  AMERICAN  BARON, 


Then  he  felt  hitnself  raised  and  carried  down 
stairs.  Fortunately  he  had  got  in  with  hia 
feet  toward  the  door,  and  as  that  end  was  car- 
ried out  first,  his  descent  of  the  stairs  was  not 
attended  with  the  inconvenience  which  he 
might  have  felt  had  it  been  talccn  down  in  an 
opposite  direction. 

One  fact  gave  him  very  great  relief,  for  he 
had  feared  that  his  breathing  would  be  diffi- 
cult. Thanks,  however,  to  the  precautions  of 
the  priest,  he  felt  no  difficulty  at  all  in  that  re- 
spect. The  little  bits  of  wood  which  prevented 
the  lid  from  resting,  close  to  the  coffin  formed 
apertures  which  freely  admitted  Ol  the  air  that 
was  necessary. 

He  was  borne  on  thus  from  the  house  toward 
the  grave,  and  heard  the  voice  of  the  priest 
from  time  to  time,  and  rightly  supposed  that 
the  remarks  of  the  priest  were  addresse'd'  not 
so  much  to  the  brigands  as  to 'himself,  so  as  to 
let  him  know  that  he  was  not  deserted.     The 
journey  to  the  grave  was  accomplished  without 
any  inconvenience,  and  the  coffin  was  at  length 
put  upon  the  ground. 
Then  it  was  lowered  into  the  grave. 
There  was  something  in  this  which  was  so 
horrible  to  Hawbury  that  an  involuntary  shud- 
der passed  through  every  nerve,  and   all  the 
terror  of  the  grave  and  the  bitterness  of  death 
ill  that  one  moment  seemed  to  descend  upon 
him.     He  had  not  thought  of  this,  and  conse- 
quently was  not  prepared  for  it.     Ho  had  ex- 
jiected  that  he  would  be  put  down  somewhere 
on  the  ground,  and  that  the  priest  would  be 
able  to  get  rid  of  the  men,  and  eflect  his  liber- 
ation before  it  had  gone  so  fur. 

It  required  an  effort  to  prevent  himself  from 
crying  out ;  und  longer  efforts  were  needed  and 
more  time  before  he  could  regain  any  portion 
of  his  self-control.     He  now  heard  the  priest 
performing  the  burial  rites;  these  seemed  to 
him  to  be  protracted  to  an  amazing  length; 
and  so,  indeed,  they  were ;  but  to  the  inmate 
of  that  grave  the  time  seemed  longer  far  than 
it  did  to  those  who  were  outside.     A  thousand 
thoughts  swept  through  his  mind,  and  a  thou- 
sand fears  swelled  within  his  heart.     At  last 
the  snspicion  came  to  him  that  the  priest  him- 
self was  unable  to  do  any  better,  and  this  sus- 
picion was  confirmed  as  he  detected  the  efforts 
which  he  made  to  get  the  men  to  leave  the 
grave.     This  was  particularly  evident  when  he 
pretended  to  hear  an  alarm,  by  which  he  hoped 
10  get  rid  of  the  brigands.     It  failed,  however, 
iind  with  this  failure  the  hopes  of  Hawbury 
sank  lower  than  ever. 

But  the  climax  of  his  horror  was  attained 
as  the  first  clod  fell  upon  his  narrow  abode. 
It  seemed  like  a  death-blow.     He  felt  It  as  if 


it  had  nmck  Ii!iM»ir,  and  for  a  moment  it  was 
ix»  though  he  ha\  been  stunned.  The  dull, 
heavy  sound  which  those  heard  who  stood 
above,  to  hia  ears  became  transformed  and  en- 
larged, and  extended  to  something  like  a  thun- 
der-peal, with  long  reverberations  through  his 
now  fevered  and  distempered  bruin.     Olhor 


clods  fell,  and  still  others,  and  the  work  went 
on  till  his  brain  reeled,  and  jinder  the  mighty 
emotions  of  the  hour  his  reason  began  to  give 
way.  Then  all  his  fortitude  and  courage  sank. 
All  thought  left  him  save  the  consciousness  of 
the  one  horror  that  had  now  fixed  itself  upon 
his  soul.  It  was  intolerable.  In  another  mo- 
ment his  despair  would  have  overmastered  him, 
and  uhder  its  impulse  he -would  have  burst 
through  all  restraint,  and  turned  all  his  ener- 
gies toward  forcing  himself  from  his  awful  pris- 
on  house. 

He  turned  himself  over.     He  gathered  him- 
self up  as  well  as  he  could.     Already  he  was 
bracing  himself  for  a  mighty  effort  to  burst  up 
the  lid,  when  suddenly  the  voice  of  Girasole 
struck  upon  his  ear,  and  a  wild  fear  for  EtheJ 
came  to  his  heart,  and  the  anguish  of  that  fear 
checked  at  once  all  further  thought  of  himself. 
He  lay  still  and  listened.     He  did  this  the 
I  more  patiently  as  the  men  also  stopped  from 
their  work,  and  as  tte  hideous  earth-clods  no 
longer   fell  down.     He  listened.     From    the 
conversation  he  gathered  pretty  accurately  the 
state  of  affairs.     He  knew   that  Ethel  was 
there;    that  she    had    been   discovered    and 
dragged  forth  ;  that  she  was  in  danger.     He 
listened   in  the  anguish  of  a  new  suspense. 
Ho  heard  the  words  of  the  priest,  his  calm  de- 
nial of  treachery,  his  quiet  appeal  to  Girasole's 
good  sense.     Then  he  heard  the  decision  of 
Girasole,  and  the  party  walked  away  with  their 
prisoners,  and  he  was  left  alone. 
Alone ! 

At  any  other  time  it  would  have  been  a  ter- 
rible thing  thus  to  be  left  alone  in  such  a  place, 
but  now  to  him  who  was  thus  imprisoned  it  af- 
forded a  great  relief.  The  work  of  burial, 
with  all  its  hideous  accompaniments,  was  stayed. 
He  could  collect  his  senses  and  make  up  his 
mind  as  to  what  he  should  do. 

Now,  first  ofall,  he  determined  to  gain  more  aii- 
if  possible.  The  earth  that  had  fallen  had  cov- 
ered up  many  of  the  chinks,  so  that  his  breath- 
ing had  become  sensibly  more  difficult.  His 
confinement,  with  this  oppression  of  his  breath- 
iiig,  was  intolerable.  He  therefore  braced 
himself  once  more  to  make  an  effort.  The 
coffin  was  large  and  rudely  constructed,  being 
merely  an  oblong  box.  He  had  more  play  to 
his  limbs  than  he  could  have  had  in  one  of  a 
more  regular  construction,  and  thug  he  was 
able  to  bring  a  great  effort  to  bear  upon  the 
lid.  He  pressed.  The  screws  gave  way.  lie 
lifted  it  up  to  some  distance.  He  drew  in  a 
long  draught  of  fresh  nir,  and  felt  in  that  one 
draught  that  he  received  new  life  an4  strength 
and  hope. 

He  now  lay  still  and  thought  abggt.whftt  lut 


should  do  next.  If  it  had  only  been  himself, 
he  would,  of  course,  have  escaped  in  that  first 
instant,  and  fled  to  the  woods.  But  the 
thought  of  Ethel  detained  him. 

What  was  her  position ;  and  what  could  he 
do  to  save  her?     This  was  his  thought.      , 

He  knew  that  she,  together  with  the  pnest, 


was  in  the  h 
were  comma 
at  the  peril 
he  did  not  kr 
was  near  or 
them  away. 

Ho  determ 
perceived  tha 
brigands'  can 
in  which  he  c 
■ng.  Giraso 
the  work  of  I 
night,  and  if  , 
would  avoid  a 
he  could  stay 
unobserved. 

;l   IgllH    fTlia 

■T  ntts  ^w* 

thing  to  distra 
and  afford  her 
He  now  an 
he  raised  the  1 
fell  down  insi 
holding  it  up 
bud  carefully 


>■ .   ) 


THE  AMERICAN  MRON, 


was  m  the  hands  of  four  of  the  brigands,  who 
were  commanded  to  keep  their  prisoners  safe 
at  the  pen  of  their  lives.  Where  they  were 
he  did  not  know,  nor  could  he  tell  whether  she 
was  near  or  at  a  distance.  Girasole  had  led 
them  away. 

Ho  determined  to  look  out  and  watch.  He 
perceived  that  this  grave,  in  the  heart  of  the 
brigands  camp,  aflorded  the  very  safest  place 
m  which  he  could  be  for  the  purpose  of  watch- 
ing. Girasole's  words  had  indicated  that 
the  work  of  burial  would  not  be  resumed  that 
night,  and  If  any  passers-by  should  come  they 
would  avoid  such  a  place  as  this.  Here,  then 
he  could  stay  until  dawn  at  least,  and  watch 
unobserved.     Perhaps    he    could   find    wheru 


■1  ill —      .        »."uiu    iinu    wnen 

.I.'  ^^''**«"*™edf  perhaps  h«  could  do  nnne- 
fhing  to  distract  the  attention  of  the  brigands, 
ana  afford  her  an  opportunity  for  flight 

h.  «.^'!i."'?,f  •  '"''•  •'"*"""«  '"  "'«  coffin, 
he  «i«„l  the  lid.     The  earth  that  Was  upon  il 

fel    down  inside.     He  tilted  the  lid  up,  and 

holding  It  up  thus  with  one  hand,  he  put  his 

head  crefully  out  of  the  grave,  and  looked  out 


/ 


in  tU  direction  where  Girasole  had  gone  with  "-^ 
his  prisoners.  The  knoll  to  which  h!  had  M  ^f" 
lr^„>T''l''  ""T  •=°"«PJ«»°'«'  place,  and  had*? 

could  be  under  his  own  observation,  f/om  time 
to  time,  even  at  a  distance,  It  was  about  half- 
way between  the  grave  and  the  nea  Jt  Are 

■ght,  and  the  light  was  in  a  line  with  tlhe  knOll 

o  Hawbunr's  eyes     The  party  on  the  knoll, 

therefore,  appeared  thrown  out  into  relief  bv 

the  faint  flre-Iight  behind  them,  especially  the 

pnest  and  Ethel.  i     j~     u/  me 

And  now  Hawbury  kep«  hi.  watch,  and 
looked  and  l.gtened  and  waited,  ever  mindful 
ofhiB  ownjmmed  intfi  neighborhood,  aad  ga«n|^ 
tntf  carefully  against  any  approach.  But  his 
own  place  was  in  gloom,  and  no  one  would 
have  thought  of  looking  there,  so  that  he  was 
unobserved. 

oward  finding  out  any  way  of  rescuing  Ethel 
He  saw  the  vigilant  guard  around  the  pri«)n- 
ers.     Once  or  twice  he  saw  a  movement  among 


'■ii 


I 


>  i 


tlieiii,,bnt  it  warioon  over,  and  resulted  in 
nothing.^  Kov  be  began  to  despond,  and  to 
specolatQ  in  hu  mind  as  to  whether  Ethel  was 
in  anj  danger  or  npt.  He'  began  to  ofdcalate 
the  time  tbAt  night  be  required  to  go  for  he\p 
with  which  to  attack  the  brigands.  He  won> 
deied  what  reason  Qirasol^  might  hare  to  in- 
jure EtheL  Bni  wWever  h^pe  he  had  that 
mercy  might  be  shown  her  was  counterbal- 
anced by  his  own  experience  of  Girasole's 
cmeltj,  and  his  knowledge  of  his  merciless 
character.  •  i 

Suddenly  he  was  roused  by  the  rifle-shot  and, 
'  the  confusion  that  followed.     H«  saw  the  party 
■^  on  the  msmnd  start  to  dieir  feet.    He  heard 
the  shots  that  succeeded  the  flat  one.    He 
saw  shadows  darting  to  and  fro.     llieti  the 
confusion  grew  worse,  and  all  the  sounds  of 
battle  aA>8e — the  cries,  the  shrieks,  and  die 
stem  woiMs  of  command. 
All  this  filled  him  with  hope.     An  attack 
.  was  being  made.    They  might  all  be  saved. 
He  conid  see  tbht  the  brigands  were  being 
driven  back,  and  that  the  asaaHante  were  press- 
ing on. 

Then  he  saw  the  party  feMring  from  the 
knolL  It  wa4  already  mn4  littbter.  They 
.advanced  toward' him.  He  sank '<l^wn  md 
W|rited.  He  had  no  fear  now  that  this  party 
would  compete' hishnriaL  He  thongbt  they 
w«re  flying  with  the  pri8<mers.  If  so,  the  as- 
sailants Would  soon  be  here;  he  could  join 
them,  and  lead  them  on  to'  the  rescue  of 
EtheL 

He  lay  low  with  die  lid  over  him<    He  heard 
them  dose  beside  him.'    Then  dierewas  the 
'  noise  6f  nuhing  men,  and  Girasole's  voice 
arose. 
He  heard  all  that  followed. 
Then  Elthel's  shriek  sounded  out,  as  she 
sprang  toward  the  grave. 

In  an  instant  the  occupant  of  the  grave, 
seizing  the  lid,  raised  it  up,  and  with  a  wild 
yell  sprang  forth. 

The  effect  was  tremendous. 
The  brigands,  thought  the  dead  Antonio  hhd 
come  to  life.     They  did  not  stop  to  look,  but 
with  a  howl  of  awful  terror,  and  in  an  anguish 
of  fright,  they  turned  and  ran  for  their  lives  I 

GirasoliB  saw  him  too,  with  equal  horror,  if 
not  j^ater.  He  saw  Hawbury.  It  was  the 
man  whom  he  had  kiUed  stone-dead  with  his 
own  hand.  He  was  there  .before  him — or  was 
it  his  ghost  ?  For  an  instant  horror  paralysed 
him ;  and  then,  with  a  yell  like  a  madman's,  he 
leaped  back  and  fled  after  the  others. 


THE  AJMERICAN  BABQIf. 


*' 


CHAFTKRi 


wildered.  '  While  she  was  listening  to  the 
sounds,  he  was  listening  to  the  echo  of  her 
words ;  while  she  was  wondering  at  the  cause 
of  such  a  tumult,  he  was  wondering  at  this  dis- 
closure. In  «  moment  a  thousand  little  things 
suggested  themselves  as  he  stood  there  in  his 
confusion,  which  little  things  all  went  to  throw 
a  flood  of  light  upon  her  statement,  and  prove 
that  she  vraa  another  person  than  that  "  demon 
wife"  who  had  been  die  cause  of  all  his  woes. 
Her  soft  glance,  her  gentle  manner,  her  sweet 
and  tender  expression — above  all,  the  tone  of 
her  voice ;  all  these  at  once  opened  his  eyes. 
In  the  course  of  tbeir  conversation  she  had 
spoken  in  a  low  tone,  often  in  a  whisper,  so 
that  this  fiust  with  regard  to  the  difierence  of 
voice  had  not  been  perceptible ;  but  her  last 
words  were  spoken  louder,  and  he  observed  the 
difference. 

Now  the  tumult  grew  greater,  and  Ae  re- 
ports of  the  rifles  more  frequent.  The  noise 
ipas  commnnicated  to  the  house,  and  in  the 
rooms  and  Ithe  hall  below  there  were  tramplings 
of  feet,  and  hnnyings  to  and  fro,  apd  the  rat- 
de  of  aims,  and  die  voices  of  men,  in  the  midst 
of  which  rose  the  stem  command  of  Girasde. 
"Forward  I  Foll«wmet" 
Then  the  distant  reports  grew  nearer  and 
yet  nearer,  and  all  the  men  rasbed  from  the 
house,  and  their  tramp  was  heard  outside  as 
they  hurried  away  to  the  scene  of  conflict. 

"It's  an  attack!  Tbe  brigands  are  at- 
tacked !"  cried  Mrs.  Willoughby. 

Dacres  said  nothing.  He  was  collecting  his 
scattered  thoughts. 

'K)h,  may  Heavrai  grant  -that  we  may  be 
saved  1  Oh,  it  is  the  troops— it  must  be  I  Oh, 
Sir,  come,  come ;  help  us  to  escape  i  My  dar- 
ling sister  is  here.    Save  her !" 

"  Your  sister  ?"  cried  Dacres.  ». 

"T)h  yes;  come,  save  her  I  My  sister— my 
darling  Minnie  I"  , 

With  these  words  Mrs.  Willoughby  rushed 
from  the  room. 

"  Her  sister !  her  sister  !*'  repeated  Dacres— 
"Minnie  Fayl  Her  sister  I  Good  Lord! 
What  a  most  infernal  ass  J've  been  making  of 
myself  this  last  month  I " 

Hestood  still  for  a  fewmoments, overwhelmed 
by  this  thought,  and  apparently  endeavoring  to 
realize  the  full  extent  and  enormous  j^e  and 
immensfe  proportions,  together  with  tbe  infinite 
extent  of  ear,  appertaining  to  the  ass  to  which 
he  had  transformed  himself;  but  finally  he 
shook  his  head  despondini^y,  as  though  he 
gave  it  up  altogedier.  Then  he  hurried  after 
MW.  WiUongh^. 

Mrs.  Willoughby  rashed  Into  Minnie's  room, 
and  clasped  her  sister  in  her  yma  with  frantic 


tears  and  kisses. 

"  Oh,  my  precious  dariing  I"  she  exclaimed. 

"Oh  dear!"  said  Minnie,  "Un't  this  reaUy 
too  bad  ?  '  I  was  so  dred,  you  know,  and  I  wu 
just  beginning  to  go  to  sleep,  when  those  horrid 
men  began  firing  their  guns.  I  really  do  diink 
that  every  body  is  banded  together -to  tease  me. 


fltI  n.T! 

In  the  midst  of  that  wild  uproar  which  had 
roused  Dacres  and  Mrs.  Willoughby  there  was 
nothing  that  sUrtled  him  so  much  as  her  decla- 
ration diat  she  was  not  Arethusa.     Hrstoodbe- 


I  do  wish  they'd  dl  go-aw^y  amLlet  me  hare  • 
''"'«P«*ce.     I*mwtireaiuidileepyl" 

WhUe  Minnie  ttm  saying,  this  her  «gt«r  wm 
embracing  her  and  kitting  fcer  and  ciying  oyer 

«r?\  "*"""♦  Minnie,  come  I"  she    cried- 
"make  haste.     We  must  fly!"  ' 

I*  Where  to f  said  Minnie,  wonderingly. 
Any  where-^any  where  out  of  this  awfiil 
place :  mto  the  woods."  " 

woods     It  s  aU  wet,  you  knowv    Can't  we  get 
a  carnage?"  '  * 

"Ohno,no;  wemnstnotirait,    They'Uidl 
be  back  soon  and  kill  na,"  \ 

"mat"d„'"'L^'"*.^'J    «^*^    Minnie. 

At  this  moment  Dacrai  ottered.    The  im- 
age of  the  immeasarable  ass  was  stiU  Tens, 
prominent  in  his  mind,  and  fie  had  lost  aU  ^ 
fever  and  deUrinm.     One  thought  onW  Z 
mained  (besides that  Of  theaw,  of <jonnKJ>^  and 
that  was— escape.  - 

«  Are  you  Mady  W  he  asked,  hurriedly. 

win?uX'""     ""^"^'"•^'^^ 

"  I  think  no  one  is  below,"  said  he  •  "  bnt  T 
«JU  go  first.  There  i.  a  g^od^a^  ,bse  by 
we  W.11  mn  there.  If  I  f«ii,  you  must  run  o^n 
and  try  to  get  there.^  It  is  the  bank  just  oppo- 
site. Once  there,  yon  ate  in  the  woods.  So 
you  understand?" 

"Oh  yes,  yes!"  cried  Mrt  WiUooghbv 
"  Haste  1     Oh,  haste !"  -""gnDy. 

.  Dacres  turned,  and  Mr^  WiUonghby  had 
just  grasped  Minnie's  hand  to  feuW,  when 
suddenly  they  heard  footsteps  below. 

They  stopped,  appalled. 

The  robbers  had  not  all  gone,  then.  Some 
Of  them  must  have  remained  on  guard.  But 
how  many  ?  "  '^' 

Dacres  listened  and  the  ladiei  listened,  and, 
in  tbflir  suspense  the  beating  of  each  heart  was 


'  THE  AMERICAN'  BARON. 


»* 


I     He  begaa  to  think  that  then  was  only  one 
enemy  to  encounter. 
^^  "»«  ''•low  jput  his  foot  on  the  lowest 

Then  holhesitated. 

Dacres  stBod  in  the  shadow  of  the  other  door- 
way, which  was  nearer  to  the  head  of  the 

«t«!il^  K^^fr^'***  •P'^°«  "  '«'»'  «  the 
stranger  should  come  ^thin  reach.  Bnt  the 
stranger  delayed  stiU.  ^^      "«  me 

At  length  he  spoke: 

"Hallo,  npther^I" 

-The  sound  of  those  simple  words  produced 

ZfnTT*'"^**."'""'  "•«  •'«*^«"-  Dacres 
sprang  down  with  a  cry  of  joy      "Comp 

St*  JiL.'""''"  "' ^^'"^^ ''»-'"-'^' 
Inthe  dim  Ught  he  could  detect  a  taU,  sUm, 

SESrtie'"'  ""■*  '""'*  •^'^  ^"'"""i 

» J  «^"?j'^  J^  «**  ""*  «>f  »'>^  and  4nick, 
too,"  safd  the  Rev.,Saul  To«v.     "TheyVe.l 

^f  w   i  J**  *^°«»'t  Id  look  In  to  see  if  any 
of  yi4u  folks  wa»arftuijd."  ^ 

tof^r*^  **??  *•'*  l«ii*i«§re  bothat  the  bot- 
tom of  thp  stairs.  .,.         -sv  . 

"Come!"  said  Toaer-    "hnwfr  no '%Ik. 
I-U  take  one  kdy  and  y.u' take  Se?^'         * 

"  Do  you  know  the  woods  ?" 

''Likeabook." 

"SodoV'MidDaorefc 
g^»**^  Mii- ^lUpoghby's  hand  and 

,   ;;B^t  Mnnfel"  wifl  Mr*.  WiUoughhy.  \ 

r  n*"^*"^,**'**"  1«  •>'"»  t*ke  her;  it's  safer 
forallofius,"saidDact^8.  » wrer 

■  Mh.  Willoughby  looked  back  as  she  was 
dragged  on  after  Dacres,  and  saw  Tozer  fol- 
lowing  them,  holding  Minnie's  hand  Thl« 
reassured  her. 

Dacres  dragged  her  on  to  the  foot'of  the 

ink.      Hnrn  oho  t^^A   ._  i .  .  ".  .       » 


AVilAmtinnn    1'^aA»»»   ^». _> 


each.  I    'W*.  ''*  ""**  ""^  ^-wuiu  noi. 

"There  seems  to  be  only  >,ne  man  "  said   .«^  ^'Tk  1^?"««L»«0PP«<1,  and,  wiUwut  * 
icrM.  in  .  -i,i "^/.°™  ."*"'.    **"!   word,  raised  her  in  his  arms  as  though  stie  were 


Dacres,  in  a  whisper.  "Jf  there  u  only  one, 
ni  engage  to  manage  him.  While  I  grapple 
yon  run  for  your  lives.     Remember  the  bank  " 

■  lA  ?,  ^*^  ^^*  **••'  '^''■'  ^lio"  ^7  be  more." 
Mid  Mrs.  WiUonghby.  ' 

"l-U  see,"  taid  Dacres,  sofUy. 
I  r°7?*  cabtionsly  to  the  froiit  window  and 
«^  J*1.°**^  .  ?^  *'"'  ^^»^'*^  light  he  could 
see  quite  plainly.  No  men  were  visible.  From 
•ftr  the  noise  of  the  strife  cariie  to  his  ears 
iraViSw  "•"'  •^  ••*  *^""  •*  th»itariiw 

Dacre*  stole  back  again  from  the  window 
and  went  to  the  door.  He  stood  and  listened. 
..W^^t^r^l  footsteps  came  across  the  hall 
to  the  foot  of  the  stairs.  Dacres  could  see  the 
figure  of  a  solitaiy  man,  but  it  was  dark  in  the 
nau,  and  he  could  not  make  him  out.  l- 


1 


A   little    child,  and  i«n   up   the Tbaak.     He 
plunged  into  the  woods,     ifen  U  ran  on  far- 
ther.    Then  he  turned  and  doubled, 
do^'  ^*"**"*'*''*^  '^«K«*1  hHiaXi  put  her 

"No,"  said  he^  "they  are  behind  nfc  Ton 
can  not  go  fast  enough.  I  shqn(d  have  to  wait 
and  defend  you,  and  then  we  would  both  be 
lost.  .^'         *  ^ 

"But,  oh !  We  are  losing  Iflmite." 


"Ho,woareBoi,-'cried  Dacres;  "thctiE^ 
is  ten  times  stronger  than  I  am.  He  is  a  pers 
feet  elephant  in  str4ngth.  Je  dashe4  jiast^ 


up  the  hill. 

"I  didn't  se^  him. 

"Your  face  was  turned  the  other  wny. 
Is  ahead  of  us  now  somewhere. " 

"Oh,  I  wish  we  could  catch  up  to  him." 


Hi 


Tint  AMEIUCAN  I^^UtON. 


i,  iiil 


7  "^iv- 


"AT  TmS.DAa 

At  this  Dacres  nnhed  on  faster.  The  effort 
was  tremendous.  He  leaped  over  fallen  tim- 
bers, be  burst  throngh  the  underbrash. 

"  Ob,  I'm  sure  you'll  kiH  yoarself  if  yon  go 
so  fast,"  said  Mrs.  Willoagbby.  "  We  can't 
catdinp  tothem." 

At  this  Dacres  slackened  his  pace,  and  went 
on  more  carefully.  She  again  begged  him  to 
pnt  her  down.  He  again  refused.  Upon  this 
she  felt  perfectly  helpless,  and  recalled,  in  a 
vagne  way,  Minnie's  ridiculous  question  of 
"  How  would  you  like  to  be  rdn  away  with  by 
a  great,  big,  horrid  man,  Kitty  darling?" 

Then  she  began  to  think  he  was  insane,  and 
felt  very  anxious. 

At  Ust  Dacres  stopped.  He  was  utterly  ex- 
hausted. He  was  panting  terribly.  It  had 
been  a  fearful  journey.  He  had  run  along  the 
bank  up  to  that  narrow  valley  which  he  had 
tntversed  the  day  before,  and  when  he  stopped 
it  was  on  the  top  of  that  precipice  where  he  bad 
formerly  rested,  and  where  he  had  nurtured 
-fO£h  dark  purposes  against  Mrs.  WilloughbjT. 

J^Irs.  Willoughby  looked  at  him,  full  of  pity. 
B6  waa  utterly  broken  down  by  this  last  effort.- 


>  avsaaD  ok  VASraa." 


"Oh  dear!"  she  thought,  "Is  he  sane  or 
insane?  What  am  I  to  do  ?  It  is  dreadful  to 
have  to  go  on  and  humor  his  queer  fancies." 


CHAPTER  XXXVII. 
mmnE'g  last  lifb-pbbsebveb. 

When  Tozer  started  after  Dacres  he  led 
Minnie  by  the  hand  for  only  a  little  distance. 
On  reaching  the  acclivity  he  seised  her  in  his 
arms,  thus  imitating  Dacres's  example,  and 
rushed  up,  reaching  the  top  befqre  the  other. 
Then  he  plunged  into  the  woods,  and  soon  be- 
came separated  from  his  companion. 

Once  in  the  woods,  he  went  along  quite  leis- 
urely, carrying  Minnie  without  any  difficulty, 
and  occasionally  addressing  to  her  a  soothing 
remark,  assuring  her  that  she  was  sufe.'  Min- 
nie, however,  made  no  remark  of  any  kind,  good 
or  bad,  but  remained  quite  silent,  occupied  with 
her  owa^  thaoghtftr-  At~lengtfa  Toier  tOH>ad^ 
and  put  her  down.  It  was  a  place  upon  the 
edge  of  a  cliff  on  the  shore  of  the  lake,  and  as 


s  he  8ane  or 
8  dreadful  to 
r  fancies." 


tVEB. 

icres  he  led 
tie  distance, 
d  her  in  his 
cample,  and 
e  the  other, 
ind  soon  be- 
n. 

ig  quite  leis- 
ly  difficulty, 
r  a  soothing 
Bufe,'  Min- 
y  kind, good 
Msnpied  with 
«er  stopped 
pe  npon  the 
lake,  and  as 


THE  AMEBICAN  B^RON. 


^  t\ 


I 


'  WOMC  AHD  WOISI,'  SAID  V»U|." 


much  as  a  mile  from  the  hoose.  The  cliff  was 
almost  fifty  feet  high,  and  was  perpendicular. 
All  around  was-the  thick  forest,  and  it  was  un- 
likely that  such  a  place  cOnld  be  discovered 

"Here,"  said  he;  "w^ve  got  to  stop  here, 
and  Its  about  the  right  place.  We  couldn't 
get  any  where  nigh  to  the  soldiers  without  the 
brigands  seeing  us  j  so  we'll  wait  here  till  the 
fight's  over,  and  the  brigands  all  chased  off." 

"The  soldiers  I  what  soldiers?"  asked  Min- 
nie. 

"Why,  they're  having  a  fight  over  there— 
tne  soldiers  are  attacking  the  brigands." 

"Well,  I  didn't  know.     Nobody  told  me. 
And  did  you  come  with  the  soldiers  ?" 
"  Well,  not  exactly.    I  catee  with  the  priest 
-    and 'he  young  lady." 

"But  you  were  not  at  the  house?" 
"No.  They  wouldn't  take  me  all  the  way. 
The  pnest  said  I  couldn't  be  disguised— but  I 
don't  see  why  not-so  he  left  me  in  the  woods 
tiU  he  came  back.  And  then  the  soldiers  cam^ 
and  we  crept  on  till  we  came  nigh  the  lake. 
Well,  then  I  stole  away ;  and  when  they  made 
an  attAck  the  brigands  all  ran  there  to  fight,  and 
I  watched  tiU  I  saw  the  coast  clear  j  and  so  I 
came,  and  here  we  are." 

Minnie  now  was  quite  silent  and  preoccu- 
pied, apd  occasionally  she  glanced  sadly  at 
Toser  with  her  large,  pathetic,  child-like  eyes. 
It  was  a  very  piteous  look,  full  of  the  most  ten- 
der entreaty.  Toxer  occasionally  glanced  at 
her  and  then,  like  her,  he  sat  silent,  involved 
m  his  own  thoughts. 

"And  so,"  said  Minnie  at  last,  "you're  not 
the  priest  himself?" 
"The  priest  ?f;. 
"Yes."  •]  - 

"  Well,  po }  I  don't  call  myself  a  priest.    I'm 


be  had 

ie  had 
caught 
ns  soul 


13.1 

•'  Well,  you're  not  a  real  priest,  tlieii.'' 

"  All  men  of  my  calling  are  real  prre$ts-^yes 

priests  and  kings.     I  yield  to  no  nian  in  the 

c^lhl""*  *^''  I  ««'  upon  my  high  and  holy 

"Oh,  but  I  mean  a  Roman  Catholic  priest." 
said  Minnie. 

"  A  Roman  Cal;holic  'priest  I  Me !  Why 
what  a  question!  Me!  a  Roman  Catholic! 
Why,  in  our  parts  folks  call  me  the  Protestant 
ChampiiDn." 

^'P^"^^  ""  y""'**  °"'y  *  Protestant,  after 
Wl,    said  Minnie,  in  a  disappointed  tojie 
"Only  a  Protestant!"  repeated  Tbzer,  se- 

"Oh  yes  J  bnti  hoped  you  were  the  other 
pnest,  you  know.  I  did  $o  want  to  1  have  a 
Roman  Catholic  priest  this  time."         j        / 

Ttpier  was  silent.    It  strnck  him  that  ^is 
young  lady  was  in  danger.    Hbr  wish  fo^-  a  Ro- 
man Catholic  priest  boded  no  good, 
just  come  from  Rome.     No  doubt  si 
been  tamplered  with.    Some  Jesuits  had] 
her,  and  had  tried  to  proselytize  her.    Hii 
swelled  with  ^ndignatiom  at  the  thought. 
"Oh  dear!"  said  Minnie  again. 
"What's  the  matter?"  asked  To«er,  in  a  sym- 
pathizing voice. 
"I'm  so  sorry." 
"What  for?" 

"Why,  that  yon  saveittiy  life,  yon  know." 
.  ^  ?  ■o'^y  ?  that  I  saved  your  life  ? '  n- 
peated  Tozer,  in  amazement. 

"Oh,  well,  yon  know,  I  di.d  to  want  to  be 
saved  by  a  Roman  Catholic  priest,  you  know  " 
, "  To  be  saved  by  a  Roman  Catholic  priest  i" 
repeated  Tozer.  pandering  these  words  in  hhi 
mind  as  he  slo>dy  pronounced  them.  He  could 
make  nothing  of  them  at  first,  but  finally  con- 
cluded that  they  concealed  some  half-suggested 
tendency  to  Rome 

"I  don't  like  this-I  don't  lik6  this,"  he  said, 
solemnly.  ' 

"What  don't  yon  like?" 

• '  It's  dangerous.  It  looks  bad, "  said  Tozer, 
with  increased  solemnity. 

"  What's  dangerous  ?  You  look  so  solemn 
that  yon  really  make  me  feel  quite  nervous. 
What's  dangerous  ?" 

"  Why,  your  words.  I  see  in  yon,  I  think, 
a  kind  of  leaning  toward  Rome." 

"It  isn't  Rome,"  said  Minnie.  "  I  don't  lean 
to  Rome.  I  only  lean  a  little  toward  a  Roman 
Catholic  priest." 

"  Worse  and  worse,"  said  Tozer.  "  Dear ! 
dear !  dear!  worse  amt  worse.  This  beato  alL 
Young  woman,  beware  I  But  perhaps  I  don't 
understand  you.  Yon  snrely  don't  mean  that 
your  affecUons  are  engaged  to  any  Roman 
Catholic  priest.  Yon  can't  mean  Uat.  Why 
they  can't  many." 

"But  that's  just  what  I  like  them  «>  tor," 
iaidMinni«^  "I  like  people  that  don't  many; 
Lhate  people  that  want  tfrmany."- 


!r^^ 


M. 


1  ozer  turned  this  over  in  Ui  mind,  bnt  conld 


f»-^^te\;^ft-^-r-a*^  tfJlfC*'^^^-^-^  l«r  Sii^^r-t^^P^^ 


% 


126 


THE  Al^BICAN  BARON. 


make  nothing  of  it.  At  length  he  thought  he 
Mw  in  this  an  additional  proof  that  <khe  had 
been  tampered  with  by  j'esnita  at  Bjdine.  He 
thought  he  saw  in  this  a  8taten[Ant  of  her 
belief  in  the  Roman  Catholic  disctrine  ,of  ce- 
libacy. / 

He  shook  his  head  more  soj^mnly  than  ever. 
"  It's  not  Gospel,"  said  he.  "  It's  mere  hu- 
man  tradition.  Why,  for/canturies  there  was 
a  married  priesthood  evenjj^  the  Latin  Church. 
Dnnstan's  chief  measi^reBconsisted  in  a  fierce 
war  on  the  married,  clergy.  So  did  Hilde- 
brand's— Gregoiy  the  Seventh,  you  know.  The 
Church  at  Milan,  Sustained  by  the  doctrines  of 
the  g^t  Ambptse,  always  preferred  a  married 
deisy.  .  The  "worst  measures  of  Hildebrand 
were  against  these  good  pastors  and  their  wives. 
And  in  the  Eastern  Church  they  have  always 
had  it.".  , 

Of  course  all  this  was  quite  beyond  Minnie  ; 
so  she  gave  a  little  sigh,  and  said  nothing. 

"  Now  as  to  Rome,"  resumed  Tozer.  "  Have 
yon  ever  given  a  careful  stu4y  to  the  Apoca- 
lypse—not a  hasty  reading,  as  people  generally 
do,  but  a  serious,  earnest,  and  careful  examina- 
tion?" 

"I'm  sure  I  haven't  any  idea  *rhat  in  the 
world  you're  talking  about,"  said  Minnie.  "  I 
wA*  you  wouldn't  talk  so.  I  don't  understand 
one  single  word  of  what  you  say." 

Tozer-started  and  stared  at  this.  It  was  a 
deplh^eCigporance  that  transcended  that  of  the 
other  yoniHg  lady  with  whom  he  had  conversed. 
But  heiRtributed  it  all'  to  "  Roman"  influences. 
They  ireaded  the  Apocalypse,  and  had  not  al- 
'ow^F  either  of  these  young  ladies  to  become 
acqaatnted  with  its  tremendous  pages.  More- 
OT^r,  there  was  something  else.  There  was  a 
,  irtain  light  and  trifling  tone  which  she  nsed  in 
referring  to  these  things,  and  it  pained  him.  He 
sat  involved  in  a  long  and  very  serious  consid- 
eration of  her  case,  and  once  or  twice  looked 
at  her  with  so  very  peculiar  an  expression  that 
Minnie  began  to  feel  very  nneasy  indeed. 

Tozer  at  length  cleared  his  throat,  and  fixed 
npori  Minnie  a  very  afliectionate  and  tender 
look. 

"  My  dear  young  friend, "  said  he,  "  have  you 
|jpver  roSected  upon  the  way  yon  are  living  ?" 
At  this  Minnie  gave  him  a  frightened  little 
look,  and  her  bead  fell. 

"  Yon  are  young  now,  but  you  can't  be  young 
always ;  youth  and  beauty  and  ioveliness  all  are 
yours,  but  they  can't  last ;  and  now  is  the  time 
for  you  to  make  your  choice — now  in  life's  ga 
mom.  It  ain't. ^y  when  yon  get  old, 
member  that,  iny  dear.  Make  your  choice  Jom 
— now."  ' 

"  Oh  dear !"  said  Minnie ;  "  I  knewii^  Bnt 


"  Oh,  I  entreat  yon— I  implore  yon,  my  dear, 


"  I  do  with  you  wouldn't  talk  to  me  that  way, 
and  call  me  your  dear.  I  don't  like  it ;  no,  not 
even  if  you  dU  save  my  life,  l9ioDgh  really  I 
didn't  know  there  was  any  danger.  Bnt  I'm 
not  yo«>- dear." 

And  Minnie  tqmed  her  head  witK  a  little  air 
of  detenignationnM  though  she  had  quite  made 
up  her  mind  on  that  point. 

"Oh,  well  now,  really  now, "  said  Toze^  " it 
was  only  a  natural  expression.  I  do  take  a 
deep  interest  in  yon,  my— that  is— miaa ;  I  feel 
a  sincere  regard  and  afi«ction  and—" 

"But  it's  no  use,"  said  Minnie.  "Ton  really 
caiCt,  yon  know;  and  so,  why,  yon  nnuMt, you 
know." 

Tozer  did  not  clearly  understand  this,  so  aft- 
er a  brief  pause  he  resumed : 

"Bnt  what  I  was  saying  is  of  far  more  im- 
portance. I  referred  to  your  life.  Now  you're 
not  happy  as  yon  are." 

"  Oh  yes,  bnt  I  am,"  said  Minnie,  briskly. 

Tozer  sighed. 

"  I'm  "eT  bappy,"  continued  Minnie,  "  very, 
very  happy— that  is,  when  I'm  with  dear,  dar- 
ling Kitty,  and  dear,  dear  Ethel,  and  my  dar- 
ling old  Dowdy,  and  dear,  kind  papa." 

Tozer  sighed  again. 

"Yon  can't  be  trvly  happy  thus,"  he  said, 
mournfully.  "  Yon  may  think  yon  are,  but 
yon  ain't.  My  heart  fairly  yearns  over  yon 
when  I  see  you,  so  young,  so  lovely,  and  so  in- 
nocent ;  and  I  know  you  can't  be  happy  as  yon 
are.  You  i^st  live  otherwise.  And  oh,  I 
pray  you— I  entreat  yon  to  set  your  affections 
elsewhere  1" 

"  Well,  then,  I  think  it's  very,  very  horrid  in 
you  to  press  me  so,"  said,  Minnie,  with  some- 
thing actually  like  asperity  in  her  tone ;  "  but 
it's  qiate  impossible." 

"Bnt  oh,  why?" 

"  Why,  because  I  don't  want  to  have  things 
any  different.  But  if  I  have  to  be  worried  and 
teased  so,  and  if  people  insist  on  it  so,  why, 
there's  only  one  that  I'll  ewr  consent  to." 

"And  what  is  that?"  asked  Tozer,  looking 
at  her  with  the  most  affectionate  solicitude. 

"  Why,  it's — it's—"  Minnie  paused,  and 
looked  a  little  confused. 

"It's  what  ?"  asked  Tozer,  with  still  deeper 
and  more  anxious  interest. 
.  "  Why,  it's— it's— Rnfus  K.  Gunn." 


~-i-o«i't^and  I  don't  want  to— and  rtlTnt  it's 
wry  unkind  in  you.  I  don't  want  to  make  cmy 
choice.  I  doB't  want  any  of  yon.  It's  to  hor- 
rid." 

This  was  a  dreadful  shock  to  Tozer;  bnt  he 
could  hot  turn  aside  fix>m  this  beautifnl  yet 
9ning  creature. 


CHAPTER  XXXVIIL 

TH»    IMFATIBMT    BABON. 


Thb  brigands'  had  resisted  stubbornly,  bnt 
finally  found  themselves  without  a  leader.  Gi- 
rasole  had  disappeared ;  and  as  his  voice  no 
longer  directed  their  movements,  they  began  to 
fall  into  confusion.  The  attacking  party,  on  the 
other  hand,  was  well  led,  and  made  a  steady 
advance,  driving  t|A  enemy  before  them.     At 


* .. 


# 


THE  AMERICAN  BARON. 


"TUB  BISOOVIBY  OF  A  BODY  OM  TUB  BlIOM  OF 
TUB  LAJLM,^ 

length  the  brigands  lost  heart,  and  took  to 
flight.  With  a  wild  cheer  the  assaUants  fol- 
lowed iji  jJBrsnit.  But  the  fugitives  took  to 
the  forest,  and  were  soon  beyond  the  reach  of 
their  pursuers  in  its  familiar  intricacies,  and  the 
victors  were  summoned  back  by  the  sound  of  the 
trumpet. 

It  was  now  daylight,  and  as  the  conquering 
party  emerged  from  the  forest  they  showed  the 
unifonn  of  the  Papal  Zouaves ;  while  their  lead- 
er, who  had  shown  himself  so  skillful  in  forest 
warfare,  proved  to  be  no  less  a  personage  than 
our  friend  the  Baron.  Led  by  hjm,  the  party  ad- 
vanced to  the  old  stone  house,  and  here,  draw- 
ing up  his  men  in  fhmt,  their  leader  rushed  in, 
and  searched  every  room.  To  his  amazement 
he  found  the  house  deserted,  its  only  inmate 
being  that  dead  brigand  whom  Girasole  had 
mist^en  for  Hawbury.  This  discovery  fiUed 
the  Baron  whh  consternation.  He  had  ex- 
pected to  find  the  prisoners  here,  and  his  dis- 
may and  gnef  were  excessive.  At  first  he  could 
not  beheve  in  his  ill  luck;  but  another  search 
convinced  him  of  it,  and  reduced  him  to  a  state 
of  perfect  bewilderment. 

But  he  was  not  one  who  could  long  remain 
inactive.  Fueling  confident  that  the  brigands 
were  scattered  every  where  in  headlong  flight, 
he  sent  his  men  out  in  difl-erent  directions,  into 
the  w«)d8  and  along  the  shore,  to  see  16  they 
could  find  any  traces  of  theiostones^  H« W- 
self  remained  near  the  house,  so  as  to  diJect 
the  search  most  efficiently.  After  about  an 
hour  they  came  back,  one  by  one,  without  being 
able  to  find  many  traces.  .One  had  found  an 
empty  coffin  in  a  grave,  another  a  woman's 
hood,  a  third  had  found  a  scarf.  All  of  these 
h»d  endeavored  to  foUow  up  these  traces,  but 


127 

without  result.  Finally  a  man  approached  who 
announced  the  discovery  of  a  body  on  the  shore 
of  the  lake.  After  hini  came  a  party  who  was 
carrying  the  corpse  for  the  inspection  of  their 
captain. 

The  Baron  went  to  look  at  it.  The  body 
showed  a  great  gap  in  the  sknU.  On  ques- 
tioning the  men,  he  learned  that  they  had  found 
It  on  ihe  shore,  at  the  bottom  of  a  steep  rock, 
about  half-way  between  the  house  and  the  place 
where  they  had  first  emerged  from  the  woods. 
His  head  was  lying  pressed  against  a  sharp 
rock  m  such  a  way  that  it  was  evident  that  he 
had  faUen  over  the  clifl;  and  had  been  instantly 
killed.  The  Baron  looked  at  the  face,  and  refr-' 
<lgnized  the  features  of  Girasole. '  He  ordered 
It  to  be  taken  away  and  laid  in  the  empty  grave 
for  future  burial. 

The  Baron  now  became  impatient.  This 
was  not  what  he  had  bargained  for  at  all.  At 
length  he  thought  that  they  might  h^axp  fled, 
and  might  now  be  concealed  in  the'  v^oods 
around ;  and  together  with  this  thought  there 
came  to  his  mind  an  idea  of  an  effective  way  to 
reach  them.  The  trumpeter  could  send  forth 
a  blast  which  could  be  heard  far  and  wide. 
Bat  what  might,  conld,  would,  or  should  the 
trumpeter  sound  forth  which  should  give  the 
concealed  listeners  a  certainty  that  the  sum- 
mons came  from  friends  and  not  from  foes? 
This  the  Baron  puzzled  over  for  some,  time. 
■At  length  he  solved  this  problem  also,  and  tri- 
umphantly.    . 

-  There  was  one  strain  which  the  trumpeter 
might  sound  that  could  not  be  mistaken.  It 
would  at  once  convey  to  the  concealed  hearers 
all  the  truth,  and  gently  woo  them  home.  It 
would  be  at  once  a  note  of  victory,  a  song  of 
joy,  a  call  of  love,  a  sound  of  peace,  and  an  in- 
vitation—"Wanderer,  come  home!" 

Of  course  there  was  only  one  tune  that,  to 
the  mind  of  the  Baron,  was  capable  of  doing 

And  of  course  that  tune  was  "  Yankee  Doo- 
dle." 

Did  the  trumpeter  know  it? 

Of  course  he  did.  '  > 

Who  does  not  know  it  ?       - 

All  i^n  know  that  tune.  Man  is  bom  with 
an  innate  knowledge  of  the  strain  of  "  Yankee 
Doodle."  No  one  can  remember  when  he  first 
earned  it.  The  reason  is  because  he  never 
learned  it  at  all.    It  was  bom  in  him." 

So  the  trumpeter  sounded  it  forth,  and  wild 
and  high  and  clear  and  far  the  sounds  arose  • 
and  it  was  "Blow,  bugle,  blow,  set  the  wild 
echoes  flying;   and  answer,  echoes,  answer      . 
Yankee  Doodle  dyifig."  , 

And  while-the  irumpWBoiradBdthrBlfra^ 
listened  and  listened,  and  walked  up  and  down 
and  fretted  and  fumed  and  chafed,  and  I'm 
afraid  he  swore  a  little  too ;  and  at  last  he  was 
going  to  teU  the  trompeter  to  stop  his  infernal 
noise,  virhen,  just  at  that  moment,  what  should 
he  see  ^1  of  a  sudden  emerging  from  the  woods 
but  three  fif^nresl 


^i2^  otA^&f'j^  » . 


■m- 


128 


THE  AMERICAN 


And  I'll  leave  yon  to  imagine,  if  yon  can,  the 
joy  and  delight  which  agitated  the  bosom  of  onr 
good  Baron  as  he  recogniied  among  these  three 
figures  the  well-known  face  and  form  of  his 
friend  Hawbury.  With  Hawbury  was  a  lady 
wTiom  the  Baron  remembered  having  seen  once 
in  the  upper  hall  of  a  ceHain  house  in  Romi 
on  a  memorable  occasion,  when  ho  stood  on  the 
stairs  calling  A/in.  The  lady  was  very  austere 
then,  hot  she  was  very  gracious  now,  and/very 
wonderfully  sweet  in  the  expression  of  hat  face. 
And  with  them  was  a  stranger  in  the  iian>  of  a 
priest. 

Now  as  8<Jon  as  the  party  met  theAwrcin,  who 
rushed  to  meet  them,  Hawbury  wri»ig  hijhan4, 
and  stared  at  him  in  unbounded^stonishment. 

"  You  ;•'  he  cried ;  "^oursejf,  old  boy  !  By 
JoveH-  .      J       »r'  ^         ' 

"  Yes,"  said  the  Baron.  /'  You  see,  the  mo- 
ment we  get  into  that  anrtrash  I  kept  my  eye 
open,  and  got  a  chance  t6  spring  into  the  woods, 
'rhere  I  was  all  rigW  and  ran  for  it.  I  got 
into  the  road  againy^couple  of  miles  back^  got 
a  horse,  rode  to  Cfvita  Castellana,  and  there  I 
was  lucky  enougj/to  find  a  company  of  Zonaves. 
Well,  Sir,  we  aftae  here  flying,  mind,  I  tell  you, 
and  got  hold/6f  a  chap  that  we  made  guide  us 
to  the  lal«:  Then  we  opened  on  them  ;  and 
her^  we  ate,  by  thunder  I  But  where's  Min  ?" 
"W^r  asked  Ifawbury. 

ilin,"  said  th^^aron,  in  the  most  natural 
tone  in  the  world. 

'  Oh  I     Why,  isn't-she  here  ?" 
'  No.   We've  hujited  every  where.   No  one's 
here  at  all."    And  the  Baron  went  on  to  Jell 
about  their  search  and  its  results.     Havbury 
was  chiefly  struck  by  the  news  of  Gir 

"  He  must  have  gone  mad  with  terfor,"  said 
Hawbury,  as  he  told  the  Baron  aboiA  his  adven- 
tnre  at  the  grave.  ' '  If  that's  so,  "he  added,  ' '  I 
^^on't  see  how  the  ladies.could  be  harmed.  I 
^^duTe.  say  they've  run  off.  Why,  we  started 
to  run,  and  got  so  far  off  that  we  couldn't  find 
our  way  back,  even  after  the  trumpet  began  to 
sound.  You  must  keep  blowing  at  it,  you 
know.  Play  all  the  national  tunes  yon  canr^no 
end.  They'll  find  their  way  back  if  you  give 
them  time." 

And  now  they  all  went  back  to  the  house, 
^'  and  the  Baron  in  his  anxiety  could  not  talk 
any  more,  but  began  his  former  occupation 
of  walking  np  and  down,  and  fuming  and 
fretting  and  chafing,  >  and,  I'm  again  afraid, 
swearing— when  all  of  a  sudden,  on  the  bank 
in  front  of  him,  on  the  very  top,  just  emerging 
from  the  thick  underbrush  which  had  concealed 
thetn  till  that  moment,  to  their  utter  amaze- 
ment and  indescribable  delight,  they  beheld 
Scone  Dacrea  and  Mrs.  Willoughby.  Scone 
DMre§ftppMfed  to  Hawbnij  to  be  iirs  totnliy 


lABON. 


different  frame  of  mind  from  that  in  which  he 
had  been  when  he  last  saw  him ;  and  what  per- 
plexed him  most,  yea,  and  absolutely  confound- 
ed him,  was  the  sight  of  Scone  Dacres  with  his 
demon  wife,  whom  ho  had  been  pursuing  for  the 
sake  of  vengeance,  and  whose  frenzy  had  been 


80  viblent  that  he  himself  had  been  drawn  with 
hinv'on  purpose  to  try  «nd  restrain  hinj.  And 
what, was  the  injured  husband  doing  with 
demon  wjfe  ?  Doing!  why,  doing  the 
,  ipassioned  lover  most?  vigorously ;  sustaining 
her  steps  most  tenderly ;  grasping  her  hand ; 
pushing  aside  the  bushes ;  assisting  her  down 
the  slope ;  overwhelming  her,  in  short ;  hov- 
ering round  her,  apparently  nnconscionsMhat 
there  was  in  all  the  wjde  worid  any  other  be- 
ing than  Mrs.  Willoughby.  And  as  Hawbury 
looked  upon  all  Jt^iis  his  eyes  dilated  and  his 
lips  paned  involuntarily  in  utter  wonder;  and 
finally,  as  Daiires  reached  the  spW,  the  oulj; 
grming  which  he  could  give  his  friend  was, 
"  By  Jove !" 

And  now,  while  Mrs.  Willoughby  and  Ethel 
were  embracing  with  tears  of  joy,  and  over-  v 
whelming  one  another  with  questions,  the  Bar- 
on sought  information  from  Dacres. 

Dacres  then  informed  him  all  about  Tozer's 
advent  and  departure. 

' '  Tozer  1 "  cried  the  Baron,  in  intense  delight. 
"  Good  on  his  darned  old  head  !  Hurrah  fbr 
the  parson !  He  shall  marry  us  for  this — he, 
and  no  other,  by  thunder!" 

Upon  which  Mrs.  Willoughby  and  Ethel  ex- 
changed glances,  but  said  not  a  word.  Not 
^they. 

But  in  about  five  minutes,  when  Mrs.  Wil- 
loughby had  Ethel  apart  a  little  by  herself,  she 
said, 

"  Oh,  Ethel  dear,  isn't  it  dreadful  ?"' 
"What?"  asked  Ethel." 
"Why,  poor  Mitlnie." 
"Poor  Minnie?" 

"Yes.  Another  horrid  man.  And  he'll  he 
claiming  her  too.  And,  oh  dear  I  what  shall 
I  do?" 

"  Why,  you'll  have  to  let  her  decide  for  her- 
self.    I  think  it  will  be — this  person." 

Mrs.  Willoughby  clasped  her  hands,  and 
looked  up  with  a  pretty  little  expression  of  hor- 
ror. 

"  And  do  you  know,  dear,"  added  Ethel, 
"  I'm  beginning  to  think  that  it  wouldn't  be  so 
»«ry  bad.  He's  Lord  Hawbnry's  friend,  yon 
know,  and  then  he's  very,  very  brave ;  and, 
above  all,  think  what  we  all  owe  him." 

Mrs.  Willoughby  gave  a  resigned  sigh.  .' 

And  now  the  Baron  was  wilder  with  impa- 
tience than  ever.  He  had  questioned  Dacres, 
and  found  that  he  conld  give  him  no  informa- 
tion whatever  as  to  Tozer's  route,  and  conse- 
quently had  no  idea  where  to  search.  But  he 
still  had  boundless  confidence  in  "  Yankee  Doo- 
dle."        / 

"  That's  the  way,"  said  Dacres ;  "  we  heard 
it  ever  so  far,  and  it  was  the  first  thing  that 
told  us  it  was  safe  t«  return.     We  didn't  dare  ~~ 
to  venturebefore." 


Meanwhile  Hawbnry  had  got  Dacres  by  him- 
self, and  poured  a  torrent  of  questions  over  biro. 
Dacres  told  him  in  general  terms  how  be  was 
captured.  Then  he  informed  him  how  Mrs. 
Willoughby  was  put  in  the  same  room,  and  bis 


V 


t'.  j'i  .. 


*a    ,r! 


•  ft  %', 


\, 


.liwoTerjr  that  It  was  Minnie  that  the  Italian 
wanted,   j^  »«~«au 

iJ'^*'hr'^°  yon  know,  old  dwp,"  continued 
Ilacre^^  'I  couldn't  .tand  it;  w  i  offered  to 
make  it  aU  np  with  her." 

"  Oh,  I  aee  you've  done  that,  old  boy.    Con- 

grat— "  ' 

"P^ohl  wait  a  minute,"  said  Dacreg,  inter- 

!;"?o'«t«i;."-  "'^''"'  ^""  '■"'"•  •""  "'^»''  ^y 

At  this  Hawbury  stood  utterly  aghast 


THE  AMERICAN  BAROK 


129 


V7hat>4Kat?'' 

"SheyWasn't  %  wife  a^  M.  '   She  looks 

confou„4ed^  likeTwhat:%  wife  was  at  her 

best,  but  she's  another  person.      It'g  a  most 

extraordinary  likeness;  ^d  yet  she's  isn't  any 

relation,  but  a  great  deal  prettier  woman.  What 

made  me  so  sure,  you  kiiow,  was  the  infernally 

odd  comcidence  of  the  name;  and  then  I  only 

[.aw  her  off  and  on,  yot.  kno,^,  and  I  never 

heard   her  voice.      Then,  yon   knowu  I  was 

mad  with  jealousy ;  and  so  I  made  myseSf  worse 

-   and  worse,  till  I  was  ripe  for  miii^e?,  arson, 

kJZ*"*"""'  """^  °"  ^'^  '^  of  thing,,  yoJ 

To  all  this  Hawbury  listened  in  amoieraent. 

nnd  could  not  utter  a  word,  until  at  last,  as 

Dacres  paused,  he  said, 

"By  Jove!" 

"  WeU,  old  man,  I  was  the  most  infernal  ass 
that^ever  lived.     And  how  I  must  have  bored 

♦'By   Jove  I"   exclaimed    Hawbnry  again. 
"But  drive  on,  old  boy."  " 

"Well,  you  know,  the  row  occurred  just 
then,  and  away  went  the  scoundrels  to   the 
fight,  and  in  came  that  parson  fellow,  and  awav 
we  went      I  took  Mrs.  Willoughby  to  a  safe 
place,  where  I  kept  her  till  I  heard  the  trum- 
pet, you  know.    And  I've  got  another  thing  to 
tell  you.     It's  deuced  odd,  but  she  knew  all 
about  me." 
"The  deuce  she  did!" 
"Yosi  the  whole  story.    Lived  somewhere  in 
the  county.      But  I  don't  remember  the  Fays 
At  any  rate,  she  lived  there  ;  and  do  von  know! 
om  fellow,  the  county  people  used  to  think  I 
beatmywifft!" 
"By  Jove!" 

"Yes;  and  afterward  they  raised  a  report 
that  my  cruelty  had  driven  her  mad.  But  I 
had  a  few  friends  that  stood  up  for  me:  and 
among  other*  these  Fays,  you  know,  had  heard 

"Ki  J  V*'  "*''  *' "  ''"J'P*"''*^  ^"y-" 

"Well,  Mrs.  Willoughby,  I  mean-her  nlme's 
Kitty-has  always  known  the  truth  about  it; 
and  when  she  saw  me  at  Naples  she  felt  inter- 
csted  in  me." 


"  Not  a  bit     She  died  eight  years'ago,  and 
in  an  insane  asylum."  -e  •  »uu 

tim'L^^  ■^°'""     Thcn^she  was  mad   all  the 

"  Yes;  that  accounts  for  it,  and  turns  all  mv 
curses  into  pity."  ' 

A^\l^,,  ''"  "ilent  now  for  a  few  motne^ts.^ 
At  length  he  looked  at  Hawbury  with  a  verv 
!  singular  expresaiou.  '    . 

"Hawbury,  old  boy." 
"WeU,Sconey?"  ^' 

"I  think  we'll  keep  it  np."  V 

"WhoJ"  *^        ^  \ 

hv '[  ^'7'  ?"^  *"''  ^~*'«  '»♦  **"•  Willough-  * 
by  and  I-her  name's  Kitty,  yon  know." 
Keep  what  np  ?" 

that  sort  Of  thing.     You  see  I've  got  into  such      ' 
an  inferna  habit  of  «,garding  her  as  my  wife      : 
Mat  I  cant  look  on  her  in  any  other  light    I 
clain,ed  heis  ypn  know,  and  igi  that  sort  of 
tnmg,  and  she  thought  I  was  delirious,  and  felt- 
wrry,  and  hnipored  me,  and  gave  me  a  veir/  I 
fevorable  answer."  V    / 


«wn     •»*Hawbniyopeney  his  eyes.       ' 

„,h..  .K  '  *  u"*"  *"  ■•••'"*  *'••  "nd.  among 
other  things,  she  gave  me  one  piece  of  intelli- 
geace  that  has  easedirtiy  mind." 

"Ah I  what's  that 7" 

"Why,  my  wife  i»  dead," 

"  Pb>  then  there's  no  doubt  about  It?" 

.   -'  I         •  - 


fevorable  answer. 

"  Humored  yon  ?"  , 

But  I  m  holding  her  to  it,  apd  I'vjb  ^^'err  rea- 
son to  believe,  you  know— in  facv  I  mar  as 
well  say  that  it  is  an  nnder^toodf  thing,  you 
know,  that  she'll  let  it  go,  you^i^ow,  a^i/a" 
some  early  day,  yo|f  know,  we'U^ave  it  all 
formally  settled,  anfl'U  that  sort  of  thiiie 
you  know." ,  '^' 

Hawbury  wrung  his  friend's  hand. 

"  See  here,  old  boy ;  Xyou  see  Ethel  there  ?" 
Yes.' 

"  Who  do  yon  think  she  is  ?" 

"Who?" 

"EtM  Orm!" 

trll^'^'i  ?""(."  """"^  »'«""'.«''  the  whole 
truth  flashed  on  his  mind.  "  What  a  devil  of  a 
jumble  every  thing  has  been  getting  into !  By 
Heaven,  dear  boy,  I  congratulate  yon  from  the 
bottom  of  my  soul!"  '  ,    " 

And  he  wrung  Hawbury's  hand  as  thongh  all 
Ms  soul  was  in  that  grasp. 

But  all  this  could  not  satisfy  the  impatience 
of  the  Baron.  This  was  all  very  weU  in  iu 
way,  merely  as  ah  episode;  but  he  was  wait- 
ing for  the  chief  incident  of  the  piece,  and  the 
chief  mddbnt  was  delaying  very  nnaccotmta- 
bly. 

So  he  strode  np  and  down,  abd  be  f^tt^ 
and  he  fumed  and  he  chafed,  and  the  trumpet^ 
kept  blowing  away. 
Until  at  last- 
Just  before  his  eyes —  •, 
Up  there  on  the  top  of  the  bank,  not  far 


vx 


^  "P  '"^°  »n  me  lop  ot  the  banfc,  not  far 
♦ronrwhere  Dacres  and  Mrs.  Willoughby  hid" 
made  their  appearance,  the  Baron  caught  sight 
of  a  tall,  lank,  slim  figure,  clothed  in  ras^ 
black,  whose  thin  and  leathery  fece,  rising 
above  a  white  neck-tie,  peered  solemnly  yet 
hiterros^tively  through  the  bushes;  while  just 
behind  him  the  Baron  caught  a  glimpM  of  the 
I  flutter  of  a  woman's  dreu. 


,A.»^  ly 


•s    .5v'  J<^* 


tM 


■#, 


THB  AMKRICAN  BABON. 


H^y| 

1*  ■** '        ■'  *^ 

r-v-  •  l-sfi/  ,. 

.^V;^>s;\  .,V 


"Toa  ihall  many 
ui,  parson— and  thi* 
very  day,  by  thun- 
der I" 

Thaa«  worda  came 
to  Mrs.  WUIoiighby'it 
eara  in  the  roidit  of 
her  flnt  joy  at  meet- 
ing her  sister,  and 
shocked  .her  inex- 
pressibly. 

"IVJiiit's  that, 
Minnie  darling  ?"sho 
aslced,  anxiously. 
"What  bit?  Did 
yOtt  hear  what  that 
|dful  — what  the 
— thelBawmsaid?" 

Minnie  Idoiced 
sweetly  conscious, 
but  said  nothing. 

"Wiiat  doe»  he 
mean?"  asked  her 
sister  again. 

"  I  suppose  he 
means  what  he  says," 
replied  Minnie,  with 
a  ti^i4  air,  stealing 
•  '[tby  look   at  the 


'ua  UAVS  A  LOOU  UBX  OF  JUY,  AMD  TIIDI  SrBAMO  ;UP  TUI  BANK." 


He  gave  a  loud  cry  of  joy,  and  then  sprang 
up  the  bank. 

•  *         •  •  •  • 

Bntdorer  that  meeting  I  think  we  had  better 
draw  a  veil. 


^  /     CHAPTER  XXXIX. 

ASTONIBHINO  WAT  OF  CONCLDDINO  AN 
ADVENTintB. 

Th^  meeting  between  theJBaron  and  Minnie 
gave  i  new  shock  to  poor  Mrs.  Willoughby,  who 
looked,  with  a  helpless  expression,  and  walked 
away  ibr  a  little  distance.  Dacres  and  HaW- 
bnry  were  still  eagerly  conversing  and  question- 
ing oilB  another  about  their  adventures.  Tozer 
also  Dad  descended  and  joined  himself  to  the, 
priest;  and  each  of  these  groups  had  leisure 


rbr  a  prolonged  conversation  before  they  were 
interrupted.  At  length  Minnie  made  her  ap- 
pearance, and  flung  herself  into  her  sister'sarms, 
while  at  the  same  time  the  Baron  grasped  To- 
urhy  both  hands,  and  called  oot,  in  a  voice  loud 
enough  to  be  heard  by  aU, 


V    "('Ol^^ar!"  said 

ijlrt,     , Willoughby ; 

f/^j^beii^Vj     another 

'        trbnble,   I 

^    It's     very, 

"WeH^'Mfo," 
said  Minnl£^,',|<;an't 
help  it.  fK^lflilo 
so.  That  clergyman 
came  and  saved  me, 
and  he  wasn't  a  Roman  Catholic  clergyman  at 
all,  and  he  proposed"^" 

"  Proposed!''  cried  Mrs.  Willoughby,  aghast. 
"  Oh  yes,"  said  Minnie,  solemnly  ;  "  and  I 
had  hard  work  preventing  him.  But,  really,  it 
wa*  too  absurd,  and  I  would  not  let  him  be  too 
explicit.  But  I  didn't  hurt  his  feelings.  Well, 
you  know,  then  all  of  a  sudden,  as  we  were  fit- 
ting there,  the  bugle  sounded,  and  we  came 
back.  Well,  then,  Rnfus  K.  Gunn  came— and 
yon  know  how  very  violent  he  is  in  his  way — 
add  he  sud.he  saved  my  life  again,  and  so  he 
proposed. 

"  He  proposed  I      Why,  he  ha4  proposed 
before." 

"  Oh  yet ;  i  hut  that  was  for  an  engagement, 
and  this  was  for  onr  marriage." 
"Marriage!" 
"  Oh  yes ;  and,  ypn  see,  he  had  actnally  saved 


my  life  twice,  and  N.was  very  urgent,  and^he" 
'i$  so  (itofully  aifectionate,  and  so — " 

"Well,  what?"  cried  Mrs.  WUloughby,  tee- 
ing Minnie  hetitato. ' 

"Why,he— " 

"Well?" 


if-I-f 

sure- 
« 

nte 

snrd.^ 

child. 


*#^ 


s^r 


ME  AMERICAN  B 


"ImMD,!— •* 
^  ght  teil  me  .nd  not  keep  m«  in  .nch  dread- 

"  Why,  what  could  I  say  ?" 
J      "But  what  (/u/ you  lay?" 

JZJ'I'^  '?'"''  ^-'"»»''-y«»."  -aid  Minnie, 
cMtingdown  her  eyes  with  inde«cribable  sweeH 
new,  .hynew,  meekness,  and  resignatioo. 
Mrs.  Willoughby  actually  shuddere. 
"Now,  Kitty,"  exclaimed  Minni  " 
once  noticed  it,  "yon  needn't  be 
I  m  sure  yon  can't  say  any  thing 
notp.    You  needn't  look  80.     You  o- 
him.     You  never  would  treat  him  k» 

"But  this— this  marriase.     It's 
»ng- 

ell,  he  saved  my  life. " 

'sha"ietn'^'      «-"«-JrP«'Wous. 

"  Well,  I'm  sure  I  can't  help  it." 


•'A 


"It's  too  horrid  !"  contin^S^rs.  Willongh- 


by,  in  an  excited  tone, 
papa's  heart, 
aunty's  heart 


will  .break  pooi- 


wonidn't  you  have  given  her  to  me  with  all 
yonrJieart,  and  yonr  prayers  too  ?    Yon  wonld 

iMt  night,  ahd  then  answer  me," 
^.^Zll^lt'f'^^*  involuntarily  thonghi  of 
nothing  "''  """^  "huddered,  wd  Mid 

n„l'''*'T'  "•'?"•' ^"'*  "•*«"  *o  this.     1 4„d  on 
coming  here  that  this  /ulian  had  a  prfen  h«re 
ready  to  marry  him  and  Minnie.     If  Td* 
m  delayed  or  defeated,  Minnie  would  have 
Mhat  rascal's  wife  by  this  time.   The  priest 
„here.     They  would  have  been  married  a* 
as  you  re  bom.     You,  ma'am,  would  have 
to  see  this  poor,  trembling,  broken-hearted 
[pairing  g.d  torn  froni  your  arms,  and  bonna 
whl     "?'^"«?  *'«  to  a  ruffian  and  a  scoondiel 
heS-  from^lns.     I  have  my  priest  too,  ma'am 
PeuunTlf  Koman  Catholic,  it  is  trne-he'.^n 
orthwiox  pUon-but,  at  the  «»me  time,  I  ai" 
particujar.    Now  I  propose  to  avail  mywlf  tl 


Andit-wiUblLik-^o^rTarZg'lhal^Llrtf !  '^"^  "'  '"«  "^^- 
And  it  will  break  n^T  heart  '"DrrfLnfi"!' .    Jt.'*  *'*''  '•""'  *™««  **"  Min 
"  Now,  Kitty  dearest,  this  is  t«,Tmv  i^^,.  '    ^t-  a    J I  *''""  °''J«"'*  ^  "*  Priest,  for  I  have 
If  It  hadn't  been  for  wj' fwou  rno^be  C' i     "  N      ^'"•"  ^'"'"*"'  ''•"^"«  my«lf. 
rled  to  that  wretche^f onnjS  had  A %"«"  1  ptl^^r/r^"",^  *• 

cientAnectihn  fnr  mA><^ _>  ^_^.  ^^  . 


cieqjffffection  form6>%|et  rtiep«aair4o  sit 
on,  and  who  was  vavyi  *#|  rQde;ftf&*fe.?  YoJ 
didn  t  care,  though,  whetfier  I  was  ?narried  to 
him  or  not ;  and  now  when  I  am  saved  from  him 
you  fiOTCnothing  but  very  unpleasant  things  to 
•ayaSoutRufusK.Gnnn." 

*«^h  dear,  whU  wotUd  I  give  if  you  were 
only ^fe  home!"  '  ™ 

"  Well,  I'm  sure  I  don't  see  what  /  can  do 
I  cop|o  nre  tthvayg  saving  my  life.     And  there 
H  Cabtain  K.rby  hu„,i„g  „i,  over  Italy  for  me.    trust 
And  th,ow  I  will  be  saved  by  somebody-it^   keep 
j-I_if_I_if_yo„  know -^  that  is-I'm    itwo 


if-rI4 


„r„  hfcr.?'''' '" ?**•*  **™-  Willoughby,  nftMin- 
nle  W-oke  down  in  confusion.     "It  jg  too  ab- 

Zf^  \Tu'  '"''S«»'°'"  !'•  Yxm  are  a  silly 
child.     Oh,  how  I  do  wish  you  were  home!" 

At  this  juncture  the  conversation  wasjnter- 
rnpted  by  the  Baron. 

"It  is  not  my  fashion,  ma'am,  "saiAiej'grave- 
ly,  to  remind  another  of  any  obligation  under 
which  he  may  be  to  me ;  but  my  claims  on  Min- 

!!J'h«  «  f  •?  •»PP?«'«l  ^y  you  and  the  rest 
•^  her  friends  that  I  have  to  ask  you  to  think 
of  them.  Your  father  knows  what  my  first 
clateu  are.  Yon  yonrself,  ma'am^  know  por- 
frfctly  well  what  the  laat  claims  are  which  I 
have  won  to-day." 

, '""'  J?'^»^''«  O'lnily,  firmly,  and  with  dig- 


Baron,  a8  Mrs.  Willoughby  continued  dlent- 
yon  may  a,|  why  I'm. >  such  a  thundering 
hurry     My  answer  is,  because  yon  fit  me  off 
ao.     Yon  tried  to  keep  me  (him  Min.     Yon 
ocked_«,9  out  of  yonr  house.    Yon  threatened 
to  hand  me  over  to  the  po-lice  (and  I'd  like  to 
see  one  of  them  try  it  on  with  me).     Yon  said 
I  was  mad  or  drunk  ;  and  finally  yon  tried  to 
runaway      Jhen  Jgl^cted  my'^adviceTLS 
plunged  head-foreiraRo  this  fix.     Cw,  in 
view  of  all  this,  my  iMsHfin  is  this-that  I  cin't 
trust  you.     I've  got  Min  now,  and  I  mean  to 
Sep  her.     If  you  got  hold  of  her  again,  I  feel 
would  be  the  last  of  her.     Consequentlv  J-' 


Not  me.     Not-by  • 


nitr     Mm  Wiii^nJiTK    •"         'J  ""  °'«-   '"'o  Knows  my 

Mrr  ^"'^^^^^^  answered  not  a  wprd_  ^o„tm«t  Jierwlf 
=T*7wr  tttarWjOTr^Mti&ia  last  night,^  -^^ 


«i„m'"r*'  ,™/"'^''  '^°*«<»  the  Baron 
yon-U  acknowledge,  I  expect,  that  it  was  pret^ 
Jjr  hard  lines.  What  would  yon  have  given  a 
few  hour,  ago  tor  A  sight  of  my  uniform  in  that 
old  house  yonder  ?  If  I  },«i  come  then  to  save 
Minnie  from,  the  eiutchai  pf  that  /talian, 


ain't  going  to  let  hfer  go, 
long  chalk. 

"Finally,  ma'am,  if  yorilVallow  me,  I'll  tonch 
upon  another  point.    I've  thought  OMr  yonr  ob- 
jections to  me.   It  ain't  my  rank,-fm  a  noble  • 
It  am  t  money-I'm  worth  a  hundred  thonsand 
dollars;  u  ain't  my  name-forylSAu  myself 
Atramonte.    It  must  be  something  in  me.  I've 
come  to  the  conclusion  that  it's  my  general 
style- my  manners  and  customs.     Very  well 
Peiiaps  they  don't  come  up  to  yonr  standaid. 
n^gjjyn't  square  with  your  ideas.     Yet,  let 
me  SKfflbyou,  ma'am,  there  are  other  stand- 
ards of  action  and  manner  and  speech  than 
those  to  which  you  are  accustomed,  and  mine 
"  ""0  of  them.    Mnnie  doesn't  object  tp  that 
bhe  knows  my  heart  is  all  right,  and  is  wilUne 


her,  and  I  mean  to  make  her-mine  this  day  " 
_  As  the  Baron  pansed  Mrs.  Willoughby  begMi, 
first  of  all,  to  express  her  gratitude,  and  then  to 
beg  him  to  postpoMrithe  marriage.     She  de- 


dared  that  it  was  iT  nrfArd-of  thing,  that 
inlft  shocking,  that  it 


it  was  shameful,  that  it  _  _ 

wa.  dreadfnl.    She  grew  veiy  mnch°ixdted7 


j.t5r.  t.t 


'A    .V 


«# 


m'^  I 


189 

she  proteited,  she  ent^ted.  Finnlly  she  bunt 
into  tears,  and  appealed  to  Lord  Hawbury  in 
the  most  moving  tehns.  Hawbury  listened 
very  gravely,  with  his  eyes  wandering  over  to 
where  Ethel  was ;  and  Ethel  caught  the  ex- 
pression of  his  face,  and  looked  quite  confused. 

"  Oh,  think,  only  think,"  said  Mrs.  Willough- 
t>y,  after  an  eloquent  and  pathetic  appeal— 
"think  how  ih3  poor  child  will  be  talked 
about!" 

"Well,  really  — ah  — 'pon  my  life,"  said 
Hawbury,  with  his  eyes  still  wandering  over 
toward  Ethel,  "I'm  sure  I  don't— ah— share 
your  views  altogether,  Mrs.  Willoughby ;  for — 
ah — there  art  times,  you  know,  when  a  fellow 
finds  it  very  uncommonly  desirable — runaway 
matches,  you  know,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing. 
And,  by  Jove !  to  tell  the  truth,  I  really  admire 
the  idea,  by  Jove!  And  really  —  ah  —  I'm 
sure — I  wish  most  confoundedly  it  was  the 
universal  fashion,  by  Jove !" 

,."  But  she'll  be  to  talked  about.  She'll  make 
herself  so  shockingly  cons;»'cuou5." 

"Conspicuous?  By  Jove!"  said  Hawbury, 
who  seemed  struck  by  the  idea.  At  that  mo- 
ment Minnie  began  talking  to  her  sister,  and 
Hawbury  went  off  to  Ethel,  to  whom  he  began 
talking  in  the  most  earnest  manner.  The  two 
wandered  off  for  some  distance,  and  did  not  re- 
turn for  a  full  half  hour.  When  they  did  re- 
turn Ethel  looked  somewhat  embarrassed,  and 
Hawbury  was  radiant.  With  this  radiance  on 
his  &ce  he  went  up  to  Mrs.  Willoughby,  leav- 
ing Ethel  in  the  background. 

"  Oh,  by-the-way,"  said  he,  "  you  were  re- 
marking that  your  sister  would  be  too  con- 
spicuous by  such  a  haaty  marriage." 

"Yes,"  said  Mrs.  Willoughby,  anxiously. 

"Wel^I  thought  I  would  toll  you  that  she 
needn't  be  so  vtry  conspicuous ;  for,  in  fact — 
that  is,  you  know,  Ethel  and  I — she  told  3NBU, 
I  suppose,  about  our  mistake  ?"  .^ 

"Oh  yes."  • 

"And  I  think  I've  persuaded  her  to  save 
Minnie  frpm  being  too  conspicuous." 
'    Mrs.  Willoughby  gave  Hawbury  a  look  of 
astonishment  and  reproach. 

" Tou !"  she  cried ;  "aW Ethel !" 

"Why,  I'm  sure,  we're  the  very  ones  you 
might  expect  it  from.  Think  how  infernally 
we've  been  humbugged  h^ate." 

"Fate!"  said  Mrs.  A/Wfoughby.  "It  was 
all  your  own  fault.     She  wai  chosen  for  you." 

"  Chosen  for  me  ?    What  clo  ya|^ean  V 

"  By  your  mother."  IF 

"My  mother ?"to  . 

"Ym."         •   ^  f 

"  She  said  one  of  Biggs's  nieces."        ' 

'Ethel  is  that  niece^! 


T^E  AMERICAN  BARON. 


"  The  devil ! "  cried  Hawbury.  •'  I  beg  par- 
don.    By  Jove!"  'fi,  '  ^ 

Hawbury,  overwhelmed  by  this,  went  backW 
Ethel,  and  they  wandered  off  once  more.  •  The 
Baron  had  already  wandered  off  with  Minnie 


in  another  direction.     Tozer  and  the  priest  bad 
gone  to  survey  the  house. 

Seeing  Mi-s.  Willoughby  thus  left  alone,  Da- 
cres  drifted  up  to  her.     He  came  up  silently. 

"  Kitty,!'  said  he,  in  a  Idw  voice,  "  you  sceui 
sad." 

By  which  familiar  address  it  ,wiH  be  seen 
that  Dacres  had  made  some  progi-css  toward 
intimacy  with  her. 

Mrs.  Willoughby  did  not  seem  at  all  offend- 
ed at  this,  but  looked  up  with  one  of  her  frank- 
est smiles,  and  the  clouds  of  perplexity  passed 
^ay.  She  was  an  exceedingly  pretty  woman, 
and  she  was  certainly  not  over  twenty-four. 

"I'm  io  worried,"  she  said,  plaintively. 

"What's  the  matter?"  asked  Dacres,  in  a 
tone  of  the  deepest  and  tenderest  sympathy. 

"  Why,  these  horrid  men ;  and,  what's  worse. 
Lord  Hawbury.  is  actually  encouraging  Mr. — 
the  —  the  Baron ;  and  I'm  «o  worried.  Oh 
dear!" 

"  But  why  should  you  be  womed  ?" 

'•It's  no  horrid.    .It's  shocking.     It's  not  to 
be  thought  of." 
.    "But  why  not?"  asked  Dacres. 

"Why,  it's — it's  so  horrid,"  said  Mrs.  Wil- 
loughby. 

Dacres  stood  looking  at  her  for  a  long  time. 

"  Kitty,"  sai<l  he  at  last. 

Mi-8.  Willoughby  looked  up. 

Dacres  looked  all  around.  He  then  took 
her  hand. 

"Isn't  it  too  bad,"  he  said,  "V>  let  Miii- 


"  What  ?*' 


L, 


"  To  let  her  go  throngh  this  ordeal  alone  ?" 

"  Alone!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Willoughby,  look- 
ing ill  wonder  at  him. 

"Yes."^,  ^ 

|§"  What  do  you  mean  ?" 

"  Couldn't  io«  accompany  her?"*'' 

Mrs.  Willonghby  snatched  away  her  hand. 

"Are  you  mad?"  she  cried.  "I  do  believe 
the  whole  world's-mad  to-day." 

"  Mad ! "  cried  Dacres.  "  Yes,  I'm  mad — in- 
sane— raving !  Won't  you  be  merciful  again  ? 
Won't  you,  Kitty?  Won't  you  'habior'  my 
ravings?     Oh,  do.     Oh,  Kitty!  dear fctty—!" 

"  It's  positive  insanity !" 

"Oh,  Kitty!" 

"  You're  raving!" 

"Won't  you  'humor'  me — just  this  once! 
only  this  once." 

"Hush!  there  they  come,"  said  Mrs.  Wil-j 
loughby,  suddenly  snatching  way  her  hand, 
which  Dacres  had  somehow  got  hold  of  again, 
and  moving  a  little  further  away  from  him.. 

It  was  the  Baron  and  Minnie  who  were  taia- 
ing  Jtack  AguUf  while  Hawbury  and  Ethel  were 


seen  a  little  further  away. 

There  they  all  stood — there,  on  the  spot  adhere 
they  had  found  the  crisis  of  their  fortunes ;  and 
as  they  stood  there  the  two  clergymeif^atholio 
ami  Protestant,  slowly  came  out  of  th«  house. 


TBI 


END^ 


ijji^^tul 


.^Ji^> 


.^'•a 


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